Away from keyboard

The key to me are the moments in between as I examine the seams of my counterfeit dreams… so in function my creative process is simple…

Writing, being such a brain drain, dissipates your ability to properly create and find a sincere sense of expression… so I get up and engage in an activity which requires as little thought as possible… for me it’s making noises on my guitar… and you do this you’ll discover a peaceful state where ideas start to flow more organically… stimulation for complexity through a simple action… mind over matter by using matter to manipulate the mind ... like taking substances

A Bite To Remember

In her hands, clenched with a white knuckled grip, she had a knife. Not sharp enough to slice fresh fish - but it had a point

An unoccupied hand reached up to clear blood from a mouth. Less four teeth - wiggle and pull - three teeth. She takes a few seconds, her tongue traversing around her mouth, this is where she finds a piece of flesh, some glass, ground down into fine powder. She spits out the spare skin, a few stray pieces of glass make the appropriate sound as it finds the floor. No silence, just breathing. Heavy. Tense - the room feels as though it could collapse any second due to the chaos occurring in a kitchen somewhere, sometime, even to someone you might know…

A perfectly timed, spontaneous moment: Her eyes glazed over like frosted glass, her breathing became less erratic. Her thoughts scream at her as she speaks to herself… This is… This is when Tora smiled.

-

Before chaos comes the ordinary known as order or normality or life. On this particularly ordinary day, there were only plans for delight. As things were, problems only surfaced once evening had descended and the sun hid behind the horizon. At the vanishing of daylight, like some unspoken mutual understanding - sensible conversations converted into coarse but still joyfully juiced up and appreciating each other’s rumbling-ramblings.

With the darkness entered a presence despised. The blood rushed to Tora’s face - flush but frozen. Mother of the house has no emotion to share. Deep down, but still close the surface, Tora had hoped and prayed that Lenora would skip the birthday celebration. For this, Tora had approached every deity, even researched black magic and the occult to take matters into her own hands… Unfortunately, all of it was self-comfort than actual execution.

Yet, despite all attempts, Lenora, oh lovely Lenora, arrived. She was the mother to a daughter deeply involved to the point of suffocation with Tora’s son. At this moment, Lenora meandering in, snaking her insufferable way through the crowd, her eyes finally catching Tora - a blunt blade stabbing Tora in the heart, the twist of time beating and bleeding with hate unheard of. From delight the night turned into something of a nightmare - the tension between Lenora and Tora thick and smothering.

The first awkward conversation commenced by Tora.

“Hello Lenora, it’s so nice to see you” a lie.

“Hello, hello - it’s nice to see you too, Tora.” another lie.

The polite farce continues with forced affability, “Would you like a drink?”

Lenora plays her part, “That would be lovely - I see you’ve already sucked down your fair share.”

The tiniest of talons pinch Tora’s heart - heat rising from her visage. Enraged, her face a drunken, ripe red - fortunately it’s dark enough in the room to hide her hatred.

“Oh you know,” Tora returns from face ripping fantasy back to reality, gracious as ever, “It’s been something of a party at this little get-together.” Tora finds a shallow smile, handing Lenora a glass of pinot-vino-veritas as she continues, “I can’t deny that we’ve all had our fair share. It’s a celebration afterall”.

“Yes, I can see that. Your son is something of a well-seasoned drinker.” Lenora takes a spiteful sip, “Nothing like my little girl. Sometimes I think she’s too much of a lady for your boy - I’m still amazed they’ve been together this long!”

A few thankless drinks later, the sobriety is shrugged off with anticipation and ease. Inebriation in effect. Intention Immersed. Drowned and submerged and strangled from every conceivable angle. Trapped in the urban realm made powerless by the obligation to be urbane - it was Tora’s son’s birthday party after all. The day should be about love and appreciation, is what Tora said to herself…

Tora summoned all her hate for one moment in an attempt to disturb Lenora’s decrepit existence - perhaps even kill her just for shits and giggles. Failing this, seeing as Tora lived in material reality, she used physical expression. Strolling past, Tora leans in, a shoulder bumps a shoulder bumps the ego - finally, some utterance unleashed towards the much loathes Lenora. As usual, Lenora does as she does and comments loudly, “Whoops, stumbling along there honey… Don’t you think you’ve had enough - you’re embarrassing yourself.”

