Category Archives: Original Works

We Insist Upon This Realm (original poem)

 

WE INSIST UPON THIS REALM

Long and distant whispers
As unquiet as the soul
Fill the rooms around us
They bring comfort to us all
Close your eyes and listen
And believe there is a place
Where echoes of our confessions
Inform the heavens of our race
We pray that our sins cause commotion
Among those standing at the helm
And they look kindly on the parliament where we insist upon this realm

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That Spells Owl [Original Story]

THAT SPELLS OWL

 

Typing.

It’s heartache.

The letters are laid out on the keyboard before you, all in the wrong order.

Christ, not even the alphabet is spelled correctly.

That’s what awaits you as you leave this not-so-perfect world even for a minute to indulge in crafting fantasies for others, you are tasked with bringing to life in another reality what you cannot offer where you are presently.

People stutter, people stammer, they can’t produce the words sometimes in presentations or speeches, so what makes you think you have the power to make the fiction surpass the reality?

Spell checker you ask, you must always use spell checker.

Connected to a vast library of proper pronounciations, capable of detecting a typo, all you have to do is screw up.

It won’t judge you.

In the final assesment, that’s all up to you.

Keith understood that as he typed in the instructions, the sentence structure, to the beta model of O.W.L, the latest line in a series of L.O.L models.

It was no joke, L.O.L.

Ladies Off Limits.

A booming artificial escort enterprise, named the way they are for their difficulties passing legal channels, and sold at steep prices.

“Hey, it’s late, you want to head out to Rousey’s place?” Keith’s friend asked as he entered the work cublicle, put on his coat and checked the time.

Keith turned his chair around, scratching the back end of his neck.

“Nah, nah I’ve got to get the typing right otherwise she’ll just be uttering gibberish” Keith replied.

“I’ve never much cared for volume on these puppies” his friend added, walking over to the beta model and stroking her breasts firmly with both hands

“Hey, don’t touch that” Keith cautioned.

“Oh pipe down, she does’nt feel it” his friend said in protest.

“She’s meant to Fred, alright, that was the mandate that came in” Keith replied.

Fred suddenly had modest interest.

“Really now?” he asked, “They want emotion in motion? Why, does it give other customers a thrill? What happened to the chirpy inspirational speeches that let them know the loveless could be loved?”

“Some don’t go for that, some don’t want anything out of that” Keith explained.

“This is too weird, since when did this order come in? What changed the old man’s mind?”

“It’s got nothing to do with the old man, it’s his son, he pointed it out”

“Pointed what out?” Fred asked

“He heard her speak alright” Keith revealed, the tension visible on his features as he straightened his tie, “He was down in the lab, he wanted a demonstration, I gave him one. She spoke, he listened, he went to the board, talked it over a bit, he came back and gave me the mandate. Old Man does’nt know about it”

“Then how can it go ahead? Everything goes through him” Fred continued. Keith just stared into him, depending on his friend’s instincts to lead him down the neccersary deduction.

Fred did not disappoint.

“You telling me you’re being privatley contracted? The young kid wants

“Ask her what her name is” Keith asked

“What? I know the broad’s name. O.W.L is’nt it?” said Fred.

“Ask it” said Keith.

Fred walked up to the beta model, he took out a ciggerette from his pocket, he lit it.

“Ok lady, spell it out for me. What’s your name?” he asked.

“Ow” she said

“Excuse me?” Fred asked, a little perplexed.

“Ow” she said.

“Spell it. Spell your name” Fred said, starting to get a little excited.

“O.W” she continued.

Fred was surprised, as well as a tad ecstatic.

“You dyslexic motherfucker, you spelt her name wrong in the protocalls did’nt you?” said Fred, his eyes gleeming with mischeivous intent.

Keith tensley wiped the sweat off his forehead and resumed working at the keyboard.

“Yeah, now I have to make sure I get the remainder down to a precise science” he explained.

“Hey, you know what O.W.L stands for right?” Fred asked

“It’s supposed to stand for One Without Limits” Keith replied.

“No, no that’s where you’re wrong…now she’s One Without. No wonder the kid started pining for her. Her name is pain, lack of compassionship counts as some kind of pain…yeah, it’s endearing. Maybe he thinks he can complete her…but with a name like that…a status like that…she’s the perfect fit for like-minded men who can’t make the most of thier dicks”

“Sounds like you want to pitch this really badly” said Keith.

“Maybe I do, maybe the board need extra persuasion. I’ll schedule an appointment in the morning” Fred said, taking one of the ciggeretts and plaing it in the Beta Model’s mouth.

“Here doll, I think you’ll be more in need of these every day than me” he said.

As Fred left, Keith’s thoughts turned back to the reality he was, and the reality he was shaping for …or O.W, and the power of typing in instruction after instruction.

It was heartache.

But typos in his world?

They were heartbreak.

Wisecrack (original story)

WISECRACK


Parties are meant to be lively.

Lively people, full of joy and song.

And jokes.

You’ve got to have jokes, for Jokes are beutiful.

