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Stream of Consciousness from Six Feet Under

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posted on Apr, 14 2009 @ 09:08 AM
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Adjust to the crux; lick the line-in time with my weakening pulse.
I’m feeling the peeling of my dead shell.
Nothing to sell-but my soul into Hell.
Hearing wicked clock; tick-tock, jolting paranoid shock.
Stay awake or hibernate under an ice cold rock.
Tipping pendulum swing, death on a string,
Covering eyes blinding the lies that fall from my lips-as this pendulum tips.
Hell still owns my crumbling throne…
Package my heart to then tear it apart, the heavy burdens I carry,
I wish only to bury-
Lay me to rest for I have failed your cruel test.
I plead for salvation to those who own my damnation,
I bend from the base-hiding a worrisome face.
I pray you didn’t notice my horror.


TDH




posted on Apr, 16 2009 @ 06:39 PM
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The Perpetuation of the Soulless Sculpture (repost to keep all of my work in one place)


As I lay next to you, unable to dream, incapable of slowing my racing thoughts; I am once again condemned to the feeling of disconnection. In spite of your gentle touch gliding over my arm, regardless of your whispers in declaration of undying love, it’s of no solace and slight consequence. The memory of your laughter filling my empty soul is fading as each moment passes. I’ve consumed your once vibrant essence and replaced it with pain, for this I am deeply sorry my love.







I am vacant and unable of breathing out the very love that you have allowed me to breathe in. With each gracious exhale; you’ve withered inside, each day just a bit more, and I have thoughtlessly reveled in your slaughter. The words that now fall onto these pages are an agonizing glimpse into the clay that I mold.







Slicing away from the spinning wheel, a quick smooth cut detaches commitment; a new tiny incision eliminates empathy and compassion, the pressure of my palm pushing down the remaining elements of the fading memory of love. Like the suppression of what I once felt for you. Fragments of our union plaster the walls from ceiling to floor, more pieces collect upon my uncaring face, and the remaining will be collected from the floor to begin the next sculpture. I am doomed to repeat this process again and again and again and again….



posted on Apr, 16 2009 @ 06:44 PM
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The Unit (Repost)

The lights are on in the unit next to ours. Nobody lives there, but for some strange reason the lights have been on for the last few weeks. This is just one in a long line of strange happenings that have surrounded this empty living space and I have to say that they are increasingly unnerving.
It started with a bang, literally just about a week after my wife and I moved in. We were sitting down for a quiet evening of television when at about 8:30 or so we heard a loud bang. I jumped from my easy chair to investigate (being the dutiful husband that I am). I stepped out onto the adjoining porch and peered down at the condo next door. The once bolted door was blown in and the screen door once secure was wide open. This was a little disturbing. I quickly told Claire to lock the door. I grabbed my cell phone and ran down stairs to the grassy area directly below the condos for a better vantage point. I swore that I saw movement inside the unit; there are no shades on the windows. It was pretty dark, but I am certain that I saw movement. I phoned the condo president to ask her advice. She suggested that I phone the police and that I keep my distance. I complied. The dispatcher said that a patrol car was on the way, and also suggested that I stay clear of whomever or whatever was in there.
I smoked cigarette after cigarette and I waited and I watched.
The police finally showed up about an hour later. I stood out in the driving snow and watched the doors and window the entire time. When they arrived, they drew their weapons and ascended the stair case. They both disappeared into the darkness of the unit. I could see the reflection of light from their flashlights darting around the walls as I watched from outside. I just knew that there was someone in there, I knew it. I waited for the yelling to begin, I waited for the apprehension and it never came. The 2 police officers exited the unit and took some information from me. They theorized that it was probably a squatter trying to get in from the cold, and said the he probably heard me open the door and he took off when I reentered my condo to retrieve my cell phone. Good theory, plausible.
It wasn't too long after that, the noises began. Along with noises, there is an overwhelming feeling of dread every time I pass by the unit. I reluctantly would sneak a look into the windows as I passed by leaving or returning home from work. It's an odd sight, looking into a place that looks exactly like my own home but without furniture or carpeting. It's almost like looking at my own future, the thought that this will be my home long after I am gone. It's my life, just emptier. Only the memories are left behind. I was lying in bed one night thinking about what I have just described when I heard what sounded like laughing. It was coming from right behind my bedroom wall. The laughter was quiet, almost intentionally so. It is never loud enough to be sure that it is laughter that I am hearing. But, I am almost sure that I am hearing a quiet, deep, and antagonizing laugh. It's upsetting.
The reason I am writing this down is because I want a record of all that is happening. I don't want to forget a thing. Last week when I stepped out onto the porch to have a cigarette the lights were on, I couldn't breath. My heart began to pound. I slowly walked toward the unit to investigate. The reality is, I have no idea where I gathered the courage, but as I approached the window I somehow managed to look inside. There it was, barren and desolate. I was a cold evening so the windows were filled with frost. I used my hand to clear my view, there was no one. As I turned to walk away, the porch light flickered on and the off again.
The Unit Part 2

