They say the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.  That's only half right.  The other half was convincing people they'd know me if they saw me.

Movies helped.  So did art.  You took some pagan goat demons, painted them bright red, and thought that was me, because if you could see me then I was less scary.  The red was a nice touch.  It's like your stop signs- a bright warning that you couldn't possibly miss.  That way you think you know what to look for and don't realize I'm already whispering in your ear.

Jesus was different, of course.  He knew I was there, so there was no sense in trying to hide.  I flattered Him, tempted Him to use his power for a greater good, feeding the hungry and conquering the nations to rule with wisdom and mercy.  I knew that if He became a ruler, He'd then become a tyrant, and love would no longer be an option once He wielded power every day.  The boy didn't fall for it, of course.  I'm still not sure whether I'm angry or proud.

You're not like that, are you?  Ruling the world isn't an option you have to consider.  But there's something that tempts you.  Maybe you lift a few dollars from the cash register at work; you deserve a raise anyway.  Maybe you don't give the money you have to people who need it because they'll just throw it away.  Could be when you shut out the immigrant or the Samaritan, since you have to think of your own family first.  For the person typing this, it's a mixture of pride and anger which leads him to try to humiliate those who don't live up to his moral standards.  Whatever it is, I know it, and I'm the one who tells you it's okay.  You call me the King of Lies, but I don't lie to you.  I just help you lie to yourself.

There's a good chance you're reminding yourself that this is all fiction, that I'm not real.  As if that makes the slightest difference.  Maybe there is no intelligent active being called the devil, but I'm a part of your life whether you like it or not.  What if you were to have a conversation with the devil?  You do it every day.

Thought after thought after

Thought.

I am used to being up this late

Now.

Now I cannot sleep

Because I want to express every

Thought

To

I could not think.

My mind is busier than

Times Square

On New Year's Eve,

But

I

Can't

Think.

You tube, my lube, Inform, my  mind

I learn, verse heard, a  prose, a sign

Iambic, I stress

No five meters here

I'll try, with no fear

To mimic the Shakespeare

Dydactic trimeteractic

Things that may not fit

We write it buzzed

The challenge was

Pull shit out of our attic

Sober I'll be tomorrow

A face with no remorse

Verse is love and sorrow

We can't deny our source!

Dance, dance, dance,

string me up,

rip my heart

and puncture my lungs,

pull me close and

swing me around,

watch as your little star

drops to the ground.

Marina kept playing the same six chords on the piano. She enjoyed the mellow harmonies and waited for words to accompany the melody developing in her head. It was late evening bordering on night and she would stop occasionally to sip from her now cool mug of peppermint tea or to rub her cold hands on her stubbly knees. Her feet were cold too, but the backs of her thighs were warm and her skin clung to the finished wood beneath them. She had yet to change out of last night's pajama shorts.

In the morning she would be an adult. She would pay her bills and schedule a dentist appointment. She would conquer the mountain of laundry that had swallowed her hamper and was rapidly taking over her bedroom floor. She would even fold it all. She would cook a couple meals that she could eat for lunch and dinner during the week.

For now, Marina just wanted to feel vibrations in her chest. Words were slipping with pencil whispers into the small notebook she kept beside her on the piano bench. For the first time in awhile she felt like a person. Her art emboldened her.

I have to admit, the piles of homework sitting on my desk right now are pretty tempting to finish. But what about youtube? Google Plus? Instagram? Twitter? Prose? Blogging? 

What about just chilling for five minutes?

Okay, I'll give myself five minutes. But that's it.

So I type in the cursed youtube into the web address bar and watch it take forever to load. When it finally does, I find a good five minute video to watch.

But no! It doesn't stop there. The recommended videos on the side bar keep distracting me. 

NOO! A 20 minute video on Harry Potter. How can I resist?! I eye my homework, but then wave it off, realizing Harry Potter is way more important than Algebra. 

Finally, it's 9. The pile hasn't budged. I ended up on Stumble Upon with the games filter on. 

Maybe it's time to do my homework....

During tough times, that most may find unbearable, you can find a certain few with twisted smiles and a slight chuckle. These people stand on the outside. They feel the same pressures and deal with the same problems, but for some unknown reason they get to laugh. And once the laughter starts it builds, like a bit of snow starting to roll down the hill, gathering weight as it goes. After a good amount of time, the laughter starts to fill the rooms these people occupy while everyone else has their faces to the ground struggling to push through. The ones that are laughing, the ones that normal people think have gone completely mad, are the artists of the world. And these artists, though it may not seem it, are actually completely sane. More so than the man standing next to them with a scowl wishing to god that there was no laughter to intrude on his sadness. And then a funny thing happens. People standing in the rooms with scowls on their faces, with no reason for their own action, begin to join in on the laughter. People could go on wondering for years about these madmen with laughter on their lips and craziness in their eyes. But there is a simple breakdown of the phenomenon. Here's the explanation, the ones with scowls on their faces are the truly insane, for instead of wanting to bring themselves up and see who they can send up with them, they would rather stir in their own misery and hope to the heavens that someone else is feeling it too. The artists are the ones that find the troubling times as something new, a new experience, a lesson, a chance to prove themselves, or they just find the irony in the damn situation. And they seem, to the rest of the world, as crazy for this. But to find a way to laugh, and wish to share that laughter with the world is not crazy. Being an artist, a painter, a poet, a sculptor, a musician, doesn't make us the artists. Bringing joy when life seems to be at it's lowest, that is what makes us artists.