Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not.

Beautiful stranger

2010-07-05T14:02:00.001-07:00

Who are you my beautiful stranger? Your eyes so dark, so light. You hair so beautiful, so worn. I looked into your eyes and my world fell apart. To know you, just to know you would be enough.Who are you to appear and disappear before me. How can something so intricate be so very, very simple. Amazing. She walked by and she had summer in her hair. A shade of despair and a small sadness to her, which only added to her collective beauty. Her sunburned cheeks, freckles, small and just like flowers, beautiful flowers.
A glance exchanged, a moment passed, worlds collided and time went on. Sped up to an constantly escalating pace until nothing was left, the moment which lasted a lifetime and a life lived which only lasted a moment.
My beautiful stranger. Was that green I saw in your eyes, was it blue? Was it brown or maybe gray? My stranger with summer in her hair. Who gave you your nose, who made your lips? Was your father a thief who stole the perfect child? Was your mother a goddess to give birth to beauty divine? Who are you my stranger with sunburned hair? Why did you hide your face in that hair? Were you afraid to show yourself? Why did you smile?
Am I only left with hope? Or is there another way for me to see you? Should I stop and stand by a tree, on the sidewalk, lean against a car and just stay and watch. Stay and wait. Maybe, if I stand long enough, be patient, believe that I might see you again someday, I will? Or maybe I should just take everything, pack my bags and set out in search of you? Are you my truth? Are you worth the search or is the idea of you better than you could ever be or even hope to become? Would your kisses be sweet or sour? Would your hand be gentle, your fingers soft, your body warm? Would your voice sound like waves on a deserted shore? Or maybe it would be rain? A desert wind? Would your breath bring life? I looked into your eyes and saw a lifetime in a second. I saw a beautiful stranger, with summer in her hair.

2010-04-24T21:23:00.000-07:00

It's just like falling.

Entry 4: Of blood and snow

2010-01-24T12:55:00.000-08:00

He stood there, by that forsaken river in the middle of the city. Like a black pulsing artery of blood under soft white skin. Fragile, pure yet so easily penetrated, scarred, ruined. It was pure, for now at least. Grey stood on the bank, the late day slowly ticking in to another pitch black night.

The violence of yesterday was behind him, that dull yellow police tape still hung around a lone tree, but the blood, the gore, the body had all been erased from that place. Instead there was a patch of sawdust and some shovel work done . The blood was covered over. It felt to Grey like the job of an amateur plastic surgeon, who used drain fluid instead of botox. Hahaha, "I'll have to try that one ". Again that traitor thought. He'd been having those all day. He shrugged this one off as well. "The job's starting to get to me, all the death and cruelty I see... I was bound to go mad sooner or later." This one was his, not a traitor, he was sure of it, well almost sure. When you start going mad, the luxury of "being sure" disappeared and those "traitor thoughts" replaced them.

Grey fixed his eyes to the river. There was a reason he came here. It all seemed so clear in the morning, it was as if he had found a beautiful, loving, malevolent, violent god and now, after he saw the river again and swore to himself that he could, see it... no feel it pulsing beneath his feet, as if alive, as if the artery of some giant sea serpent. That god had gone away. There was a sickness to him, he could almost feel what was wrong, he could almost feel what dragged him and what kept him by the river in this freezing cold, but almost isn't good enough. He was lost in a city he grew up in, in a city he knew so well, in the park he played football in when younger, he was lost.

There! He saw it, a lump in the snow, like a mole on some ones beautiful skin, there it lay. He jumped down to the river and his feet cushioned his fall. Dark black ice was beneath the snow and he could feel it, the pulsing of that huge artery, could feel the river "the blood" rushing beneath. He walked in the clearing of the river and was swept by winds which seemed to hack at him from all sides. As if nature itself wanted him to turn back, as if it wanted to swallow whatever that lump was and simply devour it, break it down and destroy it. Like the white cells in your blood destroy viruses and infections... and "lumps" Grey thought and chuckled, yet the thought seemed so right a shiver ran down his spine despite the amusement.

He got to the lump, it was completely covered with snow. Grey knelt down and instantly felt the cold wet snow under his knee. It seemed as if the river ran a nail from under the ice, through his knee cap and on to his hip. Grey grimaced with pain, but persevered, he dug the cold white snow with his bare hands, the frozen crust cut in to him, small trickles of blood ran down and stained the pure white skin of the river, but Grey hardly even felt it. He was absorbed in what he was doing, his head was full of screams of people, the people he had killed, the people "it" had killed. He could feel it, even with his hands numbed by cold, he could feel it, the rough grain of the wood, the delicate carvings, the auspiciously simple and yet elegant shape of it. He picked it up and marveled at the beauty and the craftsmanship... and felt the cruelty in it. His head filled with whispers. Like the ones from his dream.

But Grey held his composure, he listened, standing there in the middle of the frozen river with darkness reaching it's cold black fingers across the sky to hold the earth in it's cold embrace once more, Grey stood and listened , he let the voices get clearer until he realized it was all just one voice. Grey closed his eyes and thought:" What a lovely box I found, what a pretty little box."

Entry 3: I found it.

2010-01-23T14:38:00.000-08:00

The sirens flash red and blue in the white snow. The trees cast long shadows, just for an instant, but then disappear back in to the dark. Their branches, the long black claws of every childhood monster that you could possibly imagine and then some, they keep reaching for the sirens and again with every flash they are thrust back into the darkness. The police tape, yellow and dull in the artificial light of cars, sirens and flash lights, surrounds an area among the trees, the tape forms a perfect octagon. The street lights in the distance, some passing cars and tall condos mark the edge of the park. On the other side is a ditch, a slight fall and a black river which would carry you far from the city, if the ice on it wasn't so thick.

Ice covered in white snow, Grey thought, there's something about this river, something important to him. He looked over his shoulder at the dark mass of blood, clothes and hair lying on the ground, snow melted around him, and a slight coating of icy crust, newly formed on the body.

Grey:" I'm Detective Samuel Grey, the lead investigator of this case as of 4.51am today. What can you tell me officer?"

Officer:" It seems the body was discovered about 40 minutes before we even got the call. The officer patrolling the park thought it was some homeless guy and decided he'd let him "sleep it off" as he put it, never mind that it's so could out here that the blood has started to freeze, the sadistic fuck wanted a body.

Grey: "I doubt that this is what he had in mind"

Officer:"Yeah, well... looks like he noticed later, when the moon was out, that the "homeless guy" was surrounded by a large dark circle, he went to check and then called it in."

Grey was silent, nodded to the cop and returned his attention to the middle of the river. Something about it. A small pile, maybe a glint of something dark within the snow? He could not put his finger on it, yet somehow it was important, as if by staring at that spot it would suddenly come to him, a thought so inviting and at the same time frightening. His attention was snapped back from the river and back to the body by a uniformed cop asking something about coffee. Grey nodded absently and squatted down, his shoes almost reaching the dark edge where pure white snow is mixed with blood.

The dead guy looked young, late twenties maybe early thirties, it was hard to tell, the cold had done it's work. Well dressed, not a homeless guy then, he thought.

Grey noticed something.

An envelope in his hand, the guy was holding that thing as if it was his only chance of life. He was holding it as if it could save him, close to his chest, or as if trying to protect it.

(the river!)