Thy’re beutiful because they’re legal lies.

You could tell a million of them freely, openly, and not harm a soul with your story. The only people you make light of are invisible, they’re not real.

Trouble is, with jokes, is that they matter much more when they are about real situations, real people. They’re not often people you know, then that’s taking it too far.

So you make it about celebrities, you make it about the untouchable, you bring them down to a level you’d like to see lowered to.

It’s an easier method today than it was when it belonged to tomorow.

The public vote with special apps on their i-pads, the most well told jokes are attached to a chart listing the names of noones, virtual zeroes, and someones, people of hight stature.

It’s shaped like a thermustad, If the joke is immensly popular, the celebrity or non-celebrity it targets rises in appreciation figures. Eventually, if the joke becomes overused, ages badly, or becomes too repetitive, it “cools off”. The real world reacts accordingly and adjusts, placing another big name at the top of the polls and drops the celebrity or noone made light of to a lower “temperature”. If they drop way below, everything about them is frozen, their assests, their perks, everything.

Once you’re made light of, once you experiance the burn, it’s hard to crawl out of the cold.

Here, let me give you an example.

The person at this party is a bit of a local hero, a comedian who gets by on telling observational jokes about people he knows. He’s never mean-spirited about it, he does’nt attempt to assasinate their character, he just describes their mistakes in a manner that gets everyone laughing. He exaggerates a bit.

Just a bit.

Ok, you could say he lies, but is’nt that what some jokes are? Lies?

Yes. Some are.

But never the best ones.

He meets a woman at this party, another comedian, this one is strikingly fit, for a smoker at the very least, she likes to socialize in a shellsuit. She’s the ironic kind of comedy. It’s her gimmick, she loves it, and people love her.

But she likes to bring celebrities down to our level, and she always goes for the more offensive jokes.

The jokes that ring true.

The man is fascinated by this, he wants to get to know her better, he strikes up a conversation, he notices things about her behavior. The way she talks, the way she moves.

She gets a little tipsy, she spills some of the drink across her shellsuit.

His glass of wine was’nt empty, but he already felt full.

He could take control of the room. Right now. It’d be easy.

Tell people about what he’d just witnessed, give them something to laugh about.

He had respect for her though, and he found her quite attractive.

The two talked, the two struck up a connection, the two fall for each other, as they must.

Their connection goes beyond the party, the subsequant months see them bring a life into this world, a daughter.

This girl’s journey would be shared by the father on the club scene.

Observational comedy. Harmless exaggerations, but he found simply telling the truth about life with a six month year old crawling about in her own filth and throwing up on the mother in bed with the slightest dose of humerous annecdote is what caused his approval rates to go up and up.

A nobody became a somebody, and with it came perks

He lost track of how many baby showers there were from the public let alone his own family.

He and his girlfriend attended every one of them, and they found it lively.

Parties are meant to be lively.

What does’nt stay alive, what does’nt stay alight, is the burn.

Eventually, it all cools off.

Children grow, children evolve, and the fun in how they deal with their growing pains soon becomes an all too harsh reminder of the everyday struggles people experiance from day to day. Everyone is bullied, everyone argues, everyone leaves.

Everyone seeks escapism.

The joke can be a kinder fiction, or it can be a crass but comical reflection of reality.

And most of the time it’s the latter.

When it ceases to be even that, it can only become the former, and society is not tailored to approciate that anymore.

So the daughter cools off, she loses her perks, her boyfriends cut ties from her, she can’t even attend school. She can’t even stay with her family.

The man and woman are way too busy keeping other nobodies and somebodies in the charts to notice. Their field of expertise keeps the wheel turning.

The daughter fails to understand that, and takes a dive off the nearest bridge.

Love is always wise unless it’s a wisecrack.

Join In Your Song (original poem)

 

JOIN IN YOUR SONG
It’s not beyond my place to mention the careless steps you often take
They’re always meant to frighten me, put me me firmly in my place
You bear your soul in distant evenings, you subcumb to bleeding hearts
Thier apparitions all around you, they insist you play your part
How could I cope?
I can, you won’t.
Your spirit soars above me even now, I’m with the moon, you’re with the sun.
You walk this world within life’s limits, with hope and pride through days of scorn
You are to be savoured, I am to be mourned
Within my reach is what I hold sacred, but what I see I cannot hold
My world within is far too secret, your path in life is one that must be told
I’ll share your days, let you know what lies ahead
Prove you speak to your promised heart, don’t take steps towards the dead.
Join in your song
No rights, no wrongs.
Join in your song.

Waking Heavy (original poem)

WAKING HEAVY
I’m coming ’round to my expensies
Can’t afford to love you less
You and I breach no defences
We’re free to choose if we confess
Throw me to the lions, sit amongst your prey
I’ll tend to our pride, let them know it’s ok
Teach them nothing is missed, keep their child in two minds
One may slip from sight, the other they’ll find
Waking heavy asks much of us
The weight of the love left when we cry
The sight of the soul asking why.

…And Then I Smile (Original Story)

…AND THEN I SMILE


“Happy birthday?” was the first question she asked.