It has been some time now since I started documenting the odd occurrences of the unit. I have now begun to realize that there are other odd things going on that have nothing to do with the unit. My wife and I barely speak; but when we do it's always very mean spirited.

I walked past a photo of the two of us on vacation in Cancun and wondered "weren't we smiling in that picture? I could have sworn we were smiling." At night the laughter continues. Now I hear more than one person laughing and I am convinced they are laughing at me. They know of my failures in life; they find humor in my unhappy marriage. They somehow know of the embarrassments I suffered from as a boy and their laughter is an ever present reminder.

I woke from a nightmare recently to find my wife wasn't lying next to me. I threw the sheet off of me and got up to look for her. It was dark as I felt the wall for the light switch. I went from room to room turning on each light only to find that she wasn't there. I became angry, so sure in the idea that she was out with another man, the paranoia felt like a hand around my throat. I remember muttering out loud "screw her then" and I returned to bed.

I tossed and turned for several minuets before I finally could clear my mind in order to once again fall asleep. Just as I started drifting away, I heard her. It was Claire's voice I'm sure of it. She was inside the unit and she needed help. I heard her screaming for me. Why didn't I hear her before?
I jumped from my bed once again; I could feel by body temperature drop as I struggled to gain my equilibrium. I could still hear her screaming as I made it to the front door. It was completely dark and I was having a lot of trouble finding the lock. When I opened the door I looked to find her leaving the unit, she was gently closing the door behind her. To my amazement, she was grinning. "What the hell is going on?" I said. "Nothing" she replied, as she looked at the ground. "I thought I heard a noise." She opened our front door, turned, and closed it right in from of me, leaving me outside.

It's now been several weeks since that incident and my documentation continues. I am filled with paranoia and my wife and I haven't spoken in what seems like an eternity. Night after night she leaves at precisely 3 am, and night after night I hear her next door screaming for help. The first few times I tried to intercede, beacon her out, convince her not to go, but every time I fail. I know what I am hearing isn't in my head, I know that it is real, but who do I tell? Who can I call? 3 nights ago I heard her singing, I couldn't recall at the time what the name of the song was, but it later came to me. It was the 'Consecration Hymnal'



posted on Apr, 16 2009 @ 06:45 PM
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The Unit part 2 (repost)
'Consecration Hymnal'
Since Jesus gave His life for me,
Should I not give Him mine?
I'm consecrated, Lord, to Thee,
I shall be wholly Thine.

My life, O Lord, I give to Thee,
My talents, time, and all;
I'll serve Thee, Lord, Thine own to be,
I'll hear Thy faintest call.

I care not where my Lord directs,
His purpose I'll fulfill;
I know He everyone protects
who does His holy will.

Though He may call across the sea,
With Jesus I will go;
and tell the lost of love so free,
Till all His power may know.

My home and friends are dear to me,
Yet He is dearer still;
In my affections first He'll be,
And first His righteous will.

My all, O Lord, to Thee I'll give,
Accept it as Thine own;
For Thee alone I'll ever live,
My heart shall be Thy throne.
For those who don't know, my wife is Jewish, and I have no idea where she would have learned this.
A few days ago I woke up to get ready for work and she was lying in bed (which is normal now, she sleeps most of the day into the afternoon and no longer works) and entered the bathroom. Written in red lipstick on the mirror was this image.


I've seen this model before, and (although this is not the actual figure she drew, it is what she intended to draw) it shook me to my very soul. This is what is called a 'Circumscribed Tetrahedron' (inside you will find the Golden Mean or the Golden Ratio),
I ran into the bedroom and shook her awake. "What is this?" "My art?" she said. "I had a dream…. And it looked like that. It's beautiful."

