Saturday, November 13, 2010

Memories become individual dreams, and dreams began as mixed memories.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Another Rant coming soon, about the Internet, and how it "Saves" Us

Little Rant on 11/9/10 about, well, read it!

Just a quick rant here.  I need to write this down or I'll just forget, until I remember it again and then forget again later.  Life.  What a word that it, but it's only a word.  I've come to understand and believe that words, and language, no matter what the word or language one says and speaks, really is just filtered information.  This can't be anything new.  There truly is NO way to fully express one's feelings, thoughts, creativity, by just saying it.  It can take so much time and years just to get a thought out there.  Now, if one spends years writing books or poems or making a movie, that's a bit different because you are really making that language into an art form, because you write it, fix it, rewrite it or you film it, edit it, add graphics, special effects, etc. and voila!  You've got a story and movie that people can digest in an couple of hours like in the given time of a movie, or a book, depending on how fast one reads.  But all that work that one puts into something that enormous of a project is completely overlooked when someone is watching a movie or reading that book.  When I was a teenager, movies were fantastic!  There was this element that worked every part of my emotions.  It was alive!  Same with books.  Now, movies and books still make me feel awesome, but not so much as before I found out how many people work on movies, and how much of a budget it costs, that it takes years of exhausting labor and fine tuning that God should be taking notes on how much work is done.  And when done right, it shows within that 2 to 3 hour timeframe.  Books are similar also.  How you have to write it all down, your idea, and then do draft after draft, get a copyrighter, editor, then make sure all the grammar is good, by using just a few ingredients of letters to form words into sentences into paragraphs into chapters into books, leading right down the path to the end of the story.  It's truly exhausting.  So we all know this, right?  So I ask, what about day to day language?  For example, when I talk to someone about a certain event that happened the night before during work, I don't have time to plot out my story to explain it to someone, draw it out, have others help me figure out the most beautiful and captivating way to say it, I just do with whatever "junk" language that spills out given that time frame.  I don't mean the language I'm using is junk.  What I mean it is just the stuff that spills out while my brain is pushing out the words to my throat so I can speak.  There is no beauty in it.  No one could fully understand what you felt in that moment, how you saw it, what the sensations were, the smells, tastes, touches, whatever it was, from finding your lost ipod under a leaf to your walk through through a haunted trail.  So what I'm getting to is:  How much of life is truly expressed, how much can one truly understand another, when they don't have the time, skills, or resources to express themselves?  How can one language of twenty six letters be the finite way to express all the intense chemical and physical and electrical interactions and emotions we all go through on a second to second and minute to minute basis?  Next time you talk to someone and they are trying to explain themselves something to you, count how many times they say the work "like", that small pause while the brain chugs to push out the next word to express that complication picture in your head.  But, have you noticed I typed it once, maybe twice while I babbled here as I typed?  It seems that my brain to fingers method of communication is a lot better when transferring information to someone than my brain to mouth.  Now poetry is a bit different, because we introduce a type of rhythm in words that can related closely to ones inner emotions.  It flows, as does our breath.  That translation from poetry moves into music.  Music, now that to me gets us closer to feelings, to ourselves, and to God, if you want to believe in that right now.  Music is  the best form of communication.  It speaks via lyrics, where if you listen you hear the message, but the message is trapped right there in the sounds and beats themselves, into that primal sense of hearing.  It definitely transcends us, much more than a preacher talking at a podium in a church.  Singing, music, song, should be taught as a new language.  Although I hate musicals, I can understand how some can like it.  I haven't dug it yet, but maybe one day.  So before I mentioned how typing expresses what I am thinking much more effectively than just saying it.  So when you read it, you only get one dimension about what exactly I am trying to tell you.  You read it and it translates something else to you.  One day though, well maybe one day, you'll have all the sensory input plugged into a computer, and when you do type or have a conversation with someone, it will be beautiful and magical, like a two year, forty million dollar, 300 crewman movie.  That'd be a nice letter to mother now, wouldn't it?

Monday, November 8, 2010


In Life we are travelers.  In Death we are time travelers.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Bear at the Door (flash fiction story about Winnie the Pooh. Could never get published because of the Disney characters [copyright laws!] but had a fun time writing it).

The fourth knock and still no answer.
    “Strange”, thought Winnie the Pooh.  Piglet had finished remodeling his Beech Tree house, just south of Pooh Bear’s home.  The two best friends made plans to meet here for lunch.
    Pooh knocked on the wooden door again.  He noticed honey that stained the yellow fur of his knuckles and licked it off, then continued to knock.
    “Piglet, are you home?”  His voice quivered. “Piglet…?” The name trailed off in a high pitch whisper.  Bear began to panic.  Thoughts of his little pink friend stuck under a piece of firewood, or suffering from a rash of some sort frightened Pooh Bear.  He jiggled the brass doorknob, but it was locked.
    What if Piglet were kidnapped by a large-mouth banshee or grumpy, green skinned troll, and they forced him to search the forest beyond Hundred Acre Wood for grasshoppers and butterflies?  The images gave Pooh shivers.
    “Oh bother, think, think, think,” Pooh said aloud.  He coiled back his leg and kicked in the door, cotton muscles working like never before.  The door slammed open.  Pooh was immediately struck with the warmth from a burning fireplace that crackled against the wall.  He crept through the living room and nudged the edge of wooden table, nearly knocking over a lit lantern.  The crackle mixed with that of a bubbling sound.  In the kitchen, Haycorns boiled over in a pot and beside it a jar of honey cooled.  Pooh’s button eyes widened and he headed for the honey.  He picked up the jar and licked his snout, then froze, remembering his friend.  He put the jar down and turned off the stove.
    Pooh Bear called up to the bedroom.  “Piglet, it’s me, Pooh, bear of a little brain, are you up there?”
    No answer.
    Pooh began to climb the curved steps, wood creaking underfoot.  A picture hung on the wall of the staircase.  It was of Pooh sitting on grass eating honey, the golden, sweet food spilt on his red shirt.  Beside him Eeyore’s grey donkey bulk was slumped on the grass, one ear flopped over a sullen eye.  To Pooh’s other side was Tigger in mid bounce, his toothless mouth a wide smile.  On his shoulders sat little Piglet in his signature pink and black striped shirt; his pink ears flapped back, mouth joyfully agape.  Behind them, rich green hills met a blue sky at the horizon.
    Pooh continued up into the bedroom.  Piglet’s foot-long bed sat in the corner underneath a window, and on the bed was a stuffed bear, one that resembled Winnie the Pooh.  Above, the ceiling curled to a close, the tree ending in a point. The fresh smell of carved wood and sap filled the air.  This was Piglet's newly renovated bedroom.  But there was still no sign of Piglet.
    Pooh went back downstairs.  He surveyed the living room once more, putting out the fireplace and lantern, and turned to leave when he spotted a shaft of light that came from the back of the tree house, beneath the steps.  Pooh cautiously walked towards it, tiptoeing on toeless feet.  The door was slightly open and Pooh slowly opened it further.
    The bathtub was empty, aside from a lone yellow duck.  Beside the bathtub was the sink.  The toilet sat in the corner, and light reflected something at its porcelain base.  Pooh noticed the pull chain broken at midpoint.  The handle lay in a puddle of water on the floor.  On the surface of the toilet bowl floated an issue of “A Lovely Bakery” magazine.
    “Oh d-d-dear”, Pooh stuttered the words as if they were Piglets own.  He put his paw against his mouth in shock.  Piglet had accidentally flushed himself down the toilet while performing the “magical number 2”.  He imagined his little pig friend, yanking on the chain.  It then snapped.  Piglet must have plunged back into the basin and thrashed in the swirling water till it took him away.  What was there more to say than goodbye?  Piglet would often joke about traveling into the vortex of water in his bathroom.  Although the small pig was often afraid, he had a brave heart, and decided that his bathroom should be fit for those larger than him, for his guests, that they should be comfortable at least when during potty time.  Pooh then left the house.  He closed the door behind him, sobbing, wiping his eyes of tears while holding the cooled jar of honey under his arm.  He looked up at the sun and saw Piglet’s pink image in the bright yellow bulb in the sky.
    He spoke to the heavens, voice like a weathered, old man's.  “Even though you were number 2 to everyone else, you’ll always be number 1 to me.”