Grey took the envelope and placed it in his pocket, then circled around the the body, so he wouldn't have his back at the river. "The freezing weather is getting to me" he thought. He looked again, the river was still there, still as black at the edges where the ice was showing, and still as white in the middle, where the snow was thick. Except that one small bump in the middle, that little white bump, covering something.

He took another look at the body and decided to let the other guys finish up, it was too cold out here and the river along with the park were creeping him out a little. Just a little.

(the river)

He got to his car, it was an old ford, standard issue, but old. Most guys were driving around in newer models, but he liked this one. The seat was still a little warm from his drive to the scene. He started her up, the engine barked a little, swallowed whatever was chocking it and started. Grey let the engine heat up a little and the thin crust of ice that had appeared on the windshield to melt. He put her in gear and drove off. Feeling lighter somehow doing so. The park was not a good place to be lately. A lot of murders, some poor girl had her eyes cut out, for christ sake! It was beginning to dawn, or it would have if not for the thick cover of clouds. The sky simply got lighter and lighter until instead of the pitch black night, you got a greyness, a time when there we're no shadows.

He got home, parked his car and climbed the steps of his apartment building to a worn door, which opened itself to the key Grey was holding.

He got in to the apartment, took off his shoes and walked straight to the bedroom. He pulled the blinds to shield himself from the greyness of the coming day and then let himself fall into his bed.

Hey lay there, still clothed, still cold, but without energy to undress or even pull the covers over himself. He was slowly drifting into sleep when suddenly something occurred to him.

(the river!)

The envelope. The envelope he took off the dead guy. He could not think of a reason why had done that.

"Probably because the uniforms would have messed something up" he thought to himself, but recognized the lie of that traitor though as soon as it had appeared in his mind. Why? He could not understand why.

"Well I'll take it back to the station in the morning, I'm too tired to give a fuck" But that too was a lie. He was still tired and still, above all, wanted to sleep, but he could not get there. Sleep eluded him and all his thoughts kept returning to that envelope. He got up and got the envelope from his coat pocket, he went to the kitchen, because the light was best there and got his secret reading glasses. He wasn't sure why but he didn't want anyone else to know he needed them, he could still manage without them, but the way things were going it was obvious he was going to have to break the secret soon. He looked at the envelope, marked the bloodstains on it and read the words "Get rid of it" on it. He stored that little piece of information into his mental library for later pondering and went on opening the letter with great care using a small and sharp knife.

(the river)

He took out a letter, written in good handwriting and addressed to no one. "It's addressed to you" that traitor thought again. It sent a shiver up his spine and made him, for an instant, think of the river again, that little pile on the ice."It really did look like a lovely pile" he thought and actually laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. He shrugged off the memory of the river along with that little shiver and began reading the letter addressed to no one." to you ... "

Days have passed and become a blur. I can't really remember why I even started doing this. Why do I write this? I didn't think an answer would be there. So I don't blame you or even notice that no one else cares. It's easy to say this because I don't care anymore . Days Have passed, they always do and this too shall pass. I don't think I'll stop, I think I need this to be sane or maybe that is where the insanity begins.

I don't have much time, I'm getting very tired now, I think too tired, but it won't let me rest. It's louder at night you know, but when the sun is up it only whispers.

It was still early autumn when I found it. So beautiful... the days were still sunny or at least as sunny as autumn allows, but the sun did come. The nights were peaceful then, only filled with nightmares, nothing like this. No faces in the dark, no voices, no eyes. With the darkness it came. It told me to do it. I had to. I HAD TO CUT THEM! It's the only way to shut it up. At first when it was still only dreams it was weak or maybe I still couldn't hear it, but I SAW it.

One night I woke up from another nightmare of a dark figure whispering my name, I saw it. It crept slowly, like a shadow from under my bed, from beneath my covers, from around me, back into it. After that I knew what it was and I know it had me. Every night it wrapped itself around me and pulled me in and the darker it got the more powerful it became.

When winter began, it started telling me to hurt them. First, it was just small things, like tripping a co-worker or placing a razor into a stack of papers, but later it became worse, later I had to cut open the old lady next door just so it would shut up. It told such funny jokes, it told such funny lies.

I need this to stop. I'm going to stop this, by stopping myself, but I have to get rid of it first...

Don't look for it. Please , don't look for it!

Grey felt light headed. The letter was nothing special, just some crazy guys suicide note, but there was something.

(the river)

Something at the edge of his thoughts. Some alien voice, that made this letter, god this case so fucking weird. He could almost piece it together. This guys sure was a piece of work, Grey thought, I need to check this in to the evidence room ASAP. He was sure he could sleep now and he did. He dreamt of the river and that lovely little pile of snow in the middle of it. He dreamt of trees with claws and faces which whispered his name. He dreamt of branches that held him and fixed his eyes to that pretty little pile. And a voice both sweet and sly whispered to him from the shadows.

Morning passed and was replace with midday which was slowly ticking toward the full darkness of winter evening. Gray got up and checked his phone. He was greeted with 13 missed calls, all from the station. He resolved to call in and tell them he was sick or something, he didn't really care what he was going to tell them or what they would think or do about it. He knew what he wanted to do, what he needed to do. He planned it all in his head. He was going to have a cup of coffee, read the morning paper, go down to the park to get that lovely little pile of snow, because it really was such a pretty little pile of snow and then he was going to cut off the head of that bitch who left him two years ago and soak her head in battery acid.

Entry 2:

2008-12-16T14:44:00.000-08:00

Murder, six letter word ,the unlawful killing of another human person with intent or malice aforethought. Beside the point. Murder as a committed act. I never thought of it as much. People die every day , so what . Kill, four letters, means to cause death of a living organism. Killing cattle, not murdering. Killing plants, not murdering. Murder a person, kill a person. Person , six letter word, meaning an individual human being. Killing an individual human being is murder when such an action is caused with intent or malice aforethought.

One among countless other living organisms that I have crushed , none before this one could be thought of as murder .So I didn't kill , I murdered . I unlawfully terminated the life of a person. Also beside the point.

What does it mean to die? Death, the permanent termination of the biological functions that define living organisms. But to die, ceasing to exist. Do you think we retain our ability to think? Or rather do we keep our conscious mind after we die? If so , then how many vengeful minds watch over us? How many of them curse us with every thought they possess? How many curse me? Beside the point.

I murdered someone. It was a day like most, cold and bleak. The passing of such days go mostly unnoticed nothing ever happens, mostly it's simple existence. People mostly just try to stay alive until the warmth returns, gets their blood running again and they finally awake from the cold as if it was a bad dream. But there are some who relish in the winter cold. Such people are hot headed, aggressive, depressive and mostly drunks. Most are, but not all. Some of those people are fighters. Fight, five letter word, meaning a purposeful violent conflict. Beside the point. Those people, the fighters I mean, not the hibernating sheep or the drunken idiots, they may look as sheep, they walk and talk like those sheep, they may even drink , but deep within, they have the urge, the eyes and the look. You don't really see them walking around, or maybe you do, but luckily there aren't many of them. They keep to them selves and can come from very different backgrounds. Some maybe be intelligent , some... may not. Beside the point. They have one thing in common, something beside the fact that they're fighters. They're carved from the same tree. But all that is beside the point.

