Wednesday, 28 December 2011

We've all danced with death

Grab a train
Just any train
No, not those which lead to the end
But those which stay in the middle
Which feel as if you’re in an endless circle
As the lights are dim
And the soviet stations barely have any lights
Look at the people
Look at the faces

And feel
Not just the pain
But the desperation of the lack of dreams
Of unity of the souls
And you’ll wonder what are you doing there
As you’ll hear the train
And the stops won’t be noticeable
As the music gets louder

Look at the faces
Their long hair
As they shall all stand in a line
Of death
Waiting for trainers to choose them
Flick their wrists against the walls
As the lights will go off and linger closer
Tearing the soul apart
As the eyes shall remain sitting there right in front of you
Their corpses are chosen
All besides several which just sit waiting
Hunger and lust printed on the faces
They have nothing to say
But they believe in the love you have
In the mobile you hold

And you’ll ease knowing that you know the station
Where you just flee
And the light will be brighter
The skirts shorter
And the eyes will be shielded by the light
You’ve adjusted
But even if you change

You’ll see the trainers, the eyes, the dyed mops
The fingers will trail back and forth upon your body
You’ll forget the homophobia
As you shall become a man and a woman
As a crowd of feathers will fall upon you
The body of yours will be cut open
Turn on the music louder

Ligeti an anthem
It’s a requiem
It’s death
It’s behind you
You pull the hood
To kiss the hole
In the face

Open the eyes

You’re back

You’re in a wagon


Ease your pain
Hold your wounds
They shall bleed again
As the wagon just shakes and all the figures
Their skin turns into dresses
They dance around
And fall at your feet




You’ve heard that note before
The person holds
As a gun is withdrawn and pulled upon your temple
It’s a dystopia
You’re the figure, the statue which holds a hero
As the eyes go black
And breakfast seems far away
As you gazed out of the window to see
What was life, what you thought was life
With a golfer flung a golf club at your window
You’ve licked the shards
They’ve cut your tongue.

And you’ve screamed
Seeing that you’re blood is blue
As if you’re frozen
And in a fridge

It’s not just a nightmare
It’s the journey of death
As they bury you deep
All the people you’ve known
A kiss of the beloved as a last

And you’re flung in the coffin


Watch death go on top of you
Strip you’re clothes down

A knife inside you
A knife as big as your sin
Of choosing death instead of life
You’re desire to never struggle again

Well, pay


Wagon, wagon, wagon

It’s a dance


Lay down



Sing sing sing sing sing sing sing sing sing

Let the floor fall backwards
Feel scared
Let the beloved kiss
As you shall become a woman and a man

Let death soothe the hands you’ve touched life with
Let death soothe the voice you’ve spoken with
So let death kiss you, love

Lock fingers, hands and body as death steals your life
Your virginity
It’s gonna ache

It’s going to rip you from inside, the knife, your sin

You’ve drank tea

Death gave you tea from a thermos, to wake you up
So that your eyes would see the horror
Death had seen

Soothe, death
Hold death in your arms
The hood now back and now it’s hair
As it thrusts inside

Kiss death gently, with your lips, with all your might
You’d try to break the coffin which shall be death
But all shall flow and shatter as death’s hands would be a cross
For you to hang upon the neck
As the waltz shall be death pulling you by the cross

A sphere
You’re body shall make a sphere
To make death protect it’s fragile self

Look, you scared death,

Death closed it’s thirty eyes
With your fingers
And sucked them gently
As if they were a candy cane of Christmas

Death shall laugh upon you
Death shall watch you as you lay
As your fingers trail it’s jaw line upon which people have cut their shards of skin

You look down
All your skin formed into needles
It’s sharp and it glues onto death’s robe
Slowly building a puzzle of yourself
As your knee is now missing

And death slaps that knee

We’ve met before, you’d say at the wedding
With the pope and funeral
And you’ll kiss the bible for luck
Knowing that the bride behind the door
Which you call, screaming to come
Is death

So you close the door shut
Knowing that your wife shall fling her maternal pain upon you
You shall be the one with the child
As death is to fragile to hold a mortal

Death is so fragile
But then what shall kill death then?

You ask death that in a dance and death just nods
As death takes you
Your clothes in the coffin
The skin, the clothes are needles

As the wagon goes further and death laughs
The laugh sweet as if it was yours at fourty six

Death takes the needle of your lips
And death would dance, slowly, your needles her hands
Death would stick them further
As your ribs would be death’s
And death would become yourself


It all started off with the fact that I woke up in the night or I had been awake and I heard music from the street, horrible music which sounded like death (which inspired Musica) and while I had been writing 13 is an Utopia I had wanted to write something under the music I had heard and I went deeper trying to find something which resembled and I stumbled onto Ligeti's Requiem.