Monday, August 9, 2010

AMALGAMATED: This needs some serious editing as it is an earlier piece, and one that needs much work. If I continue with editing and working this story in the future, I will do so and then repost, but this story has some fun creations in it for you to enjoy.

Urazel clung to the side of the building, talons embedded into the maroon stone that acted as camouflage. The mutant groomed a battered wing with its free hand, feathers dropping to the street below.
It shouldn’t have been like this. Out of control. Monsters fighting, gods hiding,
and those untouched by the Parahuman-Process have now become food.
Urazel scanned the broken city. Scattered fires formed black pillars that rose into the hazed and heated sky. In the distance a bridge toppled at the weight of a spongy mass of tentacles. A dozen cow-sized urchins crowd a nearby building, their spines, sharp and strong as steel, puncture the brick siding. Tongues slip from the spines--tasting, smelling, and searching for hidden humans. A ten-legged arachnid with a serpentine neck and crocodile head shoves cars aside in search of prey. A block away, Bipedal blue furred cycloptic gorillas surround a crimson half horse, with its upper body that of a Mantis. It held in its grasping arms a human torso. The hybrid hissed, exposing its bloodied mandibles. The Alpha of the apes charged the insect-aur. The Mantid-ine attempted flight, but its equine base weighed it down, forcing it to drop the mutilated body. It flew away unsteadily as the cycl-apes rushed the meat. The Alpha beat at the four lesser ones, dragging the torso away into a building, leaving a trail of blood and guts for the others to feast on.
    I cannot fight them all. I’m not strong enough.
Urazel leapt to a lower rooftop, landing quietly on the balls of its feet. It walked to a pool of water and stared at its reflection. One of its twelve horns had broken and fangs were covered in pink blood of another creature. Only three of four pigment-less eyes were functional.
    They are growing too strong. The rotten experiments, rotten disease of progress has given the new beasts strength, and with that they have lost their function to reason. I fear if I do not feed as they do, I will not survive, but what shall I do? I will not lose my reason, my mind, my Self.
Urazel washed its face with the water.
    The cowardly gods have gone, hiding beneath us in their digital dungeons. Have they forgotten that we are stemmed from the seeds of all living things? Have they not remembered they are the creations, as we are the mutations of man?
A motion near the roof’s doorway broke thought. Urazel expanded the good wing, arched spines on its back, hissed and exposed all three rows of teeth. The door opened, and an elderly human emerged. He limped slowly towards the wounded beast.
    “Hello,” whispered the man.
Urazel stood ground. Thorns rose from its neck and shoulders.
    “Please. I know you, Urazel, we humans all do.” The man raised his hands, palms faced outwards. “You have tried to help us, tried to protect us.” The elder stopped a few feet from Urazel who towered over the human, nearly two feet above his six. The man’s face was bruised, his clothes worn and left leg bled, pant ripped at the thigh.
    “We, I, have been looking for you for some time now.”
Urazel growled, gargled briefly, adjusting vocals. The gargling turned to audible sound, working with black lips. “Why?” echoed a genderless voice.
    “I am here to help you.”
Urazel cocked its head.  “Are you a Para as I am? You look weak. Is there an army of you? Weapons of old?”
The man lowered his head. “No army. No weapons. They are all gone. And I am human, pure and untouched by the Para-Process.”
    “So what good are you then,” replied Urazel, whipping its tail.
    “Because you need to feed. And I have something to give you, something to help you fight your kind. Something in me.” The elder’s eyes watered. He licked his lips, hydrating them with his tears.
    “I don’t eat humans. I’ll eat lesser prey or food from your supply stores, but I won’t eat humans!”
    “You must do this. It will make you stronger, better than before. Just this one time… Please do this for us.”
    “No,” said the chimera as it prepared to leap off the building. The old man grabbed its wrist, cutting his hand on razor sharp scales. Urazel’s body trembled, glands between its groin and on its chest puffed in excitement.
    What is this? My horn is growing back, as is my eye. And my wing! It is healed, and tauter than before.
With sharpened sight, Urazel noticed an object in one of the fallen skyscrapers. In the haze of the smoke there was a gaping mouth filled with sharp teeth and a single eye cradled in the gut of the building, hanging on yellow nerves and muscle tendons that webbed within. It watched the two from the distance.
    “Hide!” Urazel and the man hid behind the wall of the doorway.
The man was holding his bleeding hand. Urazel grabbed it, leathery palm dry against the blood, and shook in ecstasy.
    “In my blood is a source of newly developed material. They are genes specially made by the remaining prodigies of our straggling species.”
The healed mutant looked over the doorway. The ocular carnivore’s attention was elsewhere.
    “And why must it be in a human?”
The elder sighed. “I don’t know. I’m no scientist. All I know is that it was difficult and risky creating this serum. I am the only carrier. I am the tool for this mission.”
Urazel crouched so eyes can meet. “And what is your name, tool?”
    “Poe,” smiled the man.
    “Poe. I cannot eat you. I am not like them,” Urazel pointed below.
    “But you must. That is how you’ll change and become more powerful!” Poe raised his bloody fist in anger. “We’ve seen them, those like you. They grow, eating us because we are weak and unable to fight back.” He lowered his gaze. “Many have died protecting me. Two are dead in the stairwell, fatally injured defending me. I chose this, Urazel, because I want to help what’s left of us.” He sobbed. “I am old, and my time is short.” Poe looked to the sky. “I remember when this place was fine. Before this change.”
The building suddenly shook, knocking the two down. A deep groan came from below and the edge of the building crumbled. Yellow and green tentacles covered in eyes rose above and around them. It was the bridge killer, the building dwelling eye a watcher for the massive sponge. Urazel covered Poe, unable to take flight, caged by the slithering limbs. Poe grabbed Urazel by the horns, pulling its face towards his.
    “Eat me!”
The roof collapsed and they fell into the darkness. The blob tore at the building in pursuit, a bulk of bubbly flesh engulfing the entire building. There was no escape. Urazel then bit into Poe’s neck. The old man gargled blood. Four eyes sobbed as teeth bit down deeper. Poe shuddered, dying seconds later. Urazel felt energy tingle from its wings to its toes. The protector immediately began eating, decapitating the corpse, tearing at the skull. Grey brain matter smeared against chin.
The blob completely covered them now. It oozed fluid that began dissolving Urazel’s skin and scales. The winged beast ate faster, sucking out eyes, snapping bones and tearing apart chest, swallowing heart and lungs in one gulp. It moved down the body, slurping intestines like spaghetti, gnawing at thigh and privates, nearly choking in the process. Nausea struck instantly causing Urazel to curl into a fetal position. The blob formed a womb of digesting layers around Urazel, who nearly fainted.
Then the human savior held its breath, heart frozen in chest. Urazel’s cells exploded like bubble wrap, releasing energy of a thousand lightning storms. The energy electrified the yellow behemoth, stunning it momentarily. Urazel’s body curled in tighter till it liquefied into a glowing sphere, thoughts concentrated in its center.
    I can see everywhere! Poe, I thank you, for you have given me the power which no other amalgamated monstrosity has; the power of the gods.
The sponge creature withdrew its attack. The Urazel sphere levitated above the sponge and the building like a floating luminescent jellyfish. Thousands of glassy tube-like appendages ejected from the sphere, zigzagging into the yellow flesh. It began sucking up the mass, feeding the sphere. The leviathan’s many eyes fluttered as it was torn apart like cotton, till it was gone. The U sphere moved over the city, ejecting the tubes, feeding on the other parahumans, chimeras, and hybrid beasts. The tubes extended a mile away within seconds, sensing them even when in hiding.
    I have become the hunter, and the hunter is now my prey.
The tubes found a group of sheltered humans in the bowels of a building. They were beaten, weak and frail, shivering in fear. The extensions analyzed them, glowing in blue energetic light. One tube touched a younger female, feeling her against it. She stood motionless, tears welling up in her brown eyes. Sensing fear, the tube retracted, disappearing instantly.
    Soon I will become strong enough and I will find the gods. I will make them fix things, even if I must feed on them.
Urazel continued towards the horizon, slowly brightening as the sky grew dark.
    And I will become a new sun for survival, having cleansed this world of its wretchedness until all that is left is I and the human remnants, which then will feed on me, and then the feeding will hopefully end as a new growth of humanity begins.