The Unit (Part 3)


It is only now that I realize that I must be dreaming. Only in nightmares are you this helpless, only in the most profound dream do you feel this utterly alone and scared. With that, I grab her face and cradle it in my hands, I look into her eyes and beg her to explain to me the significance of the Golden Ratio (truthfully, I purposely did not ask her about the tetrahedral pyramid because at the time I couldn't remember what it was called). "What has compelled you to leave this house every single night? Why are you obsessed with that place? And why is the Golden Ratio written in lipstick on our mirror?" I asked.
She slyly smiled and rolled to her side, "It is the key." "The key? The key to what?" I asked. She began to look annoyed, "The key to you, the key to me, it is everything that you can and cannot see. You see it begins with Pi, which is much, much more than a simple set of numbers. If you square Pi than you get a number exactly 1 greater than Pi. All of the plants on this planet grow based on this principal. When you divide Pi into 1 you get a number exactly 1 less than Pi. Take the square root of 5 add one then divide by 2 and you again have Pi. When you graph these numbers out, as I have done for you in hopes that you simple mind can comprehend, you have the beautiful Golden Ratio. And, if you stopped to look around you, you would find it everywhere. The Egyptians knew it, look at the The Giza Necropolis that stands on the Giza Plateau."
"What does this have to do with anything?" I asked, but before I could redirect the conversation she leapt from the bed suddenly and grabbed my hand. Her fingernails dug deep into my wrist.

"LOOK" she screamed, "LOOK AT YOUR FINGER PRINTS! Look at seashells, galaxies, and our solar system! The average of the mean orbital distances of each successive planet expressed in relation to the one before it closely approximates Phi! It's in our damn DNA!".

"This is not random, this is the language spoken by God and he is speaking to me in that room." I absolutely froze, I could not move. I could see that she believed what she was saying to be true. She fell to her knees and began to cry.
"It is my God telling me to come home…" she wept. "It is in the music, it is the trees, it's, it's all around us." She then looked directly at me, suddenly feeling excited but with tears still streaming from her eyes. "Can you hear it now?" She asked.
"No, I don't hear anything" I replied.
"But, what about the pyramid? What does that have to do with this?".
"That is my vehicle" she said.
With that, she pulled herself up from the floor and ran out the front door. I tried to give chase but it felt as if I were running in tar. I struggled to get to the front door. As I reached the door my heart stopped. I watched my lovely wife, my soul mate, my reason for being, plummet 4 floors to the cold concrete below. I screamed but only heard silence.
…and then I awoke with a shiver.



posted on Apr, 16 2009 @ 06:49 PM
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The Inconsequential (repost)



I looked across the table at her as she stirred her coffee. I was uncomfortable in my own skin; I tried to avoid direct eye contact. She smiled sweetly and asked “What’s going on with you today? You don’t seem yourself.”

“We get together for coffee every Friday and you’re never like this.” I wish I had the courage to tell her. I wish that I was man enough to tell her that I was completely in love with her, but there was nothing I could do about it. I was empty without her, my long life has been rendered meaningless because it is her that I was meant to share it with.

The emotions were building in me, but I was aware enough to realize that this was a fight I wasn’t going to win.

“I used to be young…. I used to be young, like you. It’s true.” I said. This statement was in no way going to enable her to see who I really am. It’s impossible for her to know who I am, what I’ve done in my life. She can only look at me as this broken down old man…. old, irrelevant man.

“I was once young, thin… and I accomplished a lot of great things… and, and I’m-I haven’t always been…. like this. You and I aren’t so different you know? But, I can certainly see how, umm it may be difficult for you to see.” I said, struggling to find the words that simply don’t exist.

How can a man externalize just the proper combination of words in order for a beautiful young woman to see him for who he really is, not just who he is on the outside?

I fell in love with her, regardless of the difference in our ages. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever met, but it wasn’t meant to be.

“Aww, I know” she replied. “I know who you are, you’re very important to me.” She said.

At that moment, I realized that that this is where I give up. Because I could see that she didn’t understand. She didn’t have a clue about who I am, and what I was about. She felt sorry for me.

You know what, at that moment I felt sorry for me too.



posted on Apr, 16 2009 @ 06:50 PM
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The Chemical Burn (repost)

In my opinion what makes a great artist be it musical or literary, there has to be a certain element of pain. This pain enables one to tap into an emotional well of inspiration that when focused properly can be channeled into a poignant and moving product to another. Well, unfortunately I have chemically choked off that element of pain because I was too weak to deal with my own reality. My doctor decided I needed help coping with the monumental workload I have taken on, after my description of 'odd' symptoms I have been experiencing.