The security guards were not keen on answering.

“Give her the badge” said one guard to the other. He did as he was told, and provided her with one, she meekly pinned it on her shirt. They then proceeded to shove her through the door into an ice-cold room.

The lights, dim as they were, lit up, and she took a look at her surroundings. She looked over at the row of women who lined the room with uneasy curiosity.

Surely they were capable of conversation she thought.

She approached the slender, cranky woman on her right, she was reading a newspaper. One of the few that hadn’t been fed to the dogs outside the compound yet.

She wondered what she would say to her.

“I’m 17” she said, without thinking too hard about which words were appropriate to say.

This probably sounded better off in her head.

“24” the woman said, rasining her head to meet the naive girl face to face.

“Happy Birthday?” she asked.

“Try asking someone else” said the woman.

“Who else is there?” asked the girl, leaning over and waving at the row of ladies in front of her. Some had the courtesy, or naivety, to wave back.

“Is this your first day?” the woman replied.

“It’ll be my only day” the girl responded.

“That optimistic are you?” the woman spoke again, trying to hold back a smirk.

She walked over to a vending machine pearched in the center of the room, she fiddled for some loose change, found some, inserted the change into the slot, and made her selection.

A can was slowly pushed out of it’s slot and deposited down a cool grey shaf, coming out the other side into the grip of the woman. She downed the contents of the can almost in one gulp, then offered the remainder of the contents to the new girl.

She politely declined.

It was now the woman’s turn to ask.

“Happy birthday?”

“I’d rather ask that question thanks. It’s important that I ask it. That’s what they said upstairs anyway. Helps me be more of a people person they say”

“Suit yourself” the woman replied.

Curiosity soon got the better of even her though.

“Suppose somebody answers…then what?”

“…And then I smile” the girl replied.

Most of the women had all been staring at something to the upper right of them, a computerized lock nearest to where the door was situated.

The red lights came on

The woman looked at the labelling.

“Grand Day Out…pfft, who comes up with these labels? Imagine someone asking you if you had a grand day out, and you’d have to reply that you took a swing of this muck…you sure you don’t want it? Grand Day Out?”

“What would happen if I said yes?” the girl responded. What then?” the girl replied.

“Same as you I imagine. I’d smile”

“Quiet, the pair of you, someone’s coming” another woman uttered, trying to simmer the pair’s jaunty behaviour.

The door opened and the security guards poured in, they were accompanied by a short, plump black man wearing a blue shirt and a slightly crooked tie.

“21” he said.

A hand was raised. The guards walked along the row of women and pinpointed the source of the outstretched hand, bringing one female towards the man.

“Manic Monday?” she asked.

“It’s a Thursday, but every day for someone up there feels like the start of a working week, I could do with a refreshing reminder of the days I’ve already put behind”

Without hesitation, he groped her, then pulled back.

“Flat” he said, menace in his voice.

Without saying another word, he gestured to the guards to dispose of the damaged goods. They obeyed and took out the female with a heavy round of firepower from their weapons.

The row of women shook with fear, some crying and finding comfort in one another’s arms. The guards looked upon this and began barking orders at them.

“Don’t mingle, this is’nt a pick’n’mix, stay in your rows. All of you” they instructed, before slowly backing slowly towards the door.

The man was determined not to leave, he took out another number

“17”

The girl visibly shook. The woman stared at her with sollemn pity. In the breifest of moments exchanged between them, she had taken quite a shine to her.

“Oh you poor thing..you’re speechless aren’t you? Can’t imagine you’ll find your voice now…grand day out?”

The girl wept, but found the strength to answerr

“I won a ticket to get in this place…solid gold price, I played in the parks ’till I was 14, then spent the next two years conducting tours for the other kids. Made extra cash, lived in luxery. I was labelled a breath of fresh air. A refreshment. All that was left was the branding”

The man stared hard at her, his eyes charged with ill intent.

“Speak to me” he said.

The girl looked at the woman, her lips quivering, unsure of what to say.

“Go on, do what you came here to do” the woman said, “We understand branding, make the most of your day if you wish it to be your only one”

The guards raised their weapons.

The girl asked the question

“Ha-Happy Birthday?” she said.

The man grinned.

“I’ve always liked that song…Happy Birthday…to you, Happy Birthday…to you, Happy Birthday…Mr. President”

His fingers nimbly touched the base of the girl’s chin, he looked at her badge, it was facing the wrong way on her shirt, he turned it around.

It read “happy birthday”

“I’ll take it” he said, taking out a coin and inserting it into her pockets. The women beside the girl threw her out of the line and into his arms.

The woman seized her oppertunity and asked her own question again

“Grand Day Out?” she asked.

“Those days in the park were pretty grand, maybe I can see them again” she said, grabbing the can from the woman and drinking the remiander of it’s contents before looking over to the man in her arms and giving him a warm smile as they both departed the room.

The woman watched them both go, she looked at the discarded can as it was released from the grip of the girl and crashed to the floor.

And then she smiled.