The point is, I met one of those people , one of the fighters. It was dark, and it was late. There was a slight snowfall. He was walking towards me and I towards him, about 20 paces before our paths crossed we stopped. I don't know why I stopped, I think that neither did he, but we stopped. His head was hidden in a white hood. I could see his jaw and the tip of his nose, but also his eyes. I will never forget his eyes. In the surrounding darkness and the yellow glow of the streetlights , his eyes had color, it was a murky swamp green , but they pierced out of the shadow of his hood like high beams. They were beautiful, full of rage and anger and aggression, but most of all I saw pain. The pain he was under, the pain he was about to cause and the pain he was about to receive. I wonder if my eyes showed all that, looked like his... Beside the point.

We clashed together like two barbarians on a battlefield. And it was just that ,a battlefield of snow and dust. He brought down his heavy fists against me , and I threw mine right back at him. We crashed into each other, destroying our bodies for no reason. But I couldn't stop and neither did he, not a word was spoken between us... at least , not until the very end. The fight ended , he was laying on the cold asphalt, bleeding. I was kneeling next to him, exhausted, in pain and bleeding , but I've never felt better in my life. I whispered in his ear. And then, without really knowing why , I stood up and crushed his throat with the heel of my boot.

I walked away.

When two fighters meet, and that occasion is , I assure you , rare beyond your imagining, they have to fight. They do so, without regret and they relish in the pain, they thrive when spilling blood. I know this, because he died with a smile on his face.

One last thing, in case you're wondering what I whispered in his ear, well to satisfy your curiosity I will give you a hint. If you have it in you, you WILL know what I said. If not, I hope you will find peace and bliss in your ignorance. I committed an act of m u r d e r? No, I unchained him and for a second he did the same to me and in that moment of pain, rage and bliss, we were truly free...

Life

2008-10-06T12:42:00.000-07:00

Entry 1:

This is a new thing, I've decided to write down anything of interest.

My reason for these posts is that I've left my life behind me. I decided not to go to collage, to leave my family and everything I know.

I took the bus to Riga where the weather was bad. It was raining my whole way there. I sat on a bus in Valka and it took me 5 hours to get to Riga. I couldn't sleep , it's still to fresh in my head, I guess I'll have to wrestle with these emotions for a while. When I got to Riga bus station, I got a weird kebab looking thing which tasted like dead rat, but I was hungry and money will be short from now on. After the meal I walked around the city, I got lost and it was geting dark so I quickly tried to find a place to sleep. I crashed on a park bench after 2 bottles of beer , but was chased away by some cops. I didn't understand what they were saying so I lied about being a tourist and told them that my friends diched me here, they seemed to understand. I walked around for a few hours after the cops had woken me up, which was around 3 or 4 am.

At around 5 am I found myself at a market, there was an old lady there. I saw a chance to make some quick cash and offered to unload her goods for some cash, she agreed. I walked away with 5 lits, which was good and when she wasn't looking I swiped a loaf of bred and a few apples, which was my breakfest. I asked around and got directions back to the bus station. I walked there and I stayed for a couple of hours just hanging around and begging for money saying i got robbed and need to buy a ticket home, I got another 10 like that, but then some cops noticed me and decided it was time to stop. I bought another one of those foul kebab things , but it didn't taste that bad now that I was hungry. At around 5 pm I met some tourist girls from Germany and we walked around town together, they baught me dinner and after a few drinks I talked them into letting me stay at their hotel.

I'm writing this on Julias computer the other one, Anna , is getting us more drinks from the store near the hotel. I'll stop now, i'll write again when I get the chance.

I walk...

2008-08-23T18:36:00.000-07:00

I walked on...
The ground was black as was the sky,
I didn't even notice the cars passing by.
Outside I was walking on,
the night was cold and it was raining,
I somehow found it entertaining.

I walked on...
a long black road...
I saw the sky,it wept and it moaned.
Only streetlights there to guide me in the absence of the moonlight
and step by step I walked away into the night.

I walked on...
disappearing into the shadows.
I thought about the end of my path,
I saw the clearing and everything there to be had.
I pushed on through the rain .
and wished for the night to consume the pain.

I walked on...
I saw the end and the turn,
pushing through the rain with little concern.
I reached the end and saw a door,
and I found myself wishing not to wander anymore.

I walked on...
And still I walk the fleeting path,
ever and again on the long charred road.
the sky once more a pitch black horror,
the marble ground reflecting sorrow.

I walk on...
The hollow doors and empty windows
are blinded in the fearful night,
for there is hope in my path.
Hope in a window of perfect light.

Miles into madness.

2008-08-23T16:07:00.001-07:00

On the train,
I'm on my way home,
again I find myself sitting alone.
Watching the raindrops brake against the window,
thinking of mistakes made way back when,
running away again, just as I did back then.

But in my mind I know that I have no escape,
I have nowhere else to go.
Yet home doesn't call for me anymore,
it's gone, forgotten and erased.
It's a place I can no longer call my own.

Every moment spent on that train,
the wheels turning miles into madness.
Every breaking raindrop,
turning water into pain,
and my sorrow into shame.

I'm left wondering about mistakes I've made,
Was it wrong of me to turn away?
To run away from what I loved
and what loved me?
Was it wrong of me to wish solace from solitude ?

The sky is darker, the rainfall stronger,
I feel a familiarity in the landscape,
good, I probably couldn't take it much longer,
the miles and the madness,
and the thoughts which leave me somber.

I'm slowing down, my desire is fueled by foolish hope
finally, I can talk to someone who cares.
An empty hope, to say the least.
I step off the train and seek for someone,
I search for warmth and love that is no longer.
I'm alone in the train stop.

I start walking.

(photo by: Kärt Lehis)

Of everything and nothing.

2008-08-23T11:54:00.000-07:00

I stood there, surrounded by people yet feeling all alone. Surrounded by flowers and people I know and still I felt alone. The sun had left me. She lay there, her face a pallid expression of seeming discontent. The howling of the mother, the tears of the child and the sadness of the bystanders - I feel it still , still so fresh in my memory. The sun... she was indeed the sun. The people walked up and hugged me, they told me to be strong and how sorry they were, I just stood there, feeling nothing, wanting to feel sad, feeling obligated to feel sad, but no such feeling formed. Did I not care for her, did I not love her? I did and I miss her , sometimes I don't know what to do with myself, because I miss being hugged by her, miss talking to her. She gave me everything I could ever desire, but I would trade it all for another conversation with her, to be hugged by her. Everything turned to ash.

I remember the day she died. I was at the hospital, the machines were working , I can still remember the constant beeping of the machines and the steady decline of oxygen in her blood, my thoughts that it won't be long now. I remember her face, the way she breathed, how heavy it was. I remember wishing for it to end. How stupid I was, how heartless and cold. My only wish should have been life. She was my sun, she kept me sane ,but now it's all occupied by a void. I spent the whole day with her, I sat by her bed, I looked for any sign of consciousness , but no, she was in a coma. She had moments when she opened her eyes, I grabbed her hand and talked to her, tried to show her that I was there with her, that she wasn't alone. She died on a late afternoon, about ten minutes after I left the hospital I got the call that my mother had died. She had opened her eyes, she had tired to say something, her eyes had started watering , her mouth had filled with foam, the doctor had said that if my cousin didn't close my mothers eyes, she would do it for her. My cousin had done it, she died in her arms. After getting the call, my aunt started wailing, she would have fallen to the floor , but I was there to catch her. She cried and I stood there and watched unsure what I felt. It was hard to see them all come home, eyes red with tears. I wanted to run , to escape so I did, I ran away far into my mind, sealed off all the feelings and faced the wailing music of crying women. I stood and supported, I held and comforted I saw and I understood ,but I didn't feel. I stood alone, I thought I was the closest person to her, I thought she trusted me with everything, I desired to be her strength as she was mine. It was much later that I understood that I had been cut off by her. She had tried to spare me, or maybe she didn't trust me enough to tell me, or maybe she didn't think of me as someone who would hear her plight , but one thing is certain , she kept me from everything that had hurt her. I understand now how much pain I cause her, how big a role I played in her demise.