Without disparity there is no prosperity. And without inspiration, I have joined the ranks of the walking dead. Hi, I'm Paul and I am a zombie. (This is where you all applaud and say "Hi Paul")
(I take the podium; there is a slight whistle of feedback emanating from the microphone)
"I would like to thank everyone for your support through this difficult time, it means a lot to me. I remember when I was 9 years old and I took the light bulb out of the lamp in my bedroom. The lamp was shaped like a space ship and I thought it would be cool to put a little toy guy into the socket so that he could be my pilot as we travel the stars looking for intelligent life. The little man was quite small and fell to the bottom of the light socket, he landed upside down. This was no way to fly a ship of this size, Christ he couldn't see where he was going. I reached out with my finger to rescue him and I heard a voice. This voice told me to stop. I took a step back not even knowing why, at that moment my mother entered to the room. I explained to her what I was attempting to do and she gasped. She unplugged the lamp and proceeded to explain to me that I was about to die. Something had implored her to check on me, with that she surmised that I was destined to do something great with my life."
(The smattering of applause from the zombies cemented my decision to proceed)
The when I was 11 the rain washing down from the Arizona mountains trapped a friend and I on the island portion of what was referred to as "Twin Wash". The water was flowing so powerfully that we were between 2 rivers of fast moving water with no way to cross. As we looked for a shallow portion of the wash of water I fell in and was immediately swept under. I was being slammed with moving boulders and stones. Every time I sunk beneath the surface I just knew that I would never come up again. From time to time I could see Mike running along the edge trying to follow me as I was whisked way to a watery grave. A few times during my ordeal I reached up to grab anything to pull myself out of the water. I managed to grab a hold of a greasewood bush but it snapped almost instantly against the weight of the flow of water. I sank to the bottom again. I knew at that point that I was meant to die, I hit the bottom and I believe I drifted upward, my lungs filled with sediment and rainwater; my arm became tangled in what was called a 'cat claw bush'. This was enough to roll me ashore. I knew then that my mother was right; I am going to be a great man, an important man, a man that will eventually make a difference."
(The crowed erupted with applause yet again)
"So here I am before you, emotionally frozen, chemically distorted, and disillusioned, buckling under the weight if the realization that I am in no way special or unique. I am Paul and I am a zombie."

Then came the nightmare:

The thought occurred to me, am I the dreamer or the dream?


This morning I woke with a jolt, my heart and my mind racing. I looked around the room for some semblance of reality, anything at all to shake away the terror of a dream that I struggled recall. Even now only small fragments remain, I have lost most of what I dreamt and am a happier man because of it.

The remaining haunt.

I was having a garage sale, spread out on multiple tables were moments of my life. Everything must go. Happy times, sad times, moments of poignancy or glee, all that I had experienced in my life laid out for strangers to pick through and haggle over. It occurred to me that nobody wanted to purchase any portion of my life, I had nothing to offer that was even remotely appealing. Perspective buyers asked where the 'important items' were, things of value. I had no answer, I heard laughter as the hoards of people picked through the fragments of my feeble existence.
I realized that I have been here all of this time and I produced nothing of any significance or importance. I cried.

Do zombies dream?



posted on Apr, 16 2009 @ 06:52 PM
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Mirror mirror on the wall, the mask is wearing thin (repost poem)

I bleed from every pore, but the voice keeps repeating "it's ok, same as before". Spark, ignite, fire, slow drag, exhale… it's calming me from the inside out. Friends find comfort in confiding again, they never seem to realize that I too am wearing thin. Your issues mirror mine in ways I cannot begin to set a blaze. Breathing in your burdened signs fail to produce results like mine. Yet you call again. I feel overwhelmed with my own concerns; I cannot continue to add the weight of you. My knees have buckled; my fear now is that you will not offer to pick me up once they give way.

I suppose that I'm a selfish soul in a selfish shell immersed in my delusion. My simplistic flee is to lock my doors and wallow in seclusion. This troubled brow grows heavy. What makes me smile is unreliable. Tonight I miss my bride.



posted on Apr, 16 2009 @ 06:52 PM
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Here's another.


Wretched feeling, sleep depravity.... rotting from within crude cavity.

Counting backward forward again, elusive slumber... 9.... 10...
Untitled (repost)

The raven claws dig within, this empty soul drawing thin,

I can't recall so I simplify, use these notes to symbolize,

structured epic story fails, when placed against this face it pales.

Breathing in this poison air, I'm feeling weak under weight I bear.

Foundation slipping from below, the wing of this soulless crow.

Count again forward back; push away the rest I lack.