Tora turns around and smiles a smile never before seen and speaks a little louder than a whisper, “Yes, Lenora… I do think that I’ve had enough.”

Tora departs, malice making her maunder instead of meander through hallways held together by paintings and photographs framed: aged, untouched. A reflex filled with rage convinces Tora to smash the glass covering the photographs - she pauses to observe the effect. Tora loses herself in admiring the crimson splashed on the walls, the floor, her foot. There’s that smile again.

A glass of wine refilled, a far more composed walk through the hallways. The party has dissipated into nothing more than her son, his girlfriend, a friend whose name is completely beyond her… And of course, the presence of the vomit-inducing Lenora. As expected, Tora moves closer and slices through the circle of individuals huddled around the ‘oh-so-amazing’ Lenora. She does so with reluctance.

Lenora is telling another story. Something about some celebrity and whatever the fuck - Tora did not care. A sip of wine, a quick look around at the circle. Her son, his girlfriend, a friend she’s on speaking terms with - and of course, Lenora. “I should tell you, birthday boy: It might be the tipple getting me talking but it has to be said.” Lenora takes a deep breath and Tora feels a sadistic stare sneak our of Lenora’s eyes - who continues, “I believe you still have a lot of work to do before you’re worthy of my sweet daughter.”

The crowd laughs courteously - Uncertain of the intent.

“I get where you’re coming from, Lenora. If anyone can make me better, it’s your amazing daughter here.” A convincing kiss on a willing cheek.

“Oh mom, you know he’s an up and comer.”

Birthday boy proffers, “I’ll be paying for your meal next time we go to dinner.” An explorative laugh, birthday boy is uncertain about the level of sincerity in Lenora’s remarks.

“I’m sure you will. Although you should really try and handle your mother and her reckless nature first.” Lenora lets loose a cackle coated in condescension, “You have a family fond of drinking, honey. Didn’t your dad died because of this alcoholism… And your mother… Well…” No words spoken but meaning still communicated in the most callus of ways - through silence.

“…You can understand my concern for my daughter’s safety - I’ve seen alcohol do terrible things in domestic situations - I am a nurse after all - and I have no idea what you might be capable of.”

“Mom!” the daughter disagrees wholeheartedly from the depths of her soul.

“Don’t worry, Lenora.” The unfortunate target of Lenora’s honesty attempts to keep his birthday celebration civil, “I’m nothing like my family. My mother is allowed to do whatever she wants - she’s earned it. She lost her husband and carried on raising me. She’s a grownup and can handle herself.”

“Oh, I don’t know. If you consider her an adult then you, sweetheart, still have a lot of maturing to do. You’re still a child because of how you’ve been raised - sorry Tora, but I couldn’t stop myself from saying it. I find the binding of our families horrifying.”

The silence blares beyond the background music Tora has taken a sip to hold herself from screaming, yet her rage still finds reality - a crackle, a crinkle completed with a crunch. Tora bites her wine glass until it breaks, pieces lodged through out her whole mouth - tongue, lips, cheeks, the gums of her teeth.

“Oh my god, Mom! Are you okay?”

“Tora! Omg my god… This is…”

Lenora giggles with malice, “Now you see what I mean… Ridiculous, isn’t she? Can’t even hold her glass let alone a drink.” Tora bites harder, channeling her distaste for Lenora into the taste of blood, served by glass shards. Half of ‘that’ smile again as Tora masticates the shards into fine sand - shear hate eliminating any experience of pain - eloquence has made it’s exit.

