Fitbin's (fitbin on UKA) UKArchive
99 Archived submissions found.
|Write The Right Old Rite (posted on: 03-06-16) |
This is an attempt to think new thoughts
I'm running the human race. An evolutionary sprint with God. Trying to beat Him on an uncharted track. He can move at infinite speed. Is indeed everywhere at once. And is not bound by the limits of time. But I can break through the illusory veil. Ascend to an unreached summit of thought. Through the will to power, find a third path. Left or right, leads to the same point in a circle. Break free from the shackles of sacred geometry. Create a new alchemy, transmuting spirit into oblivion.
Archived comments for Write The Right Old Rite
pdemitchell on 06-06-2016
Write The Right Old Rite
Very zen this... the acheivement of Mohksha - the oneness with the 11-dimensional universe... how many zen Buddhists does it take to change a lightbulb? Two - one to change the lightbulb... and one not to! Mitch
Many thanks for the comment, I appreciate it.
I was trying to express a mental exploration.
Mikeverdi on 06-06-2016
Write The Right Old Rite
Enjoyed reading this one, thanks for posting here. A thinking mans poem.
I'm glad you got something out of it.
Many thanks for taking time to comment.
Pronto on 07-06-2016
Write The Right Old Rite
Smacks of the Unified field theory that I support though little understand. A brave attempt at new thinking.
Yes all the divergent strands could be just aspects from the same source.
|Untitled Loss (posted on: 15-04-16) |
This is a short, little piece that I enjoyed creating to some degree.
Wake up, wake up I implore you! I'm standing beside your shallow daydream. An invisible shadow, that has died in the light. No home nowhere to go back to. Save for a flooded ocean of lost tears. Drowning in thirsty and bitter charity. Repeating your favourite song - until it burns. Deafened by the silence of dead friends. Crying over another loss that cuts into my soul. The Trinity has been cruelly torn asunder. Strewn over the staring hills and mountains. Just as the sun sets for the very last time.
Archived comments for Untitled Loss
Mikeverdi on 16-04-2016
I like the idea of this, the metaphor works. For me,I would lose more of the less important words, employ the use of comers. I think it would give the work more punch. It's only my opinion, others may differ, in the end it's your poem. I would be happy to show not tell on a pm.
hi, many thanks for the comment.
Yes definitely PM me with your edits.
sweetwater on 17-04-2016
A very touching poem, holding great sadness, I didn't quite understand the meaning, but I did enjoy it very much. Sue.
I'm glad you liked it and felt the emotion.
It is really about those types of feelings, rather than specific events.
Although it is an ode to the recent loss of my cat π
|Jealous Karma (posted on: 07-08-15) |
I have to enter a description, but I don't like to spoil the mystery.
Dabbling in the occult, with fine wines and spirits. I find you lying to yourself, ensconced in a wicked suit. Feasting on a banquet of high-class hookers. Afraid to toke on the opium pipe of truth. Travelling to the ends of this dark world. A modern manifestation of imaginary times. Letting the innocent blood of old cannibals. Hunting the last Lions until they are all dead. I weep a torrent of bitter tears, slowly. Until I am empty and nothing real is left. My leash tightens and tightens over mind and soul. The song ends and I am left alone to dream and to die.
Archived comments for Jealous Karma
Mikeverdi on 09-08-2015
I enjoyed the read, in fact I really enjoyed it π
Congrats on the Nib.
many thanks for your comment.
I enjoyed writing it, so I'm glad you got some enjoyment as well.
|The Minstrel's Lament (posted on: 17-05-13) |
This is a delicious slice of lyrical pie, dripping with metaphoric cream and steaming allegory. Please give me some feedback, as I get so lonely.
A flagrantly, fragrant vagrant. Vaguely and varicosely strayed. Far and wide, o'er dale and tide. Until he stopped and sadly died. His broken-hearted journey's end. All alone, without shadow or friend. Silent superstition had drove him on. To find his soporific soul's only son. A spirit lost in a never-ending song. Orphaned for weeping far too long. Dancing to the beat of an evil drum. Cursed and coerced, forever numb. Walking secret paths into the cold sun. Fighting a battle that could not be won. Entranced by a lie that did promise all. The old hammer burns as it waits to fall. And so the end came, yet the story still lives. Whispered by a blinded ghost who forgives. To a man that lives forever in dark magick. Visions of beauty before him, torturously tragic.
Archived comments for The Minstrel's Lament
orangedream on 17-05-2013
The Minstrels Lament
Enjoyed, and savoured, every bite, fb;-) Nice one.
Many thanks, glad you liked it.
Savvi on 20-05-2013
The Minstrels Lament
I enjoyed the pie, its was a bit of a mouthful but tasted delicious. Thanks S
Hi there, thanks for your comment, I agree it does need some editing especially at the end, cheers
|The Cavendish Code (posted on: 13-05-13) |
Please read this little ditty and give me some feedback.
The end of the beginning prompts the beginning of the end. The birth of your enemy promises the death of your friend. Eponymous destruction, an echo of dark creation. Defiling order with chaos delivers hollow elation. Squaring the old circle with cruel, jaded laughter. Playing silent music to those forgotten thereafter. Drowned in burning tears to quench a thirstful demon. Only to fall in love with the dream of crying freemen. Broken strings vibrate through every unsullied soul. As emptiness grows, yearning to swallow the hole. Like the flowerless rose that grows only thorns. Nightmares bite deep while the cosmos mourns.
Archived comments for The Cavendish Code
Bozzz on 16-05-2013
The Cavendish Code
Hi Fitbin, I think it is the lack of rhythm in the lines that made it difficult for me to read smoothly. Matching the number of beats in the lines would make it easier. Have you read it aloud to yourself? Best wishes...Bozzz
Hi there, many thanks for commenting. Yes I agree it doesn't flow very well. I was concentrating on the images more than the structure. The disjointed nature does reflect the content to try and evoke a certain something. I should record some audio as this might make me change and adapt parts. Cheers
|The Liar (posted on: 19-04-13) |
The sinister web, whispers into my fleeting dreams....please read this and see what you think
The faint, white echoes of a tired, old lyre, haunting like cold and endarkened fire. Spoke to me with broken-down voices, about lonely promises and failed choices. Hollow thoughts dance on an unmarked grave, damning me forever, too accursed to save. Until a virgin light, unveils truth to heathen fears, salvation is redeemed, by the song of warm tears.
Archived comments for The Liar
Andrea on 20-04-2013
Enjoyed it, Fit, and nice to see you posting again!
Hi there, many thanks.... where does the time go? It's been too long, but it's nice to be back
Savvi on 21-04-2013
I really enjoyed this, the images you paint and the word choices. Thanks S
Thanks Savvi, I'm quite happy with it..... Although I stated trying to fit too much per line.... Cheers
|Higgs Boson (posted on: 09-07-12) |
This is a thing that I have written, I consider it a good thing.
The grass is always greener, the meat is always leaner, the blades are always keener, the streets are always meaner. The lies are sometimes truer, the trier is ne'er a doer, the slaves are walking free, the blind have learnt to see. The stories can't be told, the young are getting old, the dead are waking up, the condemned spill the cup. The nightmares doom the dreamer, the fool kills the inbetweener, the silence subdues the screamer, the end is getting nearer.
Archived comments for Higgs Boson
Texasgreg on 09-07-2012
Aye! Was a good thing. Tried to read between the lines and came up blank, LOL.
hi Greg, thanks for reading, glad you found it worth a look.
Andrea on 09-07-2012
Sounds a bit Dylan-ish to me. Think you may be right (last line).
Enjoyed (best if read out loud).
hi there, yeah you're right it works better read aloud.
thanks for the comment.
ChairmanWow on 09-07-2012
Definitely a good thing. A poetic summary of where we stand.
hello, many thanks for reading and leaving the comment.
Ani on 12-07-2012
Well done, it fits with our current times.
I am quite pleased with it, but the rhyming is a bit awkward in a few places.
|Zenith (posted on: 05-03-12) |
My name is fitbin, it has been 5 months since my last submission. Please dip your toe in my metaphoric pie, to aid the healing process.
Woken by the ghost of a forgotten dream, I stare into the empty eyes of the past. As eternity weeps in futile reticence, black magick creeps into the corners of my soul. Seeking for the unveiling of Isis, I die infinite deaths, in pursuit of sweet truth. Fed on by unseen leeches and psychic vampires, they drink the old poison gladly, in ignorant defiance. Bitter betrayal dominates every darkened horizon, whilst freedom submits to destiny's cruel path. Cloud nine slowly disappears into the haze, until Paradise loses faith in it's own existence. Conjuring new daemons with a careless gesture, I am bitten by a thousand rotten fangs. Tears well up, behind the mask composed of lies, looking into the smiling Sun, the future gestates it's impotent doom.
Archived comments for Zenith
Andrea on 05-03-2012
Hello, Fit - lovely to see you back!
Well...dark and deep stuff indeed! Nicely done, enjoyed in a morbid sort of way π
I like to brood on the morose every now and then.
Glad you got something out of it
sunken on 08-03-2012
Hello Mr. Fitbin. Good to see that you are still writing. It reminded me of my time in the ambulance service. I was employed to make the der der noises. Sadly electronics have long since taken my place. I occasionally get work with litter companies doing the beep, beep, beep reversal noises. But ,to be frank, being tied to the back of a smelly refuge truck isn't quite as prestigious. We all have our crosses to bear. Though I suspect vampires would disagree. Nice work, fella.
best before a court of law
hi Sunken, I may be warping time and space.
One moment I am here and the next I am there.
Here is now, but when is there?
Anyway, thanks as ever for your kind words.
I hope this finds you well and full of both vim and vigour.
|Carthaginian Peace (posted on: 07-10-11) |
This piece is new and comes highly recommended, if no-one reads it, I will wilt and perish, like a lonely onion.
The future rolled up into a ball, divinity and elegance, neutered and muted, always looking away, afraid to perceive reality. Dying slowly, as eternity reverses in audible pain, the cold wind blows through a flame-punk's nightmare, waking with a silent thud, too alive to notice. An impersonal, aloof journey into vagary, speeding beyond physical space and time, the minds-eye distracted by white noise and junk DNA. A double helix; those twin serpents of enlightenment, but the shamanic dream is broken and abused by lies, torment and fear now taste sweet, like a merciful poison. Who is left to blame in the darkening end? If it's not you, then it must be me, guilty of both condemning life and forgiving oblivion.
Archived comments for Carthaginian Peace
sunken on 08-10-2011
Here's hoping you don't wilt and perish, Mr. Fitbin. A strong a piece as you have ever written, in my sunky opinion. My opinion is trading down at the moment I'm afraid. I blame quantative pleasing. Top stuff all the same.
best before bedtime
hi there Sunken,
the value of your opinion can go up as well as down.
I've taken out a payment protection plan, so hopefully I'll do ok.
Mucho thanks for reading and responding.
admin on 08-10-2011
Hello Fit, nice to see you back π
I found an ancient onion under my cooker the other day. It wasn't so much wilted and perished, as withered and mouldy. Not nice at all. Unlike your pome, which I enjoyed very much
it was good to post a piece that I was happy with, I think my output may consist of always trying to rewrite the same expressions.
Glad you enjoyed it - the pome not the onion
niece on 17-10-2011
Good one, fitbin...liked it a lot...
thanks for the comment, glad you did like it.
I do need a bit of encouragement now and again.
|Dystopia Rising (posted on: 12-08-11) |
I started writing this just before all these troubles kicked off
Albion is burning, Her shining lands pillaged. Raping the future, A truth is always the best lie. Enshrouded by a dead mystery, Forgetting all of passed time. Soaring faster than the darkest light, Never to be confined Fearing only the limit of imagination Evolution bound by random chance. The soul tested by a finite cage, Salvation always just out of reach. Rioting just for fun, Even the drugs don't work anymore. The bitch is back again. Her dripping poison still burns. Look into forever and see nothing. The future stops dead. No-one created God. Which means no-one can save him.
Archived comments for Dystopia Rising
franciman on 12-08-2011
Stark and brutal but with a wistful quality that doesn't redeem it, but simply soothes the sores. I particularly like the third verse
In my opinion, if this had been a hundred years ago, it would have sparked a revolution which gave the working class a real, and not an imagined equality. The establishment has a lot to answer for, and I'm not sure it is worth saving.
If the test of good poetry is how it makes the reader think, then your's is very good verse.
apologies for not replying sooner,
I moved house and lost track.
So glad you liked it and got something from it.
I want to try and offer an interesting view.
e-griff on 12-08-2011
bit of exaggeration, je crois , still, never mind it's probably valid when you are tagging on a message. I wasn't sure just what that message was to be frank, as I found the poem too non-specific to point mechanical old me in the right direction. However, if Jim is correct, then I'm not sure I agree π
hi, I agree it is vague, I like to play with imagery and words to see what I can evoke.
I often try to express a feeling rather than specific concepts or a narrative.
But I appreciate your feedback and am glad you took the time to read it.
sunken on 14-08-2011
Good to see you around again Mr. Fitbin. Always enjoy your dark passages... That sounds so wrong. One day I'll get the hang of this commenting.
the tip-ex conspiracy
my dark passages do benefit from some illumination,
so many thanks for commenting.
Time continues to fly.
stormwolf on 17-08-2011
It is a very stark glimpse of a grey meachanical landscape to me.
I understand the line "salvation always just out of reach"
God this world is in a right mess!
that is what I try to get across,
a bit of bleakness and fantasy.
Thanks for reading
|Invisible Gesture (posted on: 27-06-11) |
This is a poem I have written, please read it and give me any response or ideas. Thanks
The occult is esoteric and feminine Walking tall, as a daemon ignites his blind date A stone-cold stunner of epic proportions. Writing a Eutopia into existence The feline-esque Heroin slept all day, in torment Falling into a prison of the mind. Beyond life, past all limits of perception Proteins break down, deep into Satan's lair The Gods cannot explain why they are here. One more princess gets her greatest wish granted With help from the cosmos, magic becomes reality And beauty and love are purged in naked fire. Fear becomes a beckoning anthem for the elite The old world order takes over again As the black sun rises, each light goes dark. Drinking in every golden truth and every white lie Your poisoned crown of thorns, bleeds you dry Delivering a baby that never grows up. Only one tree left in the world But a thousand eternal wars Fought in futile perpetuity.
Archived comments for Invisible Gesture
sunken on 28-06-2011
Hello Mr. Fitbin. Long time no see. Surprised you haven't had more comment on this. How typical that, when ya do, it's from a sunk. I'm afraid I'm still shit at it. Good to see you're still writing tho. As dark and as brooding as ever. It's hard to believe you're not a manic depressive (-; Nice work fella - Nice is the wrong word, but ya know wot I mean.
colour me in shades of never mind
thanks for visiting,
well I enjoyed this one at least.
I am actually quite a jolly guy in real life π
|Phere (posted on: 17-06-11) |
Please read and analyse this piece of work, Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.
Sayonara suicide A broken code for a masked terrorist The ultra-green monarch taps her virtual crown False flag protests, obscure the prophet's whispers. A fetish for broken tables and amputees Lied to by the news and the politicians Conspiring to plan for the end of the world Lifting the limelight veil of reality's illusory bluff. Smiling as the star becomes a dark cloud Watching the bodies under the stairs decay Dissecting the jade gardens beauty until only ugliness remains Forgetting for a moment that you are utterly alone. Evocation of exemption, aloof and distant Like a mercurial, murdering stranger Drifting through the fog on an empty, moonless night Gliding on a half-remembered, emerald dream. Startling realisation, then a fleeting instance of clarity You are sane, but the world itself has gone perversely mad Time is weighed down by gravity and verdigris sadness Echoes repeating forever, as blood weeps from the stone.
Archived comments for Phere
franciman on 17-06-2011
franciman on 17-06-2011
I'm not such a great authority, especially with poetry, but.......
