Writing, Writers, and Scribbles.

[Athene]

---

Thanks for the kind words, ma'am.

I'm comfortable with posting most of my stuff, but as I haven't written poems in a while, they don't really represent where I'm at right now.

Anyway, here's a couple, the first a poem, the second a lyric to a song --

Empty Air

They’re all so cold,
and distant,
utterly unconcerned,
emotions unreturned.
They sleepwalk their way through the day with
nothing really real to say.
You can try to lay circuitry, but there’s no electricity --
why wire your emotions when there’s no telegraph?
Empty words, empty stare,
between me and them there’s only empty air,
molecules stilled by fears gone a-flutter,
a window made useless by the use of a shutter,
for their eyes might be open,
but their hearts seem closed
and any attempt at reaching inside seems predisposed
to failure.
Why even try?

Every so often, the façade cracks open.
Every so often, the dam is broken.
Every so often, I catch myself hoping that
our smiles are more than just empty tokens.

***************

Grabbing the Lightning

When all the wishin' in the world
ain't turnin' the trick, and
you go to grab the lightning
only to find it's too quick,
and you realize that one more time
your chance has slipped away

you can spend your time
and lavish your regrets
on this unhappy penchant
for the riskiest bets.
You can lay awake nights
wond'rin where it all went awry
but the riskiest bets
bring me no regrets --
I'll know I've lived
before I die.

When you're at a place where disappointment
doesn't bring you dismay --
when no matter what, there's peace in your heart --
that's a place you ought to stay.
When you already know that it's time to go
shouldn't you be gone?
Some other day, some other way
you'll find where you belong.

And if that day never comes
when you feel that you've arrived
you'll find a secret pleasure
in knowing you've survived.
And if that ain't enough
you can do it again
'cause no one knows exactly
where your road ends.

---

Pretty damn sweet.
You've really got it goin' on,Thump.

[Rev. Rye]

I'm actually in a writers' group and we're actually trying to get an anthology published, called Over The Edge. I submitted 7 stories and 1 autobiographical piece. It's mostly speculative fiction, although I think most of my stories are either more magical realism or more Dostoevsky-style psychological tales. One involves a man joining a Trappist monastery solely because he's fascinated by the strange noises coming from within the walls. Another is about me in several dreams within dreams, and several of them involve me watching myself as an old man having sex with a dead squid. Another is a book review of a fake book that's equal parts Golden Age Musical fanfic, Melee fights, increasingly pointless love webs, and drunken bear-sex turned into a religious rite. One is a variation on the "Vanishing Hitchhiker" legend, and another is basically this brought into a context that might make some sense. One is a metafictional take on a pulp writer going through a severe creator breakdown, and one is the story of a pedophile committing suicide.

And the autobiographical piece is about my messed-up relationship with my mother and my own issues with my sanity, framed around an incident where I decided to copy Keith Richards and snort some of her ashes.