Archive for November, 2009

Cleaning the Slay

Posted on November 14, 2009

Unmistakable November Energy

Unmistakable November Energy

Dear November,

At once friend and foe, it seems you have returned…

While there is little surprise herein, your particular brand of obscenity is always newly vexing.

Still, you have become gracefully nimble over time…

Where once you boorishly obliterated, now you quietly creep.

It is very nearly convincing, this act.

But unlike your façade, the battles you bring forth are not hushed.

They are brutal and bloody and bathed in disgraceful supposition.

Your sad aggression programs the minions for acceptance of their crushing fate.

Yet still we linger as lambs awaiting slaughter.

Neither do we flee and scream, nor idly surrender; instead we view you as spectators might. We gaze through telescopically-wide eyes, as you shamelessly defile life as it had been.

October feels like a time very far gone now.

I should like you better, sweet November, if at least you had the decency to be honest.

If you are vile, be very vile. If you are passionate, be it at it’s least restrained.

If you should like to be heard, please speak up.

Your riddles are complex.

Make no mistake, I do not judge you, November, for I, too am afflicted.

I seem also to be saddled with an inability to express my meaning. And so we are the same in that regard. You have my deepest empathy… for as you know, there is little worse than possessing great truths too weighty for utterance.

And so, “riddle me this…”

(It continues.)

In remarkable wonder and indelible knowledge that I am yours,


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Written Omissions…

Posted on November 12, 2009

SHHHudder. Just listen

SHHHudder. Just listen

He was the second one. He emerged in the space between the first and the third.

She promised to love him forever, for now.

He loved her well enough. (It was never enough for her.)

In the beginning: “You are red. Always running from here to there and there to here. Where are you trying to get to?”

She is unsure. So, she stops for a spell.

Red is not well suited to her, this much is sure. She ponders her options…

Meanwhile: (She likes his colour) “May I have some of yours, please? We can share it…”

He thinks she has a pirate’s smile. He is well familiar with grifters of her sort.

“Still, there can be little harm. So long as she keeps her hands where my eyes can see…”

Reasonablizations. Rationalizations.

Together they are green.

It is suitable.

Time passes.

(It always does.)

Verdant days grow mold. Trash is strewn atop the moss.

Transcendence cedes to the murky mire.

Eventually: “You are grey. This place is killing you.”

She leaves then. It is her way.

He follows her. (He fears that she will lose her way)

After all, he does love her well enough.

The pavement is cracked. She prefers it so.

The monochromatic starkness suits her.

It turns her orange. She thrives in the hellfire.

She sidles through the alley. It is fun for her.

He follows, always 10 paces behind. It is not fun for him.

But it is his burden. She is his burden.

“That tiny, treacherous, spindly girl,” he thinks, “how she does love to hide.”

He tells himself it’s a game. (Plot. Coup.)

He lifts the lid of a garbage can. Still searching.


He hears her tinkling laughter then. It emanates from a foreign space.

It floats through the air, oxidizing at an alarming rate.

Daggers made from the remains of her rusty mirth, draw and quarter him. (Destroy.)

Broken now, he fits easily within the confines of the receptacle.

He piles bits of rubbish atop his own corpse. He is hiding. (Game. Over.)

Anyway, it doesn’t matter what colour you are in the dark.

Reasonablizations. Rationalizations.

Time passes.

(It always does)

“The air is too thin down here,” she thinks “there is not enough breath to be had.”

She negotiates with the gatekeeper. She agrees to die a little.

What had been “not enough,” is now.

(It is hard being her keeper) She is her own burden now.

It is not fun for her.

Time passes.

(It always does)

Diverge. Converge. Submerge.

Eternal. Return.

And then: “You are a shadow”

And then: “I always was.”

And then: “Ever allusive”

And then: “Ever illusive”

And then: “You look just like me.”

And then: “I always have.”


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