So I stood there in front of that small chapel looking at all the people coming to mourn her, to say good-bye to her and I withstood their condolences . I stood and watched how the man, who loved my mother before my father, a man who could have been my father wept for her and I saw how my father did not. We went into the chapel, I stood by the coffin which held her corpse and I held my sister, she spent most of the ceremony weeping on my shoulder and then when it was time to say good-bye she wept again. I pulled her close and held her, I hid my face from the crowd and tears came flowing from my eyes, I think I was crying ,but I felt nothing. I saw some of the faces walking by , I saw them touch our shoulders, afraid of disturbing our silent cries. The coffin was closed and carried to the cemetery . I walked in front of the coffin and the men carrying it followed in my foot steps to the six foot deep hole in the ground. The soil is sandy in that place, a forest graveyard, surrounded by pines . She was placed on the boards covering the hole, there was a ritual performed by a priest, then came time to say good-bye. I walked up to the coffin and helped my grandmother say good-bye to her daughter, I watched her cry , I watched her become consumed by madness from the grief , I almost had to drag her away from the coffin and the deep drop beneath it, she was more than willing to jump in and be buried along with her.

It was my turn, I walked up to the coffin and knelt down. I placed my arms on the sides of the coffin and brought my lips to the side of her head, close to her ear and I whispered to her. Something I will never forget. I then kissed her forehead ,then it hit me, as I felt the cold . She was like a block of stone, cold and lifeless, she felt wrong, for I still remember her warmth and I will never forget the cold. I kissed her forehead, I kissed her hands , I placed mine on hers, looked in her face for the last time , then I stood up and walked away. My heart sank, I felt like a small child in the dark forest. Feeling somehow alone , naked and helpless in the dark and cruel world. I almost fell to my knees, the locked emotion almost broke free, but I withstood it.
She was lowered to her grave, I tossed dirt on her coffin, I placed flowers on her grave and lit the candles lighting it. I left her in a hole , covered with dirt in a forest full of dead.

Why she died? She was weak... I killed her... I drove her to kill herself... We all did... She did it herself... She chose a very slow and painful way to die, but in the end it doesn't matter, because she is dead and the cruel reality of it is, I will never see my mother again. She is buried deep in the ground . She is in the clearing at the end of the path. And someday so will I. Someday so will we all. Until then I think I'll stop chasing the shadows of why and how and just remember her as she was. A great person and an even better mother.

A walk to remember.

2008-07-13T14:31:00.000-07:00

His eyes were bloodshot and his head felt heavy on his shoulders. He knew little about what was going on around him , nor did he want to know. He was too busy trying to figure out what went wrong in his life. In one day everything had changed, his life was in turmoil.
The people walked busily by him, not noticing him. Trying not to look at him. Who would blame them , he was dirty and smelled of alcohol. A young man, a boy, still stupid in his youth. They walked, as if not seeing him, as if ignoring him, trying not to see him, until they didn't. He was there ,but wasn't. A man walking by had stepped on his foot and kept on walking, not even looking back. He felt like a gargoyle sitting there. And maybe he was, a creature of stone, his heart was cold and dead now, it was as if it had turned to stone.
The traffic was busy, a lot of cars moving fast, a lot of people who seemed to move even faster. They melted into one flowing mass, time seemed to speed up , he was sitting there still, watching at the large clock on the First United Trust building, which was a bank of some sort. He looked at the faces carved into the walls of the theater , some seemed to mock him with their laughing faces others felt pity with their frowning. He watched the people move, shift from one place to another, looked at the clouds as they seemed to imitate the movement of the people. It was one big mess, he knew that much.
He saw a couple walking by across the street. Two young people seeming to madly in love. He knew the feeling , he remembered it well. He remembered how it felt to hold her hand, how she tasted, the way her hair smelled. He had not forgotten any of it. Seeing those two brought tears to his bloodshot eyes and his head begun to thump wildly as his pulse rose to meet the intensity of his melancholy . With her face in mind he remembered the promise he had made her long ago. The promise which he never meant to fulfill . He pulled out a cigarette from his jacket pocket, lit it and breathed in the poison he knew it was. He remembered her laugh, they way she had laughed when they were still together, when all was still well. And let it slip from his mind. He tried to think back to the very moment his life fell apart. And understood then that there was no single thing to cause his downfall, everything that had happened , starting with the death of his parents and ending with him losing his job and his condo. Crashing his car, drifting apart from the one thing that could have gotten him back to his feet. He sat there and thought of how fleeting time was, how it all wound down to one single inevitable end. He breathed in the last of his cigarette , smoking it down to the filter and tossed the butt on to the street.
Then without really realizing what he was doing , he got up and started walking , he looked right and saw people move as they had before, saw the cars move as they had before, saw the clouds and heard the United building clock start ringing as it reached another full hour. He walked in to the traffic and was run over by a blue Ford sedan. He saw it move toward him, saw the people looking, heard the women screaming before anything had really happened , time had slowed down to almost a complete stop . He saw everything with his senses so high that they surpassed any normal human. But this wasn't exactly a normal situation. He saw the drivers of other cars and their stupid horrified and exited faces. Saw the girl driving the blue sedan and the the look on her face which seemed to be mixed with terror and disbelief. Heard the people screaming and yelling, their voices seeming now low and distorted. He felt the clouds move away and the sun come out. The sun seemed to bless his downfall with it's light. He saw his cigarette still burning there on the street, it's blue smoke rising up, he didn't know that cigarette smoke looked blue in the sunlight until then. Then everything started to speed up again. Time caught up. He was hit by the car and thrown away by impact. He flew for what seemed to him and to the spectators like an eternity then he landed, rolled and then he was still. He opened his eyes one last time. T0 see himself being held by a woman. She was screaming for someone to call for an ambulance and was telling him that everything would be ok or perhaps she was telling herself that. He looked up at her and said , with a realizing tone in his voice :"Yes, we die only once...... but for such a long time." His words, no more than a whisper, but it seemed they were heard by everyone that was standing there. With those words said his eyes became empty and his long death was over.

