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His self-esteem lies in a fetid puddle

Staring up at him in longing

Wishing to restore its place.

He tries to cup it within his palms,

To drink and in turn reinvigorate.

Alas, like all things in his life

He grimly watched his salvation

Trickle slowly through stiff fingers

As though his skin turned to stone

And soon, his heart followed.

For swiftly the tears of regret

Flow like Neptune’s sea

From burning eyes,

Eroding his grip and

Withering away his heart,

All hope is swept away

With the ebbing tide.

“He did believe in God, but, frankly, he didn’t trust him, and saw no reason in the world why he should. If God’s idea of salvation was Jesus Christ, God was too eccentric to be relied on.” -Handling Sin by Michael Malone

I’ve been reading a lot more than usual lately and it seems I will resort to some witty and entertaining quotes as I go on. Hopefully this at least keeps me connected with the writing community while I try to figure out why my body weeps as a soul is worthless without a healthy protoplasmic blob to dwell in. 

The other day a good friend of mine approached me regarding an idea that he was very enthused about pursuing. So naturally, I was curious to see what it was that had him sending me three-page text messages containing what seemed to be a plot of some sort..

Well, he wants to create a devilishly haunting video game. One that will have the player quaking in their boots with each step they take. So to sum things up, he asked me to write the back-story for the game. Basically giving the characters some meaning and some information as to how they ended up in the position they are in during the game.  He gave me general guidance on how to write the intro and then essentially allowed me to have free reign.

So I thought it would be cool to post up our progress on my blog to get some exposure and potentially get some input from others who may have pointers or opinions on detail orientation etc. I hope you enjoy what we have so far! 🙂

P.J.- We were on the road again, Jane and I. Rebels with a cause; trying to find our own way through this frigid world we call “home” with nothing but the miserable hand we were both dealt to keep us moving. The night was pitch black, as if God forgot to pay the power bill and Zeus had no mercy for those afraid of the dark. No lightening, no stars; all on the night of a new moon. Just the rhythmic raindrops pelting my windshield and the sound of a bewildered jazz musician crooning his sorrows through the air-waves. Needless to say, I had been white-knuckling it all night.

Jane, was fast asleep in the passenger seat; lulled away by the smooth rhythm of Good Year tires gliding over a freshly paved road. Sweet, innocent Jane. She is all I have left in this world, and sometimes I feel as if I’ll never be strong enough to keep her safe. I look over and see her little hand cradling a picture of the family we used to have. The family that gave us everything they could, and asked for nothing in return.

Our mom, dad, our LIFE, all gone. Wiped out in the blink of an eye just weeks before. It happened on a family vacation. Apparently my mom, dad, the grandparents that haven’t succumbed to old age, and my best friend, Darryl were all going to surprise me with a visit on campus in Oregon. You know, the whole “familial-support” thing. I guess they really wanted to see me succeed, or they just wanted to drag me back home.

Alas, I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to. Those answers –along with the only people in the world who cared for me– are lost in Rogue River after careening off the bridge in what was called a “freak-accident”. Maybe forever, or maybe until next week when the National Guard launches their State-Mandated search for the bodies. I hope they don’t find anything; maybe it’ll let Jane, hold on a little while longer.

I’m not holding out much hope though. It was a two-hundred and fifty-two foot drop (said the police report) to the bottom of a river that travels for miles with white water’s ranging from a babbling brook to a raging torrent; eventually dumping everything it consumes into the Pacific. It was a miracle that Jane was spared the horror in the first place, therefor I refuse to dwell on the specifics.

She is all I worry about now. My Aunt, Rose was in charge of caring for her during the Family’s visit. I guess Jane, had been having trouble coping with middle school. She didn’t make any friends, and the popular snobs tormented her to the point of retaliation. I thank God, every day since then; If she hadn’t punched the head Cheerleader’s lights out, I may have lost all sanity when the Sheriff’s department reported the nightmare that I am still trapped in. My parents forced her to stay home as a punishment. They said she would have to “wait ’till Christmas to see your big Brother”. Well, I guess Christmas has come early this year. God damn that jolly fat man. 

 

It would seem I have lost a few readers with my last two installments so I am hoping a bit of self-loathing will be enough to reclaim my followers. So I give you a poem with a slight nautical twist 🙂

This room, dark and cold.
Regret, Through my veins it flows.
Waiting for the morning light;
When I can put this shadow on hold

Breathing with ferocity
It’s darkness frightens me
But why can’t I see?!
Blinded by duplicity!

(The itch it slows, The sun has risen)

Thoughts produced are cynical
This sanctum drives me clinical
But what is a shy guy to do?
What is a shy guy to do?!

I just bottle these emotions
Inside they rage like oceans
A sea of thought
Crashes against my lips, it rips
Right through my bones, it hits
Like nothing ive ever known, And this
Tidal wave resides inside
With the tide I’m low and high
And what comes next, no one knows best
Im just along for the ride