HYDRUS: This needs some serious editing, but I don't feel passionate enough to continue working on it. The name and some of the ideas migrated to a screenplay I'm working on. Written in 2009.

Word Count – 4,687

"You haven't changed," said the soft whisper of a female voice.
    Leon opened his eyes and withdrew his side arm from the holster attached to his wetsuit. He pressed it against the woman's throat.
    "Who are you?” he whispered back. He rose from the shallow water and adjusted his stance, balancing himself as the ocean waters jostled the room from outside its’ walls.
    Before she had a chance to reply, Leon checked her for any weapons but found none. What he found was a petite, curvy body wrapped tightly in an orange wetsuit. She slowly lifted her hands and removed her orange hood revealing a wide-eyed, angelic face, full lips, and light brown, silken skin. She pushed wet, brown curls away from her face. A white surgical mask hung from her neck.
    The two stared in silence. Leon took a few deep breaths, inhaling the scent of ocean water and the rubber of his suit. He paced his breathing, controlling his nerves the way he had been trained as a former Navy Seal.
    "I said, who are you?" he demanded, gun now positioned center mass.
    "My name is Dr. Latroya. Josele Latroya,” trembled the words with the trace of a Latin accent.
    Leon's piercing stare was a sign he wanted more information.
    "I'm one of the scientists here on Hydrus.”
    "Don't move," he pointed at her while holstering his gun.
    Leon looked the room over. The ceiling above him was caked with the blue foamy substance that had released the yellow gas, which caused his blackout.
    He tried recollecting his memories: The six mercenaries lifted from an aircraft carrier, the chopper’s blades silently thumping against air. Then the drop into the black water onto a blacker raft. They followed the moons glow like a path to the water complex called Hydrus. The complex resembled a series of connected large square paper lanterns with a glowing orange aura. Leon recalled the silent infiltration through one of the exterior portals. The team split. Within minutes of the search, the team, maintaining communication via headset, confirmed that the complex was void of anyone, but something had happened. Water was almost knee deep, lukewarm against Leon’s wetsuit. And the strange material that lined the corners and covered the ceilings, only a couple of feet above him. There was the sound of popping then a puff, the taste of copper and lime as he breathed in the chemicals. Then darkness. In the darkness Leon heard the splashing of his weapon.
    He got on his knees and searched the water. Books floated in his path, as did other items. Beneath a floating blanket he found his ASM Assault rifle. He checked the weapon, at times glancing at Dr. Latroya. Once everything looked functional, he relaxed. I'm whole again.
 Leon placed the rifle onto a long thin object connected to the wall. A lone pillow sat on it. The room had various niches built into its walls where cups, pictures and other items were shelved. A small window looked out into the black emptiness of night.
    Leon checked his black military wetsuit for any damage, then his face, broad chin rough and unshaven. He felt the scar running through his eyebrow. No damage. He then searched for his night vision goggles. They were near the corner of the room where he had fallen. He picked up the optical gear, looking through them. The water damage had been too severe, rendering the goggles useless. They splashed in the corner as he tossed them away. Cheap shit. Commander Stacks provided them with their accessories. The Commander preferred spending on weapons and not on extended items. “A true warrior needs only what God has given him, but when you got money, you buy the good stuff,” were his superior’s words.
    "Have you seen any of the others in my unit?" He kept glancing up at the strange material. It looked thick as mud, pinpricks scattered about its surface.
    "Others? No. There's no one left."
    "No one? You haven’t seen anyone from my team?" Leon pulled back his black hood, and ran his hand through his short black hair. “And what of the twenty or so civilians working here?”
    Josele shook her head.
    Leon exhaled deeply. He tore a piece of the wet blanket and wrapped it around his neck. He adjusted it so it would work as a mask when necessary.
    Josele stared at him. His face had both Caucasian and Indian features. His six-foot frame was lean in the wetsuit. Brown eyes reflected the orange glow of the cubicle.
    "Why are you staring at me like that?"
    "I'm sorry." She averted her eyes.
    Leon pulled on the headset transceiver attached to his hood.
    "Commander Stacks, Leon here. What’s your position?”
    "Crater, Flip, you guys there?"
    More static.
    "Skelter, Hyena, do you---."
    The static turned to male coughing. Then a panting voice yelled.
    "Leon, man, it's me, Flip." The voice was high and fast, panicked.
    "Flip, where are you? Have you seen the others?"
    "No man, I haven't. But something's wrong bro. This was a trap! We fell into a trap. There's blue shit everywhere, and --argh!" Flip howled in pain, deafening in the transceiver.
"Flip! What happened? Flip!"
    The howl turned to a high pitched hissing sound, followed by what sounded like someone exhaling deeply, then growling and gurgling, followed by silence.
    "Flip!" Realizing something horrible had occurred, Leon grabbed his rifle and Josele's arm. "What the hell is going on here?"
    Josele winced in pain. "Let me go!"
    She pulled from his grip. "There are things in the other rooms. Creatures. I don't know what they are." She rubbed her arm.
    "What Creatures?"
    "I don't know." She crossed her arms, rubbing her shoulders.
    Leon tried the transceiver again, but heard nothing.
    "Okay, I've got to get to the raft. There are flares there. The chopper can-."
    "No, the raft is destroyed. As are the eight on this complex.”
    "Destroyed? How do you know?" Leon scowled.
    "Because I tried to get to yours,” she replied, evading eye contact.
    Leon punched the glowing wall. He took a deep breath. Think.
    "Okay, I know through the briefing that there are thirty-six connected rooms that make up Hydrus. Two of them are radio and navigational rooms. They are both in the northern sector from this location. Can you take me there?"
    Josele didn’t respond. Leon shouldered his rifle and stepped in front of her.
    “Can you take me there,” he pressed.
    She hesitated. “Yes.”
    “The radio equipment, is it functional?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Well, let’s find out. Stay close behind me.” Josele kept her gaze down as he spoke to her. “Thank you.”
    “For what?” Her voice sounded surprised.
    “For saving me. I would’ve, should’ve drowned.” Leon gestured to the water.
    “You’re welcome.” She grinned.
    Leon nodded. “Let’s go.”