Now, it is a beautiful piece which you can find and hear now on the blog, as I hope my writing can match it's shattering beauty someday. This poem was written under the requiem as well.


Monday, 26 December 2011

Pearl Gathering

You get the ability to drift through rooms endless, peeking into the opened up soul to see how the person was.

I felt like the cleaner who takes the corpus as if to see if there is any trail left behind the works of death, nobody ever noticed but if death arrives at a house another happens as close following by a pattern as I glance into the other following chaotic patterns around the city, never stopping, never finding a trace of evidence that something inhuman surrounded the scene of the last grasp to have spit being thrown in the air but never hitting the floor but being grasped as another bead of pearls around the taker’s neck, like a sign of boasting to see how many were freed.

More and more, blue, green, blue, purple it was hideous how people admired colours drenching their lives in one after death, like a message left to picked up.

You can grab just one thing, though.

So with the hands shifted into the front pockets, the eyes searched for something to catch the eye. Nothing ever did, all which was found were photos of people’s faces corrupted by grief as their spirit yelled in the distance for an impossible return of the pearls.

I stopped on the pearl necklace, the beads waiting to be scattered.

I looked around for no hood to be seen.

I did something I never did, feeling a doubt in the back of the throat were the pearl was. It was screaming and denying them. I took them feeling a rush of adrenaline rising in my fingers, urging me to drop it.

But I didn’t, feeling the sweet stares of jealousy to my direction.

“Nobody let you grab anything.” Before I could protest I saw something I have only been giving the glimpse of. It followed the procedure I was told, both resembling bony hands trailing the neck before swallowing themselves into my mouth to grasp a bleak object to join the ones hidden in my palm, but scattering onto the floor due to my constant nagging.  


And here is, I guess one of my favorite works, if I can call that and I guess Jaidem shall be my favorite creation with his concept.

This is the prologue of Ladder To The Red Moon Gathering, which consists of many parts from different points of view and one-shots related to the story.

I hope you will enjoy it and it is a part of the Papercut universe or rather Papercut is a universe of this. It was written after Papercut and I needed a third female character and one from Papercut was taken and soon the story began forming.

My nano novel finishes the final gaps of the story, making the conclusion of this novel a second plot in the nano novel.

Basically if to look at my works carefully they always touch the subject and thoughts on the concept of Ladder To The Red Moon Gathering. The structure and how it's written is interesting and is a mixture of Papercut and the piano three shot.

Pear Gathering like another part of the story came to me in a dream as I slept in the afternoon and the idea was slightly inspired by Depeche Mode's Home video.

I'll try to shut up and please do enjoy it as much as I do and love it.

Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 1

Thursday, 22 December 2011


Everyone has a thirteen year old kid inside, the one with the knife against both throats.
He takes several steps back, the knife cutting the flesh.
He is the one falling for people,
his passion based on countless rumors
blinding out the pure feelings,
as his blood pours down, like a stab in the stomach.
He is the reason for the sudden stop and turn,
as the question why is held, above the banality
and the thoughts lying in the pile of blood,
as the chest gets gripped and falls onto the floor, the inside exposed.
Am I pure banality?
And then you realise that you're alone
no one to fed the thirteen year old or the hanging upon the door you.


This is an old poem, written about a year ago, I guess. On the iPad, actually it has an oddly nice feel when you write and I remember I used to have the volume so that the noise of a typewriter would be there.

I have an obsession with keyboards, I love their feel.

We've all danced with death

Saturday, 17 December 2011


I followed him, because isn’t that what the female is supposed to do? Follow the male’s lead and shut up? Mason glanced at me and slowed down, opening his mouth several times in order to say something but nothing would come out and he’d curse at himself because of that. I realized where we were going as he took my hand and I could hear my drama teacher’s bald voice replacing or rather placing a new echo not in only against the walls but in my head as Mason took my hand, quickly glancing at me with a light embarrassed glance.

“I never age.” He chuckled, as I thought about his childlike nature, then. “Never ever.” Sad smile watering the tired, drifting with thoughts face as he pushed the door leading to a sandy snow storm as the drama teacher ignored us acting Hamlet to himself. Pretending it like it was a lollypop to the others while it a microphone clenched in his big hands which usually held scripts or pencil to poke people’s eyes out if they knew nothing too much to act, to act, to act, to act. Because life is a scene, a movie as you wait for your Romeo to poison himself so that you’d easily shoot yourself to fall on his body the blood flowing out with the feelings so that he’d be drenched in them, so that he’d wake up with its disease in the afterlife, as we’d believe in something eternal which we mistake to be love.