Dreams come true

2008-06-04T15:02:00.000-07:00

We meet for the first time. We have a moment and we talk. It's apparent that I like her and that she likes me. We talk, I drown in her eyes, I am in awe of her face. Her body is graceful and her skin seems as smooth as ice on a winter pond. Her lips look divine. We walk a little, she tries to hide her eyes, ashamed of me noticing her attempts to gaze at my face and I do the same. We are awkward and we laugh nervously at each others terrible and crude jokes.
I look at her with burning desire to kiss her, burning to have my lips touch hers. I need her. I see her eyes and I think that those are the most beautiful eyes that I have ever seen. As we walk side by side, my hand brushes hers gently. I feel how soft it is, just by that one touch . I want those hands to be safely held by mine. She turns and says something but I hear only the steady thumping of my heart. It feels like it's going to break my chest. The sound is so loud in my ears that it blocks out all else, but then I hear it again - the voice of an angel - she repeated herself. She blushed when I turned to her, my eyes fixed on her beautiful face.
There is no one around, the streets are empty, the park where we're walking is empty. The full moon shining it's silver light down on us. I can still see her lips and I'm amazed at how red , how lush they are. And I can't stop myself from kissing her.
She let's me kiss her and then kisses me back, her kiss is fierce . It feels as if she held herself back ,as I had done. I feel her with everything that I am. Our hands clasped, we kiss. Her hand fits mine in a way that makes me think of fate, it's perfect. And then she steps away , breaking the seal our lips had made. She steps back and turns away. I put my hands on her shoulders , her beautiful , soft shoulders and gently turn her around.
She blushes and apologizes. My mouth forms a faint smile. She looks at me and smiles back. Her face lights up -she is so beautiful - and we move together for another kiss. A gentle kiss, which made me feel at peace. I pressed her body against mine, never wanting to let go of her, ever again. I feel her heart beating , and I feel mine. They are beating in unison, in perfect harmony. She breaks away from my lips once more, but not from my embrace. She rests her head against my chest and shuts her eyes. We stand there beneath the naked moon ,exposed to the world. We stand like statues, the beats of our harts have slowed down and are now beating in quiet contempt. My cheek brusher her hair gently. Her hair is soft and feels like silk on my skin. A small summer breeze blows and her skin shutters , I turn , facing my back to the wind to keep her safe, to keep her warm. She looks at me with a smile that breaks my heart. I wonder how I ever lived without the touch of her lips, how I ever survived without seeing her eyes. That wasn't life. I look at her and hold her close to me. And I decide then , that I never want to let her go . She is now mine... I know it. I'm sure of it.

I woke up... and I had forgotten her face, but I'll know when I see her. I know she had the same dream. And until we finally meet, we will have our dreams. I will find her or I will die alone, there is no one else for me, only her. Only her eyes , only her lips , only her smile... Only her.

2008-05-29T15:51:00.000-07:00

It's back! That voice in the back of my mind.
It speaks in riddles.
It wants something, it wants someone.
I can see her when I close my eyes.
I want, I lust, I desire.
I want her.
I want her.
That is the truth.
I need her.
And that is truth.
As I walk, talk, sleep... She's in my mind, no matter what I do, she's there! It's driving me insane, that voice. Those riddles!
Doors and rivers....stars and darkness... it won't leave me alone.
I know!
I know!
I know!
Does she know?
Does it know?
Why does it want? Why?
What is the truth?
The river? Where does it go?
To her.
That is the truth.
The door? Where does it lead?
To it.
That is the truth.
The stars, where are they?
The riddle is the truth.
What is the riddle?
Where is she ?
Why do I need, want, lust, desire...pain?

I WANT THE TRUTH!!!

2008-05-23T00:30:00.000-07:00

There were once 4 bunnies who thought that everything is funny. They had a Leader, his name was Funny Bunny! What ever Funny Bunny did , the others helped him do it. Funny Bunny was a mischievous , pink little bunny. But you could never stop Funny Bunny and his gang from doing funny things because then they would do their sad face and everyone would say " Awwwwww, poor Funny Bunny , don't do that face" Then Funny Bunny would stop and keep doing bad but funny things. Because he is the pinkest, littlest Funny Bunny there is!

If I ever get to feeling like it, I'll write down some adventures.

2008-05-09T13:43:00.000-07:00

Childe Roland To The Dark Tower Came
by
Robert Browning

I.

My first thought was, he lied in every word,
That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
Askance to watch the working of his lie
On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford
Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored
Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.

II.

What else should he be set for, with his staff?
What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare
All travellers who might find him posted there,
And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh
Would break, what crutch 'gin write my epitaph
For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare,

III.

If at his counsel I should turn aside
Into that ominous tract which, all agree,
Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly
I did turn as he pointed: neither pride
Nor hope rekindling at the end descried,
So much as gladness that some end might be.

IV.

For, what with my whole world-wide wandering,
What with my search drawn out thro' years, my hope
Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope
With that obstreperous joy success would bring,
I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring
My heart made, finding failure in its scope.

As when a sick man very near to death
Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end
The tears and takes the farewell of each friend,
And hears one bid the other go, draw breath
Freelier outside, (``since all is o'er,'' he saith,
``And the blow falIen no grieving can amend;'')

VI.

While some discuss if near the other graves
Be room enough for this, and when a day
Suits best for carrying the corpse away,
With care about the banners, scarves and staves:
And still the man hears all, and only craves
He may not shame such tender love and stay.

VII.

Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest,
Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ
So many times among ``The Band''---to wit,
The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed
Their steps---that just to fail as they, seemed best,
And all the doubt was now---should I be fit?

VIII.

So, quiet as despair, I turned from him,
That hateful cripple, out of his highway
Into the path he pointed. All the day
Had been a dreary one at best, and dim
Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim
Red leer to see the plain catch its estray.

IX.

For mark! no sooner was I fairly found
Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two,
Than, pausing to throw backward a last view
O'er the safe road, 'twas gone; grey plain all round:
Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound.
I might go on; nought else remained to do.

So, on I went. I think I never saw
Such starved ignoble nature; nothing throve:
For flowers---as well expect a cedar grove!
But cockle, spurge, according to their law
Might propagate their kind, with none to awe,
You'd think; a burr had been a treasure-trove.

XI.

No! penury, inertness and grimace,
In some strange sort, were the land's portion. ``See
``Or shut your eyes,'' said nature peevishly,
``It nothing skills: I cannot help my case:
``'Tis the Last judgment's fire must cure this place,
``Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free.''

XII.

If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk
Above its mates, the head was chopped; the bents
Were jealous else. What made those holes and rents
In the dock's harsh swarth leaves, bruised as to baulk
All hope of greenness?'tis a brute must walk
Pashing their life out, with a brute's intents.

XIII.

As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair
In leprosy; thin dry blades pricked the mud
Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood.
One stiff blind horse, his every bone a-stare,
Stood stupefied, however he came there:
Thrust out past service from the devil's stud!

XIV.

Alive? he might be dead for aught I know,
With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain,
And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane;
Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe;
I never saw a brute I hated so;
He must be wicked to deserve such pain.

XV.

I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart.
As a man calls for wine before he fights,
I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights,
Ere fitly I could hope to play my part.
Think first, fight afterwards---the soldier's art:
One taste of the old time sets all to rights.

XVI.

Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face
Beneath its garniture of curly gold,
Dear fellow, till I almost felt him fold
An arm in mine to fix me to the place,
That way he used. Alas, one night's disgrace!
Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold.

XVII.

Giles then, the soul of honour---there he stands
Frank as ten years ago when knighted first.
What honest man should dare (he said) he durst.
Good---but the scene shifts---faugh! what hangman hands
Pin to his breast a parchment? His own bands
Read it. Poor traitor, spit upon and curst!

XVIII.

Better this present than a past like that;
Back therefore to my darkening path again!
No sound, no sight as far as eye could strain.
Will the night send a howlet or a bat?
I asked: when something on the dismal flat
Came to arrest my thoughts and change their train.

XIX.

A sudden little river crossed my path
As unexpected as a serpent comes.
No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms;
This, as it frothed by, might have been a bath
For the fiend's glowing hoof---to see the wrath
Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes.

XX.