Maybe I’m simply delusional but I think you're beautiful.......



posted on Apr, 16 2009 @ 06:54 PM
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Bliss (Ode To Jones) A Poem (repost)

The blistering tongue forming corruption filled phrases, the dead-eyed stare numbing the hundreds of gazes. Pounding fists shaking podiums while ranting and raving, rabid jaw clinching spewing hatred words scathing. "Walk with me, I'm the sign of the ancient one's coming, I am the almighty this is why I'm not running. I will make sure you and your children are fed; I will assure you that your enemies will all soon be dead. I am your savior, your true God, your alter; kneel down before me for I shall not falter." Tipping back this cup of liquid I'll follow, as bodies fall down beside me I'll swallow. We drink this dream anonymously blending in with the heard, believing this angel's every smile, every word. Detached are your eyes disguised behind glass, the darkening perception with each second that pass…. Bliss


(Here I had a photo of an elderly lady holding a sign that read: I believe in Jim Jones)

...So do I



posted on Apr, 20 2009 @ 08:11 AM
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A few nights ago I had a dream…..


I was slowly walking through a field of wheat. I was one among hundreds of people, leisurely, languidly walking amidst giant rolls of bailed wheat. As I glanced around it became apparent to me that I was the only one that wasn’t simply staring forward, doe-eyed and glazed.

On each side of me there were long rows of stone pillars, each resembled an ancient Roman design and at the top of each pillar was a plateau. Perched on each plateau was a crouching man, I then noticed that as we slowly walked past each man perched upon a pillar, each man was speaking.

At first I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it then soon became clear that they were all speaking of a variety of religious ideologies. Each one spoke of his own belief in each respective religious dogma, and made it abundantly clear that his was the only way to true salvation. With this knowledge, I looked around again, looking at the masses of people that surrounded me. This was the most disturbing portion of the dream, none had changed their expression.

They all marched ahead, slowly, methodically, staring straight ahead, doe-eyed, expressionless……



posted on Apr, 22 2009 @ 07:59 AM
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The theory of dark energy (repost)

The theory of dark energy: It's quite simple, it's my belief that there are 2 predominate energies in our realm of reality, dark energy (hate) and light energy (love). Both energies are very similar in most respects whereby they react and grow based on how they are fed. Let's take a look at dark energy. Dark energy is grown on its most basic level by negative thought, and then compounded by negative action. For instance when a curious child takes a magnifying glass to an ant, what initially began as negative thought became negative action, this action causes the ant's life to end, that action feeds dark energy. The dark energy then compounds and manifests itself in other negative ways. Another example: a tormented mother frustrated by an uncaring husband takes her anger out on a child at the grocery store. This negative action (caused by another negative action) is witnessed by other shoppers causing the manifestation of dark energy around each witness, this energy will be released in some way, or some form at some point. It has to be, it is after all energy. Now let's examine the child: the child being main focus of the dark energy will receive more of this energy. This will cause a more powerful eviction of dark energy (keeping in mind that again it is energy and has to be released), and the longer the child holds the energy, the more it grows. There is a balance to the equation, that's the good news. I will explain that in another post when I've had just the right amount of beer and all of this garbage sound reasonable to me.



posted on Apr, 22 2009 @ 08:00 AM
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We examined my little theory of dark energy; now let's take a look at light energy for a moment. It's not too difficult of a concept to grasp, unless your diet as a child consisted of paint chips and huffing gasoline. This whole thing started a few weeks ago when someone did something for me that was amazing. This gesture was one of the kindest things that anyone has ever done for me, and was reduced by the simple phrase "just pay it forward". That got me thinking. Now the theory of light energy: Light energy although not as commonly recognized, is every bit as abundant as dark energy. Light energy can be seen in a child's eyes on Christmas morning (those who celebrate Christmas), it can be seen when you hold the door for someone who's grateful. It can be heard throughout our great history of music, it can be felt in the warm embrace of someone you love. The reality is, this theory although odd, is indeed quantifiable. All it takes is someone being completely honest with ones self. Think of the last time someone made you smile. It was pretty easy to get through the day, wasn't it? It was also pretty easy to do something nice for someone else, I'm sure. Light energy is fills the spaces between us when we are in love, fills our lungs with air when we laugh, is the reason our skin goes flush and our eyes well up with tears when we see someone that we haven't for a long time. I am surrounded by light energy when I am with my wife. Life is a finely crafted equation in perfect balance and harmony. Your experience largely depends on what side you choose to recognize.



posted on Apr, 22 2009 @ 08:02 AM
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The Singularity (repost)




"Waaaake uuuup," the soft and willowy voice requests. I heard it from the back of consciousness; I thought that I had just heard a voice direct me to wake up. No matter, my slumber is calling me back, now I fade once again.