It felt different to feel snow hit my face in my soothing away as he inhaled, stretching himself, as if something shone in him. A new and fresh smile now intruded his usual tired and thoughtful expression. Mason jumped on the spot for a while as the snow seemed to go on faster and faster nearly forming a whirlwind for a second, that I expect him to lure me closer t him so that he could grab hold of me capturing my dark green with teal, but nothing happened it rose and died as I thought his hair was now a bad dyed red but just for a second. I brushed off the thought as we headed past the cartoon looking woods further into the town.

“Do you feel like Christmas, Bo?” He grinned at me as I felt his hand go warmer and I just felt colder despite the fact that the wind was long gone. The lights seemed to lack the feeling of easiness they held and how they lured me and a distant sharp trace now held in Mason’s eyes. I hardened the grip on the red head’s fingers as my other arm hugged my body in a failing attempt to warm myself.

I didn’t feel like Christmas at all.

He went through the exit door with me, his fingers warming, the snow raising and failing with his mood changes. His fingers trailed circles onto my palm leaving a circulating print that iced my blood as if he was a walking icicle when he wasn’t.

“You s-said-“

The words were stuck on my throat as well as the snowflakes which never melted forming a snowman out of me, unlike Mason who was barely covered. He shook off the snowflakes off my hair, watching me closely. He raised his fingers and I felt a stone up in my throat. His teal eyes focused on the nude pink steak in my hair. He twirled it for a while, pulling my hat further onto my head, covering the stripe from his view. I couldn’t decide if he was embarrassed or proud that he caught a glimpse of a secret I held.

“Do you want the crowd to go away? Away? Forever and ever?” He whispered, taking my face in my palms, leaning closer to my shaking state. I couldn’t help but stare and wonder how come my mind was as creative when I usually lacked the creativity and I could only play by the guidelines pushing no further, but then it was the feelings I lacked but needed to feel that I showed.

The crowd was gone.

“Do you want the snow to stop?” Was this a trick as the words were stuck in my mouth?

He took them away with his tongue.

“Y-you kissed me.” He nodded and took the rest, incase I’d raise them.


And that's it for Exit.

New novel up next week.

Thank you hope you enjoyed it. Mason and Roberta are a strong couple in my heart.

The initial ending in mind was Roberta meeting Mason's ex, finding out he is dead and having a struggle between Leslie and Mason.

Then as I was posting I had the idea of Mason dying in the Exit, as they all vanish, leaving Roberta behind the door.

But I guess I wanted a happy ending for them, after all.

Friday, 9 December 2011


Wake up
To have your sex filled up

Your blood
Can be sperm
As an orgasm
Where you don’t come
But ends up in my mouth
Fucking up my health
Leukemia at four am.


Wednesday, 7 December 2011

Exit. Chapter 21


I’d wake up to see him there, curled besides me his eyes always opened. Marcie never said a word, never greeted him and neither did Mason. I wondered as I’d see Marcie look past him one point I swore I could see her hand going past the dyed red head and he looked at me horrified as if I’d seen it then he’d just sit down on the floor, looking up, but avoiding my gaze. He’d follow me around sometimes never saying anything but then I never asked him to say anything as his hand would feel lighter.

I never asked him anything because I knew he’d follow me, helping me cheat on tests as something heavy hung in the air reminding of some upcoming storm which seemed nowhere to be seen but just felt like Mason.

He fell asleep once just once his eyelids pressed shut, his body forming a ball, hands under chin, rather one and the other stretched out lazily or rather in fear as if it may make contact with me. I glanced at Marcie who slept peacefully, her lips mouthing a guy’s name and other things she’d call him or she’d get called.

“Mason?” I whispered wondering if he slept or was it a trick. He stirred lightly his fingers stretching touching my neck before pulling away.

“Mnn.” He opened one teal eye soon to shut it again, giving a nearly unnoticeable nod, as he gave out a yawn trying to force himself into a half sitting position but his body refused.

“What’s your room number?” I asked it all of a sudden and his eyes flustered open, as he sat up with his bed hair. I sprung up myself as I waited for his answer it didn’t take long but I had to repeat it several times in my head in order to remember it. 207. It seemed to be craved it my head as he pulled me down reminding how important sleep was. He never touched me while he lay beside me but he just watched me, feeling oddness himself. Mason would ask if I preferred him to sleep on the floor, I’d shake my head, pulling him by the sleeve as I’d feel drowsiness take over me.

