Did I ever have what it took?
Or was within me a spirit, now fled – leaving my body once “All” he had said?
Even now the words fight to come out as inspiration visits in trickles.
Laying down, eyes wide open; body heavy laden… my mind is numbed by nothingness that fogs it.
O return to me better days of story and rythmn and song. Let me feel completeness again as I create; that readers may devour of my imagination…
“We’ve all become god’s madmen, all of us.” – Bram Stoker, Dracula (1897)
A more recent translation…
In Silicon’s womb digital and binary fuse,
Technology birthing numerous possibility.
… America cradled her gods.
From Social media, to AI, these deities reach towards the sky.
and I and you, we reach too,
following their every advance
seeking feverishly for upgrades anew.
Or is it the numerous likes and the rate of followership
the cause of sleepless nights;
At the mercy of public criticism, we adapt or get picked apart and die
…When did our words take on more meaning to others than ourselves,
we commercialised and caramelised for viewership sake.
Social media, god of the deep fake causes this to be our fate
Much online is pure content, some just nonsense
with each piece we read; each video watched a piece of us is lost
till the idea of ‘self” becomes illusion.
We drink each others coolaid,
feverishly waiting on the next challenge to parade.
Becoming like cancers to one another
Opinion like tumors, having the ability to spread and infect.
And here lies the madness…
That from Neil Gaiman’s mind, ever advancing Tech. boy,
we will continually cling to, until we all become faceless…
“Mama, I have foot…”
Yes sweetie, two little ones,
speedily growing, swift in stride
carrying with them the giggling sound of your mischief,
the humorous expressions of your 2 year old wisdom.You move with them and I can scarcely keep up.
chase me! chase me! you say. “Now i’ll chase you…”
These sessions ending the same every time
I catching my breath while you yell “lets continue”Your quicksilver moves at the stores are a challenge
I watch you jet down the isle, a “catch me” said in your giggle
“If I catch you!…” my mind mutters in annoyance, and yet I do.
Into a shopping cart, sweeping you up… AND OFF WE GO!“Wear your socks baby”
“No Mama, I have foot”
Amazing! we came by each other only 2 years ago
yet today my quicksilver bears a silver tongueFoot or feet, mama gets the picture and respects your wish,
I’ll just wait till you lay fast asleep and later parcel them in wool
And for each night I do this, I’ll gaze upon your growing feet and say a prayer
… that they may grow to fit into shoes far better than my own.
Please feel free to join the party by clicking on the link below!
Today we’re looking at writing/creating a profile/portrait in our verse.
“you’re at it again! you’ve been in one of them haven’t you?” She walks past with the groceries towards the kitchen counter.
He jumps off the couch, hurriedly taking them off.
“Its not what it looks like! I made an executive decision, seeing that this one was about to “off “himself… Seemed like he had doubts about it and needed a helping hand, and I, I felt I could be that helping hand. You know, being that I’ve always wanted a go at one of those scenarios.”
Trying to hide a growing smirk, but failing at it, he turns and walks towards the bar.
She’s at the counter, groceries now on display. Mind between present conversation and what dinner should look like in an hour.
“I can’t do this right now! …You know what? I’m just going to have to leave you to your own devices, but mind you, we’re human, just like them. Did you even pause to consider that that MAN at the very last minute could have had a re-think of his actions? And if he did then what would that make you? Yeah! yeah!… a cold blooded KILLER!
Now standing at the bar, he’s pouring himself a drink of scotch.
YO! that’s cutting it a bit too deep babe. I tell you, there is NO WAY this guy was going to change his mind. I’m F..ing sure of that. I’d been in that mind of his enough times to know that the world out there was getting to the poor bastard. Besides, I’m sure his re-occurring dreams of heaven, by heave I mean here, left him wanting more out of that slum of a life of his.
“Wait a minute, you mean you brought hime HERE?!” The information overload leads to a fire in her chest that needs quenching. She walks up to him with a look of surprise and disgust, snatches the drink from his hand and walks back towards the kitchen area gulping it down in one violent go.
He continues, “Look it was only his mind I allowed here. I was sure to switch to paralysis mode each time I left him here, trust me. I left his eyes and senses to wonder, but never the possession of my body.”
“And just how many times did you put him through that”, she said “HOW MANY TIMES?”
I don’t know! …6, 7 times? about an hour or 2 for each session, I guess.
He pours himself another scotch. As he sips on it he reminisces, “O there’s this one time I had him here for over A DAY! Man, that was one fine experience out there”. He’s got that smirk again, but this time he stares into his glass with a far away look in his eyes as though back outside and in that moment.
She pauses cutting the vegetables, and with the same look of disgust she says “And you wonder why he wanted to commit suicide. You practically had that man feeling helpless. YOU TREATED HIM LIKE A FUCKING PUPPET. GOD!” She returns to cutting but with more vigour this time.
