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| i believe i have mislaid my chimera | Started by: Freck on Nov 23, '07 22:41 |
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*A figure stumbles out of an alleyway. He smells of smoke and liquor. As he leans up against a nearby building he lifts his head and you can see his blood-shot, glassy eyes. As he catches your eye a sly smile grows on his lips like a dark dream.* Hello, sir! How are you this evening? Isn't the night just full of metal thoughts and small granules of light-sense? I think it is a lovely evening, myself. Unless of course you count that business about... well, We'll just nevermind the bug bites. I often think about how long a life is. Do you know? I think I do! I think it is as long as a piece of string. No shorter. No longer. What really matters is the how the string is bound, what it is made of, and what kind of KINKS! it has gotten along the way! Nothing we really do really amounts to anything in the end. All we have left is the effect on those who remain after us. For all of our high minded creation and theorizing it is worth about as much as my fabled string!*He coughs for a bit; a dry hacking cough. He stumbles and holds the wall again. Staring intently at the brick, as if divining some arcane meaning from its fired rock. From his pocket he produces a few oblong reddish pills. He throws these in his mouth and swallows. He sighs, satisfactorily and pulls a bent cigarette out of another pocket. With a liquid motion he lights the cigarette with a match pulled from nowhere. The brief flare shows the dark circles under the man's eyes.* Despite the shallow, hollow people who haunt our lives and the futility of our very actions there is a sign of kindness. Rays of brilliant zen that blast through the dark shroud in which we reside. But far fewer and far fewer have the rains come. Spiders bite and inject their venom into the strongest, the bravest, the noblest. Oh, woe! For the Beklans have eaten the eyes of The Bear! Cooked it upon roasted onions... terrible cooks they were, all the time. Flea-bitten barbarians! To be kind is to create the world in which we will not be afraid of ourselves! What of the fear? Where will the fear go? I DO FEAR YOU! What is this? What........ Give a man a nice word and you shall receive the gift of a thousand goose feathers upon your brain! When you hand out free razor-blade candy you can be sure that someone is going to make you eat it. Don't forget to water the plants. The plants listen. Don't make them angry.... *A look of exhaustion falls over him as his sentence trails off. There is a look of desperation in his eyes. A look that says this isn't all he had to say... but that he can say no more. He doesn't even see the world in front of him as he slips down, propped against the wall of the building. The cigarette, now finished, rolls out of his fingers and goes out on the sidewalk. His head slumps against the wall, but his eyes remain open. He is not sleeping...* *muttering*** Why would they?***the bear!***shardik is the eye of god***muttering* |
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*A grunting noise calls your attention back to the man on the ground. He seems to have by some means, perhaps crawling, gotten to the lamp post on the street corner. He is looking around suspiciously at the people walking around. Some stop to stare back as his appearance is quite ungainly. His long, unkempt, dark hair hangs over his eyes and obscures his face.* A life worth offering is a life worth living. *For a moment he just stands swaying, almost looking like he isn't going to be able to hold his horizontal stance. But he stays and eventually steadies himself.* A life betrayed is a shell made of rotting dog's tongue. *Again he stands silent. This time steady, staring around at the small crowd that has gathered around him. Under the harsh light of the lamp you can see the grease on his hair and the grit on his skin & clothes. Still, something burns in his eyes like a gem or a precious coin.* The ghosts babble and rant at me. They spill their heads to anyone who is willing to acknoweldge them into the plane of existence. The ice-sculpters create images of such unbearable beauty that they cannot be denied and the rivers turned red with the blood of children. The plauges of history hiding in the attics of our homes. Exculpating their own twisted emergences. How can you stop the fallen from rising? What if they come in through the back window, like in that famous song? Do they see inside of us? And do they see us lightly or do they see us lightly? For if they see us darkly, as I do, as I cannot help but do, then we are doomed and doomed again. The little we know will all be lies and hidden knives against our wrists. When you offer yourself to something it must be with true faith or your heart is doomed to explode like a guy eating dynamite. The sum of the universe as it stands is lacking in this parameter. How can you see the linkage of the power without accepting the link? |
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| Reply by: Freck at Nov 24, '07 00:15 | |
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Shining eyes in tunnels of onyx. Winged entities born on the wind towards unknown hollows. The clerics piped their flutes mindlessly in the insane dark around the god of Nothing. The yellow masked man whose name shall never be spoken came & went in circles and in lines. In the darkness hands may reach for you. But beware, most have claws and teeth. Wrap your eyes in bandages. Stand in silence. Ich bin der boden... Domination. Control. The wolf needs these things. The wolf needs teeth. The wolf needs claws. The wolf is the noble creature. But the bear. The bear. Solitary. Power. Destruction. Not Domination. Not Control. Pure force of will. The bear taketh what the bear needs. SHARDIK! Wolves... all are needed. Sheep too. Goats, elk... owls... pigeons... The fact of the matter remains. Even if you succeed in capturing the bear, you cannot cage him forever. You cannot keep the wolves at bay. You must simply be a man. A man that is among wolves and bears. Green lace upon dark marble. A necklace unworn. A dress never worn. A gun never used. A reality left unknown. The loss of these things are unknown to some. Perhaps they are the bliss? Perhaps they are the damned? For the darkness and the bear. For the wolves and blood. For the rays of brilliant zen light of all colors destroying, at least temporarily, the darkness. bekla... woe, discord. |
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| Reply by: Freck at Nov 24, '07 00:42 | |
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| *He wanders away, not quite walking in a straight line, into the darkness of the park. On the ground you see a strange cross and a few pieces of paper. The smell of smoke lingers in the air like a ghost of the man who said such strange things. You are also left wondering about the strange things he was saying. Was there perhaps more to it than drugged out rambling?* | |
| Reply by: Freck at Nov 24, '07 00:48 | |
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*Stumbles into Freck's public announcement!* Ahem... *clears his throat* I believe the Swedes are up to something of a deviant nature! *Eyes up Alfieri* Something is definitely rotten in Denmark, or Sweden, whichever one he is! |
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| Reply by: MolotovMcHugh at Nov 24, '07 02:35 | |
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I know nothing of your swedish danish conspiracies! Though, danishes are tasty... with butter and jam....... YAY! DANISH! It is the squirrels. They are the ones undermining our very existence with their constant stealing of our nuts! |
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| Reply by: Freck at Nov 24, '07 02:38 | |
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| As a representative of the Swedish community, I'd like to confirm that we will be taking a neutral stance on these accusations. | |
| Reply by: Alfieri at Nov 24, '07 02:56 | |
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| That is just like you swedes! Always all 'neutral' and stuff. Just because you are a 'neutral' country. Some excuse!! I want all your chocolate, and I want it nows!!! | |
| Reply by: Freck at Nov 24, '07 03:06 | |
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