So petty yet so spiteful! All along,
Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it;
Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit
Of route despair, a suicidal throng:
The river which had done them all the wrong,
Whate'er that was, rolled by, deterred no whit.

XXI.

Which, while I forded,---good saints, how I feared
To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek,
Each step, or feel the spear I thrust to seek
For hollows, tangled in his hair or beard!
---It may have been a water-rat I speared,
But, ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek.

XXII.

Glad was I when I reached the other bank.
Now for a better country. Vain presage!
Who were the strugglers, what war did they wage,
Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank
Soil to a plash? Toads in a poisoned tank,
Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage---

XXIII.

The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque.
What penned them there, with all the plain to choose?
No foot-print leading to that horrid mews,
None out of it. Mad brewage set to work
Their brains, no doubt, like galley-slaves the Turk
Pits for his pastime, Christians against Jews.

XXIV.

And more than that---a furlong on---why, there!
What bad use was that engine for, that wheel,
Or brake, not wheel---that harrow fit to reel
Men's bodies out like silk? with all the air
Of Tophet's tool, on earth left unaware,
Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel.

XXV.

Then came a bit of stubbed ground, once a wood,
Next a marsh, it would seem, and now mere earth
Desperate and done with; (so a fool finds mirth,
Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood
Changes and off he goes!) within a rood---
Bog, clay and rubble, sand and stark black dearth.

XXVI.

Now blotches rankling, coloured gay and grim,
Now patches where some leanness of the soil's
Broke into moss or substances like boils;
Then came some palsied oak, a cleft in him
Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim
Gaping at death, and dies while it recoils.

XXVII.

And just as far as ever from the end!
Nought in the distance but the evening, nought
To point my footstep further! At the thought,
great black bird, Apollyon's bosom-friend,
Sailed past, nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned
That brushed my cap---perchance the guide I sought.

XXVIII.

For, looking up, aware I somehow grew,
'Spite of the dusk, the plain had given place
All round to mountains---with such name to grace
Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view.
How thus they had surprised me,---solve it, you!
How to get from them was no clearer case.

XXIX.

Yet half I seemed to recognize some trick
Of mischief happened to me, God knows when---
In a bad dream perhaps. Here ended, then,
Progress this way. When, in the very nick
Of giving up, one time more, came a click
As when a trap shuts---you're inside the den!

XXX.

Burningly it came on me all at once,
This was the place! those two hills on the right,
Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight;
While to the left, a tall scalped mountain... Dunce,
Dotard, a-dozing at the very nonce,
After a life spent training for the sight!

XXXI.

What in the midst lay but the Tower itself?
The round squat turret, blind as the fool's heart,
Built of brown stone, without a counter-part
In the whole world. The tempest's mocking elf
Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf
He strikes on, only when the timbers start.

XXXII.

Not see? because of night perhaps?---why, day
Came back again for that! before it left,
The dying sunset kindled through a cleft:
The hills, like giants at a hunting, lay,
Chin upon hand, to see the game at bay,---
``Now stab and end the creature---to the heft!''

XXXIII.

Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled
Increasing like a bell. Names in my ears
Of all the lost adventurers my peers,---
How such a one was strong, and such was bold,
And such was fortunate, yet, each of old
Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.

XXXIV.

There they stood, ranged along the hill-sides, met
To view the last of me, a living frame
For one more picture! in a sheet of flame
I saw them and I knew them all. And yet
Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set,
And blew. ``Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.''

2008-03-20T18:03:00.001-07:00

.Seijin. The Dog. Eka. says (2:49):
Mind häirib see ilmetu idiootsus , mis on ühtekuuluvs... see tobe trend olla ühes seltskonnas ning täita kollektiivseid käske...
.Seijin. The Dog. Eka. says (2:50):
10 inimest arvavad ühest täpselt sama moodi põhinedes ühe inimese lüikesele kogemusele... idiootne
.Seijin. The Dog. Eka. says (2:50):
lambakari
.Seijin. The Dog. Eka. says (2:52):
Mannekeenid, kes üritavad olla täiuslikud, meigivad end nii paksult ,et tõmba või mündiga seda saasta näost maha... Käivad solaariumis ,et teha endast mingisugune ebard keset talve külma... ilu ideaal, arvamuse puudumine, absoluutselt isikupäratud inimesed... nad ei ole individuaalid, neil puuduvad omad mõtted, unistused. Neil puudub oma tahe ning oma mõistus....
.Seijin. The Dog. Eka. says (2:52):
see on lihtsalt kurb

Project Will

2008-02-17T13:25:00.001-08:00

The light of the sun has vanished. Only darkness, only the pitch black darkness is left. His body shifts from shadow to shadow. His eyes fixed. He listens to the night and finds what he's looking for. The neon light of the blue moon makes the blood look black. The smell metallic. His eyes, so hopeless and lost. Filled with rage and despair. He howls at the moon, screaming, beating his chest. He grippes the handle of the knife in his hand hard. The edges of the handle cut in to his hand and make him bleed. He feels nothing , he is nothing. His eyes are closed.
''I am Will. I am Will. I am Will. " He repeats it over and over. As if trying to convince himself.
He is lost in the madness. The poor dog he killed looks like raw meat with hair.
" It's sickening. They are all weak." He thinks to himself. "I will burn it all, everything to ashes. "
The screams of the industrial city accompany him as he walks the tired streets of the city. The sound of the furnaces from the steel mill screech in his mind. The night sky is red around the chimneys as they spew out black smoke and red flame. He needs to get back to the house. only half a mile away. The old house, broken down and abandoned. A house in a shitty part of town. A part that even the gangs avoid, a place for those who are lost and a place for those who don't want to be found. Even the central militia don't dare go there.
He reaches the slums , only a little more and he'll reach the house. He passed the bridge. The change in scenery is dramatic. He came from a bad neighborhood and entered what seemed to be hell. The ash from the chimneys was raining down on the slums. He reached the part of town known as the Putrid Bay. The ships came in around the clock. The mill had a wall built around it's loading docks to keep the homeless and the sickly out. Putrid bay - the place where he lives. Right by the waters of the canal. People die here, the only law that's worth anything here is to take, steal, kill and run.
He reaches the house. It's empty, not even the homeless dare to stay here. Because of the murders. This is the house where the horrific Putrid Bay butcher brought his victims to experiment on. But that was years ago. That was before the Steel Mills. That was , when Putrid Bay was known as Paradise Bay. Then a sunny part of town, that looked like it should be on a postcard, became a rotting piece of filth and decay and it's all because of the mills. They found iron under and around the city. And with the mills came the crime, the rot and the acid rain. He was the boy who the butcher kept . He was Will- the butchers successful experiment , his pet project. He had long forgotten his real name, but the butcher had called him Project Will. The house was breaking apart. but it looked much better then the rest of the houses in the neighborhood, mainly because no one dared to even enter the yard. The rumor was that the place is haunted by the spirit of the butcher.
Will went upstairs to clean his hand. When that was done , he went to the attic where there was a mattress and a piece of large cloth that seemed filthy and bloodstained. He crawled under that piece of cloth and looked out of the attic window at the fiery chimneys of the East mill. He slowly drifted in to slumber, accompanied by the screams of horror and pain coming from the streets and the sweet music of the furnaces...

Broken Dreams (it's a work in progress

2008-01-29T13:14:00.000-08:00

What is wrong with the world today?
What do I have to do to get things my way?
Where is the Justace in killing teens?
Where is the justace in killing them with broken dreams.

