As I sit with eyes and pimples burning, my mind feels liberated. Nose twitching and thin lips knotting up with the effort of keeping mucus in confinement, my chubby fingers begin to shake willest hovering over a glowing Logitech gamer keyboard. The primal urge, not unlike that of a menstruating woman’s need to urinate after sipping sparingly from an almost empty cup of water, to articulate the process of my mind’s liberation in such detail that it would put a Sony BRAVIA XBR – 60LX900 – 60″ LED-backlit LCD TV – 1080p to shame, was exciting. It aroused me more than the memory of publicly shaming Barbie in-front of Ken for giving me a dirty look before dinner. No, it was not the bad milk that I drank that day during lunch nor was it the innocent sunbeam that filtered through the curtains onto the sinisterly vacant painted-on stare of Chucky’s first bride, the Lilith of the doll world. So here it is, the fruits of my efforts:

. . . . .

This used to be on the entrance page to my old site years ago.

Welcome to my realm of darkness, a single beam of light shines on my well known Silent Fortress, illuminating majestic shades of purple and a small glimpse of heat. Where night seems to last forever and sunlight never touches the dark tower reaching endlessly for the sky above. A place where one wishes for the warmth of the closest distant star. A dead cold silent place. Then the small beam of light widens and soon covers even the darkest of places, filling the fortress with a new essence of life. The light beams magnificently out of the ageless rows of windows and the elegant doors of it’s entrance. The purple light returns to the small beam it was, leaving it’s shine still on everything it touched. The once cold and dead silence that hung over the fortress changed into the beautiful silence of life. One that gives satisfaction and peace in the heart, mind, body and soul. A firefly sprouts from the thin beam of light shining on the ground once more. The revolution has begun…..

Transcribed from a dream that I had during my late teen years.

A man that looked incredibly similar to Father Time was browsing in what seemed like a huge private library.  Books of all sizes were stacked neatly on thousands of shelves, all the same brown color labeled “Life” on the side in fancy gold letters.  At a closer view, it is noticed that each book is a volume labeled by roman numerals placed in numerical order on the shelves.  The man removes one of the books from it’s place as if he were demonstrating a key posture in a musical.  He says in an entrancingly melodic voice to his assistant the following:

“You meet so many people everyday, never considering the stories that lies behind each one, no matter how short or insignificant.  So many stories, some short, some long enough to form books.  All related, intertwined at some point, all told in sequence, in volumes upon volumes, in the everlasting series called Life.”

Old passage that I wrote trying to depict an action sequence.

It was unnaturally dark and the silence hung uncomfortably in the still air. A sudden movement behind abruptly broke the silence. Sweat began to accumulate on my forehead, running down my face in rivulets passing through my eyebrows and stinging my eyes. My heart skept a beat as I heard heavy breathing next to me. Instinctively, I turned my head towards the source. Even though I couldn’t see who, or what, it was, I already knew. Having gathered up all the courage I could muster, I swung at it. My fist made a “swish” noise before reaching the point of contact. The breathing went and came simultaneously, sounding more exhausted each time. Then, satisfied, I kicked at the fading ragged breaths. This time, my blow made no contact. Surprise overwhelmed me as I felt my leg whizz through nothingness. Something hurtled towards me from behind. I tumbled helplessly forward, landing face-first in the dirt. Another blow hurtled my way as I recovered my senses. Having easily dodged it, I kicked the source furiously in the chest. The breathing slowed, I smiled as it became almost inaudible. A voice reminds me that “almost” doesn’t count.