"Wake up" the soft voice beckons again. This time I am sure I heard it. My eyes struggle to open, slowly. I manage to open one slightly to find that I do not recognize my surroundings. This frightens me, I recognize nothing, and I sit straight up and glance from one corner of the room to the other. I am in what looks to be a small motel room. This unmistakable room with a bed, television, and bathroom and nothing else. "Where am I?" I manage to say but I do not sound like me. I try to clear my throat but even this sounds foreign to me. "It's of no consequence to you where you are" the frail voice announced. The terror fills me quickly and thoroughly. "Wait" I demand, as if I need to buy time, "wait!" "Who are you? Why can't I see you?" I ask. "Again, this is of no consequence; however you may want to look at yourself." The voice sounds almost amused.

I struggle to roll off of the bed, I feel sharp pain coming from my jaw, and I begin to cry. "Why are you crying?" asks the voice. "I hurt," I say. "You are pushing yourself up with your facial hair under you hand." The voice says quite gleefully. "What?" I look down to notice that I have a long white beard, and it is trapped under the palm of my hand as I attempt to get up. "I don't have a beard" I scream, "Are you sure?" the voice asks. "Get up and look before you make false statements." The voice suggests. I manage roll to my right and push myself into a sitting position, I am startled by the sight of my legs, so thin and old. "What has happened to me?" "My god what has happened to me?" I cry out.

"To put it simplistically, you have been 'moved along' in time, again it's of little consequence what has happened to you at this point, what may be a more appropriate question would be: why has this happened to you." I struggle to my feet and head to the bathroom mirror. My legs wobble under the weight of my body, and I fall against the doorway of the bathroom and squint to help focus at my reflection in the mirror. The realization begins to set in. I am an old man. "What has happened to me? Why am I old? Where is my family?" The voice does not answer. "WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO MY FAMILY?" I wail.
"Your family has been granted an opportunity to live, to be free of the weight of your insignificance." The voice replies. "What? What do you mean?" I ask. "Again, you fail to ask the proper questions, questions that may assist you in learning." The voice seems to be almost annoyed now. It's willowy pitch replaced by a more sinister growl. "You have been 'moved along' in time to make room for others more deserving; you had squandered enough time, and did not deserve the allocation of another second!" "I don't understand....Help me understand all of this." I plead. "I will attempt to explain, however you should not concern yourself with this explanation, I assure you, you will not understand it at this time. You see, time is not the A-Z linear abstract idea that you perceive it to be. Think of time as a singular point expanding outward in every direction at once. If you occupy part of any of this singularity, you thus occupy it all. You see, your utter lack of respect for the gift you have been given has resulted in your removal from the singularity. Your removal has freed up valuable space for those who have a better concept and appreciation of the gift they have been given." The voice continued.

"The decision to remove you aided others; it has given them a larger reward. The moments that they sacrificed themselves for the benefit of others, has been equaled out and returned to them in the form of moments of great satisfaction." The voice stated.

"This could not have been the case had not the decision been made to move you along." "Move me along? Move me along what?" I asked, the voice again sounded annoyed. "You are not required to understand, you are not required to appreciate what I am explaining to you. You have served your purpose and if you disagree than might I suggest that the next time you are given a gift, you learn to cherish and share it with others." "The whereabouts of your family shall not be a concern to you for they no longer exist as your family." The voice stated.

"You are a memory, a recollection of a mistake in judgment by your wife, and that of a failure to your child." I then fall to the floor and focus on the slow rotation of a ceiling fan. "Dear God, give me the strength to wake from this nightmare". "Me, me, me, it's all about me. Perhaps you should focus on the good you have done, rather than how you have been wronged. It's always the same; the pathetic souls continue to focus on themselves". The voice continues, "This is why you and those like you have been moved along, rest assured, you are not the first nor will you be the last". "How much time do I have left?" I ask. "That is of no consequence" The voice stated.
With that, all of a sudden I feel alone. I struggle to my knees, crying. BANG, BANG, BANG. I hear a knock at the door. This startles me, as I glance around the room looking for the door. BANG, BANG, BANG. I drop down to the floor in terror as the door is forced in. There I see two men in masks; one draws a gun and fires it. All I see now is black, but I can still hear them. "Look in the drawers!" one says. “There's nothing in here man, no clothes, no wallet, money nothing!"
He says. Now I am above them, I can see the entire room. My old and lifeless body is in a motionless and bloody heap. I see one of them turn to witness the other, unconscious on the bed. He begins o feel tired himself and falls asleep.