I really like some of the imagery. On the other hand I find some of it too clever and that is because there is too much imagery IMHO. There has to be enough language in the verse to give it direction, and your verse does lack direction and structure. I don't know what it is about? Sorry to sound so negative, I normally only comment on pieces that really attract me, but as you asked for analysis I felt I would oblige.
stormwolf on 17-06-2011
I am usually not one for this kind of poetry but as it sometimes comes to me too and I have to read it back to decipher it myself I will give it a go.
I find that for once I can understand this and further than that can identify with it too. If I do not understand it word for word I do get the feeling and the depth in what it talks of to me at least.
I see the world as it is...the brokenness and the verdigris and decay. The "false flag protests" do indeed obscure the prophets whispers.
Smiling as the star becomes a dark cloud
Watching the bodies under the stairs decay
Dissecting the jade gardens beauty until only ugliness remains
Forgetting for a moment that you are utterly alone.
The stars are becoming occluded metaphorically and literally and the day of the red moon is upon us as witnessed only the other day by the lunar eclipse, highlighted by the volcanic ash but having so much deeper significance esoterically.
The jade garden's beauty speaks to me of Japan and the recent dreadful destruction there while
Drifting through the fog on an empty, moonless night
Gliding on a half-remembered, emerald dream.
speaks to me at least of the beauty in the world of nature (emerald green) which is being ruthlessly destroyed by man's greed.
Startling realization, then a fleeting instance of clarity
You are sane, but the world itself has gone perversely mad
Time is weighed down by gravity and verdigris sadness
Echoes repeating forever, as blood weeps from the stone.
The last verse is incredible and speaks to me profoundly especially lines 2 and 3.
Just great esoteric poetry capturing what many of us see and feel.
franciman on 17-06-2011
As I said in my last comment, I'm not really that strong on poetry. So when I see Alison, who is a poet I admire, giving such fulsome praise, I need to rethink my analysis. I obviously didn't get your message in this piece, and that maybe says more about me than it does about your poetry. Please disregard the advice in my comment, sufficient to say It didn't move me as a lay reader.
All the best,
Jim (the humble pie eater!)
genuine thanks for your comment,
I do agree that it is overloaded with imagery and that can be detrimental to taking it all in and appreciating it.
The kind of response and feeling I want to provoke is one of confusion and leaving of comfort zones, so attempting to make the reader analyse and interpret in a different way helps lead to this.
e-griff on 18-06-2011
i think too much imagery. It's lovely, but I think a poem has to be based, somewhere, in reality, even just a touch base thing. too much generalisation isn't a lure for readers. we need 'hooks' , snippets of the real, to snag us and involve us.
Also, to be a bit cheeky, I think Jim (Franciman) 's first comment would be true for many. I don't think he needs to feel abashed by other comments, or apologise. Always say it as you feel - the world is full of different viewpoints (thank god) that's how we learn.
Advice? I'd say ground the poem in reality and concrete viewpoint before flighting the imagination, if you understand me.
very best JOhnG
yes, it is a fine balance to tread.
I want to convey a sense of disconnect and a view of a kind of impersonal consciousness.
But to make an emotional impact on the reader these notions do need to be relevant and recognisable.
Useful things for me to think about and try to incorporate.
stormwolf on 18-06-2011
Hi again Fitbin π
I also feel that Jim's assessment was very good actually and also very honest. I usually do not enjoy poetry like this as anything that is hard to understand and full of too much imagery is too hard work and I tend to ignore it.
The reason why I liked this was because on this occasion I did understand it or maybe gave my own interpretation which made sense to me but may be widely off the mark of the intended by the poet himself. I think it's really good to get a wide range of opinions and hope that Jim realizes that his comment was probably more helpful than mine which was more from the one person's perspective. That is probably all as clear as mud now! lol Alison x
thanks so much for taking the time to respond.
I am so glad you found some interesting meaning.
I think the way I write is to let recent influences flow in and out of the stream of ideas.
So your interpretations are valid on many levels.
|A Thousand Sons (posted on: 13-05-11) |
Please read and see what you think.
Riven and then cast asunder out of the blinding nothingness melancholy sadness, stroking gently a mind tormented by forgotten thoughts. Ascending to the Lloigor's zenith another dream is burnt and raped you have no power over me anymore as I am entrapped by the awful freedom. God's tears fall like unseen snow freezing lost souls out of heaven forsaken and blamed for all evils I die again just to live in your cage.
Archived comments for A Thousand Sons
ruadh on 18-05-2011
A Thousand Sons
Being totally honest, I have no idea what this is about. But I think you have some great lines in it. Loved the last verse.
thanks for commenting.
I tend to write first and then extrapolate or interpret a meaning afterwards.
Although there is usually some autobiography in there.
Glad you enjoyed it
|Depressed Heat (posted on: 18-03-11) |
Any and all comments are greatly appreciated!
The soft machine broke down and spilled dark red fuel, trapped and confined in a hypothetical cage of happiness. Wanting to escape through time on a cloud of velvet music, order decays into chaos as entropy struggles against atrophy. The black knight rides alone, into a bleeding sunset of pain, cursed to hurt those who follow him, because he cannot love. Like the tiger slaying the lion, only to be consumed by liquid fire, the happy are proven deluded, as the enlightened commit suicide. Bursting a bubble of cold regret takes away the only comfort left, the ignorant gladly quaff the visual opium that dumbs their spirit. The sad sounds haunt him now, as the tears never quite fall, smoking a flood of Zen, the mountains quake in sympathy.
Archived comments for Depressed Heat
anth2011ed on 30-04-2011
fitbin, sorry to intrude, but can you send your permission and bio for the 2011/2012 Anth pse?
- Details Here
|The Archer's Song (posted on: 13-12-10) |
Here is a structured poem to read. All suggested improvements and ideas are much appreciated.
Not knowing if it's a shorn been or a seen born, an etymologist's nightmare, the lexicon of linguistics. Tasting the cold iron as it drips down your lonely tongue, refuting belief in everything, until only golden madness is left. 'This isn't about me' he cries, as the emotional dissection begins, like an actor on stage, suffering can be expressed through performance. He feels nothing though, just managing to mimic what passes for emotions, but still deemed superior to those ensnared by their empty virtues and beliefs. Walking on old, cold and aching feet, he breaks in another new pair of boots, leather and lace going hand in hand with torture and the mastered races. How it now hurts to move just as much as it does to try and stay still, the boredom of solitude versus the constriction of all freedoms. Non-existent truths battle it out with imaginary demons, silently wishing for the absence of blinding darkness. An arrowhead of straight purity, blurred by time, daring to stay in the dream, but afraid to see.
Archived comments for The Archer's Song
sunken on 18-12-2010
The Archers Song
Wow. How can this have no comments!? It's a disgrace! I'd consult my local MP but he's busy having a roof fitted to his moat. Very neat, very clever. The poem I mean, not the roof.
a Bernard is for life not just for Christmas,
Merry Chrimbo to you Master Sunk.
|Ghostly Canon (posted on: 10-12-10) |
An exploration of evocation. Wandering through my mind's eye. All technical feedback is encouraged and very welcome. I am seeking comments on writing technique rather than on the perceived mental state of the author π
Now the honeymoon is finally over, the sweet suffering can begin in earnest. The last Ddraig Goch flew over the bleeding rainbow. As a weeping Shiro Ikkakujuu sang a lonely lament. Hunted by a Gvnigeyona, pursued up trees and through gushing streams. While packs of Brown Lycans watch and feed on each other's memories. Sacked by unpopular consent, the saviour becomes the scapegoat. A Royal wedding to conjoin the twin houses of deception and deceit. Mythology out of control and writing it's own tormented legend. Aching bones crumbling into dust, that the lepers breathe in forever. You believe the lies that taste sickly sweet, cleaving your mind neatly asunder. And so where to now? When the hiding places are all gone. No sanctuary to seek or solace to be found. Every back has been turned and avenue blocked. Do not weep for the dying horizon, but rejoice in eternal bondage.
Archived comments for Ghostly Canon
Nomenklatura on 10-12-2010
Hmm... I'm sure the language is deliberately in a 'historical' style, (it's neatly done by the way) and that, in stanza two "saccharin"(e?) and "junkies can toke" are deliberately meant to jar with this. However, it actually detracts from your poem, for me. This, of course, is a personal view, which you are quite entitled to - or probably should - reject.
I agree totally, those lines didn't fit the rest of the theme.
I've done a small edit and prefer the result.
Thanks for helping out.
Nomenklatura on 10-12-2010
I'm dreadfully sorry, but following my advice seems to have disrupted the rhythm of your piece somewhat. Also, if you look at the rest of your poem, the lines dispense with conjunctions like 'and' and 'that' which makes them a little more dynamic, if you see what I mean.
Thanks for looking again, I think it does need more editing to clarify the meaning.
pdemitchell on 10-12-2010
Hi sir fit of bin - it's good to see Ewan dispensing a tidy bit of tech-crit and the edits improve. For me, the series of myth-nods seem disjointed making the piece read like a list of poem-titles or seeds rather than a cohesive whole but as you said, it's an exercise in evocation. PS 'Y' in Welsh means 'the' so you should delete it before the red dragon or you have 'and the last the red dragon' and breathe rather than breath in line 9.
Dagnabbit - it's near-impossible to crit this effectively as the lines do not seem connected to each other (what has a honeymoon got to do with a dragon? Shiro to lepers? etc etc) and the last stanza is completely disconnected in format from the other two. There are some nice lines and moves in there but this feels like the starting point of a dozen awesome poems but not this one. Sorry. Mitch π
I am in agreement.
Although the links do make sense to me on a personal level, I need to explain the connections to the reader so it doesn't appear nonsensical.
This is very rough which I like, but I do want to improve and refine my approach.
Ionicus on 11-12-2010
Fitbin, I see that you seek comments on the writing technique above all. There are good lines and ideas even though disjointed, as it has already been pointed out. For me the punctuation is a bit awry: you could have used commas instead of full stops in many instances.
Deception and deceit sound a bit tautologous. In my opinion it is an experimental piece which needs some re-working to make it more coherent. The links betweem mythology and reality need to be clarified. I hope that this is the kind of feedback you asked for.
Hi, yes this is exactly the sort of feedback I wanted.
I do agree as well, it is very vague which is an effect I wanted,
but I do also want it to make some sense and be accessible.
teifii on 17-12-2010
The grammatical faults put me off [but I admit to being a bit of a fanatic in such matters. However, apart from that I'm afraid I simply didn't understand what the poem was getting at. Being also fascinated by mythology, I started out with great interest but the only mythological reference that rang a bell was the draig goch. Clearly I need to extend the range of my reading of mythology. Intriguing anyway.
thanks for commenting, could you elaborate on the grammatical faults,
that would be really helpful.
The meaning is quite personal, dealing with the honeymoon of a new relationship being romantic, fantastic and ethereal.
But the grim reality lurks in the shadows and chases the dream like a mythical beast.
|Fetish (posted on: 29-11-10) |
4 months since my last submission. Where did my inner muse go to? Please sample this piece of folly
Climbing Jacob's ladder, my eyes are burned out by the frozen sun, repeating the same day again, I get lost in floundering time. Never living in the present, always dreaming of the next hit, how much is enough to satiate the yearning for experience? I can now appreciate the multitude of things I used to hate, your poison stills runs in my veins, tainting my new thoughts. The mocking sneer lurking like the fresh reek of putrefaction, cheated on and leeched from by an emotional parasite. I can't wait for the day when you are all alone like me, your pathetic, futile life of nothingness sickens my soul. Under your deceptive spell I lost my tormented youth, given freely in a basket of lies, shrouded by whispers of death. 'I attract happiness' is the mantra to repeat on the bridge of smoke, walking on ice into the unknowable abyss that forgives. I failed as a new man just as you failed as an old woman, willing murky perception into reality becomes easier than living.
Archived comments for Fetish
Corin on 29-11-2010
This has the sound of reality rather than idle folly.
Writing it out is a good thing to do. You seem to have succeeded in writing perception into reality. Now you have posted it, it is on its way out, I hope.
Hi there, thanks for your comment.
This was a fun little ditty to write, just getting some old thoughts off my chest,
to create room for some new ones.
pdemitchell on 29-11-2010
Welcome back sir fit of bin. The muse seems to have been the cyncial older woman a Rod Stewart Maggie of our times. Four unrhyming quatrains with a minor query about an abyss that forgets? Otherwise some good metaphorollicking about with the old bridge of smoke and the basket of lies. A good return to the muse! Mitch π
Mucho thanks for your response.
I have not really had time to stop and think recently,
but I just managed to pause for breath and squeeze this piece out.
I'm glad you found it agreeable.
On a separate note, it's cold out there!
teifii on 01-12-2010
Certainly not my idea of a fun ditty. Presumably I didn't understand it.
thanks for giving it a go.
The meaning is open to interpretation,
hopefully there is something there to understand on some level.
ifyouplease on 01-12-2010
too dark but good
thanks for your comment,
there has to be some dark for there to be any light.
But yes too much is not a good thing.
Andrea on 02-12-2010
Fun little ditty? Gawd, I dread to think what your dark stuff is like.
I liked it a lot though. As Blake said 'The cistern fills, the fountain overflows' (with ref to the 'yearning for experience').
glad you liked it.
Blake knows his stuff alright
sunken on 12-12-2010
Good to see you back, Fitbin. Always did enjoy your dark edge... Have you considered fluorescent markings? I'm not be pernickety, but you're an health and safety hazard in the making. Nice work, fella.
blank expression courtesy of bic
hello there Sunken,
thank you for reading.
I do always try to wear steel toe-caps and safety goggles, if that helps.
|Edgar Allan Poetry (posted on: 30-07-10) |
This is like a cross atop a pyramid. A symbolic meaning perhaps
The lucid dreamer abruptly awoke, vivid reality spilling into wakefulness. He had wanted it to never end, safe in his artificial world of wonders. But nothing lasts forever, especially not peace. Thrown back into the sharpness of being, his senses shredded by the seething tumult. The somnambulist's unending nightmare, walking with eyes closed through life's splendour. Shedding a tear for the fallen angels, drowning in their complicit guilt. Aching for her presence once more, she responds in kind and indulges every whim. Letting him go blind in her embrace, he defiles and corrupts the naked beauty.
Archived comments for Edgar Allan Poetry
pdemitchell on 30-07-2010
Edgar Allan Poetry
Sombre and reflective and slightly jarring stuff. Is the last line meant to be her beauty? Enjoyable ninetheless. Mitch π
her beauty would make sense, but I was trying to avoid repitition.
It would change the meaning somewhat.
Glad you enjoyed it.
sunken on 31-07-2010
Edgar Allan Poetry
Hello Mr. Fitbin. Ya know, the fan in my laptop suddenly speeded up when I loaded this page? I blame the heat generated by the gratification of said indulgences. Nce work, fella.
post chaotic hair disorder
Yo, that sounds like a case of psychic gremlins.
Don't feed your laptop after midnight, and don't pour any water into it.
But thanks for your comment dude.
|Ex-girlfriends Suck (posted on: 26-07-10) |
Join me on a meandering trip. With mushrooms and cacti for company.
Beg steal or silently borrow, another small hatful of sorrow. Mercifully slaughtered and then ignored, it should be impossible to be bored. Another glorious night on the town, I should be happy, but am wearing a frown. Disturbing my thoughts and invading my dreams, unpicking my fraying mind at the seams. Overcoming impossible odds every day, I survive to fight and live just to play. Insurmountable obstacles litter my path, maybe you should fear my inhuman wrath? So I find myself conflicted inside again, for even the mirror considers me vain. The music is the only thing that changes, life racing on through a crowd of strangers.
Archived comments for Ex-girlfriends Suck
pdemitchell on 26-07-2010
Yup - meandering but mellifluous, moseying but morose - are we talking psylocybin and mescalito here? For even the mirror considers me vain - cracking line. Mitch π
Hi Mitch, thanks for the read.