    The two crept down two more corridors and through two civilian rooms. Leon led the way, navigated by Josele. Her body was inches from his, and his hand often brushed back, ensuring her close proximity. Leon inspected each room carefully, eyes drifting every few seconds to the blue foam that covered the ceilings. He muzzled his face during the trek, as did Josele. Water had flooded every room. He listened for any sounds of movement, but there was only the creaking of the complex as it rocked, bending the flexible corridor.
    The overwhelming silence and disturbing reality of his situation struck Leon as they searched through the empty complex, floating miles from shore. He pulled the fabric from his mouth. “What happened here? What knocked me out?” He rolled his eyes up, “and what got Flip?”
    Josele pulled down her mask.
    “I don’t know. I hid,” she responded quickly.
    Leon sensed deception. “Don’t lie to me.”
    “I’m not.” She paused. “There was-.“
The faint sound of hissing resonated from down one of the corridors.
    Leon aimed his rifle in the direction but heard nothing else.
    He moved back, keeping Josele behind him. The room began to slowly dim, its orange glow fading.
    “What’s going on? Is this place losing power?”
    “Attenuation.” Josele replied.
    “Loss of light. Hydrus is made of new material. It runs by photon-driven localization.” She sighed. “The absorption of light.”
    “And it runs out at night?”
    “It’s a work in progress, not yet perfected.”
    “Shit.” Leon huffed. “Which way?”
    Josele pointed to the corridor to the right. They moved carefully through the corridor. Leon suddenly stopped. He heard the sound of crunching ahead. Carefully, he turned and hushed Josele. She nodded.
    He moved towards the sound silently. In the room ahead shadows jumped, stretching and reshaping into indistinguishable forms. Fabric tearing coupled with the crunching. The hissing and moaning bellowed as Leon inched closer. Leon turned the corner, gun aimed.
    There, in the corner of the room was what Leon thought must have been a man sized statue until the shape moved, its crabs legs stretching out beneath a finned back, lobster arms clipping in motion. Its head turned.
    Leon gasped.
    Large black eyes goggled at Leon. Fins around its mouth separated and the creature hissed, howling loudly. With a yell Leon opened fire. The bullets tore at the fins. It raised it claw in protection, deflecting the bullets with the solid limb. It released a deafening cry before retreating with sudden speed into a side corridor, scurrying on eight crab legs.
    “Stop!” Cried Josele lunging at Leon, slamming him against the wall. Bullets punctured the sludge-covered ceiling. A gooey yellow substance seeped from the holes.
    “Don’t shoot!”
    In a flash Leon recovered from the shove, grabbing Josele by the throat, pointing the gun into her face.
    “Back off.”
    Leon released the hold on her. He glanced in the direction of where the creature had been. There was a shredded black wetsuit floating on the water. Leon picked it up and analyzed it. The knife was still sheathed, as was the gun. The suit was large, and could only fit two in his unit. Traces of blood bordered the torn edges.
    “Oh god.” Leon rubbed his temples.
     Josele continued rubbing her neck when he turned to her. He raised his gun, finger on the trigger.
    “You don’t understand what’s happening here. It’s complicated,” She panted.
    There was a long pause. Josele leaned her back against the wall, hands to her side. Leon looked back over his shoulder, but kept his rifle pointed at her.
    “What is this place?” He asked as he lowered his weapon.
    Josele closed her eyes.
    “This place is a city on the sea. Free terrain to explore new forms of just about anything Mr. Pricehaven wants funded. Particularly a specific dormant organism that-”
    Leon interrupted in disbelief. “The oil tycoon? He owns this?”
    “-Yes.” Josele continued. “He had this structure built. For use in international, ungoverned waters.” Josele rubbed her neck again.
    “What organism are you talking about? What did you do here?”
    “It was discovered during an oil extraction from Mr. Pricehaven’s oil rig north of here. It was nothing more than crystallized specks until we reanimated it into that,” she pointed above.
    Leon turned his gaze to the ceiling. The viscous goop dripped down in long strands. “That?” He pointed.
    “Yes, that. We call that Medusa 177.”
    The shrill of a creature farther away echoed. Leon readied his weapon.
    “Finish. I want to know what I’m dealing with here.”
“It’s a very old sea organism, similar to Hydrozoa. But it was trapped deep beneath the ocean floor.”
    “That,” Leon once again pointed to the blue foam, “turns to that?” He pointed to the corridor.
    “And you awakened something that killed all these people and my team?”
    Josele lowered her gaze.
    The room shuddered, shaking the two.
    “What now?” Sighed Leon. “Okay, lets move. The radio room. Now.”
    They entered the recreational room. Water was near waist deep and the blue foam thicker. The room was larger, with an air hockey table in the corner. A flat and wide beam in its center had two Flat Screen televisions embedded on either side. The tips of four chairs peaked above the water. Other gaming paraphernalia floated or were embedded into the walls. There were four corridors leading into the room.
    “Why aren’t there any doors in the rooms or hallways? You don’t mind people walking around, barely any privacy or security?”
    “Mr. PriceHaven conducted extensive personality profiles and background checks. Privacy and security are a non issue.”
    Water bubbled on the other side of the beam.
    “Stay behind me,” he whispered.
    Leon focused on the room as a whole, and listened to both he and Josele’s heartbeats and the sound of ocean water clapping on the outer walls.
    The sound of a third heartbeat joined theirs. The darkness moved quickly towards him. Leon turned his weapon at the corridor to his left. His rifle met with a lobster claw that withdrew it from his grasp. The claw crushed the metal weapon as if it were a child’s toy. Its pincher arm grabbed Leon by the throat and slammed him against the wall, the course texture of the pincher rubbing his skin raw.
    Leon tried prying the pinchers apart in vain. The creature lifted him till they were face to face. Leon struggled, curling his legs and propping them against its body. He pushed with no effect. Leon struggled until something familiar about the beast forced him to observe it.
    Fins covered its mouth; large black eyes hovered over a flat wide nose. Its head was human in shape, but the scalp was covered in rows of fins, antennae sprouting from its forehead, skin a dark brown. The smell of ammonia leaked from its body. The black of its eyes flapped back, revealing very human eyes Leon recognized.
    “Skelter?” choked Leon.
    Leon gazed into the round brown eyes of his fellow mercenary. The mouth fins retracted back into skin where a lipless mouth opened.
    “L-E-O-N.” Skelter’s words were deep and broken. His teeth resembled shards of thin glass.
    Leon’s eyes scrolled down. A solid maroon shell armored Skelter's chest, thinning down towards his torso, merging with the crab legs. His short neck propped on armored shoulders. Large lobster claws extended from behind his back. Human arms exposed from beneath his plated chest. Skelter's arms were still large; his physical strength had been amplified in his new form. Skelter raised a spiny covered hand and extended a sharp finger.
    Leon battled the thought that his once fellow mercenary had been turned to this monstrosity. “Skelter, please.”
    With a swipe Skelter cut Leon’s forehead.
    “Argh!” With a roar Leon raised his right leg, grabbed his pup knife and rotated his arm up and over the claw and plunged the knife into Skelter’s neck. Clear fluid mixed with dark crimson squirted as Leon plucked the blade before striking down again.
    Skelter screeched, tossing Leon across the room. Leon struck the wall hard, flashes of white dancing in the darkness of his vision. He fell in the water, thrashing to remain conscious.
    Josele went to his aid but Leon resisted. He rose angrily out of the water, rubbing his throat and withdrawing his pistol. He aimed it at the young scientist.
    “You bitch, you lying bitch.” Blood streamed from the gash on his forehead, down through the grooved scar on his brow till it painted his gritted teeth.
    She held her face, sobbing in the near darkness.
    “I should have known from the beginning. You trapped us here. I remember the words. You haven’t changed.” Leon wiped the blood from his face, but the blood continued. He waded closer to her, gun aimed. “You brought us here. To become monsters. To become your experiments.”
    “No!” Josele shouted through sobs. “No, we all wanted to change. You must understand we aren’t monsters! We are better now, they are better now!” She continued to cry, grasping her shoulders.
    “And You? You are fine!”
    “You don’t understand. I’m not fine. Not yet.” Her gentle cries trailed. She sniffed, exhausted from the onslaught of emotions.
    Leon removed the rag from his neck and wrapped it around his head, tightening it with one hand.
    The room violently shook. The sound of tearing plastic came from all directions. In the darkened passageways were three hulking creatures. Their claws tore at the corridor, slicing it like scissors through paper. Only the single extended corridor leading through to the laboratory rooms remained.
    “No!” Leon opened fire at the beasts, the gun’s pulsing flashes lighting the room like photo snapshot, the popping sounds married to the image. But the shaking of the room displaced his shots.
    The creatures separated the corridors and pushed the rest of the complex away. One of them stared at Leon as it floated away. It was smaller than Skelter but identical in form, with lobster limbs and crab legs, a chest plate. Its skin was lighter in tone. Something glinted on its chest. Leon barely made out the dog tags that hung around its neck. He only knew one person who still wore them: Hyena. Hyena hissed. From his back burst long spiny fins, erect and taut like a boat’s sails. Hyena dove into the water, its back fins gliding above and through the water before disappearing beneath Leon and the dismembered section of the complex.
    “No…” Dribbled the word. Leon huffed in exhaustion, licking the metallic taste of blood from his lips.
    Josele inched her way towards him, placing her hand gently on his slumped shoulder.
    “Please listen to me. Nothing is over. Nothing is wrong. You are special. That is why this is all happening. They need you. They need a leader.” Her words were maternal, soothing and carefully spoken.
    Leon sighed. “This isn’t real, this can’t be real.”
    Josele circled to face him, cupping her hands to his face.
    “Come with me.” She took his free hand and led him through the water into the darkness of the corridor. He held the pistol tight in his other, barrel pointed down.