Most unexpectedly, Lenora feigned some sort of genuine sympathy, “Here now my girl,” Tora clenches her teeth to dull the pain of pity. Lenora continues, for her, this is the perfect opportunity for a slathering of shame.”Let me take you to the bathroom where we can clean you up - okay?” Lenora speaks to Tora as though she were a child. The displeasure felt by Tora could only be heard by the sound of crunching, crackling and clenching. More blood. More Irrational thoughts. Loss of blood… drinking… Tora feels feint and puts her head on Lenora’s shoulder. They stumble together towards the bathroom where Lenora dutifully applies her nursing know-how.

First, the blood. A quick wipe with warm water. Clean things up for clarity. Tora smiles - a tooth is missing… Most probably scooped out by the jagged remains of the wine glass. It was there, with emotions lubricated by liquor that Lenora devastated Tora with honesty honed to be hurtful.

“You’re a total fuck up, Tora.” Lenora cleans the towel in the basin before looking for a first aid kit. “I can’t have my daughter dating let alone marry that boy of yours. He’s bad news. I knew it ever since I met him and even more so when you walked into my house. You and your sad fucking family…”

In the middle of Lenora’s monologue, Tora begins to smile once more - she has her moment and thinks as fast as her boozed up brain can handle… She can make things simpler… Less stifling and insufferable in social situations… But then the consequences… Perhaps it’s better to just get both the mother and daughter out of her and her son’s life. She couldn’t bare to tell her son to break up with his girlfriend. It was no excuse; it made no sense to break a heart due to the loathing between mothers. Maybe the sacrifice of self could keep her son happy. All she’d have to do was go mad. But to what end? How far would she go; how far could she go?

“I almost picked up the whole family and moved to another country just to break up their relationship… Unfortunately it’s not as easy as it sounds. So all I can do is let myself known, do you the favor of being honest. I’m hoping we can figure something OW-OOW-OUT” the first bite was taken from Lenora’s exposed calf. The deep, wide jawed grip, sharp with glass bite rips flesh from bone. The power, the passion of the bite drives the glass further into Tora’s mouth - her teeth now more glass than anything else. Lenora can only scream, as one should. She shakes her leg as though Tora were a dog, nipping at her heels. The reality of the situation is quite different when considering the lump of leg Tora spits out onto the bathroom floor. More screams, Lenora collapses and tries to crawl away from being chewed to mince.

Draped in pure disbelief, Lenora tries to escape. Her hand touches the floor, covered in blood from corner to corner, getting thicker and thicker as she bleeds from the chunk missing from her leg. An attempt to get up, she slips and hits her head and for a second - just one small second - she lets Tora get close enough to bite her shoulder before gnashing on Lenora’s ear, tearing it off as though it were the corner of a toasted sandwich, now for the cheeks, next the nose - it takes some effort but so far Tora has ripped off at least one side of Lenora’s once smug face.. More blood. More screams.

The chaos has finally summoned an audience. Son, daughter, friend - they arrive and react without thought. Son to mother, daughter to mother - the strength of the enraged is unfathomable - even more so when the fire for feasting on flesh burned so brilliant and bright in Tora’s eyes - fed all the more by the explainable fear compelled Lenora to escape, desperate to avoid the gluttonous, glass toothed psychopath. The separation, the escalation of emotions expressed through senseless violence - Hate attracted the two. Love now struggles to push and pull the maternal massacre apart. The friend decides to be helpful and picks up an ear and nose.

Screams. Blood. A wild animal of a woman still struggled. Uncontrolled. Irrational. This is where her son was forced by impulse, some kind of love to punch her in the face, finally ending her hysteria. Tora falls, trembles, and loses a portion of her consciousness. The world blurs and almost turns black. She fights against the loss of awareness - slowly crawling out the bathroom unnoticed while daughter, son and friend tend to the delirious Lenora, unable to stop screaming on top of crying on top of bleeding and blubbering. The blood. Everywhere now. A white kitchen made red. Lenora finds some sense eventually at the most suitable moment. She looks to the floor where Tora was supposed to be incapacitated - she points - she screams.