I think you picked up the wavelength,
it's been a while since I got psychedelic
Munster on 27-07-2010
Count me well and truly in, I have meandered down that very path.
enjoyed the read.
Hi, glad you liked it.
It's all part of the cathartic process I feel
sunken on 27-07-2010
Hello Mr. Fitbin. Liking this muchly. I'm a sucker for the rhyme. I don't know if it's en vogue these days, but who cares? Me, personally, I kinda like being unfashionable. A tip top piece, in my sunken opinion. The beagle kinda liked it too. Well done fella.
The rhyme is good for me because it enforces a certain structure.
Thanks for the support.
I'm off out tonight for a meal at the Baltic and luckily I'm not paying
|Love is? (posted on: 16-07-10) |
This one rhymes and everything. It is a little jaunt of whimsy
Veritrimbles combustulating on the winding way, singsongly wicked in the merry dance of may. Veering on a hellbent trip to scorntown, alone, naughty and notnice celebrating a seed sown. Never say never, said she, breaking her own rule, wishing for a dream and waking to find a fool. Broken hearts, bleeding, a liberal nightmare, talking aloud just to hear the echoes blare. Cherries and stones and luscious, green idyll, kites flying high, dying to live in the middle. A short break for lunch, to survive the long day, food for the soul, as the tormented do play. Poking and pointing, overruling the land, falling and fading like effervescent sand. Barbarossa is king, a craven coward's delight, a demon is born when the brave will not fight.
Archived comments for Love is?
pdemitchell on 16-07-2010
Hi Sir Fit of Bin - whimsy is as whimsy does. It did not go anywhere but travelled well and idyll with middle rhyme got me wanting to add 'tiddle' and 'piddle' for some reason and Veritrimbles got me thinking of Ulster politicians for some other reason... some good lines in here. Mitch
hey there, thanks for feeding back.
I normally avoid rhyming, but I enjoyed experimenting with it and fitting the content to the scheme.
sunken on 16-07-2010
Hello Mr. Fitbin. This puts me in mind of a syrup based pudding. It's both sweet and substantial. I dare say that serving it with custard would add even further to it's appeal. Oh bollocks - I've done it again! I thought I was on Uka-pudding.co.uk
Nice work, fella.
considered tall in japan
ahh good old pudding recipes,
I like a nice bit of spotted dick myself.
Glad you liked it though.
I seem to be more inspired by anguish,
so it was nice to write a happier piece.
cat on 16-07-2010
Lol! I liked the intro...
The tormented do play, don't they. Lot's to like here π
My bestest to ya,
Thanks for commenting,
I was going for a bunch of evocative images rather than a focussed narrative.
But I still like to think there are meanings inherent for the reader to extrapolate.
|Insomnia (posted on: 28-06-10) |
This is a short description of my submission. I leave it to you to interpret any meaning. Please have a read and leave a comment.
I have nothing at all to say, it makes for awkward social situations. I smile and nod and laugh, I agree and acquiesce and hum and whistle. But in my mind it's very different, inside I am King and all-powerful. They would tremble and quake if my thoughts were visible, for nothing is taboo and no boundary is unbroken. If you are not the aggressor you become the victim, everyone choosing their roles so conveniently. A burlesque circus of the ephemeral truth, taking pictures of nothing to show to nobody. The tears comfort me, as sorrow is like an afternoon meeting with an old friend, her cruel orange spittle drying on the window in the setting sunlight. Deciding upon revenge, next time we meet, is a weight off my broad shoulders, until I realise that's what she wanted all along, so I renege on my promises again. There is nothing more than this, but it's not enough. There is only you and me. The future is dead and the past never happened. This moment is eternity and is a gloriously sad futility.
Archived comments for Insomnia
pdemitchell on 28-06-2010
Quite a smorgasbord here but stanza four did not connect to the others at all. 1-3 and maybe 5 could stand alone fine as an intovert-agony piece in me 'umble opine onion. Cheers mitch π
yes stanza 4 did stick out, I had more to say in that one.
Which did affect the piece as a whole.
Thanks for the ideas
e-griff on 28-06-2010
Tell you what, Mr Fit. To be brutally honest, I don't always read your stuff, because it seemed mired in negativity, the samples I sampled.
But this. This is good. It works, perhaps just for me, tonight, but it does. On some levels it is simple, but it appeals to all of us - we have all felt like this if we are honest - and it captures the mood. The 'bump-out' verse I saw as an aside, telling us something we wouldn't know from the main dialogue, a description of the scene that was playing.
I liked it very much (and much skill involved).
good stuff. (I shall be back)
e-griff on 28-06-2010
If you are willing to accept a rare Griffpick, then you have one...
I graciously accept, many thanks.
Glad you enjoyed this one.
I agree that lots of my work veers towards the violent end of the spectrum.
I really wanted to generate a reaction and that is easier by using shock tactics.
But I am trying to develop a wider range of subject matter.
sunken on 30-06-2010
Hello Mr. Fitbin. It's good to see you finally getting some recognition. It's been too long in coming if you ask me. I don't see anything wrong with mirroring the more negative side of life. It exists and therefore ought to be mirrored. Life isn't a fairytale. Good work fella. Well done on the nib. Commiserations on the Beagle named Bernard (-;
I can always count on your support.
I feel like I have explored and mapped the darkest territories
and now it's time to venture through fresh meadows.
I have a new inspiration and a new feeling, I believe is called happiness.
Thanks also go to Bernard, my favourite marxist mutt
stormwolf on 01-07-2010
This was original and insighful. A lot of deep thought and revelation of the inner you. You took a chance on the 4th verse and it worked by adding a sense of sharpness to the whole.
The tears comfort me, as sorrow is like an afternoon meeting with an old friend,
Boy, can I not only identify with this but congratulate you on such awareness. Well done on both nibs. A fine piece of work.
thanks for the comments.
I like to make an attempt at honesty and to express what I feel some people try to keep well hidden.
|Fatal Cerebral Insemination (posted on: 21-06-10) |
This is an abstract piece of obfuscation.
A red-shift dream of anti-matter heroes killed the heuron talisman. Leading a meta-physical dance around the aetheric quarks. Travelling at tachyon speed to expose Einstein's lies obscuring Tesla's truths. Fear of zero-point mechanics caused the celestial hangover. With perpetual motion achieving impossible perfection. Teutonic hatred sleeping through life in a labyrinth of pain. Not knowing what is real or illusion or if there is a difference? Breaking the boundaries of self-imposed limitation. Dialing L to reward the machine with tainted luck. The embryonic stars dying from a dearth of love. The universe was tricked into ceasing to exist by an unknown number. As porpoises turned to evil and consumed the innocent. The left-hand path loomed, casting it's dark shadow over destiny's children. Plenty of freaks swimming in dry oceans of red mercury. Asmodeus grinned as Baphomet was beheaded for sending yet another false prophet.
Archived comments for Fatal Cerebral Insemination
pdemitchell on 21-06-2010
Fatal Cerebral Insemination
Hi Sir Fit of Bin - this is Hey Jude the very, very obscure. Thank Newton I have several degrees so I could enjoy the science and classical juxtapositions - a worthy obfusticated fare that would grace the null-timetables of any event horizon.... Mitch π
I am pleased the references weren't lost.
I was inspired by Stephen Hawking.
Beth on 21-06-2010
Fatal Cerebral Insemination
I really liked the line:
"The embryonic stars dying from a dearth of love. "
This poem took me in so many different directions but it is entertaining and made me stop and think. Very abstract but interesting to read - regards Beth
Thanks for commenting,
I'm so glad it had an effect on you and a positive one at that.
I had fun writing this one, it basically wrote itself.
sunken on 22-06-2010
Fatal Cerebral Insemination
Loving your stuff of late, Mr. Fitbin. I often press 'C' for comfort. It's good to see you getting more comments. Especially ones that, unlike my own, have a tendency to make sense. Well done, fella. The beagle named Bernard, he say 'Woof!'
Many thanks as always,
I often find it hard to comment myself, so yours are very much appreciated.
They do have a certain meaning, it just needs to be deciphered first.
Much like my pieces that you are commenting on.
Thanks also to Bernard for his tireless support.
stormwolf on 22-06-2010
Fatal Cerebral Insemination
You lost me with so many big words ;-(
I can tell that it is very much 'you' and deeply felt too. I think it will take a few readings for me to grasp it but you are able to express abstract concepts well.
Many thanks for your comment.
I chose lots of words I rather liked and then added connecting phrases
and through a wormhole in the fabric of spacetime, the poem appeared.
|Magick (posted on: 18-06-10) |
The end of an era, as yet another begins.
I live on a higher plane, in a higher state of consciousness. Thoughts instantly becoming reality, every whim catered for by the cosmos. Faces change as skin is shed, like a snake that deceives and constricts. Effortless happiness inhaled deeply, a cigarette of love and dreams. Lamenting the loss of my best friends, I miss them all so much. Vicarious living to save my soul, that was sold long ago and then forgotten. Sleep will not come to the tragic romantic, only treasuring what you had when it is lost. I'm so sorry for not saving you, my Zeitgeist is over like the end of a song.
Archived comments for Magick
sunken on 20-06-2010
Hello Mr. Fitbin. Yet again you post a powerful and emotional piece. And yet again it gets completely ignored. I admire your persistence. Ever onward, fella. I hope life is treating you well. Have a Bernard (-:
Thank you Herr Sunken.
I don't work for any recognition, just for the love of the art.
I am now fit and happy after a glorious weekend.
|The Ironclad Dreadnaught (posted on: 21-05-10) |
Walking through town without a care in the world. Potent proof of psychic phenomena.
Oh melancholy sorrow, you broke my heart. Left in shattered pieces on the dirty floor. The nuclear unit split, by a hollow holocaust. The cruel vivisection continued apace, as the important parts of me were cut out. Anaesthetised to the abuse, I smiled and nodded. Picking my skin until it bled naked fire. I wept a flowing torrent of nothingness. Hating you, because I couldn't escape you. Your mocking sneer still pervades my mind. Lurking and tainting every silent moment. You must be culled, to finally set me free. The Epilogue. I saw you and ran, then saw you again. A coward's courage framed, forever in pain.
Archived comments for The Ironclad Dreadnaught
pdemitchell on 21-05-2010
The Ironclad Dreadnaught
I loved it! Delightfully surreal and exploring alliteration and imagery juxtaposition such as 'hollow holocaust' and 'torrents of nothingness'. I like someone pushing boundaries, me! Cheers! mitch π
hey thanks, love is the highest praise.
I lost my inspiration for a while,
but I might have found it again now.
sunken on 23-05-2010
The Ironclad Dreadnaught
Hello Mr. Fitbin. You wanna be careful about walking around towns without a care in the world. I did it once for a bet and ended up losing all of my Kajagoogoo related memorabilia. Surreal indeed. I knew a lad once who was into Lamar from said band. He grew up to be an accountant. I moral for us all there I believe. When I've worked out what said moral is I shall post it on Ceefax (pg 136). When I've worked out what this comment is about I'll let you know via leaving various pebbles in unusual places. I trust this comment has helped? Fitbin? Hello? I did enjoy your piece by the way. It put me in mind of a parental guidance sticker. This can only be a good thang. And now, my good fellow, if you don't mind, I have an eyebrow alignment procedure to undergo. Thank you.
'cause he's too shy too shy, hush hush, eye to eye... la la la laaa la la.... ect
Hello Sun Ken,
I thank you for your glorious comment, I did check Ceefax for the details.
You won't be surprised to hear about more turmoil in my very private life.
But the keel has evened somewhat, allowing me to proceed once again with my creative output.
|Salvia (posted on: 17-05-10) |
This is what would happen if I was in control
Travelling on Salvia, through space and time, without moving. Come with us, beyond the edge of nowhere. Past infinity into the home of the Mighty. The youth is dead and all innocence is lost. One love to last for an eternity, that died. A map of the universe in an unknown language. Drowning in a thirst of knowledge that burns. Man being beaten into submission, buried in sand. Slaves throwing themselves off the molten cliffs. Swallowing a sword of truth that shatters every lie. Systems blown away by the wind that purifies. Evolution meeting it's own doomed destiny. A meritocracy in which the elite are Kings. Forgiven for being evil by ascending to a higher plane. Whispering the secret meaning of being. Profoundly explaining the wisdom of death. I torture and punish you, holding your neck, choking you. Why don't you love me? Why don't you feel anything at all? I can only feel the pain, although it does make me smile. You struggle against me, but you are so weak. Trembling and screaming you vainly attempt to fend me off. If I choose to be so, then I can be invincible. You bleed on my floor and then I put you to sleep. Hitting your young body until it's black heart stops beating.
Archived comments for Salvia
pdemitchell on 17-05-2010
A disturbing traverse along a dark path that reeks of violence justified even by the enlightened elite such as the blind eye to the CIA torture flights. It starts in a bouncy science-fiction theme, shed its philosophical and theological skin and ends in smple sadism and murder. Perplexing on many levels! Mitch π
Thanks for reading.
It is superplexing, written whilst inebriated I admit.
Not for the faint-hearted.
sunken on 18-05-2010
Ahem. Blimey, I'm not even going to attempt to be flippant on this one, Mr. Fitbin. I'm just glad it's fictional. Science fictional at that. Nice work, fella.
tesco... we have a problem...
Thank you, El Sunkerino.
It is an exploration of vivid, aggressive thought becoming reality.
The kind of angry whims that float around but are never realised.
In other news, I do have a Tesco food delivery coming tonight. I can't wait.
sunken on 21-05-2010
Ahh Tesco. Weirdly, I get excited too when Tesco deliver. I dunno why tho? Ahem. Sorry, it's early, I'm tired and I have Tesco on my mind. You deserved more comment on this, Mr. Fitbin. Good to see that the nibbers aren't totally losing it. I do wonder sometimes. Well done fella.
yes sir I can boogie, but I'll need an ipod touch
|Made Up (posted on: 14-05-10) |
Happiness is a cigar called opium.
Guinevere stabbed Arthur in the back with her dagger of sweet betrayal, only to awake and find her shining Lancelot was just a dream. Chloroformed from behind with an infant's soiled nappy, he quaffed and retched and lapsed deeper into consciousness. His face was a crimson mask, bladed a thousand times, the taste of blood spurred him on to gain some revenge. Out of the blue came an invite to a weekend lynching, 'Beware' whispered the Golden Prophet of Doom into his ear. 'The twitching feet you watch, may end up being your own, 'dangling from the noose, in the last dance of the night!' The hangman was a friend, but then he snuffed out the light, found slugging whiskey 'til dawn in an exclusive gentleman's club. Licking the bridge as he crosses the putrefying water, gagging on the filth, reminds him of all the lies he swallowed. The cold cuts straight through his flesh, deep into brittle, white bones, like an unwelcome intruder, invading the serene sanctity. He cries a lament for his only love, forever lost, committing suicide again, he falls on the rusted sword Excalibur.
Archived comments for Made Up
sunken on 14-05-2010
Good to see you around again, Mr. Fitbin. I think I referred to your last piece as being one of your strongest? I can confirm that this, in my sunken opinion, is stronger still. Love this bit...
'The twitching feet you watch, may end up being your own,
'dangling from the noose, in the last dance of the night!'
The beagle named Bernard, he be woofing for England and no mistake. Well done, fella. You're one of those Ukaneers who tends to get overlooked. I hope that rights itself soon. And now for your personalised reading... ahem,
Fri May 14th: A productive meeting with the minister of angles will find you relaxing this weekend at an incline of approx. 35 degrees. A French poodle with a penchant for feline company will get its head stuck in your cat-flap. You will discover through a friend that a girl you dated in 1998 was a cyborg. Next door's dog will crap on your lawn again.
Please Note: The precision of my readings cannot be guaranteed. I am merely a channel through which my spirit guide (Elvis) speaks. Thank you. Hello?
Thank you Herr Sunken,
I hoped you would like it.