    Leon and Josele entered the core of Hydrus, the laboratories. The outer walls remained but the interior walls, connecting corridors, ceiling and floor were torn out, making one big room. The cloudless sky allowed the moon to spotlight the scene. Beneath where the abysmal Pacific waters should have been was a cauldron of thick blue liquid, similar in color and texture to the foamy substance that had coagulated on the complex’s ceilings. Steam rose from its surface. Leon stood at the edge. The familiar smell of copper and lime sickened him, reminding him of the gaseous assault that had triggered the nautical nightmare in this labyrinth, far from any shore or land. From the remaining corridors emerged the creatures, and what had once been Leon’s comrades. They hissed as they stood at the corridor entrances. To Leon’s left was the smallest creature.
    “Flip?” Leon questioned with a whisper. He recognized the Filipino tribal tattoo on its right arm, faint beneath the transformed glossy skin.
    The beast in the corridor across from Leon was the largest one. It outsized Skelter by nearly a quarter mass. It was Crater, his fellow mercenary and ex-Marine. The Samoan was a monster even before the transformation. Dark round spots dotted his chest plate and left claw. Bullet marks.
    Skelter glared at Leon from the corridor to the right. He rubbed the wound on his neck. It looked nearly healed.
    From the liquid pool rose the spiny fins of Hyena. The blue liquid oozed off his fins and down his spiny back, down his eight legs. He crawled out and stood between Crater and Skelter.
    Leon turned to Josele. She continued to stare at him. Her eyes begged his to follow hers as they turned to the pool below.
    Two glowing objects rose to the surface. Leon initially thought they were two sacks of jellyfish, but as they continued rising, he saw what they really were. The bell-shaped heads were attached to thin upper torsos. Jellyfish-like tentacles fell from their heads and shoulders, draping down into the liquid. Other tentacles bobbed up and out of the water, extending towards Leon. Their skin was transparent, human brain visible beneath, pulsing with an electric glow. Round human eyeballs connected to nerve endings, which then connected to the brains. The glowing spinal cords consisted mainly of nerves; electricity coursing up and down, extending into arms and hands attached to the torsos. Glowing hearts slowly pumped, connected to tubes and translucent looking lungs with slices in them, similar to gills. The mouths had lesser nerves connected to it. Mouths moved wordlessly.
    Leon retreated, back against the wall.
    “What, what is this?” He stared at the alien masses.
    Josele stepped to him, touching his arm. “Two of the twenty of us here on Hydrus.”
    “They’re not human,” the words filtered through clenched teeth.
    “No, they are better. As are your friends. That is what the Medusa 177 organism does, Leon. It changes any form of life into a bundle, an amalgamation, of one-hundred and seventy seven sea organisms which makes up the Medusa 177.”
    “How?” He gestured to the glowing organisms with his gun. “They don’t look better!” Leon rubbed his temple. “Why would you do this? Why would a man like PriceHaven do this?”
    “PriceHaven doesn’t know about what happened here. He is unaware that the Medusa is alive and active. He only knows that his multi-million dollar investment has vanished, and that’s why he contacted your company and commander. But we,” she pointed to the two creatures, “had other plans. This is a chance for us to create a new civilization.” Her voice for the first time sounded confident and excited. “Free from greed and corruption.”
    Leon looked her up and down. “Why haven’t you changed then?”
    “I wasn’t gifted yet. I needed to stay like this,” she patted her chest, “so I can call for more people.”
    “Gifted or infected?” Leon looked at his team. “Is your whole group down there? Warped like,” with fingers spread he gestured to the others in the room, “them?”
    Josele nodded, a slight smile on her face. “Yes. They are all below. Waiting.”
    “For what?”
    “For you Leon to become the new army’s leader.”
    “Army of what? Monsters?”
    “They are not monsters!” Josele clasped her hands together. “An army to protect us while me and my colleagues build new cities and create new life below. But we need someone to lead our warriors through the depths.” Josele closed her eyes. “Eventually others will find out about us and the Medusa 177, and we will have to protect our new world.”
    Leon violently shook his head in disgust. “I’m not going to become one. I’d rather die.”
    Josele sighed. She turned her hands upwards toward Leon.
    “You are already infected. That’s why I led you here. It’s in your blood. You breathed it in. But your body is strong, stronger than the others.” She placed her hands on his shoulders. “You are very special, and you will change into something powerful.”
    Leon shoved her back. The mutated mercenaries hissed, lobster limbs pinching the air aggressively. The two glowing jelly’s slightly submerged. Josele waved her hand passively. The creatures silenced again.
    “I understand your anger. But there is nothing left but this for you. Eventually you will change, whether it is here or on the streets back home. Either way you will become something else. Something better.” Her words were strict and strong, contrasted from her previous fragile state.
    “I can’t become a monster if I’m dead.”
    Leon put the gun against his temple.
    Josele raised her hands. “Don’t do that, please.”
    “Leon!” A crackled voice came from the corridor behind Josele. It was a familiar sound, deep and hoarse.
    A partly mutated form exited the corridor near the two, walking/crawling laboriously towards them. It stopped behind Josele.
    “Put the gun down soldier!”
    Leon did as Commander Stacks ordered. He stared at the half nude African American team leader. His mouth was still human, as was his right eye, right ear, and part of his torso. One leg remained, the other replaced by a crab leg, as other legs extended from behind him. A lobster arm rounded from his back, pointing downwards. The top of his scalp grew multi colored spines.    “Commander?” Leon stared.
    “Listen, I ain’t got much time boy.” Com. Stacks grimaced in pain. “It hurts in spurts but after the pain, comes the power. I feel thirty years younger, but even better than that. Like bein’ born and knowin’ bout it.”
    “Commander, this is crazy.”
    “No boy, it ain’t. It’s like I told you before,” Stacks winced in pain again, his face puffing, curling in change, “We are the weapons, and I feel like I’m becomin’ a much more powerful weapon, and soldier.” The commander’s face contorted, fins sprouting, covering his mouth. Skin bubbled and morphed, legs popped with a tearing sound of flesh. Bones cracked and twisted. Commander Stacks slumped on his newly acquired legs. He twisted his body slightly, and Leon saw gills where a ribcage would be located. The commander’s black eye covers squished back, human eyes on Leon. One of the black lids winked at him.
    Josele slowly took hold of the gun. “You won’t need this anymore.” She held his hand. “Just so you know, it wouldn’t have killed you. With Medusa in you now, you would regenerate.” Josele shoved him gently. “Go to them now.”
    The two creatures in the pool once again extended their tentacles, eyes watching, mouths gaping.
    Leon walked towards them. He spoke without turning. “Will I remember anything?”
    ”Yes. The Medusa just changes you physically, changing your shape to better suit you in the environment below. But you’ll live for a long time, so you’ll have time to remember new things Leon.”
    The tentacles scanned and caressed him. They were soft, warm to the touch.
    “It’s time, Leon.”
    Leon looked at his peers. They watched, waiting patiently. He sat at the edge before submerging fully into the blue liquid. The two creatures wrapped their tentacles around him, holding Leon beneath the surface. He struggled, thrashing as he became fully submerged from head to toe. He gulped the blue liquid, choking on it. More of the jellyfish-like humanoids rose, forming a circle around Leon.
    Josele watched from a distance. Leon’s body rose out of the water, back arched on a bed of tentacles. His skin changed to a bluish gray tone, thick and smooth. His eyes split, separating, forming into a face like a hammerhead shark. Three spikes rose from his balding scalp. His body tightened, muscles flexed. Teeth fell out, replaced with sharp thin fangs. His body trembled as the wetsuit tore, thighs bulged and bubbled, mutating into long gray-brown octopus-like tentacles. His fingers extended, long and sharp at their tips. He hadn’t made a sound throughout the whole transformation.
    One of Josele’s gelatinous colleagues gestured her to the corridor behind Crater. Josele nodded, and made her way carefully to the room. The thrashing sounds from the other room continued as she turned on the radio controls, clicked a few buttons, and talked into a microphone. She looked back as the thrashing began to die down.
    “May-day, May-day, this is Hydrus. Please, anyone, May-day.”
    Slight static.
    “May-day, anyone, Do you copy? Over.”
    The static amplified before a voice came on.
    “This is the USS Chryton. What’s the situation. Over.”
    Josele forced fake tears.
    “Please! Pirates, they’re attacking us. You’ve got to help us, please! I’m Dr. Josele LaTroya of project Hydrus. We’ve been attacked. Send troops, as many as you can!”
    “We’re zeroing in on your location. Remain calm. Help will be there shortly.”
    “Please,” Josele turned back again towards the corridor. She watched as the new Leon stared back through morphed eyes. The other Jelly’s bobbed around him.
    She smiled. “As many soldiers as you can.”
    Leon descended into the water. Josele turned off the radio. She removed the mask from her neck, tossing it aside. With a continued smile she walked back into the laboratory room.