From a distance, I hear the familiar soft and willowy voice say "Waaaake uuuup,"

Only this time.... I am somehow aware that it is not speaking to me.



posted on May, 28 2009 @ 06:54 PM
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I am pulling angels down from heaven one by one, pulling off each wing then burn them against sun.

Faces of wing less angels delight, inside your voice assures me I'm right.

I am now shrouded by a regretful cloak, shallow breath, tight chest, I choke.

The solace I need slips though my hands. Along with that, my future plans.

I brush your lips with my finger tips and you whisper "I love you".



posted on Jul, 12 2009 @ 09:09 PM
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Dear Daughter,

In writing you this, I am well aware that you'll probably never have the chance to read it. For I am certain that by the time you're old enough to understand this note, the internet as well as social networking sites will undoubtedly be a thing of the past. This information that inevitably reside on old servers for a time will be long gone.

I'm writing to you out of regret, its becoming alarmingly clear to me that I am in the process of failing you. I have not been with you throughout all of your 'special moments' growing up. I have not provided the life for you that your beautiful soul needs and deserves. I am failing you like I have failed my wife, and before that, my mother and father.

After much thought it has been slowly occurring to me that I haven't reaped the rewards of a fruitful life and thus been unable to pass this reward along to you simply because I have made poor choices. Consistently poor choices.

I chased a dream far too long and then spent years regretting that chase. I've never felt as if I was doing what I was 'meant to do'. This conflict within has created a perpetual distraction. This distraction has created a flaw in my personality.

The burden of feeling like you're simply going through the motions in life is a heavy one. The dream I once dreamed is gone, and with it, it took most of me. For this I am truly sorry.

This is why I will continue to tell you to do with your life that which makes you whole, that which truly inspires you. For without acting on inspiration and having a deep desire and passion for what you do, I'm afraid you'll end up like me. Empty and depleted, nothing left to give to those who matter most.

I love you always.
Your Father



posted on Jul, 30 2009 @ 07:50 PM
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Darkhorse, these are very powerful stories. Very. Powerful.
Amazing how some people have the soul of a writer. You could write professionally, imo, if you are not already, of course.

Thank you for sharing these. They are wonderfully well written, how ever sorrowful.

liw



posted on Aug, 15 2009 @ 11:05 AM
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Thank you. I am not a professional writer. I just write and the words simply fall onto paper. This is why I call it ‘Stream of Consciousness from Six Feet Under’; it is all very stream of consciousness. Not a lot of thought goes into the concepts; they just appear as I write. I thank you from the deepest of my heart for actually taking the time to read them. I have a lot more that I will be adding. This has become sort of a journal for me, a place to hide my insanity.


[edit on 15-8-2009 by TheDarkHorse]



posted on Aug, 15 2009 @ 03:35 PM
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a bit grim don't you think...?

but well writen , fresh meat , whats for dinner ?



posted on Aug, 25 2009 @ 05:27 PM
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For Abbey

I’ve deepened my soul to accommodate your role, cradling creation profound.

Giving up my essence to ensure your possession, for those who darkened deep down.

A lifetime has passed through the shadow you cast; now I’m in a struggle to remember me. I buried how I felt; then cursed the cards I’d been dealt, left to wonder about who you’d eventually be. My love was erased and your memory encased in a splintering glowing glass breath. Every second that passed I wished was my last, counting them down to an emotional death. But then like a ghost, an appearance that closed all of the holes in my soul from your departures toll. A photo, a smile, a voice not heard for more than a while, brings again the bliss that I had almost forgotten I missed.




I love you…..




Not just for what you are

Not just for who you are

But, most of all for who you’ve become.



posted on Sep, 14 2009 @ 12:20 PM
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Chapter: One: The Dream (Repost)



Flash of light, the heat on my chest, loud bang, pain, terror, helplessness, agony…. POP-POP-POP-BANG


I awoke from a nightmare, grabbed my rib cage in agonizing pain certain that my guts had been ripped out. The sweat soaked sheets cling to my trembling body. My heart is pounding and my chest is heaving, I try to gather, and reassure myself that this was only a nightmare. It’s always the same dream.

I glance at the clock, damn 6:40 am; I may as well get up and prepare the coffee.

I have been plagued by nightmares most of my adult life. I remember being a freshman in high school; I began having trouble falling asleep. I would feel incredible anxiety most nights, tossing and turning for hours. When indeed I would start to drift, the first images of my 'between dream' would be of horrific figures inflicting pain on me. Primarily my brain, however sometimes my abdomen would be mutilated through my navel. I dreamt of being impaled with sharp instruments; I thought for sure my right bottom rib was removed forcibly.