Scrambling, near slipping over puddles of sanguine, Son and daughter; boyfriend and girlfriend discover Tora in the kitchen, holding a knife. If only they knew, Tora muses, then they’d understand. But maybe, it’s better this way. Maybe there’s never enough room for two. One is better than the other.

Madness made manifest - Truth be told: Tora actually took finger-licking pleasure in the animalistic rage she felt - the rage that convinced her to maul Lenora and masticate upon her flawless flesh. The simplicity of being sadistic, the freedom of being masochistic. Somewhere, between the glass in her gums and the knife clenched in her hand, Tora found a lick of logic. Her vagary had now come to it’s great conclusion. Her true purpose for losing her ladylike nature was deep. Deeper than her one and only child might imagine. Sacrifice. Tora always gave everything to her son - all to see him happy, on a better path than she could provide. She was tired, so exhausted of it all. Less to worry about. More to be grateful for.

Tip to throat, Tora pushed through her skin, that blunt knife with a point. She gurgles. Now Tora regrets her choice of conclusion. She thought things would have ended far more dramatically than this. A punctuation. Not a painful, slow, suffocating death. No words can swim past the blood to let Tora speak. She merely pulls out the knife and tries again, this time - through the ear. No sound to fill the space of Tora’s sacrifice. Silence buzzing bright as the fluorescent light lures a meandering moth. Too close, a flash and then it falls to the floor. It dances no more.

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A collection of horror stories in first, second and third person... encourages people to discuss whether or not the collection of regurgitation is horror or not.

blah, blah, blah... if you want to know me then get to know me through the delight of live conversation.

Imagine a farm without fences, a zoo unzipped, uncaged and uncaring where animals just sit. And then a friend from afar came to see if it were true... trust the truth left them shocked - nothing to close, no doors to be locked... yet the animals never moved outside their sense of their own spaces. The friend could only venture to ask,"how in the hell did you manage this task?!" The owner of the uncaged collection of creatures could only reply ,"for years upon years, I collected beasts born in closed spaces. They knew only their cages, separated from each other and no idea or intention of the ways in the wild. And so after some time, I unmade the barriers of oppression. And yet there they stayed, stuck by their convention. No fire in their soul, to stroll out into the great unknown... They had been created as captives with only one view of reality. From all this it seems, to live without walls and without dreams, caged by values we use to make reality. Controlled by our conscious and unconscious state until one day we see: we know not what it means to be free.

Swept away by a soft breeze.

Sweet be the moment, shared not remembered. Soured by the memory of stolen adventure.

Then two bring the Twist of a lemon, The true taste of fate,

Flavored by sunshine. No bitterness or hate. A surreptitious smile - a glimpse not a glance. Beyond any Blundering advance of false affection:Undulating forth

With thoughts unexpected.

lips latching, tongues tentative. the life not a lie until one person denies. this is how it end. all things; happiness and sorrow -yesterday, today and tomorrow. Only the brave speak of being bold while those with courage take action.

An impression:

She is a song.

Some unstrung chord

An expression

In a world everyone knows.

The one who doesn’t belong.

Dancing in the shadows.

Maybe:

She is a story.

Bright eyes and a smile.

Worlds of words

Unfurled at her feet.

Knowledge makes her whole;

Wisdom makes her feel

Incomplete.

At last,

The thought:

She is not a poem.

She is poetry.

Wrapped and ready,

An abstract interpretation.

Finding the meaning of everything.

Nothing.

Anything...

Humble expression of soul.

Another beauty lost in obscurity.

Another heart break, beaten yet still beating, aching to be whole.

No need for the blanket of mutual affection when undeterred by the burr of unrequited love. True love it seems is a wave of impossible dreams… the spectrum of affection being either a lotion for the emotions or sand stuck distracting one from reality. Indubitably, as things are, the setting sun spreads a pitiful pigment upon the loving unloved… the colour of regret is somewhat like periwinkle as it infects the sky, darkening as the sun hides behind the horizon :leaving those without courage to be condemned in the shade, melting into shadows, drowning in darkness and denial… at least for a while …