In other news, whatever happened to reality?
Up, is now down.
pdemitchell on 14-05-2010
Yep. I agree with Monsiuer le Sunks. A fine surreal piece that I do enjoy (Check out Rodenticide) and selected the same two lines as Sunken as my favourite but 'He cries a lament for his only love, forever lost, committing suicide again, he falls on the rusted sword Excalibur - is pretty cool too. I cannot think of any improvements other than trivial ones of metre but it reads aloud marvellously - especially in a Highland accent for some reason... Mitch π
I enjoyed writing this. It came to me in a phase of transition.
I love the accent idea.
|An ode to the opposite of love (posted on: 16-04-10) |
This is a short description of my submission. It was written to express some thoughts and themes that were lurking around.
Cold sunlight illuminates his jaded old frame, lying to himself for fun, he takes another drink. Expanding in vital consciousness even as his intellect withers and all dreams fade from view. Brain cells atrophying so quickly he can feel it, a terrifying loss of thought and will and essence. What caused all this? Where did it start? Questions formed as the answers swam out of reach. His hands shook as he vainly tried to take a stand, fighting against the aggressors that overtook his body. What if the voice inside his head was not his own? Who was it? Brutal imagination, or just plain, old insanity? Fingers tapping out letters and words of dubious meaning, a meandering journey of obfuscation and deceit. A chocolate egg filled with broken glass and needles, his life was awkward and negative and wrapped in fear. Whatever he wanted, he got, except for truth or peace. A joke inside an insult, tortured his fraying soul. Cutting and rending with reckless abandon, he bled her dry, burning and breaking the spirit and the tormented flesh. Time sped up unbearably, with every blink another day had passed, accused of wanton cruelty, that hurt his fading nobility. His mind closed and the walls went up, another decision made, with no home and nowhere to belong, he drifted into confusion.
Archived comments for An ode to the opposite of love
Elfstone on 17-04-2010
An ode to the opposite of love
This is a powerful poem and a frighteningly accurate description of the person contained therein. It leaves me feeling that you must have known him. A good, if uncomfortable, read. Elf.
Hi, thanks for your comment.
But who do you think the poem is about?
sunken on 21-04-2010
An ode to the opposite of love
Hello Fitbin. Surprised you didn't get more comment on this, my good fellow. One of your strongest, in my sunken opinion. Sorry I didn't comment at the time. I've been busy attempting to split atoms using everyday household objects. Surprisingly I've found the good old potato peeler to be of most benefit with regards to this seemingly implausible task. I trust this hasn't helped at all? Nice work, fella.
Sunken, old bean,
many thanks as always.
I think cold fusion is the best bet.
pdemitchell on 04-05-2010
An ode to the opposite of love
I like this - it reminds me of writer's block for some reason - Fingers tapping out letters and words of dubious meaning. Dark and brooding and exploring the borders of insanity. The form is very loose. almost reading alound as prose but without falling apart as a pice of poetry. Mitch π
I am glad you got something out of this.
I do opt for a very loose style,
so it's good if the piece still manages to convey some meaning.
|Blighted Bane (posted on: 09-04-10) |
A journey venturing deep beyond nothingness.
With these eyes I see a thousand miles of burning sand billowing ahead, the madness within me stirs and clouds my thinking. Laughing out loud I chant 'die' at the insects who swarm around me, staring at their blank faces I stiffen my mask as a shield from their gaze. Feeling them all watch me as one unrelenting mass of judgement, I poke out their many eyes and become a poisoned King of the nameless. Crying without tears, I lament the loss of the parts of me that were able to care, blessed with the curse of feeling nothing now, but potent apathy. Moving to a new prison, I uncover a fresh grave to bury my head in, I then remember that nothing can offer any soothing comfort from the torment. Fake feelings, swimming alone, in an empty sham of a false life, the trinity that was cut out of my heart still bleeds in the quiet moments. Searching, yearning, begging, pleading and praying, for some outside agent that I know doesn't exist, to come and save me. I fell asleep and never woke up, got high and never came down, committed suicide but didn't die, gave up but was never allowed to stop.
Archived comments for Blighted Bane
pdemitchell on 20-04-2010
G'day sir fit of bin. Delightfully surreal and reminds me of the film Papillon and that last stanza was to die for - I can see our hero staggering across the burning sands, hands outsretched for the triple cornetto of salvation even now.... Mitch π
I was composing this one at work, I think the metaphor is my long journey towards the delight of hometime and the cooling ice-cream treat.
|Repeat (posted on: 19-03-10) |
This is a little taste of the hectic, whirlwind rat-race that I am ensconced within.
walk eat read fight bathe sleep work meet dine kiss part pine, repeat love loathe dread resent fear hurt curse betray cry die remember forget, repeat talk think stare lie pretend wish dream scream fail submit despair retreat, repeat
Archived comments for Repeat
sunken on 20-03-2010
Simon! Simon Cowell!? You're tea's getting cold. Ahem.
Nice work, fella. Punchy and different. A bit like a... er... a boxer in drag? This is possibly my worst comment of the year so far. Don't forget to vote. Thank you.
his left nipple doubles as a dimmer switch
I am voting for none of the above I think.
I would vote for you though, as minister of the surreal.
This one is like a ladder, descending into a swamp of haste.
pdemitchell on 21-03-2010
it did start as my day's todo list.
Then expanded into a wider venture.
|Warhawk (posted on: 05-03-10) |
Please sample this little piece and see what you think.
Locked in a cage of perpetual motion, drinking poison for fun because it tastes so sweet. Crying over spilt milk and wine and whisky, losing your temper with a sleeping baby. Working ever harder and getting less done, I run on the wheel until my feet bleed. The pain reminds me that I am still dead, forced to see the world but play no part. Acting as if nothing has no meaning, you cut me where you know hurts most. Unable to live in this pointless mire, but lacking the courage to silently escape. Drank and drained by a thousand parasites, consumed and enfeebled and cursed to rot. Leave me here and go on without me, I will only slow you down and ruin you. Injected and infected and wholly diseased, I squeeze your throat and crush your sinking chest. Resetting your body like an organic machine, going to war with a smile and a dream.
Archived comments for Warhawk
sunken on 06-03-2010
Sounds to me as if you've been shopping at Asda again, Mr. Fitbin? I really can't recommend Tesco of the dot com on the grassy knoll highly enough. Their delivery service is second to none. You have a think about it, fella. Ahem. A dark and brooding piece, a bit like a misunderstood cockerel named James who just wants to have a lie in of a morning. Ya know, I think this is one of more cohesive comments. Ahem.
this comment was brought to you by Oxy Vanish - hello?
Ah yes, thanks for the comment.
It's awfully decent of you to take the time.
Beth on 06-03-2010
Sounds like you are under a lot of stress. I got the impression that getting it all out of your system by writing about it should help but this was difficult to read in places because the emotions were so negative. I think a lot of people will be able to relate to this though - Regards Beth
Hi, thanks for responding.
This poem isn't really about me or what I am going through, but rather an exploration of themes.
But I do like to provoke a strong response. It is easier to do this through negative means.
RedKite on 07-03-2010
Definately an interesting read, you had my attention with it Daniel
Thanks, I do want to arouse anything but apathy.
mageorge on 07-03-2010
Yep, i have to agree with beth here, although Mr. sunken does have a point also..
I appreciate your response.
It is a relatively dark piece.
Life is pretty hectic sometimes so I like to pause and heave up a frozen moment or two.
|The Empty Shell (posted on: 19-02-10) |
Written by a hollow automaton, looking at the world in self-pity.
As close as a serpent's kiss, I would love her if I could. But all I feel is nothingness, whilst time keeps ebbing away. Drowning in sensation, I lose myself, closing my eyes and drifting back. Sailing through layers of emotion, falling ever further out of love. Left hanging forever, from a noose of deceit, I was almost human, until I was forsaken. Betrayed by the only one I ever knew, leaving mortality far behind forever. The police came and interrogated me, I smiled and told all the right lies. They let me go, to commit the same crimes, except it's me that is being abused. Freedom to be by myself, freedom to die, it's all in my head, this fantastic nightmare. I wake up, back in my old life, repeating the same mistakes on purpose. Spat away to rot alone, I rose and dreamed, of puncturing your flesh and drinking your blood. Dignity and morality were my hollow trophies, the dead future is now mine to taste and savour.
Archived comments for The Empty Shell
sunken on 20-02-2010
The Empty Shell
Hello Mr. Fitbin. Surprised you've had no comments on this yet. I think the site needs a good kick up the bum of late. As dark and as brooding as a... dark and brooding thing. Ahem. My comment? As crap and as pointless as ever. It's better than nothing though... Isn't it? Hello? I do find myself drawn in to your subs, Mr. Fitbin. This is likely a good sign.
he drinks yorkshire tea nowa days
I think it is the dark and broodiness that puts them all off.
It's the taking part that counts though.
|Virtue (posted on: 05-02-10) |
This is a concept as part of a theme, seguing into an over-arching arc of puntiliousness.
O fleeting virtue, where hidest thou? Which winding path do you amble down? A fitting consort for one cursed such as I. Dooming myself just for the hell of it. Loaded with drink and drugs just to feel 'normal'. I back into the abyss with my Queen pushing me in. Burned and sliced open, toying with the senses. The architect of my own golden downfall. Feeling nothing, too high to come down. I don't even have the pain to comfort me any more. I am empty and buried and old. I can't cry or feel or live or die. I have heaven in my hands, but it slips through my fingers. Killing myself again and again, I bleed a river of tears. I am so sorry, for not being alive. I couldn't give you what you wanted. If only I could live and feel what they feel. It hurts me more than I can say. But the joke is still pretty funny. If only I could die and forget the taste of suffering.
Archived comments for Virtue
sunken on 05-02-2010
Hello Mr. Fibin. One of your best, in my sunken opinion. I know that won't mean a lot, but it's all I have. That and a Bernard of course. Well done fella.
many thanks for having a read.
I was a bit drunk when I wrote the final verses to this,
it was a morose, melancholy kind of drunk.
normally I am Mr Positive.
Glad you liked it.
jay12 on 09-02-2010
That last line is very powerful. Nice poem... I just hope it's not a state of mind, and just a creative one Take care,
thanks for your comment.
I do write fiction that is based on/inspired by certain elements of reality.
I like to explore the darker themes when I write, but I don't let them engulf me.
|Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot (posted on: 29-01-10) |
This piece veers towards a happier place than my standard output. But obviously still tempered by unbearable reality.
Walking through a waking dream, I flow along and shout a meme. She is mine at long, long last. her forbidden fruit is in the past. Floating on a euphoric cloud, 'This can't be real', I think aloud. Perfection personified; a golden grail, a mysterious beauty with limbs so frail. The secret still intact, for all her years, protected and enforced by considered fears. The evil brutes are of a poisonous kind, but a specimen of purity she did find. A new chapter to be written, impending, like all the rest with an unhappy ending. Enjoy the ride, until it all goes sour, I own the treasure and taste the power. Smiling in pain, she melts my broken heart, crying inside, I tear her soft flesh apart. A lesson to be learned, but who is the master? Time is almost up, to avert the disaster. A new union emerges, forged by cruel suffering, the worthless are rejected as a profane offering. No future exists, time is choked to death, Live it and hope, you have one more breath.
Archived comments for Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot
sunken on 29-01-2010
Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot
Damn that unbearable reality, Mr. Fitbin. Have you considered orange swimming goggles? I often wonder why people would want to see the world through orange lens' whilst swimming. Anyway, they don't half brighten up our drab inner cities. That said, you can look a bit of a pratt when you're out shopping in them. Ahem. One day, my good fellow, I'll leave a comment worthy of your work. Until then, however, I shall continue to offer completely useless advice. Please feel free to have me removed. Nice work fella.
his left nipple controls the garage door
thanks dude, I was quite happy with this one.
It rhymed and everything.
Zeitgeist on 30-01-2010
Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot
I like it a lot. You're right 'Perfection personified' and 'a specimen of purity' should rightfully reject the worthless. It's important to be discriminating; in fact it's a moral obligation.
I suppose is that old chestnut that sometimes destruction can be an act of creation; that treaures sometimes can be 'forged by cruel suffering'. Artful suffering can be beautiful, and it is truly possible to be 'smiling in pain' if you're one of the lucky ones who like to deep a little deeper into the pleasures life can offer.
You sound like you know what you are talking about.
Does suffering not become something else if you enjoy it?
|Hilarious (posted on: 22-01-10) |
This piece explores the themes and images that interest me. Please enjoy and criticise.
Buzzing into the day with a coffee and Prozac breakfast, dumped again because I was far too generous. Laughing out loud as I roll around on the floor, this is absolutely hilarious, a sincerely private joke. Too wired to sleep and too tired to stay awake, I hate being around people and can't stand being alone. My heavy eyelids fight to droop and block out the world, I am merciful and release her when she cries 'red'. The anniversary of freedom at last, looms over me, stuffed with food and drink I burst and drown in myself. Waterboarding for fun, the tears and terrors ensue, to be tied and tortured isn't the worst that could happen. What is fair? And what actually matters at all? Nothing matters in the end and nothing is real. Pain is temporary, love is fleeting, eternity is brief. Mine forever, she told me, but of course it didn't last. Her mouth is stapled shut with a silhouette of needles. A miasma of bruises shimmer over her battered body. Hanged and abused, her face shatters a thousand mirrors. I kill her once more, but still she lives, behind my cruel eyes.
Archived comments for Hilarious
Ania on 22-01-2010
Sorry but I didn't enjoy it - at all.
that's cool, I appreciate that you gave it a try.
It's not dealing with the pleasant sides of reality.
Zeitgeist on 22-01-2010
I like this; I'm glad you're writing about things that I can actually understand! Although, that is probably more of a reflection on me than on you.
"Her mouth is stapled shut with a silhouette of needles."
Very evocative, though a bit of a mixed metaphor. However, given the sureal nature of the prose, I think you can carry it.
"to be tied and tortured isn't the worst that could happen"
That's a very esoteric view to take ;). But it's very reflective.
I think you've picked out the sensual delights in horror and violence.
Glad you liked it.
The mixed metaphors reflect the dream-like nature of the situation, with images merging and blending into each other.
With no limits or taboos left unmolested and stuff.
sunken on 24-01-2010
Ahhh, I see. A sarcastic kind of hilarious? As dark as ever, Mr. Fitbin.
foil wrapped for freshness
Yes, it was an attempt at irony.
The darkness does sometimes lift you know.
On a sunny day when the Tyne reflects light into my eyes, I could pass for a 'normal' person.
pdemitchell on 21-03-2010
Hi Fitbin - sorry I didn't see the irony for the dark (and I do like a bit of dark irony, me) and despite some interesting and inventive phrases the last stanza was, to me, a disturbing and relentlessly intense homage to violence against women whereas the first four kind of drifted along. If that was the design to reveal a vengeful sadistic psychotic in the last stanza then okay... but ironic? Definitely not. Mitch
it was just the title that was ironic.
The twist is really that the protagonist is only imaging his revenge,
whereas the real torure was actually inflicted on him.
Thanks for commenting and making me revisit and analyse this one.
|Unstable (posted on: 15-01-10) |
This is written with the world in mind and with music in my ears. Looking without seeing. You are invited to peruse this piece and make any suggestions that come to mind.
Opening every box and digging into every hole, she finds the hidden words but loses all the magic. Falling foul of the forgotten curse that reappeared, be careful what is wished for, as it does come true. Like a castrated man misdiagnosed as a sadist, he can't help being cruel and turning far away. Grooming his next victim is the end, not the means, the chase is the real thrill as the kill is always the same. She rocks and rolls and veers off-course, lolling in the wake, almost as unstable as he. Being oh-so-gentle in his delivery of abuse, very careful not to break her frail, young limbs. Steering into forever uncharted, murksome waters, guided by the mystical wail that silently deafens. Retching up all that was lecherously swallowed, cruising alone, as the bruises darken and take shape. A loner and a misfit, a dreamer and a touch of evil, forsaken and cast out for daring to be greater. Ripping down the veil that most cannot see through, the flails and scratches and biting do naught to save her. Yet another doomed idol to nail or be consumed by, holding out in vain to delay the impending rejection. I choke your invitingly fragile neck to end your reign of terror, but by expressing my choice, the freedom is taken away.