Unbelievable horrors that today I see much clearer than I did back then. I struggled for approximately 2 ½ years with this, too paranoid to speak to anyone because I thought I was going insane. This had a major impact in my life. I stopped going to school, I stopped socializing with friends, I withdrew from family, and I lost about 60 lbs in the span on a year. Those close thought I was using drugs, but I wasn't. I was suffering and I could tell no one. What would I say? Who would believe me even if I did work up the courage to tell them what happened to me that night, what happened to all of us that night.


I tighten my tie and grab my keys for yet another day on the sales floor. Time to put on a plastic smile and garner enough fake enthusiasm to make it through yet another 12 hour day of convincing people to do things that perhaps they may not want to do. I give a quick wink to the man in the mirror and I exit my apartment locking the door behind me.

I’m usually lost in thought when I drive; it’s one of the only peaceful segments of my day. Today is no different. I’m thinking about being a kid in Las Vegas, not having a worry in the world (at least nothing compared to today’s worries), looking forward to going out every night and finding the perfect party, and the perfect people to party with. That reminded me of the night we pulled into a 7-11, wrapped the license plate up with a plastic bag, and calmly walked into the convenience store and took 4 cases of Budweiser and ran out. We did his all the time, but for some odd reason only one occasion came to me clearly.



It was the perfect plan: Jeff was driving (it was his car), Jason had shotgun, Keith, me, and Jason’s girl Theresa in the back. We were on the way to pick up Rick and his girl Stephanie and we were headed to the lakebed for a night of drinking. We all loved heavy music back then, Metallica’s ‘Master of Puppets’ was spinning tonight. I really liked that CD, it’s was a lot better than ‘…And Justice for All’ which had come out the year before. Justice was good, but it didn’t have enough balls, it sounded to slick for my taste.

The plan was, we we’re going to drop Theresa off about a half a mile from the 7-11, if we were to get caught, we wanted someone who knew what was going on to be in a position to help. Thinking back, I’m not really sure just what kind of help she could have been to us; she was standing on a street corner a half a mile away from us and about 4 miles away from the area in Vegas that we lived. Theresa was absolutely lovely, a Latin girl and the only girl I had ever met up to that point who actually understood my weird sense of humor. That made it seem like he and I were always on the same page, I don’t recall ever being totally on the same page with anyone before Theresa. She has a smile that big and bright, I remember how her eyes would get sort of squinty when she smiled. She was Jason’s girl though.

We pulled along side of the 7-11 and waited until the parking lot was empty before we made our move. As the last car pulled out, Jason and I got out and walked in, Keith stood next to the car holding the back seat in the forward position for easy access. Jason and I casually strolled to the cooler he opened the door and grabbed 2 cases, I grabbed another 2 cases and turned and nonchalantly approached the counter. The trick is once we both get to the counter; we pause, then dash, making sure we are close to each other.

Jason was a little guy; I could tell that he struggled with that because he was always the first to throw a punch. He took absolute pleasure in beating someone down; the kid was constantly in a fight with someone. He always had something to prove. He had an older brother that was pretty successful, I don’t recall exactly what he did for a living but he was the pride of the family and I think that bothered the kid. Personally I think that’s why he had a chip on his shoulder. The only person that could calm him down when he got pissed was Theresa, she did it with ease.


We paused, I think I may have even put one of the cases on the counter before I paused, but then we hit the door. As we ran out, 2 guys were getting out of their car, noticed what was going on, and began to chase us around the side of the building. I reached the car first, threw my cases in the back seat and dove in, Jason was right behind me. Keith jumped in, pulled the seat back as Jason reached the car. One of the guys had apparently caught up to Jason because he had a hold of his shirt. Jason realizing this dropped the one case he couldn’t throw in and just began beating the living snot out of this guy. As the other approached, Jeff threw the car in park and began beating the other one. I froze, I was absolutely frozen.


Keith and I looked at each other as if to say “now what?”, but before we could even decide what to do next, they both jump in the car and we sped away laughing our asses off. Jason’s shirt was almost torn clean off; he finished the job and used it to soak up the blood from his eye. We pulled up to the corner where we dropped Theresa off, she had both hands pushed deep into her pockets and when she noticed that it was us she did this little bounce, I remember thinking how cute that was.



[edit on 14-9-2009 by TheDarkHorse]



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