Monday, April 19, 2010


Of all the things I lost,
I miss my mind the most...

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Spooky Action at a Distant Star

I never understood until I died, and was resurrected that I didn't die, I moved.  From semen and egg I was born, built with architectural instructions for creating a body.  But why?  So we can age and die.  While time kills all, our atoms don't die, but take the space that is far away, making into ours.  They don't travel, but interact with the mass galaxy which one choses to occupy, a galaxy for everyone who is alive, has ever lived, and will ever live.  The Universe is flying away, split by an energetic darkness in the sky.  But I, as all who are alive, move on, each moment a particle of being exists, it is a moment it will interact and move without mediation, exist in two places.  I, through death, have been complete, abroad in my own world, alive, not dead, among the stars, creating, living, keeping things alive.  My existence in flesh and blood was  a creation, an interaction here on this wing of the universe, but elsewhere, where the universe expands I live not to breath but to exist in the pattern in which my flesh and blood carcass printed my existence, where my pattern was born when I died, but never died, just moved to the other side.

Going to make a T-shirt out of this phrase too

Don't live to DIE, die to LIVE...

Gonna make a T-shirt out of this phrase


Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Ensemble - Poem written in mid to late 1990's

A sad light shines on the stock-still doll,
immobile by a stock-still pond.
His clothing soaked and glistening,
thin threads holding their bond.
The water slowly shimmers,
vibrating to a song.
Out comes a stunning creature,
her character quaint and strong.
She enters his lone fantasy,
and drifts to where he lay.
Wild colors bridge through his insanity,
a light to guide his way.
Is this a dream?
Can it be real?
His mind races for a sign.
He closes his eyes,
dives through dark shadows,
with someone there to find.
They hold one another,
meshing arms,
a light grows in his heart.
If this is a dream,
with passion there,
then never shall they part.

I Love New York - Poem written for class - 11/28/2000

The drone of bees hummed in the streets.
Time became a God within the subconscious.
Faith became a sign set in numbers and names.
Looking at the faces, I searched for my savior,
but all the blank stares held a cloning behavior.
A brush of the shoulder and an simple "hello",
would put me in motion,
my green light to go.
But all that I see are limbless figures,
with no mouths to breathe.
A city of eyes in the shadows of billboards.
Decay is accepted in this city of hives,
where survival becomes an object,
and simplicity is forgotten.
Hidden beneath the high rise structures,
the steeples and chapels
echo lost lectures.
Drowned away by the humming of the hives,
where time is our Lord,
and currency is our lives.
Hail Mary, mother of manhattan.

High and Low - Poem done for class, based on Escher's Up and Down lithograph piece - 11/28/2000

In the highs and lows
mirrors reflect those that are hidden.
Shadows walk and talk with me,
but never hide me in the darkness.
whether there is snow on the ground,
wind in the air,
or water in a reservoir,
I'm surrounded by reflections.
And no matter how hard I try
to see both high and low,
front and back,
or side to side,
I know that all is just a reflection,
and that one day those reflections
will be stretched into just the highs,
or maybe just the lows,
but also,
the in between.

What I Am - Poem written in late 1990's, early 2000's

I fear.
I fear what I am, how I stare at my reflection,
and asking why?
Why do I look as I do,
as I move, and for whom?
What style of eyes shed blinding cries,
a face I just don't know.
An awkward nose, thin frame of mine,
and hair that'll never cease to grow.
I am a victim once again,
of a natural cry,
to touch, to pry,
forever I ask why?
In space I flee,
a comet led by a force with a smile,
a smile meant for me.
Space dents its prints so peacefully,
and shaped for souls unborn.
What do I fear but unknown saints,
whom I scorn.
Why do they play with the sharpest of blades,
pricking an unfit belly where lint takes its collection.
A vessel for the spirit world,
a robot built to perfection.
For whom, I ask.
For why?
I just don't know.