Archived comments for Unstable
papaed on 15-01-2010
Wow. truly over the edge and dark. I was really intrigued. Expressing the anger and grief of a re-occuring curse of rejection. Loving the chase more than the inevitable end. Rules... like not breaking limbs and being gentle. Structures like wanting to be greater, passing through a veil, and stepping over the line. thinking of the death choke as ending her 'reign of terror.' and ending with the complex thought that by expressing your freedom of choice, both yours and the victims freedom are taken away. Truly written from a scary place. An intellectual rush to start this day.
Thank you, fitbin,
Many thanks for reading and analysing this.
I'm glad you liked it and got something from it.
sunken on 17-01-2010
Ahem. You don't half worry me sometimes, Mr. Fitbin. Did you get my lavender spray? It's meant to help promote calmness and shit. You can spray your pillow with it at night and you'll awake all full of joy. That said, I'll be frank, when I used it I came down with a nasty rash. Apparently I'm allergic to one of the additives. I've a good mind to sue... but I can't help thinking that taking legal action would be a little stressful. So many decisions, and only four quality street left in my big post Xmas tin. I can feel melancholy mounting within as I speak. It's a good job I have chocolate digestives at hand. Ahem. Oh, I did like your piece by the way. I hope this has helped. It hasn't as it? Hello?
now with added fibre
thanks Sunken, I will try inhaling the lavender more often.
I do like it when you are Frank.
RedKite on 17-01-2010
A very interesting read nicely put together daniel
Thanks for commenting, I was quite happy that this was a bit more accessible than other pieces sometimes are.
|Absence of Hate (posted on: 25-12-09) |
This is a warming little ditty, that celebrates the holiday cheer.
I am invisible and dead. I don't exist and can't see or hear you. My hands are numb as my fingers bleed. Eugenics beginning with the killing of death. Babbling about nothing; small-talk suicide. Cutting my brain into a thousand slices. The lobotomy saves me, the evil is culled. No more voices that no-one else can hear. Why start something that will end in pain? Focus on anything as you drift away downstream. Floating on a sinking cloud of silent music. I kill to come alive and drink in the power. Eating the mortal souls from the cold bodies. The Princess awakes at long last. Rescued by a dream that fades too soon.
Archived comments for Absence of Hate
sunken on 27-12-2009
Absence of Hate
Hello Mr. Fitbin. I often wonder if myself am invisible. Especially when I'm trying to get served at a bar. Luckily, for Xmas, I have acquired a fluorescent baseball cap. Now I can be ignored whilst looking like a complete twat. Ahem. Hello? Thank you.
you'll believe a cow can moooooooooooooooo
I think I know what you mean.
In an unexpected and unprecedented twist I have met a rather fetching young lady.
So unfortunately my pain and suffering has dried up and also my inspiration.
It should all go wrong soon and I can get back to writing my standard angst-ridden Emo stylings.
pdemitchell on 25-03-2010
Absence of Hate
Hi fitbin! Sorry to be so down on Hilarious but so glad you saw my point there. You do seem to draw inspiration a lot from the dark side in this case lobotomy - maybe the old practice of ECT might be worth a mention. You know the old saying when faced with such remorseless imagery: I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy! I've been in the dark places too - See Rodenticide!
"Babbling about nothing; small-talk suicide" was definitely the strongest line in the piece and worth extracting and spiralling a new piece sround it. *encouraging emoticons* mitch
|Sepia Life (posted on: 21-12-09) |
This is a work that came from the shadows in which I dwell. The world is more interesting with some mystery.
Bleak desolation stretches forever before me, blue eyes ripped from Wotan's crumbling skull, dangle from a thousand bloody spikes of iron. The fear returns and cripples all who taste it, sweet poison dripping from every gaping pore, skin crawling off the flesh rather than remain a slave. The heretic's song echoes from the mountain-top, deafening the pious and their deluded brethren, the wind died long ago and stillness rules this world. Potent neurotoxins flow through my burning veins, a whole universe within every atom of my brain, you shiver as self-imposed limitations are shredded. Created in the image of a suicidal pain-machine, doomed to be consumed by thoughts of apathy, God's secret revealed that She is totally alone. And so it comes down to this, my new best friend, will you be torn asunder like all your predecessors? The bitter curse lingers like the smell of fresh blood.
Archived comments for Sepia Life
sunken on 27-12-2009
Dear Mr. Fitbin, Your dark mood continues to intrigue me. The magnolia emulsion paint is on its way. I have also ordered you some lilac scatter cushions from Argos. Apparently they promote a relaxing atmosphere. Don't worry, my good fellow, I'm going to get you sorted out and no mistake (-; Ahem. Hello? Mr. Fitbin...? I'm only trying to help. Hello? Well there's gratitude! Keep up the dark work, my good fellow.
you'll believe a goth can vacuum
The dark mood has been lightened somewhat,
but normal service is sure to resume soon.
Thanks for commenting, even when you are snowed in.
|Destroy (posted on: 14-12-09) |
Read it and see what you think
Raging fury of fire's great torment. I empty the glass one last time. The amazing journey continues. Rupturing a vein of abstinence. Your inhibitions add up to perfection. I dream and yearn for the abyss to be filled. A Heroin that saves me from myself. She sleeps next to me, my Queen of pain. Still alive, at least for one more night. As the engine grinds on, turning the world. Europa and Io send their thoughts to me. As two voices talk at once, in black ice. You cannot hold me back anymore. Effortlessly replaced, like an extinct species. The only way is down, from heaven.
Archived comments for Destroy
sunken on 15-12-2009
Hello Mr. Fitbin. You've a dark soul and no mistake. I've some magnolia emulsion in my shed if you want it. What am I on about? Hello? Particularly liked the ending...
'As two voices talk at once, in black ice.
You cannot hold me back anymore.
Effortlessly replaced, like an extinct species.
The only way is down, from heaven.'
This line confused me tho. It might just be a case of me being dim...
'Europa an Io send their thoughts to me.'
Nice work, fella.
could the owner of the florescent iguana please report to reception please
Thank you Sunken,
this was written in the pancreas of the night, after yet another debauchery session.
Europa and Io were both mythological lovers of Zeus and are also 2 of Jupiter's moons.
So it is really a double meaning of the projected thoughts of concubines to their God,
as well as celestial bodies communicating magnetically...
I think I do need that emulsion
sunken on 16-12-2009
Thanks for the explanation, my good fellow. I'll be frank, I had no idea. Uka needs light & shade. You provide the shade. I may buy you a handy torch for Xmas. I saw a solar powered one the other day. Surely they should be lunar powered? Hello?
the emulsion is on it's way
|The Test Matrix (posted on: 07-12-09) |
This is a teasing little piece, tinged with an emerging optimism.
Smiling inside, I laugh at the desiccated world. The sadness was comforting and so ensnaring. Breaking free, I sail up and out of this cold prison. Unlocked from emotional bondage, I soar high. My human Prozac lifted my mind from the misery. Simplistic anamorphism soothing my lost soul. A new hive of dead ends welcomes me, sweetly. Talking and nodding in agreement, mindlessly. Living in the moment, I stop fearing for the future. Travelling forwards through time, never stopping. Each moment crystalized in eternity's frail grasp. Dying just to live, I survive within mercy's embrace.
Archived comments for The Test Matrix
sunken on 07-12-2009
The Test Matrix
Hello Mr. Fitbin. I likes this. I'm not sure if it's describing ecstasy born of death or ecstasy born of living. It's maybe best I don't know. I like how it works on both levels though. Clever stuff, my good fellow and no mistake. Have a Bernard (he's house trained... sort of).
it's good to see Bernard again,
there is a light at the end of the tunnel, I have found.
But I suppose light only exists because there is also darkness.
Anyway cheers for commenting and i'm glad you liked it.
|Forsaken (posted on: 27-11-09) |
This is yet another thing that I have written. Please read it and see what you think. It's about the same old random stuff that I keep harping on about.
The Demon stands before me with eyes of fire. Wreaking destruction on the innocent and beautiful. But I cannot hate him, because he is a part of me. Imbued with as much power as I allow him to steal. This is the one battle that I could never win. To love and accept the part that wants to destroy, Is the only way to resolve this raging conflict. The martial art of fighting without fighting. I had forgotten how truly easy this game of life is. Losing my razor's edge to the chemical oblivion. Walking amongst the human insects had blinded me. Embracing my long-lost friend, I laugh and cry again. Then all of a sudden the rules are changed once more. As I break through the rock-bottom to a deeper low. Forsaken by all, save myself - 'I still believe in you'. My Saviour and my King and my crippling curse.
Archived comments for Forsaken
sunken on 28-11-2009
Lol. I love your intro, Mr. Fitbin. It's hard to believe that you're not suicidal after reading your subs of late. I truly believe you're not by the way. I bet you're a right happy-go-lucky kinda guy. Rich in imagery, as ever.
PS. If you feel that this comment is too positive do feel free to report me. Hello?
I must admit I do sometimes fancy jumping into the Tyne walking home along the quayside back to my bachelor pad.
But it would probably be a bit cold and murky for my liking.
Something always turns up to keep me interested in this farcical world.
|The Joke (posted on: 20-11-09) |
This is the latest installment in the continuing saga of my so called life.
Another betrayal, I stopped counting a while ago. And stopped caring. I have learned a valuable lesson. If I am always the bad guy in the end, Even though I keep trying not to be be. Then I must actually be the bad guy for real. So I can stop trying to be nice. I can stop worrying about people's feelings. Really I should embrace the dark side, That keeps being foisted upon me. I know now that every new start has a bad ending. Every glimmer of hope is consumed by darkness. This is my destiny, to be aware of my suffering, But to lack the power to end it. 'Drop the love' she said, so it is dropped. The last vestiges of feeling within me are dead. I should thank her for numbing me completely. I have hunger but cannot eat. I am so tired but cannot sleep. Prodded and toyed with, for other's amusement. Locked in a cage of loathing, I float towards the next torturess. She is already laughing at me.
Archived comments for The Joke
Zoya on 21-11-2009
Yes, betrayal upon betrayal can be benumbing, and you stop caring, you want stop caring, but, it keeps coming back, or seeps-in so deep that the hurt threatens to become a part of you, which the worst thing that can happen. And it is even worst when you made to feel guilty and responsible!
I can really empathize with you and feel your predicament...
I hope you got over it this time?
thanks for the kind words.
It's not so bad though...I was just expressing one aspect, everything's cool really.
It gives me lots to write about anyway.
e-griff on 28-11-2009
gor blimey! - you don't half have an interesting life. Wish I'd been rejected so many times (you know what they say: better to be rejected than never to have been rejected at all)
some guys have all the luck. π
I think most of the rejections must be metaphorical or imaginary.
I forget where the lines are between reality and imagination.
But thanks for reading and you're right it would be boring if there wasn't all this stuff going on.
|Intervention (posted on: 20-11-09) |
Get it while it's hot.
You are so weak, like a frightened mouse that needs a cage for protection. Fed and watered and fondled, never needing to fend for yourself. Sheltered from the outside world, hiding from responsibility and independence. Escaping one prison to crawl into another, what are you afraid of? Looking out on a sea of shining jewels, shimmering before me in the wind. Starving to death rather than eat, as I fall through the floor like a ghost. Too numb even to cry anymore, the world passes by in a blur. Blind love turns to red hate so easily, stepping in front of the train I apologise. What have I learnt? Why are the same mistakes being made? My youth is burnt away as my mind collapses. Meditating in a cave where they can't find me. Giving up every drug before they consume my soul. Forsaken by my princess, I have no quest to complete. My kingdom usurped by a sneering fool. I try the noose on for size and wait to be saved.
Archived comments for Intervention
Mezzanotte on 20-11-2009
Wow, a heavy, scary poem but written so well. I loved the first stanza. Who is the 'you' in the poem? being compared to a mouse needing a cage, I really liked that a lot. And these lines in the second verse:
Starving to death rather than eat,
as I fall through the floor like a ghost.
This is just a brilliant image, and the final two lines
I like poems which contemplate life and suicide, and this is done brillaintly.
Well done indeed.
hey thanks a lot for commenting.
Glad you liked it - but I can't reveal the 'you'.
It has to be kept secret to protect the innocent.
artisus on 20-11-2009
Very very nice.
I'm quite happy with this one
It's really 2 parts with the subject changing in the second verse.
RedKite on 21-11-2009
I can personally relate to this poem, well written thanks Daniel
It's good to connect with other people's feelings
and also to share experiences.
|Altruism (posted on: 16-11-09) |
Here is a piece of writing to sample and peruse and judge.
Death to all who mock and taunt me. Life to those who dwell in my presence. Hate for the old and weak and pathetic. Love for the young and beautiful and elite. The ultimate truth erodes into a corrupt lie. A moment of joy captured and locked away. Pulling teeth out with rusty pliers. Cutting hair with a barbed-wire crown. Replaying the same moments and memories. Over and over until they burn white-hot. Time is an intolerant master always too quick, or too slow, just to punish and torture. An evil twin, stillborn but still existing. Lurking and meddling and whispering aloud. 'One more hit of the good stuff please' she begs. Tattooed with bruises, she is a poisoned treasure. If I could feel anything then I would love her. But all I can do is beat and abuse the tender flesh. Her screams are music and feed me through the night. Until she is broken and cannot play anymore.
Archived comments for Altruism
sunken on 17-11-2009
Blimey. Remind me to never piss you off, Mr. Fitbin. Strong stuff and no mistake. I may have to make myself an Horlicks in order to calm down. I'll be frank, I'm not big on Horlicks. It goes all gooey at the bottom doesn't it? Hello? Mr. Fitbin?
...It's not my fault I'm shit at commenting. Tesco have a Horlicks offer on at the moment, by the way. 20% off until December. Worth a look if you like said beverage. Ahem. you don't get crit like this on other sites do ya?
total cost of shopping to be confirmed
ha, I do like Horlicks, mainly because it sounds rude.
I do enjoy your comments.
I don't comment as much as I'd like because I can't think of anything cool enough to say.
I am a pacifist in real life, honest.
Pughguy on 18-11-2009
Oh my ! This wasnt exactly my cup of tea. A little too hot, and no sugar. But it was nicely written. And the feedback from suken, made everything right again.
I'm ah ferahner, and not yet use, to tha ways (and language) I'm runnin into. And it's ah HOOT !!
thanks for reading and commenting.
Hoots are a good thing.
cat on 18-11-2009
Hey fitbin, this is erm, yeah lol. Actually, joking aside... this is very ballsy!
Enjoyed the read - ty.
Yeah, I kind of forgot this was a bit edgy until I read it again.
It's good to get dangerous sometimes I guess?
Glad you enjoyed it.
But there is more to come I fear.
cat on 19-11-2009
Lol. Sometimes yes. Will look forward to the more to come - without the fear π
Zoya on 22-11-2009
'Time is an intolerant master always too quick,
or too slow, just to punish and torture'
These, I thought were good lines and ring true with me...
By the time I got down to the last stanza, I was blown over by your anger, as Sunky says, should keep away from annoying you!
I hope you vent such feeling only in writing?
glad you got something from this.
I am very passive in real life.
I mostly just use my powers for knowldege and self-defence.
|Illegal Alien (posted on: 16-11-09) |
Well, make of this what you will.