He hurries to hold her by her shoulders and looking into her eyes he says “ babe, babe, look, you need to understand. It gets really boring around here. Sometimes a guy needs to take the edge off, you know what I mean?”.
Then just drink already! You seem pretty good at that so far. Just don’t indulge in an already hellish environment by making the lives of those stuck there more unbearable for them. Realising herself for his grip she gasps, slamming a fist at ceramic cutting table; knife in the other hand.
“I honestly cannot believe you have the nerve to be all casual about this”. Point the knife in his direction. “Do you not understand what you are doing? And the length that you would go to lay the foundations of a suicide scenario. DON’T, even try denying it! We both know you only focused on that one specimen all because you intended to drive him to that point where he’d spiral, leading him to that last moment of despair.”
This time he gasps, trying to fake the horror of such an accusation, but at the last second he does a flip. “Well Brrravo DICK Tracy, Y’gat me! I must applaud you and your act of sanctimoniousness. Okay, so I took the liberty of running this little project on just one of the billions left behind in that hell hole. So what?!
You of all people know the shit guys in here pull in order to get off, taking up numbers of specimen at a time if they want. I’ve managed to keep it minimal and you want to – judge – ME? COME ON!
Its crazy enough that we stay stuck in this place telling ourselves we are safe from all the madness out there. All the pollution, all the violence!” Throwing his glass against the wall “Well it violent in here!” he growls, pointing feverishly at his temple.
He leans up against the wall in need of support for his now buckling knees and slowly crumbles to the ground. “I ca.., I can’t breathe babe. How, how do you do it, this… this composure of yours?” Now he’s rambling “an.., and they’re so near and yet so far!? I can almost touch them, can almost taste it, all the “life” that comes with sacrifice of being out there amongst the filth. I mean, we only need to open the door to be a part of them right?. In a persona of exhaustion he says “You may not get this, but zombie mode is the only way I keep myself from actualising what I helped that guy do today….”
“Dinner is ready!” she says, walking past him toward the table with a dish of whatever sustenance she’s got whipped up. In an unsettling composure like that of a Stepford wife, she fixes him a plate and then steadily floats towards him. She then kneels to meet his tired gaze, dish in hand. Laying the plat on the ground, she lovingly strokes his now sweaty face, “You are tired honey, what say we turn in for the night. You know… I’m not judging you or anything, I just need you to take on a different perspective on being here. This place… its technology, it makes gods of us all, but the price we pay… it takes that of a formidable mind to survive it all… the confinement, the solitude, the monotony? She sighs as though tired of trying to make him understand. “Come on”. Taking him by the arm she forces him up, greeting him with a long kiss. A smooch more of compassion than passion.
Later on that evening…
The room illuminates and a female figure is seen moving towards the couch where he earlier sat carrying out his arguable feat. Looking down at the couch she reminds herself, “It takes a formidable mind”. She does a great job at concealing how encaged she feels within these walls, during the day, but at night is where she will need all her strength. A formidable mind will keep you sane within these walls, yes, but it takes an even more capable and adept mind to puppet an animal specimen versus a human one.
Despite the challenges that come with indulging in the use of animal forms, one of them being the gradual eroding of moral sensitivity, she’d opt for it any time. Her basis for this decision, that humans themselves are trapped within an invisible barrier by their own conventions and conformities.
Now jacked up to the device she seizes control of her chosen beast for the night and with it she runs free. On some nights she’ll hunt; on others she becomes the hunted. The near death experience when being put to the slaughter; the pain of child birth, these are just a few of the scenarios in her bouquet of experiences she may pick and choose from each night. And lets not forget those evenings when she’s left at the mercy of her partner’s poor bed habits… this being one of them. She’s got the option of finding a mate or two during the course of the rest of the night.
…But tonight, tonight she’s got a different taste on her mind; on her tongue…
MAN…
*THE END*
… on inspiration’s Isle she waits that she may embrace unorthodoxy…
In the past I bore too many faces, until I became no one,
A reader; A writer,
A poet; A preacher,
The critique; The counsellor,
Encourager and challenger.
I loved to write, I always had something to say! Be it in the form of poetry, rant, advice or ridicule. The clicking sound that resonated from my the key board when I was at it put me on a certain high and that feeling after finishing a post; surreal. It didn’t really matter how many likes I got … or did it?…
In hind sight I realise now how much I depended on what people though of what I had to say, and while was I got some pretty good comments and reviews on my posts plus followings, I always felt that I wasn’t good enough or better put, I felt I was only had talent for a season…
If you are anything like me then you can relate when I talk about that voice in the back of my mind. It can be a friend or foe; Could be a number 1 cheerleader or not. For me it was a NOT.