Mystery - Poem written in late 1990's, almost became lyrics, but didn't

Floating high above the clouds,
the mountains are all I see.
Neanderthal-like visionary,
time clashes far and free.
A mystery of life's cruel ways,
two years of destiny.
Chaos playing its puppetry,
Mankind beneath the strings.
If only my heart could speak,
the truth would flow in red,
of a mystery so painful,
the stabbing words I dread.
The nurturing of energy,
the gift of purity.
Above the clouds,
sun shine on me,
far from reality.
Trapped within Man's selfishness,
I scroll the soul to be.
Caught in my own technology,
I am a mystery.

Bitten - Poem written in late 1990's

Bitten by an angry spider,
I fled for Fate's open arms.
Attacked, struck, bitten,
by an enemy I did not choose,
a dwarfed soul to humanity,
whose cavern I invade.
The darkness swells,
night draping cold arms about me.
Cradled in a force of blackened night,
I am bitten once again.
Caressed by a web of shadows I invaded,
I destroyed.
The tears of my enemy are felt piercing my skin,
as its teeth sink deep within.
I am touched  by a soul greater, broader than mine.
An untaught heart thumping before me.
I cry in my wisdom of stupidity,
As I am struck again, and again...
As I feel my enemy's warmth,
tears flowing peacefully,
the fangs sheath once again,
and my aggressor rises above on a string of light,
disappearing into its darkened haven above.
I am free once more, to breath the air, touch the sky.
Free of the darkened torment of an enemy I once feared,
but now understand.

Sea of Grass - Poem written in late 1990's

Gazing into purple skies,
stars silhouette my frame.
Silver moons crash into space,
God playing his cruel game.
Capricorn's slide up my thigh,
as I dive into a dream.
Submerged beneath a shallow pool
of blood-spoiled yogurt cream.
A shot of life exerts from me,
oozing through my pores.
I scream the silence of my agony,
sealed behind closed doors.
Reaching for an open sky,
I drown in my own fear.
Crashing into the empty space
I once thought was unclear.

Caught Prose piece - Something I wrote in the late 1990's

Threads of life pull at my veins, yet I manage to smile.  Is it happiness?  Do I ride the wave of life in its caressing flows, or do I crash at a reef beyond the tide, that extends for eternity?  As I am victimized by my uncontrollable sucking of air, I find myself asking, why?  Why do all these questions of life attack my mind with a spiteful smile?  Why can't I watch a football game, talk of memories, or drink a beer without asking, "where is it all leading to and why?"  I found that "why" is the most difficult question to answer, not, is there a God, or for that matter, where does the universe end?  No, just one question, "why".  Am I an idiot for asking "why", rather than calculating a mathematical problem to its infinite square?  As the world spins and ellipses around the sun, three-hundred and sixty five times in one year, while the naughty moon hovers exposed, naked before us, I ask "why"?  As I ask, I find that I am spinning rapidly, dizzying with every rotation, space warping a world in three dimensions while energy tears through us, vibrating erratically, spread between us, before us, I am caught.  Caught in a web of technology, where I am taught how to drink, dress, shit, and tie my shoes.  I'm tired.

Arched - Poem written in late 1990's

Immortalized by ruby eyes,
I give birth to perfection.
Weeping with its infant eyes,
warm tears reveal reflections.
Smoke filled eyes gaze upon my
iron carcass child.
Silicon heart and organ wheels,
work forces from the wild.
Blood drips down its porcelain back,
gas fed from droid to droid.
I arch into the blinding light,
and enter my dark void.

Double Down Bubble Gum – Published in Amalgamae Magazine – March of 2006 - The Magazine had only one issue, but it paid for my story, and it was in hardcopy form also!

Professor Callous sat in the darkness of the cabin, clutching the steering wheel with clammy hands that slicked the leather circle.  He touched the warm, moist bandage on his chest, feeling the fresh stitches that hid the weapon just above his heart.  Beneath the layers was an unstable microchip that slowly began its break down, cascading atoms inward into a digital spiral of condensed nuclear reactions.  It ticked soundlessly but the warming of his chest signaled the count down of the tiny bomb.  It was a bomb like no other, built from digital nano-techs coupled with cellular constructs in the human body.
            In the passenger seat was his first and last book.  His sickly green hand caressed the raised text, feeling it like Braille, “Things Forgotten:  A Reflection of Humanities Lost Morality, by Professor Shawn Callous”.  The chip was rapidly decaying his cells, contaminating his body with radioactivity.  Time was running out now.  In the rear view mirror his eyes stared into themselves.  The tears were soft and green as they streamed down his face.  He grabbed the book, holding it against his chest.
            “I’m doing the right thing, right?  Yes, yes.  Every fallen city, every fallen world has risen anew, a better place.  I’m doing what must be done,” his voice crackled, mixed with tears and phlegm.
            The car headlights led the way ahead, forming a warm pocket of light that the professor desperately wanted to be engulfed him, but an intruder obstructed his path and he slammed on the brakes.


            Leon stuffed four pieces of gum in his mouth like a child and tossed the yellow package away.  Richie was beside him pulling out a blanketed corpse from the trunk.
            “Leo, quit fucking around and grab his legs for Christ sake!”
Leon’s lips smacked a “Sure boss.”
It was an empty, dark and quiet night staged for the mobsters and their mischievous ways.  Trees on either side of the road stood as jury in the darkness, the moon judging from high above.  Moonlight bathed them with its rays, contrasting the scene in hard darks and whites. 
Leon’s labored breathing was a sign of his obesity, and Richie nicknamed him “Chubby Fingers” which circulated quickly among his fellow Mafiosi.  Oppositely, Richie was small and thin with large strong hands which earned him the name “Butternuts” for reasons only a man would understand.
“Jeez Richie, this place never gets good.  It’s always spooky out here.”  The smell of dead leaves and soil lingered in the darkness.  Leon looked around wondering if the old horror stories of the Fire Beast that burned people with black fire in these woods could have been true.  He shivered at the thought.
Richie burst into laughter.  “You scared?”  He almost dropped the body from the laughing.  “What could be worse than us out here?” 
He led them down into a dark patch of high grass a few feet into the woods. Like a creature of the night he could find anything in the dark.  It was a respectable instinct that made him one of the deadliest hit men on the east coast.
“All right Chubbs, just fucking drop him.  My arms are hurting already.”
“Hey Rich, why we leave the flashlight back there?”
“Leo, if I can see someone out here, then someone out here can see me.  You know what I mean?”  But the fat man didn’t.
“The car, you fucking idiot, the car.  If some cop or state trooper stops by our car, and no ones in there, then they’ll look around the trees.  If no lights are in the trees, no cop is in the trees.  Got it?  They don’t see us 'cause we’ll be hiding,” Richie tapped Leon on the Forehead.
For a few seconds, both were silent before Leon replied.
“Okay by me.”
Richie sighed, “Let’s go numb nuts.”
            “Uh, should we cover up the guy?  Someone will find him out here boss.”
            “Who gives a fuck Chubbs, fuck him.  The fucking rat bastard deserves to be eaten by something out here.”
            They walked back to the car with the faint light of the moon as a guide.  Richie searched the trunk for any belongings of the deceased.
            “All right, Leo, get me the flashlight, I can’t see crap back here.”
Leon grabbed the flashlight from the driver’s side and brought it to him.  The flashlight accidentally clicked on while he was opening a fresh pack of gum, blinding Richie.
            “Fucking Christ!”  Richie smacked the flashlight and gum from his hands, sending them hurling into the street.
            “Oops,” cried Leon.  He ignored the flashlight and went for the strewn pieces of gum still tucked in their silver foils, lying in the middle of the street.
Neither of them noticed the two spherical headlights emerging from the darkness down the road.
            “Oh shit.  Leo!”