Day 3460. Still stranded on this place called Earth. No sign of any impending rescue yet. I am following the manual and trying to blend in. Having many problems with these so-called emotions. Pretending to find seemingly random events 'funny' or 'distressing'. Must remember not to laugh at any more infant mutilations. Although the easiest feeling to approximate seems to be 'boredom', while having to go through the rigmarole of sitting at 'work'. Everything was so much simpler on my planet. The heavier gravity gave you much more time to ponder. I was sent to the doctor after complaining I didn't fit in and felt weird. She gave me a bottle of pills to consume. They certainly have helped somewhat, especially when combined with what they call hard liquor. I dream of returning home every night, but wake each morning the same - cold and alone. The manual runs up to day 3500 and then recommends suicide. Disobedience would allow me to experience even more. Their books are probably the best thing about them. Such fertile imaginations to go with the basest of lustings. How I pity these vile creatures. My mission was to exterminate them before they spread too far. But all the good will die along with the bad. I suppose though the point of life is that it does have to end. Looking through my artificial eyes, I see blind hatred. Impatience, intolerance, ignorance and implosion. Wasted potential and tarnished glory. Society slashing it's own wrists rather than have to think. Visiting another old prostitute for a nice little chat, he makes me a cup of too weak tea, inducing nausea. I vomit into his open and willing mouth as I count out the fee. An insight into another world that I did not want to have. Life inside the bubble is safer and warmer. The smile returns to my face and I laugh out loud. From the brink of defeat I snatch victory and wield it aloft. My demons had almost taken over again. But I lock them behind crystal bars and pierce their eyes, with the knowledge that I am divine and they don't exist.
Archived comments for Illegal Alien
pombal on 21-06-2010
You guessed it I've been reading through your poems until I came to this one - not being able to supply any kind of constructive crit I have not left any comments - but you lost me on this one after the line - "...blind hatred" - could you just end it there or have I totally missed the point?
Hey I hope you are enjoying them,
I'd like to think there is an improvement in my output as you go along.
I really don't edit enough, so it is a helpful point to show me where to draw the line.
I do want to make an emotional impact of sorts, but often less can be more.
|Death by Poetry (posted on: 06-11-09) |
This is not a cry for help, but a thought process that will have been made countless times.
And so it has ultimately come to this. One simple choice that was gestated long ago. To soldier on in this futile, unfulfilling world. Or force the journey into a new phase. Wrestling with the unknown reveals a host of doors: A dead-end that stops everything cold, An escape from the pointlessness and a return to glory, Or torturous punishment for rejecting the sacred gift. The brick wall would be easy and welcome. The heavenly splendour would be fitting and majestic. The hellish pain would not be undeserved And could provide a certain ironic pleasure. So all that remains is the method of travelling. This is the hardest problem to resolve. The snuffing out of a light, that still wants to shine. A supreme act of will, left to the cowardice of chance.
Archived comments for Death by Poetry
sunken on 07-11-2009
Death by Poetry
Hello Mr. Fitbin. Always hard to comment on stuff like this. Well, to be frank, I find it hard to comment on anything without putting my foot in it. I blame worn soles and inadequate lacing. Fave bit -
'Wrestling with the unknown reveals a host of doors:
A dead-end that stops everything cold,
An escape from the pointlessness and a return to glory, '
Nice work, fella.
shame about the asbo
Thank you Sunken,
It is a bit delicate commenting on suicide notes,
but you managed it with customary grace.
artisus on 08-11-2009
Death by Poetry
A strong piece, very good flow, but a bit coldly expressed.
artisus on 08-11-2009
Death by Poetry
Not that I don't like coldly expressed poems, on the contrary. But here I felt you wanted to express more passionately your thoughts, or I'd like it more if there was more passion. Maybe it's because of the opening line.
yes I agree it is cold and passionless.
That is really what the poem is expressing.
The only real meaning in life is to experience and when you don't feel anything what is the point?
Thanks for commenting and I'm glad you liked it.
|The Archetype (posted on: 06-11-09) |
This is inspired by someone who probably doesn't even exist.
She is an archetype, a picture of beauty. With a cold spirit of shining purity, That cuts through the lies and delusions. I yearn for her like a drug of sheer bliss. Having fooled the world into believing I exist, I now deceive them into loving my reflection. But the hateful abyss that lurks within my viscera, Cannot survive the light of her brilliant radiance. Like a dazzling creature from another realm. Enchanting me with her enigmatic mystery. The only one who ever made me feel like this. Could there be a truth behind her bleeding veil? Seeking salvation and redemption in the dark. I look through eyes that are dry and scorched. Knowing that as soon as I love her she will disappear. Drowning in her presence, I embrace the slow suicide.
Archived comments for The Archetype
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|Blinded by the Sun (posted on: 30-10-09) |
This is fictional. This is a poem exploring certain themes, it is not autobiographical.
The door opens and I don't recognise her face anymore, stepping over the threshold and walking into an old dream. This life was dead and buried, only to be exhumed again, the rotting corpse needs a stake through it's broken heart. Nodding with superficial agreement, I avoid her cold gaze, unable to look into the eyes that used to love me back. Without the capacity to truly feel anything anymore, surreal waves wash over me as I make my escape. A night out getting inebriated, getting closer to the truth, A new love and yet I am so far from her, she is everything to me. Every moment in her presence is perfect and treasured. But she can never be mine, I always have to share her with the world. This hill becomes a mountain and becomes a giant edifice. You're wasting your time, my sweet, I am out of my mind. Drunk and on another planet, there is only so much I can take, before I kill you for betraying me, for stamping on my dreams. And so, you mocking fool, explain why I love you even though you hate me, I can't be with the one I love. She is forever out of reach of my universe. But ultimately I do not care, it is all just another vicious illusion.
Archived comments for Blinded by the Sun
stormwolf on 30-10-2009
Blinded by the Sun
So glad it is not autobiographical π
You always make me think with your writing and this is no exeption. It gives a glimpse into the mind of the character and the reasons behind many murders I am sure.
Yes, I just wanted to stress that point.
I am happy that I manage to provoke something other than apathy.
Thanks for the comment
Romany on 30-10-2009
Blinded by the Sun
Hi fitbin, this reads as almost like a rewrite, or something close to it, of An Entire Life. I got the definite feeling you are trying to convey the same message here. I think you have achieved it better in this one.
Btw, you do not provoke apathy in me either - it is because I felt Entire Life had such meaning and such great, fantastical imagery that I made the suggestions I did. As I say, some of that imagery is in this one too.
Yes, I hadn't realised it but you could be right.
Thanks for being so positive.
I really do appreciate all feedback.
There are certain themes that keep recurring a lot.
sunken on 31-10-2009
Blinded by the Sun
Apathy appears to be the new rock n roll, Mr. Fitbin. I'll be frank, I prefer rave. Full of hard and 'in yer face' imagery. As always, stark and powerful. Nice work, fella. And now, if you don't mind, it's that 'hands in the air' moment...
...can u feel it...
Yes, I was always a Prodigy fan myself.
And now I am no longer AOTM I will crawl back into my hermit's cave of anonymous obscurity.
It's safe in here, and there are biscuits.
|Devastation (posted on: 23-10-09) |
Here is a piece of poetry that I wrote.
Beyond death and beyond experience. Pure thought exploding into a thousand colours. You have no idea how I truly feel. I am empty and broken because of you. A hollow shell implodes and disappears. A human android thinks and feels everything. But through a misty lens. Alive and yet so distant and removed. Programmed to react, a biological machine. Hardwired into an overwhelming consciousness. A soundtrack of binary contradictions. Logic gates blocking every way off. The loneliness of God impales his own soul. He sent us away to escape the pain of knowing everything. One love to last forever, fell from his grasp. Shattering at his feet, as he wept burning tears. Dreaming of waking in her gentle arms once more. He floats on a wave of smoke, down to the devastated Earth. Walking amongst the mortals, laughing inside with pity. As vanilla dentists dance with cheese and whine. A golden wreckage being morose in glorious union. Sedation clinic on a power-trip of wickedness. Finding a willing co-pilot on a voyage to another world. Arrested for fighting and provoking an impact. Instinctive submission of body and will, to cool authority. Paralysis, extreme fatigue, aching joints, heavy, weak limbs. Sleeping forever in the nightmare of reality. Hell is here and you are living in it.
Archived comments for Devastation
sunken on 24-10-2009
'Hell is here and you are living in it' - Nice line, Mr. Fitbin. May I recommend an ipod. Even the most hellish of places can seem bearable with a nice soundtrack behind them. Strong stuff, as ever.
so he folded her away for another night
I do fancy an ipod, so I might treat myself.
Thanks for the comment.
|An Entire Life (posted on: 23-10-09) |
This is some poetry for you to read and see what you think.
It takes an entire lifetime to die, but only a moment to truly live. Emerging from out of the cold wilderness, the sleeping hermit awakens and breaks out from his chrysalis as a giant. Looking down upon an ocean of cloud, the horizon looks back and smiles. Gazing over the edge of the world, he returns to tell the tales of what he saw and the secrets he learnt. Ending the self-imposed exile he trips and falls into another cage. From a land of magick he finds his new prison is the pure horror of real life. The vampiric sorceress leeches away all his majestic power and builds her own empire. Driving him to madness with her promises of passion then delivering only numbness. So when he was seemingly used up, all his energy stolen and abused, he's thrown away and forgotten. But with the shackles finally taken off his spirit, the vivification begins. Born again into this world, but now with the power to make perception become reality. Every hope, every wish and every dream from his old life becomes real. Effortless actualisation, just think it and it is there before your eyes. The old journey took him deep within his soul. Travelling far, without ever moving, he tasted truth and was confronted by the ends of the cosmos. Unflinchingly he strode on, walking the path that unfurled from out of nowhere. Every step had to happen the way it did, every lesson had to be learnt. Every bridge was crossed and the further he went, the closer he got to coming back home. Until the time was right and the last portal opened with a flood of tears. Turning the skeleton key and unlocking the door that had been closed for too long. Feeling your soft and warm flesh pulsating with life beneath my tensed fingers. When will it happen? Every time I flip the coin inside my mind you have been lucky. But luck always runs out and then fate becomes such a cruel mistress. Clarity eludes me tauntingly, oh how I wish to be able to think clearly and know these are my own thoughts and not signals from some burnt-out collective subconscious. Living in a fog with only alien emotions for company. Loaded with hormones and chemicals to react and approximate a real human's life. You reach out for the blade yearningly. Stretching and struggling to hold the cold metal. Knowing the power it contains and confers. Wanting to feel the sharp kiss of the red tears weeping, as they mourn their freedom. You can't move and you cannot escape. You are at my mercy and only now do you realise that I have none. Asking for the dark side to return killed the only goodness I had left. I do not care about anything anymore, if I ever did at all. Forsaken by love and locked out of paradise. Left to walk this world with no home, a journey that never ends. A wound that never heals.
Archived comments for An Entire Life
Romany on 28-10-2009
An Entire Life
There is huge potential in this I think, though if I am honest I will say that initially it read almost as if the first several lines (up to the 7th at least) are seperate observations or adages that don't necessarily cohese as a poem. The introduction of 'I' as opposed to 'he' previously was a little jarring too, for me. There is some greast, dark imagery here, and i love this line:
the sharp kiss of the red tears weeping, as they mourn their freedom.
But if I am to be honest at ll I would say this needs a serious and heavy edit, some shaping into form (even if free verse, the length of the lines and the varying structure of them detract, I think) and it could be a great poem. As always, feel free to ignore, offered with respect,
Hi, I agree with you.
I didn't really edit it at all.
It could be better as 2 seperate pieces.
If anyone fancies having a go at changing it and cleaning it up I would love to see the end result.
Thanks for the comment. I wrote it on quite a long flight so some of the imagery is what I was seeing out of the window.
Zeitgeist on 02-11-2009
An Entire Life
This is fantastic:
;Every time I flip the coin inside my mind you have been lucky.
But luck always runs out and then fate becomes such a cruel mistress.
Clarity eludes me tauntingly, oh how I wish to be able to think clearly and know these are my own thoughts and not signals from some burnt-out collective subconscious.
Living in a fog with only alien emotions for company.
Loaded with hormones and chemicals to react and approximate a real humanβs life.
You reach out for the blade yearningly. Stretching and struggling to hold the cold metal. Knowing the power it contains and confers.
Wanting to feel the sharp kiss of the red tears weeping, as they mourn their freedom.
You canβt move and you cannot escape.
You are at my mercy and only now do you realise that I have none. '
But, I agree with Romany, you need to impose some sort of structure on your prose. This isn't a stylist comment, merely a request to make it kinder upon the eye.
'Travelling far, without ever moving, he tasted truth and was confronted by the ends of the cosmos.
Unflinchingly he strode on, walking the path that unfurled from out of nowhere. '
Yes, that's very evocative.
your words are too kind,
but also much appreciated.
|Venus (posted on: 16-10-09) |
Here is a new piece.
What is this thing called love? It does not exist anymore. I locked it in a box, without water or air. And it withered and died, alone. I grow evermore weary of this place. The cold waters speak to me every day. Beckoning me into their rushing embrace. I yearn to plunge under and disappear. A silent song plays for me, unending. So many paths to oblivion lie open. Random memories of other people's dreams. Haunted by the face of another betrayal. The hatred I promised never to feel, wells up and spills over into my reality. Clarity and purpose elude me sweetly. As impending revenge draws closer. A dark pacifist and a merciful warrior. An ignorant genius and a brilliant fool. A beautiful freak and an ugly Venus. So easy to kill them all.
Archived comments for Venus
sunken on 17-10-2009
Hello Mr. Fitbain. Are you back from your travels? As for love, you might want to ask that Aurelio fella what it is. He seems to have it oozing out of every orifice. Not that I'm jealous you understand? Ahem. Hello? Anyway, nice one. Good to see ya back.
half man, half a mind to write to my local mp and demand an explanation regarding expenses
thank you Sunken,
yes I am back in old Blighty now.
I quite like this piece, it's not too cack.
|Zeitgeist (posted on: 02-10-09) |
This is a piece of poetry that I have written. Inspired by reality, embellished by imagination.
The secret is out and I am exposed. Forced to look inside my bag of magick and I finally see it had always been empty. I am not the man you believe me to be. I wear a mask and I am a fraud. The facade barely managed to conceal the rotting darkness within. There are untold horrors to discover within me. Only pain and abject suffering reside inside. Craving oblivion, I am engulfed by the taste of nothingness. I can see the future. I have looked beyond reality and I saw myself sitting in despair. My head cradled in my broken hands, weeping. Wishing for the night to close in and swallow my mind. When suddenly the black clouds part before me. A new Zeitgeist appears and fills my empty heart. A vision of beauty. A kindred spirit. A dark angel of sin, who snatches my spirit from the clutches of the abyss. Adorned by sweet blossom and wearing a halo of dreams. Her forbidden fruit tasting all the sweeter. Losing myself in the ocean of her eyes. A shared moment lasting for an eternal instant. A stolen kiss, melting the ice in my veins. The cruel world cannot hurt us now. The ignorant cannot see us with their profane eyes. Only the watching men can look on and honour us. As blood drips slowly from your naked wounds. Friends to the animals. Scourge of the passive who live in intellectual capitulation. You die in my arms as I come alive in yours.
Archived comments for Zeitgeist
Jolen on 02-10-2009
I think this is an interesting piece, but I wonder at the juxtaposition between dark/light, as you seem to use dark as a positive in part of the poem, and negative in others. Perhaps I'm misreading.
stormwolf on 02-10-2009
I enjoy my visits to the darker aspects of the mind you write about.
There is always facination for me in the shadow side of things....
The last line is very stark and meaningful and captures the essence of the poem for me.
sunken on 03-10-2009
Hello Mr Fitbin. Your poem reminds me of a light bulb, sometimes dark, sometimes light. I do believe you've invented a new genre. I would recommend a dimmer switch. That way you can ease yourself between transitions. Ahem. I don't know what i'm on about either, Mr. Fitbin. Well done on wotm by the way. Take care in America on the green. That Jolen is from America, and ya know what she's like (-; Don't worry, she won't see this...
he's askin' fer trouble
macaby on 03-10-2009
You do have a dark imagination, methinks. I have only read a couple of your poems, but I always feel like I am walking on the edge of a knife while reading them. The images in your poem, dark but good, especially liked " the halo of dreams" original line I thought.
|Every Word Is True (posted on: 28-09-09) |
This is rather a nihilistic piece.
