Lies are part of what is me,

if lies could cut them I would bleed,

if I lied enough I'd bleed to death,

and put me out of dishonest mess.

Lies are part of my nature, from where they come I'd like to know,

I'd like to go back in my life and find out why it's just for show.

I promise I won't lie again, but I know it's just a lie,

I try to tell the winning truth, but the truth it always dies.

It's all your fault, I scream to no one, I won't take the blame.

You ask too many questions of myself which I'm ashamed.

-Nordski-

I am so tired.

I want to sleep.

Coaxing the Sandman seems to be a lesson in futility.

Eyelids drawn down with lead-like weight, sealed from perilous imagination.

The last crack of light, like a lightening bolt across a pitch black sky, Zeus sears his symbol in my peepers with jagged hot fierceness, shocking me back to consciousness and perhaps danger;

Debilitating flashes haunt my dreams.

In a darkened room,

on a moonless night,

I still see light,

like a crack in the sky,

burned in my vision.

Is it a vision or a dream?

Am I awake or asleep?

Am I alive or devoid of life?

My eyes are heavy, weary body tries to shut down.

Revolting chemicals counter the attack of languor.

In my state of unreality, I yearn to rest in the arms of Morpheus, to be carried by Iris on the colored path that she treads, foregoing the treasure which lies at the end.

She lays me down, still brooding ill humor, into a bed fit for a god,

where I might escape for a few un-tortured seconds in the Land of Nod.

Serenity is my angel, attending my tormented and anguished soul.

As my head rests on her corpulent breasts, she recites incantations in a soft, arcane whisper,

coaxing Zeus' symbol to a manageable flicker.

The spell is ephemeral, but Serenity has played her part well.

Darkness envelopes with soft grace, encompassing my torture with skeptical delicacy.

As an opiate-like dream-state sets in, the elixir of sanity drips adder-like from a fang of honey-tongued deception, cunningly fragrant and refined.

Fooled by a false notion of tranquility, my delusions, replaced by branding hot light, snap me back to my earlier state of being.

I am so tired.

The elusive Morpheus masquerades as a tyrant.

Incubus rears his head as a striking serpent.

The polluted venom courses through my veins,

yet, poisoned I was not, by the elixir of penetrating visions of ill will.

Elephantine waves of irenic euphoria pile up on my being, bejewelling the substance of my existence.

I see through the dark, I see through the light.

Medusa's gaze falls on the unexpected.

As hair sheds skin, the sleep of stone is forever the mode of one with such lucid destiny.

-Nordski-

Sliver of moon on a pitch black night.

Stars in heaven twinkle like candle light.

The Man in the Moon stares vacantly at me,

while his other eye stares into eternity.

I want to know what the other eye sees.

From the dark side of the moon I'd launch into the void,

like a black hole tugging on an asteroid.

Into serene darkness and silence I'd flow,

where comets and red dwarves and nebulas glow.

Slung this way and that by gravitational pull,

points of light all around in a darkness so full.

From my vantage I look, from whence where I came,

I see a dark eye looking my way.

-Nordski-

I remember the excitement of getting my first pocket knife for cub scouts. The build-up to getting it was worse than waiting for Christmas. My first weapon. Something that would enable me to survive out in the vast untamed wilderness. I would be able to make traps, build forts, cut fishing line, drill holes, open cans and make buddy-burners. I bet I could take on a bear. I would be able to carve figurines with such exquisite detail that Michelangelo himself would turn green with envy.

There were many conversations with our Den Leader and mom and dad about the handling, care, and respect that a weapon of such potential mass destruction and power warranted. Proper use and proper closure of such surgically sharpened steel blades was covered over and over and over.

The day came.

I remember carefully opening the box it came in, sliding out the pristine unsoiled treasure. It had a slight oily sheen on it which smelled like steely adventure. The handle was dark blue and textured for grip. The small brass placard on one side had a wolf on it which stared captivatingly back at me, knowingly, daringly. There was a steel loop that was riveted to the end which would make it handy to clip to my belt for easy access in an emergency. I, my self, was riveted. I finally possessed the most coveted item a cub scout could be blessed with.

I opened all the tools and blade. I marveled at the shine and precision of such magnificent engineering. I was enchanted. My luck felt as sharp as the blade edge.

Having sufficiently admired every inch of my treasure, I closed the awl first, then the can opener, the screwdriver next, then the blade, right across my finger.

It didn’t hurt as it went in, but then the blood came. I let out a wail which I quickly stifled, after all, I couldn’t have my new treasure confiscated. I grabbed a dirty sock from the laundry hamper and wrapped it around my gushing finger and headed to the bathroom. I felt relieved that I had earned my first aid belt slide badge. Everything was under control. Several Band-Aids later, knife in pocket, I was out the door, off into the orchard to take on the world and find adventure.

Now, all I needed was a hatchet.

Nordski