“They Like you now FK, but what happens when you run out of things to say”
That constant play in my head became louder and louder until I started to believe it… “Talent for a Season”, WOW! I blamed my declining posts on writer’s block, but never stopped to consider why or from where the block originated from. For me the element of inspiration was gone, my talent was gone, and so I shut that door and focused on life outside the Bloggerverse.
From my 9 to 5 job to focusing on motherhood to REALLY great gal to just lazying around in my head, I exhausted whatever time I would have used to be here. Make no mistake however. I never forgot what I left behind. In fact, it was in my lazy moments I would once in a while pop into this space, and the pain would overwhelm me. The Pain of not being able to express myself the way I once did would consume me, and instead of feeling proud of what I had accomplished here or who I had been, I would leave feeling less of myself.
… But here is where I got it wrong, the phrase “who I had been”. Why did I have to make that version of me a past tense?
Why is it so easy for us as human beings to give up on the best part of ourselves, especially when that part of us is being tested, whether it be by that voice in our heads or an actual situation? You write a post or a books and It gets amazing reviews and lots of hits; It make you feel good, and then subsequent material carries less pizazz. Feedback isn’t as great and so you think “the first success was a fluke, just a matter of chance”. My take? Well, If its a matter of Chance then keep at it till chance comes right around again!
KEEP AT IT! Don’t let go of who you are or of that talent because no matter how low it feels at the time, you are like a caterpillar going through its metamorphosis into a butterfly, and while in that stage of cocooning that could feel pretty stagnant, rather than focusing on who you are or where you are, take the time to look ahead at the possibilities before you resulting from that dwindling blessing for yours. With that in mind, you should find the spark needed to keep the fire burning and even brighter for that matter.
Remember that the caterpillar’s transitions into a butterfly, looking absolutely different from its former self. Lets bear that in mind on our own individual journeys… You will be surprised what your talent has in store for you and where life will take you with it.
That voice in your head saying you can’t do it, its not real! YOU are your greatest cheerleader and not that voice. That circumstance making you feel you are not up to the challenge, so not true! Its just there as part of a learning curve if you will agree with me. In the end the choice is yours; The choice is mine, how we see ourselves. In every situation you and I hold the power to see “self” at its best, no matter how unbecoming the circumstance.
… And so I end from where I began:
In the past I bore too many faces, until I became no one… Todayyyy, I am a Mom to a REALLY great gal, a 9 to 5iver, a blogger and writer in the making and finally, a Caterpillar in her Cocoon! 😉
Never cut a tree down in the wintertime. Never make a negative decision in the low time. Never make your most important decisions when you are in your worst moods. Wait. Be patient. The storm will pass. The spring will come. – Robert H. Schuller #Patience
You’ve got to believe in your damn self and do the damn thing, so I’m a big believer in self-belief, man, and going out there and working hard and sacrificing. – Max Holloway #SelfBelief
Each time we face our fear, we gain strength, courage, and confidence in the doing. – Theodore Roosevelt #SelfConfidence
the image of self
I am the bean; I am the farmer…
The bean
Planted in the earth giving birth to new possibility,
First rotting from the inside out
It dies to be reborn but a thousand fold,
I bear fruit, a new vision “a” me,
Time will tell what comes of my rebirth
but indeed I pray good.
– Conscience
The farmer
Reap what is sown,
This is life, behold
In the soil bears karma
Planted seeds sown with each breath
In thought; In deed
Today I choose to plant good fruit…
Will she bear me a plenty good in return I wonder?
– Choices
… I am my conscience; I am my choices
Just so you know, I left out “Fellow” on purpose. I for one am too embarrassed to call myself a blogger as I feel I would in fact be insulting the word… I barely managed to put fingers to keyboard last year for goodness sake! 😦 but I will add that it was not entirely my fault… I BLAME LIFE!!! 😀
2014 was EPIC!!! the changes that took place where wonderful and yet exhausting! They created little or no time for literary creativity, and with all the time that’s passed I feel so ashamed of the silence and even a bit unworthy to write. My blogs are practically crawling with cobwebs! 😦
Well its a new year… I’m hoping for a fresh start! New ideas, new inspiration… etc. Who knows where my mind and fingers will lead me …Wish me luck people!.. 😉
“it starts small...” 🙂
Black n white cocoon,
The last shred of vanity,
As age takes over…
We kiss, a dream "We" are made of (laying in my lovers arms) of bitter sweet and shear ecstasy Jagged pill- Truth, the noble entity prophesies, Disaster this love will be
Kiss me quickly! Chasing away this shadow of reality Turn truth to doubt by the closeness of our lips Yet this... this... the fact that lingers... It is not love; it is not lust But calculated affection that binds us yet is it not safer so, is it not enough?...
Edgar Allan Poe Rrrocks! …. Thanks for this Silla 🙂
Festival King 