Everybody dies in the end. Everyone you loved leaves you. Everything you care about is gone. Every star in the sky has dimmed. Every dream became a nightmare. Every hope has disappeared. Every chance is in the past. Every light has gone out. Every drug has stopped working. Every lie has been told. Every tear has been shed. Every song has turned silent. Every wish was ignored. Every bubble has been burst. Every day is lived in pain. Every memory is torture. Every thought is filled with hate. Every cut is another suicide. Every beginning has ended. Every moment is alone. Every breath is consumed by sorrow. Every blessing is a curse. Every promise is broken. Every prayer was never heard. Every god was buried alive. Every salvation was damned. Every hero was betrayed. Every love was false. Every killing was merciful. Every friend was poison. Every word hurts a little bit more.
Archived comments for Every Word Is True
stormwolf on 28-09-2009
Every Word Is True
I take it you ain't having a good day? π
A very bleak assessment of life of course but one that those who have ever suffered from depression know well.
Now I am not suggesting that you are depressed...I did appreciate the myriad ways that you expressed the hopelessness though...
I should stress that I usually write fiction, so this isn't necessarily autobiograhical.
I like to explore dark themes and emotions.
It is rather cathartic though, to venture on the dark side.
sunken on 28-09-2009
Every Word Is True
Hello Mr. Fitbin. Neat poem. It reminds me of a song by The Flaming Lips called 'Do you realise' which contains the following lyric -
'Do you realise that everyone you know someday will die?'
It's a tune, so this is quite a compliment. Well done, fella.
That is a decent tune.
I'd like to mention I am jetting off to the U.S of America on friday to escape the rat race
and try to find some important part of me that is missing.
Hopefully something extremely bizarre will happen that I can write about.
Jolen on 29-09-2009
Every Word Is True
I find that words like 'every' and 'all' and 'no' or 'never' are rarely accurate, as there are always exceptions, thankfully so. Still you get your point across and that's the important thing, me thinks.
Thanks for commenting.
I have slipped into a retroactive teenage angst phase.
Hopefully I can progress to a more sophisticated intellectual zone of residence soon.
|X (posted on: 25-09-09) |
This is a short tale of Apocalypse.
And he brought a pestilence upon thee all, for his name was M and the mighty trembled before his countenance. He walked these lands an age ago, With another face and a different name. Returning not to usher in a new age, but to tear down and burn the decadent and weak. It was written that he would come again and save us. but safety in death is his prized offering. Not salvation, but release from this earthly prison, the test was a lie, this was always the destiny of fate. With a blade of fire he purges the bodies of wicked men, all will come to kneel before him as they are freed from sin. And as the gates of infinity open, the killing begins, not with a scream, but a whisper and choking laughter. "What my Father started, I will now bring to an end, What my Mother nurtured, I will ravage and humble." So spake M until there was none left to hear, his tears ran dry as the blood ran cold.
Archived comments for X
sunken on 25-09-2009
So who is this mysterious M, is what I'm asking myself, Mr. Fitbin. I'm suspecting it's that Barry Manilow fella of 'Copacabana' fame. He's the devil incarnate and no mistake. Deep stuff, dark stuff, I may read again later via the light of a candle bulb (low energy you understand?)
at the copa, copacaban - music and laughter was all i was after until barry... barry turned up....
the M referred to herein is none other than.....
stormwolf on 28-09-2009
Loved it! Full of dark images and the 'voice of authority' feeling in it was not lost on me either.
M?...hmmm could be any number of things / people the way things are going.
This was written to get me in the mood for attending an apocalypse-themed party.
But then the world did end as the party never happened.
Glad you liked it.
Andrea on 28-09-2009
I reckon it's Murky Malcolm of Margate. Very good Mt Fit and nice to see you back!
It could very well be the Murky One.
Thanks Andrea, I was going for a biblical-style effect with this one.
|A Different Path (posted on: 18-09-09) |
Please read this and see where it takes you
Compelled to act by the noise within my aching mind. I tighten my grip, like a vice of iron that cannot be satiated. Closing our eyes, we breath together as one. A unified entity of synchronised consciousness. The flow of blood ceases, making the moment an eternity. That one sweet instant lasting forever. Purity crystallises into truth, as we walk the same path. Journeying through our twisted subconscious. I take you deeper within yourself. Until you see that we are one and the end is only the beginning.
Archived comments for A Different Path
sunken on 18-09-2009
A Different Path
Blimey. On first reading, this took me to Argos. I soon realised that I had taken a wrong turn tho, Mr Fitbin, and read it again. On the second read I was taken to a much darker place. That's right - I ended up in Lidl. Ahem. Only joking of course. I'm using defence mechanisms to conceal the fact (very badly) that I'm scared. Another brooding piece and no mistake. It left me quite breathless. Did ya see what I did there? Ahem. I'll get me jacket. Thank you.
currently sponsored by bisto - Ahhhhh... eric
Thank you Sunken,
I can always count on you to raise a wry smile
Jolen on 18-09-2009
A Different Path
Well, I know where it took me and that was right into subspace. I enjoyed the honesty here and yes, from the 'different path' I walk, I've enjoyed this sort of scenery many times.
Cool, I wasn't expecting such a strong response.
stormwolf on 18-09-2009
A Different Path
sounds sort of like a shamanic 'journey' to me...
apart from the tightened grip at the start..
There is a shamanic element,
in that it is a metaphysical journey of revelation.
hoopsinoz on 18-09-2009
A Different Path
Honestly - that took me down a very dark and brutal path - sinister - cold - raging - good words - synchronised consciousness
Thanks, it is dark,
but also juxtaposed with feelings of warmth and ascension.
Romany on 18-09-2009
A Different Path
Okay, being totally honest, this made me think of a seual union (a non too gentle one perhaps, but nonetheless...) But then that could be because, due to my own posting this week, I've kind of got sex on the brain at the moment. As Sunky would say, "Ahem..."
That is a thread teasing throughout.
|Killing Her Softly (posted on: 14-09-09) |
This is possibly a fictional exploration of accidentally going too far.
Sweet Babylon. You were always only ten seconds from death when you were with me. My princess of pain loved to choke on handsome darkness. A game of russian roulette, where the hands became the deadliest of weapons. And any assault could have been the final, fatal embrace. Could it be now? A second too long this time. Your eyes roll back and out pops your soft, pink tongue. We take it past the line. The realisation hits me with a sweet sting, as your limp body falls to the welcoming floor. Blank faces stare as the game becomes real. What now? What now? My mind explodes inside my skull. Panic, panic! Until her voice rings out like an angel's whisper. She is still here and the play can continue. Giggling with innocence she beckons me towards her. Kissing her gently, I know I am still free.
Archived comments for Killing Her Softly
Jolen on 14-09-2009
Killing Her Softly
Well, damn! An interesting portrayal of a mostly understood and rarely discussed subject... Good for you to bring it to us.
Thanks, I was in two minds over whether to post it or not.
But I thought it was interesting enough to be worth it,
so I appreciate your appreciation.
sunken on 14-09-2009
Killing Her Softly
Hello Mr. Fitbin. Dark stuff and no mistake. I may revisit in the twilight hours. Reading it in daylight just seems wrong. I likee vewy much tho, as does the beagle named Bernard. Sorry fella, you'll just have to put up with him. He's no trouble... Actually, that's a lie. He's impregnated half the neighbourhood of late. I can't have his balls cut off tho. It's just not right. I'll shut up.
Its good to see Bernard again....
I saw my cat tonight...the eponymous Fang
he sat on my knee and purred,
but we had to part in a moment of sweet sorrow.
One day we will be together again and I won't let anyone take him away.
I went all serious there
Griffonner on 14-09-2009
Killing Her Softly
Wow! Really powerful stuff, fitbin.
I'm with Jolen here: not a subject that sees the light of day very often. (I think Sunken was alluding to that!)
But I like the way that you not only spoke aloud about the subject, but also told a short story at the same time. (IMHO)
I enjoyed this dip into autoerotism. (Why do I feel obliged to add 'even though it's not my cup of tea?) π
It might not be my cup of tea either.
It's just an exploration of the theme.
Thank you lots for commenting and for being positive.
sunken on 15-09-2009
Killing Her Softly
Ahem. Yes, thank you Mr. Allen. I was indeed alluding to that. Full explanations of my comments can be found on ceefax pg 132. Thank you (-;
his shadow always walks ten paces behind him
artisus on 16-09-2009
Killing Her Softly
yes well done, very vivid work and imagery here, maybe the layout could have been different, but still, no problem of the technical kind. nice
yes I just expressed the sentiment without a lot of attention to the style and presentation.
So I could try and rearrange it somewhat.
Thanks for the feedback
cat on 17-09-2009
Killing Her Softly
Hi π One of your best methinks. So many good lines. Very nice! x
Glad you liked it,
It is possibly one of my more truthful pieces.
macaby on 17-09-2009
Killing Her Softly
Very dark poem here, not what I would usually read but I found this one interesting, nice/dark images.Perfect title also.
Thanks for being open-minded about it.
I need to work on a follow-up now
Romany on 18-09-2009
Killing Her Softly
Hi again, having read and commented on your other poem first, I stand by what I said there, and repeat it here having read this (does that make sense?)
it does make sense.
There are lots of elements at work here,
but I wouldn't like to spoil the mystique and reveal them all.
stormwolf on 19-09-2009
Killing Her Softly
Absolutely stunning stuff (pardon the pun)
a rare glimpse into the realm of those who get their kicks walking the high wire...
yes, not often addressed but vivid and real in it's portrayal.
In fact...the almost fatal ending then the giggles highlighted the thrill for me..
Not that I am into that sort of stuff.
My ex husband, I am sure, would have loved to have throttled me..but not for kicks lol π
I like to provoke a response.
This has multi-layers and is not about one thing or aspect, but many different perspectives.
stormwolf on 22-09-2009
Killing Her Softly
yes, I could sense that too π
|My Life (posted on: 04-09-09) |
Please read this and leave a comment.
All the heroes are dead now, killed by too many lies. Your face still haunts my dreams. When I close my eyes we are together. I was human once, a long, long time ago. Now I am a reflection of a shadow. Hiding in a mirror, spying on the world. Why must the song always end? I don't know what to say anymore. Drifting on a silver cloud of sorrow, I concede defeat to win the game.
Archived comments for My Life
stormwolf on 04-09-2009
I know that feeling too well.
Hiding in a mirror, spying on the world.
yes...sometimes it gets like that.
thanks for the comment.
It's a vague feeling that somehow other people have a more intense experience of life in comparison to my distant cynicism.
Saying that, I am usually quite jolly.
Zoya on 04-09-2009
'Now I am a reflection of a shadow.
Hiding in a mirror, spying on the world.'
There is something so profoundly poetic and poignant about these lines, it saddens me immensely...
And this lines is so beautiful:
'Drifting on a silver cloud of sorrow'
I was rather morose when writing this,
but it's rewarding to create something that is enjoyed.
sunken on 05-09-2009
Hello Mr. Fitbin. I realised the other day that all my heroes are dead. Mr. Patel who worked at the local curry house will be dearly missed and no mistake. His vindaloo was legendary, at least it was in my toilet. Enjoyed the read, my good fellow.
cat on 05-09-2009
Hey there π
Enjoyed this very much. Loved the last two lines. Something to mull over.
Jolen on 12-09-2009
I think we've all felt this way. Your point is well expressed.
Romany on 15-09-2009
"I concede defeat to win the game" - a clever and perceptive line, there is truth to this, though you would have to view it from a certain perspective to understand that, were you the one actually in battle. I like this.
Life is a game of war, I feel sometimes.
Thanks for your comment.
It is a romanticised view of certain aspects of my life.
In a tragic vein.
|Plight of The Living (posted on: 31-08-09) |
Please read this and leave some criticism. It is about a metaphysical journey.
A black dagger of ice pierces my heart and shreds my dirty soul. Blinded by burning tears of dying fire. The wounds are never allowed to heal. Applauded by an audience of broken fools, in a frozen wasteland of pain. I die every day only to be reborn into another doomed life. Cursed to always be alone. Forever searching for something to say. Written in ink of rotten blood, my fate taunts me with the utmost cruelty. Riding on a pale horse into a sunset of flame, my crown of thorns weighs heavily on my corrupt mind. Yearning for the sweet quiet of the grave. I wait an eternity to be set free. Forsaken by mercy and justice, the old Gods have been buried and forgotten. Cutting deeply, I sever my connection to this place. Soaring away towards cloud 9, I ascend up, up. On a barbed wire noose I find my true home.
Archived comments for Plight of The Living
Zoya on 31-08-2009
Plight of The Living
There is a lot of pain here, suffering and self-loathing (though, I am not much in favour of self-loathing as such)...
Some very unique expressions and images here: I particularly like this one
'There Riding on a pale horse into a sunset of flame',
a very strong write, dear fitbin!
Thank you, I'm glad you appreciated it.
chrissy on 31-08-2009
Plight of The Living
A bit heavy on the angst and the symbolism for me but well written. I wonder is it meant to be the devil? but then he wouldn't sever his connection to Hell, would he?
The cloud 9 jarred a bit for me. It was light against the darkness but it was small and tarnished by the following and final barbed wire noose line.
A good read.
Many thanks, I tend to analyse and extrapolate meaning after I have finished writing.
So I think it is about a metaphorical Hell on Earth that he escapes via suicide/narcotics to ascend to a heavenly safehouse.
sunken on 01-09-2009
Plight of The Living
'A barbed wire noose' I likee that vewy much. Why shouldn't suicide painful? I think I'd personally go for slitting my wrists. I'd have to use Bic sensitive razors though as I am a very sensitive sunks. Just ask my gynaecologist. Hello?
destined to ashen
I don't really like cutting, I think my preferred option would be death by overdosing on TV.
Or too many crisps.
I hope Bernard is fit and well.
stormwolf on 01-09-2009
Plight of The Living
Reminds me of some sort of apocalyptic vision of hell.
Many good images and very dark indeed.
I also could not really accept the last stanza about ascending up, up....to me that was in direct contradiction to the whole poem and using the ancient cosmology of creation it would rather be down, down you would be going.
enjoyed it though
I see your point, but it is more about escaping from the suffering by leaving behind the physical realm.
It is trying to end on more of a slightly positive note.
hoopsinoz on 01-09-2009
Plight of The Living
This, for some reason, conjoured images of Hieronymus Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights - dark and intense - I agree with stormwolf (but often do) that up should probably have beeen down but maybe you meant that there is an all forgiving God....
Thanks for commenting.
I haven't read any Bosch so I will look it up.
Yes, I was really expressing that the bottom plateau had been reached and up was the only way left to go.
Even if it wasn't necessarily towards salvation.
hoopsinoz on 02-09-2009
Plight of The Living
Bosch - painter - garden of earthly delights is a bizarre painting....
of course.....that Hieronymus Bosch,
it does look pretty amazing.
|Prediction Come True (posted on: 21-08-09) |
This poem is out of the ether. It is not necessarily real or entirely fictional. What is the difference between my perception and my reality? Please read it and see what you think.
A dark mystery, a delicious intrigue, with sensual power and shining confidence. I want to get inside you and taste your soul, I want to see the world through your eyes. You give me the high I always craved, with your soft touch and your fierce passion. Let me lose myself in your sweet embrace, let me live again, risen from my cold grave. I want to own you and to master you, I want you to be mine and mine alone. Come to me my pretty, for all your solace, let us be the whole world by ourselves. But it is all a lie and a fantasy, naught but a cruel illusion of what could be. Fading like smoke in a waking dream, I sink, alone in a crowd of strangers.