A girl crying in the corner with tears of blood,
her dreams broken, disappeared as everything she once loved .
A boy furious , his hart bleeding,
head against the wall, screaming, hardly breathing.

Slowly walking by,
I can see these broked dreams in their eyes.
A lonely cry sounding in their minds,
every soul stareing at their idol, screaming,''YOU LIED!!!''.

Death of a rose

2008-01-25T15:09:00.000-08:00

Dead roses on the ground drowned in mud,
once beautiful creatures of grace and pride,
now torn down, destroyed and tossed aside.
The little life in them still fights to survive,
with no luck,they are destined to drown in the muck.
With every falling drop of rain that drowns the screaming pain,
the cold wet face of the fallen rose, stept on, crushed.
The beauty, once so clear so blushed,
is no more to be seen as a symbol of grace,
but to be forgotten, tossed aside to face disgrace.
The day of the death of a rose is a day of union,
a day where the sun shines and the birds sing.
The day of the death of a rose is a wedding.

Dreams

2007-12-17T11:15:00.000-08:00

I had a dream last night.
I was home, it was snowing. I was alone, all alone. Things were as they usually are. I went to the store ,bought something to drink. While coming home I noticed that I was being followed, so I fled. I was home, and outside my window they stood. Masked and hooded boys, men, creatures. I tried to hide but every time I looked outside a window ,they were there, watching, laughing. I did not like it, I remember fear, I remember anger. I set my dog loose on them. I remember seeing him get killed, one shot , one blow and he was dead. I felt so horrible. I was even more scared now, they were still watching, like hyenas they laughed , mocking me. I had enough, sure of my power I rushed out, chasing them. They ran, laughing, mocking. I finally caught one of them, they started hitting me with sticks and fists. I remember the pain. I tried to hit them, but my fists had no power in them, my arms felt heavy. I connected but to me and to them it seemed as a soft touch. I have never before felt so powerless, I have never felt so weak. The falling snow, the solitude. I was alone against many and no one came to save me. It's scary but I don't think I wanted to be saved. All I remember wanting ,was to be stronger.

I had a dream last night....I had a nightmare...

My Obsession

2007-12-02T23:43:00.001-08:00

"Oh god! Oh God! Oh GOD!!!!"

She screamed in pleasure. I felt her under me, her shaking body, the warmth she produced. I watched the expression on her face change as she came closer and closer to yet another climax.

It was one of those boring days where nothing at all happened, one of those days when fucking seemed more like work than pleasure. It was as if the planet was dead , there was no one outside, the sun was too bright and the air too humid and too hot. We were naked and covered by a thin , large white sheet that left little to the imagination on what was going on under it. I think I can still remember her scent, I can remember how she tasted and , god yes , I remember how it felt.

She moved on top of me and started to moan, she grabbed my arm with one hand and pushed it over my head, he fingernails cut in to it and I started to bleed. After a while she finally climaxed. She seemed to get off on the blood. She lay beside me breathing heavily. I started running my finger over her body, she smiled , she liked it. She licked my cuts and the bleeding stopped, smileing her devilish smile.

She lie there still, it was so hot outside. I have no idea how we could fuck for two hours and not drop dead from exhaustion, the heat made everyone slow and tired, except for us, for those two hours we didn't mind the heat. I watch as she moves around the room, her bleached blond hair , her perfectly shaped ass, her breasts, her lips, her eyes... she was a goddess and for a moment she was mine. The circumstances of us meeting were simple yet how we ended up in bed together is complicated.

When she was done with me, she tossed my pants over and smiled devilishly. I got dressed, and moved over to her, she kissed me on the cheek and smiled again, her hand slided from my shoulder to my chest, she started pushing and with that devilish smile she pushed me out of her apartment closing the door softly in front of me. I can still remember her eyes, her playful dark blue eyes. I hated her and I loved her for what she did to me. I can't get my mind of it.

She has become my obsession...

The Box

2007-11-03T20:27:00.000-07:00

Try to read it light minded... (wrote this at 4.55 AM after I finished reading a short story by Stephen King)

It’s 4:55 AM. It’s cold and it finally stopped snowing. I found a box today. It’s black and has odd carvings on it. I like the box. I havent been able to stop myself from looking at it. Even now, as I write this, the box is on the table , right infront of me so that I can sneak a peek at it. I havent eaten anything in 9 hours, since I found the box. I’m just not hungry. I havent been able to sleep, I’m just not sleepy. It really is a very lovely box. I wonder what’s in it, but I can’t seem to open it. I can’t look away from the box. He he he I can hear it talking to me, as if it’s in my head, isn’t it funny? How can a box speak? I couldn’t understand it before, but it’s getting more clear now. I can hear what the box is saying. He he he, isn’t it funny , a talking box, he he he. It really is a nice box, and it tells such funny jokes. It says that I should find a knife, isn’t it silly, what would I need a knife for? Isn’t it a funny box? I got the knife, it really is a sharp knife. The box is getting louder, it’s telling me to do things, what a silly box, I don’t want to kill anyone, such a silly box and it tells such funny jokes. It said they wouldn’t scream if I cut them but they did, what a funny box, it really is a good box. My little black box. I saw a pretty girl today but the box didn’t like her. I said to the box that she’s a pretty girl, a good girl but the box didn’t think so at all.. I didn’t want to do it and I told the box that. I really liked her, she had nice hair. But the box told me that she’s not good at all, a naughty girl. But I really liked her, I liked her eyes. Her eyes , they looked so pretty when I was cutting them out of her head. The box said I can keep them, he he he ,it said I could keep them in the box, what a silly box. It really is a nice box. Now the box is even louder, it tells me I have to cut the boy liveing next door. The box said he’s a bad boy. I said to the box that he’s a good boy, I really did, but the box didn’t think so. What a funny box, he said that he would be alone but he wasn’t , i had to cut his whole family, what a silly box, it promised they wouldn’t scream but they did, what a funny box, always makeing jokes....