            The car screeched to a halt, missing Leon by a foot.  He got up and backed away from the car.  Richie quickly grabbed the flashlight from the ground and switched it off, his other hand grasping the butt of a pistol in his jacket.  It was too dark to see the man’s face in detail but the glow from his eyes and body was like nothing they’ve seen before.
            “A ghost,” whispered Leon.
Butternuts didn’t believe in ghosts, but something was strange about this person, something cold and empty.  “The eyes” thought Richie. They were like two flaming sapphire stones pitted in a hollow face.  Glossy reptilian-like skin bounced back the moons rays giving the figure a green aura.  The man had an object held against his chest.
            “Something ain’t right,” whispered Richie.  He slowly slid the gun from holster and cocked back the hammer.
            “Wait,” Leon kept moving backwards until he bumped into their car.  “Just, just let him go.  He’s sick or something.”
            There was a few seconds silence, broken only by the sound of night critters and the lonely whistling of the wind.  Then the car sped off into the dark road ahead, vanishing within seconds.  The two stood in silence.  Richie sighed with relief his grip still on the gun.  He caught sight of the silver gum sticks twinkling like stars against the black asphalt.  “Something”, he thought “wasn’t right”.


            Professor callous watched the two men from his rearview.
            “Bloody demons almost ruined everything,” he snickered in a raspy voice.  A vicious cough almost sent him off the road.  The smell of ammonia and burning plastic permeated the car.  He looked down and realized the smell was coming from the green glowing mucous from his coughs.  Looking in the mirror was like looking at a glowing creature from the abyss, with its self-sufficient light as its guide.  He thought, like the energy of those sea creatures, his own body’s “light” pulsed in his veins as cells in his blood, giving life to this unique and special, cybernetic bomb; powerful and undetectable.  No one could find him or it.
            From out of the darkness and over a hill rose the final stop, the Emerald city.  He was too weak to clap and bounce with happiness, but his heart burned with joy.
            The inner city was alive with human activity.  “Like bugs,” he thought.
Seconds later the “bug bomb” clicked, imploding into a finite point before exploding like a mini-supernova.  The professor smiled.  He was free from the darkness, swallowed by the warmth of the light.


            Leon whistled an unknown tune as they drove to the city.  Richie sat quietly in the passenger seat in a deep “thinking” quiet; a breathless trance separate from the outside world.  Chubbs tried to break the mood, never having witnessed his cohort like this before.
            “Umm, hey Rich, what did the umm, chicken say to the, uh… no wait, what did…you…” Chubby Fingers scratched his head and spent the next few minutes in his own “thinking” quiet.  He began beating his fingers on the steering wheel rhythmically with the whistling.
            “Leo shut the fuck up please.”  He wasn’t asking but demanding for the silence.
            “I know it’s the guy, huh?  Yeah, he spooked me too boss.”  The Fire Beast ran through Leon’s mind.
            “Just drive Leo, alright?  Don’t fucking talk to me.”  He lied.  He did want to talk about it but what would he say?  Fear was not an option in their line of work but something gnawed and chewed deep within him.
            Leon found a couple of sticks of Juicy Fruit in the glove box and shoveled them in his mouth.  The gum relaxed the large killer, freeing him from thought and numbing him to the world.  Like a telepath he offered a stick of gum without any words.  Richie Gladly accepted.


            The cityscape was bright red with traces of yellows bubbling in its center like an artificial dawn.  The two reapers of death would have been angels of mercy for the city, which now burned and bled innocent lives.  If Richie had only pulled the trigger, thousands would have been sacrificed.  But how could he have known a maniac set out to destroy his hometown?  Maybe a stick of gum could have satisfied the professor and he would have reconsidered his actions.  Gum for a gun?  Makes you wonder.

Monday, February 15, 2010

My Treasure - Poem written in 02/07/1997

I sail across a marble sky,
through blinding lights,
and unfit nights.
Through speeds that time cannot unfold,
your fragile soul I aim to hold.
Through tunnels smoked with passionate love,
through winds which sail the sky above.
I struggle with the stars to see,
to get to you my tre'jouli.

Through Gentle Breeze - Poem written 02/07/1997

I age away so tenderly,
for nothing is what it seems.
The stones of time I will recall,
yet the bloodless cries will shine of all,
and in the soft and gentle breeze,
the light of life,
will spread disease.
The pulsing comes so peacefully,
through marble skies,
across the seas,
through fascist lies,
through gentle breeze.

The Alley - 10 word poem, written in mid to late 1990's

My alley is my kingdom,
and the shadows are my minions.
Blessed by the spirits,
I'm trapped in this dungeon.
The cats are my protectors,
from the bright realm of reality.
No one dares enter,
my blood stained fantasy.
The sewage stench penetrated
my nostrils to my vertebrae,
and the barricade to reality
began to decay.
Violence and sex began to form a bridge,
into my alley,
violating my beautiful wreckage.
There was a string of light,
that lit up my alley,
fading away,
my realm of fantasy.

Pure Energy Poem (inspired by film Akira) - Written sometime in the mid to late 1990's

I rule my domain,
I'm king of the mountain,
but it's all garbage.
I still have the power,
I rose from the flames.
I've done the destruction,
I've taken the blames.
You think I'm a loser,
It's not my fault I was smaller,
but now is the day,
now it's my time!
I lost all my friends,
I just have my power,
but I can't control it,
it warps by the hour.
The people are stirring,
there is another one that's stronger,
I must find him now,
this one they call War Monger.
Come on, bring him on, the one they call Ran.
I can take on the world!
But I'm not who I was anymore,
my soul is an empty void.
All I am, all I was,
is now gone forever.
They chant the praising hymns,
"Rasera!" is what I hear.
I'm fading from you now,
The power is what I fear.

Ballad of School Poem - Written sometime in High School

I feel like crap,
I didn't study,
Am I going insane?
Too much homework,
math and science,
could do damage to my brain.
The only school I can relate to is a school of fish.
I have one request, to be smart,
that is my only wish.
I don't need school,
I have a job,
sweeping and mopping floors.
My future is set,
crystal clear,
of a world I never explore.

PAIN - Title-down Poem - Written sometime in the mid to late 1990's

Power can be obtained through
Anger or excite.
Invincibility is an example of eternal power and might.
Nothing is the power that sheds the darkened light.

Cry The Beloved Country Poem - Title-down Poem written in High School

Clearly a mistake,
Races should work together.
Your mistaken if you

Think, we
Haven't helped each other.
Enough is enough, all is well.

Blinded by my color, I'm
Engulfed by your hate,
Living freely is
Offensive to your
Valuable estate.
Equality isn't
Determined by the

Color of our skin, but
Of the
Universal language, that is
Neutralized within.
Together we can
Recreate what
Yesterday has done.

From Dawn Till Dusk - This is a link to a published prose piece I wrote, published on

Thousand Years Rest - Published in 1998 SVA anthology

A rush of excitement,
filled up his chest.
He finally awoke,
from his thousand year rest.

He stood high as a mountaintop,
with wings fully grown.
Free from the hidden,
Valley of Stone.

"Behold I am Satan,
honor my words."
But no one listened,
no one heard.
For the mortals had no interest
in being disturbed.

He sipped flowing magma,
his heart still and broken.
He didn't feel sacred,
his words had been spoken.

He wiped off his tears,
he was very depressed.
And he lay under blue skies,
for a thousand year rest.