He was gone one morning. It felt as if the daily things were gone as I’d desire them to come back and annoy me even if they never did. That was the thing how everything went music changed, life changed and so would the weather if to add something banal.

I found him room number to see a tall curly haired guy look at me amused for a while. He invited me in, but I declined. My urge to mute him down was impossible but I held myself.

“Is your roommate Mason?” I did not know Mason’s last name and what if it was a nickname? The curly haired just shook his head but tried his luck again. He said that further down the hall Mason Jones lived that I must’ve gotten the number wrong. I thanked him and declined once more.

Sometimes it really is soothing to walk the empty male corridors because guys are busy or occupied in the girl’s floor. I inhaled the scent but it reminded me nothing of Mason’s as he’d sometimes lay too close to me that I could feel him brushing myself through the distance contaminated by the air. I never dared to touch him then as we’d both nearly jump of the contact as he’d feel going lighter and so did I. After days he’d turn sleepier and fall into a daze quicker than I would then through my closed eyelids I’d see him sleep. There was no comical ‘close the window’ or ‘I need more blanket’.

“Um, hi. Is Mason here?” I asked a guy my height not so appealing, as he scratched his head in confusion, bursting out into a roll of laughter clutching his stomach. As he laughed he exposed his teeth and held his mouth in a rather disturbing open way that I could feel myself go inside that he wouldn’t choke as if he was a vacuum cleaner waiting to suck me in so that I’d never see Mason again so that I’d have no option besides from accepting.

“I’m Mason, love.” He said as he stopped laughing, leaning his body against the frame, shaking his hair out of his eyes. I hugged myself taking a step back with a nod and a quick apologize.


He glanced at the Mason impostor and walked off into the empty corridor which seemed to echo big mouth’s irritating laughs.


Next up we'll have the last chapter of Exit. Thing with Exit was, halfway I decided to actually read the whole thing and I ended up being a reader rather than a writer for Exit, so Exit remained as I thought unfinished.

Then over the months I started scrapping off things which I kept thinking could have been a continue and well, after some consideration, the initial stop is the end of it, so the next chapter will be the end.

I have a very on and off relation with Exit, as I got scared that I couldn't finnish something I like so much, but maybe it is how it should actually end.


Sunday, 4 December 2011

If I could I'd just make everyone a wanker, like Mark Renton predicted the world to be, but hey, love, we're getting there

I hate the definition of sex
I hate the definition of genders
It’s all because the action contains
A barrier
That the creation
Becomes so fucked
Becomes a hell to enter/consume


Anyone likes the new layout?


Thursday, 1 December 2011

Exit. Chapter 20






“Oh, shut up!” I say as I see the rest of the team stand near me. But nothing comes out. I stare. I open my mouth, but it remains shut.




I bend in two, trying to open my mouth to-

To breathe?

I look up. I feel my knees touch the grass. My left arm aching dragging me towards the ground. A burning flame in my throat, going down, down, down and reaching my heart as I see blurs, flashes of people hovering above me. One after another they flash their footwear digging into the ground, kicking mud into my face not on purpose.

Never on purpose.

Always on purpose.

I feel the scent of grass, but not the feeling of air.

My eyes stop on converse. At least I think they are.


I can’t breathe as I feel some curtain pulling up my body, my skin detaching from my skeleton as my eyes go dry.

“Don’t die.”

I’m dying.

It comes to me slowly as I stare into the four year old eye’s wondering from where she came from. It doesn’t stop me.

So what?

I have no memories to go in front of my eyes.

I never forgave my mother.

I never loved my stepfather despite all of his efforts and his love.

I never forgave my girlfriend for that fling she had.

I gave us both detentions pressing her back then.

I feel some sound appear around, muting everything. I sit up, not feeling my body but feeling a tingle of desire upon my lips. I stare at her in front of me, seeing another blurry image.

I’m dying. You’re dying, she says.

She looks older. I think she does. I see her hair black now-shoulder length, a tuque so low that it nearly covers her eyes. I blink. She’s four years old.

“I love you.” I exhale and lean myself forward, nearly dropping my face into the mud, but managing to press a faint kiss upon her lips.

They both, the image of the seventeen year old Roberta and the real four year old fade out, as the annoying screech takes over my body.

Then I collapse, as it goes inside, tearing me apart, lifting me up.


I apologize for the delays, I've been quite busy, since it's my last ever year of school.

Shocking. I guess the thought or the feel is.

It's the last part of Mason and then we'll have the coda. I'll explain everything later.

Chapter 21