Vallhalla

2007-11-03T13:27:00.000-07:00

On külm talve öö, väljas on kuulda huntide verejanulist hulgumist, maad katab paks lumi ning kuu on tihedate pilvede varjus.
Ärkan oma unest tugeva kolina peale, keegi koputab uksele. Ajan end voodist üles ning mässin endale ümber karu naha, mida tekina kasutan. Uksele lähenedes haaran laualt sõjakirve, mis on hirmuäratavlt suur ning ,hinnatest selle välimust, leidnud korduvalt kasutust. Avan ukse ning tunnen ära oma isanda teenrid. Kutsun nad sisse ning pakun neile istet. Toon lauale mõdu ning tulel küpseva tüki värsket metssea liha. Oletan meeste vaikusest halvimat ,kuid küsin siiski nad keset ööd siia tulid. Vanem kahest mehest hampsab tüki liha ning ütleb vaid ühe sõna: ,,Sõda.’’ Ma vaatan mehele külmalt silma , siis liigun taha ruumi, sõnagi lausumata, end valmis seadma. Tõmban jalga paksud karunahast püksid ja pargitud nahast jalanõud. Selga panen õhukesed nahast käised ning paremale käele seon rauast käekaitse. See on ,kui pikk ja paks kinnas ,mis on seest vooderdatud karusnahaga ning väljast kaetud paksude rauast plaatidega, ulatudes sõrmeotstest õlani välja. Seon selga hundinahast vesti mis jätab mõlemad käed paljaks. Tõmban selga selle sama karunahast teki sidudes ta õlgadest ning kaela juurest kinni moodustades paksu keebi. Vasakusse kätte tõmban nahast kinda ning väljun ruumist.
Sõnumitoojatel on mõdu joodud, osutan laual seisvale kannule ning mehed täidavad julgelt taas oma sarveluust kruusid. Haaran voodi kõrvalt väikese nahk koti ning panen sinna alles jäänud liha, tüki juustu ja natuke vana leiba. Liigun toa nurka ning võtan sealt oma relvavöö, seon selle endale külge ning asetan vööle oma mõõga. Võtan ukse kõrvale jäänud sõjakirve ning asetan selle seljale, katan kirve suure ümara tammepuidust kilbiga. Ütlen meestele ,et olen valmis. Mehed tõusevad ning lahkuvad majast. Nende sammud on rasked ning vanem mees lohistab oma jalga järgi, kas mõni vana sõjahaav või lihtsalt radikuliit, kuid aeg on oma töö teinud ning vanemast mehest enam sõdurit ei ole. Noorem on aga naiselik ning väeti, pole ime ,et just nemad käskjalad on.
Õues on tugev pakane ja hundid on majale lähemale liikunud. Lähen talli ning saduldan oma musta hobuse. Väljudes tallist märkan ,et mehed on ära sõitnud. Ilmselt läksid teisi isanda sõdureid üles kutsuma. Istun hobuse selga ning suunan ta oma isanda ja kuninga kantsi poole liikuma, ta hirnub , viskab oma esijalad õhku ning lahkub kohalt hämmastava jõu ja kiirusega. Ta nagu ei suuda lahingut ära oodata. Hobuse karjatus on hetkeks isegi hundid vaigistanud, kuid varsti on taas ulgumist kuulda, nad on majal juba päris lähedal, kuulen nende kaugusesse jäävat häälitsemist ning minu mahajäänud koduloomade hirmu hääli. Hobune liigub ,kui must vari üle külmunud lume tasandiku.Pakane justkui põletab mu nahka , näen enda ja hobuse hingeauru, surun end talle lähemale ning üritan vastu pidada. On külm ja pime ,ent öö pimedus asendub vaikselt ,kuid kindlalt koidu valgusega. Otsustan lasta hobusel puhata. Ma peatun külmunud jõe kaldal ning jälgin kuidas päike kaugete mägede vahelt oma esimesed kiired maale heidab. Päike lausa lõikab läbi öö pimeduse, õhk on selge ning ümberring sillerdab lumi. Hobune on puhanud ,on aeg liikuma hakata. Paks hommikune udu on end üle maa sirutanud. Ma ronin tagasi sadulasse ning annan hobusele valu.
Liigun terve päeva täis kiirusel vahel peatudes ,et anda hobusele puhkust , kuid puhkepausidest hoolimata olen õhtu saabudes linna vaateväljas. Liigun vaikselt linna poole, läbides teele jäävaid külasid, inimesed vaatavad mind, mõned mind põlastades, vihates seda ,mis ma olen ning teised imetluse ning aukartusega, kuid üldjuhul vaatavad nad mind hirmunud silmadega. Liigun linnaväravateni peatumata üheski külas. Väravates tervitavad mind sõdurid , nad on aukartlikud ,kuid julged ning nende silmad ütlevad vaid üht "Saatusekaaslane" , sisenedes linna näen sõdurite rivistusi ning treeninguid. Tundub ,et ainult berserkerid istuvad kõrtsis ning lärmavad. Berserkerid , sõjaväe tugevaimad sõdurid ,kes võitlevad kasutades piiritut raevu, nad on pühendanud kogu oma elu võitlusele ning suurim au on surm lahingus ning igavene sõda Vallhallas.
Viin hobuse talli ning esitan end oma väosa ülemale , ta näitab mulle koha kuhu saan ööseks varjule jääda. Ma lähen ning vaatan koha üle, see on väike lauda moodi hoone kuhu kõik teisedki berserkerid on majutatud, jätan oma moona koti voodi juurde ning lähen kõrtsi. Kõrtsi sisenedes tervitavad mind berserkerid kui venda. Ma istun nende sekka, söön ja joon ja naudin õhtut kuni kõlab sarve tugev kõla. On aeg minna tagasi ning puhata, sest hommikul liigub sõjavägi lahingusse.

Hommik saabub vaikselt , mind äratatakse ning öeldakse ,et ma hakkaks end valmis sedma, ma teengi just seda ning lähen välja lossi õuele. Minu isand kuningas räägib viimased inspireerivad sõnad ning algab sõjamarss. Berserkerid on esiliinis, meid on küll vähe võrreldes kõigi teiste väeosadega , kuid me oleme kardetuimad sõdalased terves armees. Me marsime läbi metsade ja üle lagendike kuni jõuame ühe laia jõe kaldale. Jõgi on kinni külmunud ja jää on paks, ilmselt see sama jõgi , kus ma oma hobusel tol ööl puhata lasin. Vastas kaldale on kogunenud sõjavägi , keda oleme tulnud alistama. Kuningas karjub midagi, ning siis kõlab sõjasarvede mürin.

Algab sööst!

Sõdurid karjuvad ning jooksevad alla, maa väriseb ning õhus on tunda hirmu. Kaks kohutavat sõjaväge kohtuvad sellel külmiunud jõel. Vastaste väed purunevad kui lained ,mis end raevukalt vastu kaljuseina peksavad. Olen lahingu keskel ning olen ennast raevule kaotanud, ei tunne valu ega hirmu, mind valdab täielik vere - ning võitlus janu. Vehkides oma tohutu sõjakirvega purustan kõike ja kõiki kes ette jäävad. Leian ennast silmitsi vastasväe berserkeriga, kes mind oma vasaraga pikali lööb. Ta on tugev sõdalane, riietatud hundinahka ning kandes ühe murtud sarvega kiivrit. Mu kirves on minust eemale lennanud, minu raev ei lase mul tunda valu, mida mu vastase vasar tekitas, olen surmavalt haavatud ise seda teadmatta, ise sellest hoolimatta. Suudan end kuidagi püsti ajada, haaran seljalt kilbi ning maast leitud oda. Vastane ründab taas, tema vasara eest kaitseb mind kilp ,mis seejärel puruneb. Ma näen võimalust ning surun oma vastasele oda rindu, läbistades ta südame ning keha. Ta langeb elutult maha, minu oda tema küljes. Haaran vöölt mõõga ning üritan taas võitlema hakata, kuid siis tabab mind külm valu, ma langen põlvili ,ning siis elutult pikali maha, mõõk rinnus.

Lahing on lõppenud. Kelle võiduga, on sel tähtsust? Paks lumi langeb taevast, just kui itk lahingus langenutele. Taevasse tekib värav läbi pilvede, ning alla sajavad ime-ilusad ja samas kohutavad naissõdalased, Valküürid. Mind tõstetakse valgele hobusele ning kantakse minema. Ma leian ennast Asgardis, taevases kuningriigis. Mu silme ees seisab hiiglaslik kindlus, Valhalla, selle seinad on odad ning katuseks on kilbid ning soomusrüüd. Ma astun väravate ette, uksed avanevad ning mind tervitab minu lahngus alistatud vastane, ta ütleb mulle: ,, Vend, teretulemast koju.’’