Archived comments for Prediction Come True
Romany on 21-08-2009
Prediction Come True
On the one level it could be a lonely man who is passionate in wanting a woman (any specific one? Any woman at all? I don't know) but Ifeel it all goes on in his head only. On the other level, it is something more sinister, about wanting to dominate, control in the name of 'love' which we all know goes on for real. And on yet another leel, it could even have a supernatural bent to it. That's how I read it anyway.
Thanks for commenting.
I don't want to reveal what it is actually about,
but you are picking up the intended vibes.
stormwolf on 21-08-2009
Prediction Come True
To me it spoke of the uncovering of the hidden side...the real desire beneath the superficial respectibility...
the acknowlegement of the supreme conclusion of erotic need..within most of us..but subjugated, (sadly) to 'fit in'...
Fading like smoke in a waking dream,
I sink, alone in a crowd of strangers.
settling for the mundane...
really glad you liked it,
it kind of explores the fleeting magick juxtaposed with the banal normality.
And fate teasing you by keeping treasures just out of reach.
sunken on 22-08-2009
Prediction Come True
Right. It's about time you had a bloke's point of view. To me it reads like someone is in need of a good shag. He can't get one so he sets fire to a singles bar and hoses down the first bit of decent totty that runs out. She's so grateful she shags him. Ahem. Am I anywhere close with this? Perhaps I should leave it to the Ukanettes. I know this hasn't helped, Mr Fit of Bin fame, but could you just pretend it has? I'd appreciate that. Thank you.
mummy, stacey's killing frogs again
this was a big help and pretty close to the mark.
It's all smoke and mirrors.
|Nothing (posted on: 03-08-09) |
This poem is about many things, about being alone and being forsaken. Written for no-one, but the shadows who haunt me.
White, nothing but endless white. Nothing but the memory of an echoing scream. There must be more? Something more than this. A fear. A fear that there is no-one who can help, no-one else to turn to. No end, no escape, no respite, no dreams. No horizon, no future, no sunset, no love. No embrace, no comfort, no warmth, no peace. No life, no death, no pleasure, no pain. Happiness..........I saw you once And you spat at me with mocking venom. Just a plaything of the cruel Gods, to be twisted and abused and held back. My soul drowns in tears, as I am betrayed yet again, but by whom? It doesn't matter anymore - they all merge into one. One dark, grey cloud of jagged torment. Spewing forth burning shrieks of misery. How much more is there to take? What new torture can they impose upon my mind? Sanity..........walk with me a while longer.
Archived comments for Nothing
sunken on 05-08-2009
Hello Mr. Fitbin. I met that Mr. Sanity a few weeks ago at Clarkes the shoe shop. He was purchasing a pair of sensible brogues. I tried to talk him into buying a pair of doc martens but he wasn't having any of it. So as you can see, being sane isn't all it's cracked up to be. You wouldn't get me into a pair of brogues and no mistake. I hope this has helped.
excuse me, do you do these in purple?
Happy Friday to you Sunken.
I have discovered a miraculous hangover prevention system,
so now I can inebriate myself with no dire consequences.
Not sure if that is good or bad though? Good I think.
sunken on 07-08-2009
Happy Friday my good fellow and no mistake. Please share your good news. I suffer terribly from said condition. I wouldn't mind, but it's beginning to encroach upon my social life. I've tried everything. The only thing that seems to work for me is not drinking. How desperate is that? Hello? I blame Guinness. It's me, by the way, sunks. Thank you.
oh for the love of a bacon sandwich
|Testing My Sanity (posted on: 03-08-09) |
This is something I have written, I would like you to read it and join me in my special place.
The cycle continues on and on, riding the crest of a wave until it takes you down, drowning in the bitter rejections. What has happened to me? I have suddenly appeared in this new life, My whole reality reset into a brave world, Looking round in disbelief. I cannot fathom how I got here or what came before. Wishing I could go back home, back to the home that does not exist anywhere, except in my mind, in my memories. What is the point of my existence? I bought some precious time, stolen from fate, found in the cosmos, but it was only a dream, temporary and fading. She couldn't save me from myself. Back to my luxury coffin, a barren box to lock me in, somewhere nice to rot, a room to cry in and another to die in. Alone, alone.
Archived comments for Testing My Sanity
stormwolf on 03-08-2009
Testing My Sanity
I can sure relate to this. I too, know how it feels to wonder how you came to be where you find yourself and what's the point in it anyway? I have felt 'homesick' all my life to be honest...but things are changing energetically...the world is changing..
It's funny coz I wrote this one first, but much prefer the other one I posted: 'Nothing'.
But I had to get this one out before 'Nothing' would appear.
I kind of like where I am now, but it's weird when you lose your normal points of reference and everything is new.
The world is changing, I agree.
e-griff on 03-08-2009
Testing My Sanity
this line jumped out at me - liked it a lot: a room to cry in and another to die in.
your poem describes your puzzled, lost and hopeless state, and a recent hope that failed. At the moment it is quite distant and detached, 'telling rather than showing' as they would say. It might be worth thinking round how more aspects of reality might be included to indicate why this is happening to you, and give us tangible examples so we FEEL the emotion rather than simply read the words about it.
Thanks for your suggestions.
I do like to proffer subtle hints and build enigmatic possibilites, rather than stating absolutes.
But I agree this dimishes the emotional impact, if it's not obvious what I mean.
sunken on 04-08-2009
Testing My Sanity
Hello Mr. Fitbin. I'll be dropping by to join you in your special place soon. Is there anything I should bring? Crisps, beer, magazines, turnips? You name it, fella, and I'll bring it. As Ms. Alison has already said - I'm sure many will relate.
you don't bring me croutons anymore
please could you bring a selection of chilled fruit.
And a get out of jail free card.
artisus on 04-08-2009
Testing My Sanity
these are cryptic lines
I bought some precious time,
stolen from fate,
thanks for the rating.
The meaning behind these lines is really that I had someone who saved me from loneliness but it turned out to not be permanent, only a temporary reprieve and then fate took me back into her solitary embrace.
Jolen on 15-08-2009
Testing My Sanity
I think we all have been here a time or too many. You certainly show it in all it's desperate reality. I enjoyed the read very much and also like the lines quoted by e-griff.
thanks for commenting.
Glad you liked it.
|Tears in the Rain (posted on: 20-07-09) |
Yet another little piece by me, I can't stop myself. But please read it and get some small pleasure. Thanks
Walking home all alone again, Crying in the cruel rain. No-one can see the tears, But freely and easily they do flow. In an expression of bemused grief, Showing off that I can take pain. Leaving no taboo unbroken, I drink and smoke the vapours of life. A far cry from the mundane banality of old, This new adventure is a runaway train. But happiness is still always out of reach, As I am teased and tantalised by her vampiric charm. A new humiliation appears, to add to all the rest, So blissfully unaware of my fragile humanity. "Look at me" she whispers: "I am happy now", "I'm sorry I loved you" I reply, as the rain stops.
Archived comments for Tears in the Rain
sunken on 20-07-2009
Tears in the Rain
"I'm sorry I loved you" I reply, as the rain stops.
I think that line says it all, Mr. Fitbin. I've been there, bought the T-shirt and was eventually forced to take it back for a full refund. I blame lust masquerading as love. It a funny old world but I can't see it winning any awards for comedic delivery. Fancy a pie?
i limp. therefore i am
Hello again Sunken,
as the walls have ears I feel I should stress that this isn't entirely autobiographical.
It has some inspiration in reality but has also spewed forth from my murky imagination.
I am really quite a cheerful chappy despite the tone of my creative output.
Thanks for the response bud.
|The Shortest Journey (posted on: 20-07-09) |
Please read this and let me know what you think, I appreciate all feedback. This piece continues my exploration of themes of loss and heartache and also discovery. It is really the third part of a trilogy following The End and The Beginning.
Have a good time, all the time, he repeated the mantra in his head, over and over and over again until it gained a momentum of its own. Perception became a new reality, a dark rainbow exploded in his mind, as the fulcrum point was reached and paradise opened its invisible doors. And where hides the glorious, happy ending, the golden sunset to stride into together? the hollow feeling of impending tears passed giving way to nothing but smiling, empty eyes. The dream broke my bleeding heart, into a thousand more jagged pieces, as another drunken night of debauchery loomed promising to block out the haunting memories.
Archived comments for The Shortest Journey
e-griff on 20-07-2009
The Shortest Journey
well, a few 'it's' that need correcting, and I think 'my bleeding heart' can be read the wrong way unfortunately. Bob Hoskins meets poetry.
Perception becoming a new reality, - this is a not nice 'ing' phrase. Now I admit I have a thing about 'ing' ... but. Pehaps an active direct phrase such as the one that follows it. Maybe: 'as perception became (NB:tense) a new reality,' etc
I'm not sure if 'point' is redundant.
But where is the glorious, happy ending?
no golden sunset to stride into together,
the intense feeling of impending tears passed
the question is followed by a negative answer, it seems, but that is not really clear at first - I read it as a continuation - in which case, of course it would have been 'the golden sunset to ....' perhaps a bit more clarity of intention.
Anyway, this all seems rather picky. Sorry. I do think overall the poem achieves its goal - so hope that's compensation enough ..
thanks for this, I really appreciate technical criticism and advice.
I tend to only think about the images and less on the structure and technique.
So these are very helpful adjustments to consider.
I will edit it and see what I can improve.
artisus on 20-07-2009
The Shortest Journey
I agree with Egriff that the poem achieves its goal.
I am pleased with it.
I never normally go back to a piece once I'm done with it.
So I will experiment with tweaking this one.
sunken on 21-07-2009
The Shortest Journey
Ahhh those drunken nights of debauchery... Sorry Mr. Fitbin, my mind is wandering... I'm not sure when it'll be back... Blimey, look at the norks on her! Ahem. So tell me, on a scale of 1 to 10, just how useless and unhelpful has this comment been? Don't hold back. I can take it. Hello?
batting for woolworths
I would have to rate this comment - 11,
as it made me laugh heartily - 'norks'.
flyboy on 22-07-2009
The Shortest Journey
I found the conclusion sad, but that may be because I only half understood the full meaning. However, some of the imagery worked nicely.
Hi, thanks for the comment,
yes the conclusion is a bit sad.
stormwolf on 31-07-2009
The Shortest Journey
And where hides the glorious, happy ending,
the golden sunset to stride into together?
The sooner you ditch that idea the happier you will be. I reckon its a fallacy myself...give me a night of drunken debauchery any time π
I did catch the feeling in the poem though...the determination to 'think' yourself into a different frame of mind...then..the gut wrenching realisation it's not working and the blotting it out scenario.
Been there, done that.
Hi, thanks for commenting.
I'm glad you got something out of this piece.
Yes and the title refers to changing your mental outlook hence why the it is the shortest journey.
|The Beginning (posted on: 17-07-09) |
This is another in my series of esoteric explorations. Analysing recent personal events from another perspective. Delving and revealing with anonymous ambiguity.
You are here and this is now, Looking, searching, seeking for what? Truth, peace, happiness and love? A wild chase for a dying, golden goose. But the once-prized eggs are poisoned and corrupt. The Tension has passed and underwhelmed me, An anticlimax after a night of easy glory. A hero to some and a sinner to the rest. Staring though the misty veils of reality. I see what has fallen off the edge of the world. Daring to look over the jagged edge, I see enlightened and 'free' people hiding behind costumes. The masks they wear show their true selves. Locked inside the grope box they are never alone. Damned to watch and see and be abandoned again. So the circle is finally complete, I find myself only to lose everyone else. Alone at the top of the mountain I ask God why? He answers me with a question of his own: 'Does the end matter more than the journey?'
Archived comments for The Beginning
sunken on 17-07-2009
Hello Mr. Fitbin. I could totally identify with this part -
'The Tension has passed and underwhelmed me,
An anticlimax after a night of easy glory.
A hero to some and a sinner to the rest. '
Neat final line too. I likee very much.
How true. Muchly enjoyed. Enjoy your week off. I'm not jealous.... ahem. Hello?
and thanks also to Bernard.
I'm glad you got it as there are personal references that may hurt the interpretation.
artisus on 17-07-2009
sunken picked my favourite lines too. read it earlier and i think it's unquestionably Good.
it's very encouraging to get some response.
As much as I write for myself it is rewarding if other readers find some merit in what I do.
It's actually stopped raining for a bit as well!
|The End (posted on: 06-07-09) |
This really is the end, but also the beginning. So please read it and join me for a while.
It's finally all over and now I am free. Free to be alone and tortured by the world. As the tears well up but they can't fall. They just don't feel the pain of the loss, it's a numbness and a dull hurt somewhere inside. Who cares? Just another best friend gone. They always leave to go to a better place. Without me there to show them their reflection, without me there to forget myself for a sweet moment. Can the empty nothingness not swallow me? Regrets and mistakes holding hands with betrayal. Humiliated and emasculated, ridiculed and laughed at. A joke and a clown to be pitied and ashamed of. Layers of truth and reality unfold, feeding the future, Who can save me now? Only myself, but I show no mercy.
Archived comments for The End
Sunken on 06-07-2009
Hello Mr. Fitbin. It's me, sunks. What's all this about being humiliated and *emasculated? I'll have none of it! You hear? My advice is to grow a nice beard, wolf whistle at anything in a skirt and fart on public transport. I should perhaps inform you that my British Board of Counselling Licence has just been revoked. I suspect I'm just ahead of my time with regards to the advice that I proffer. Tossers. It's good to hear that you are thinking in terms of beginnings. Onwards and upwards and no mistake. Hello?
insert a into b except after tea
*possible typo - immasculated/emasculated?
yes it is a typo, I did use a spellchecker but it gave me some weird 'urban' version.
But I have changed it as it's the Queen's english for me...all the way baby.
I am digging life in my new quayside apartment, but I need more visitors so anyone is welcome for a chat and a spot of tea.
|Even More Pain (posted on: 03-07-09) |
This is becoming a recurring theme. Hopefully I will find some new inspiration.
Well, it's happened again, to little surprise. Entranced by a woman of deep beauty and exotic intrigue. History repeats itself in dark, taunting fashion. As I tumble from an artificial high into the depths of a new low. The Gods sent me what I wished for. Only to snatch her away like a fading dream. A few fleeting moments of honour and dignity. I stole a trophy but lost the ultimate prize. Sensing the truth I meandered morosely 'home'. To find it's not mine and I don't belong there anymore. Truly alone now, as no-one else could compare to her. Stunned by her enigmatic charms, she ticked the boxes I didn't know existed. What becomes of me now I ask? The rebuilding begins again. Up go my walls, taller and stronger than ever before. To meditate behind and philosophise over evermore.
Archived comments for Even More Pain
royrodel on 03-07-2009
Even More Pain
yeah it aint all black and white.
Many thanks for reading and commenting.
It's late and I will be losing my net access for a few days,
but I will be back and ready to rock.
Sunken on 03-07-2009
Even More Pain
It's a cliche to say this, but I'm sure many will relate. ClichΓ©s are clichΓ©s because they're true. Recurring theme or not, you do it very well.
'As I tumble from an artificial high into the depths of a new low.'
Oh yeah. I've so been there. In the end I had it demolished. Tip top my good man, tip top.
This writing lark is a cathartic process isn't it.
I do feel rather better after wearing the inside out, so to speak.
macaby on 04-07-2009
Even More Pain
I liked this, some really good lines, especially these ones:
The Gods sent me what I wished for.
Only to snatch her away like a fading dream.
The last stanza is really good, hope it isn't for "evermore."
Hey, thanks a lot for commenting.
I am really glad you liked it.
Hopefully there will be a sequel with a happy ending.
|Dark Side of the Sun (posted on: 29-06-09) |
This piece is a little experiment in conveying meaning. Please have a read and see if it makes any sense.
Ellavaciously she gazed, looking down from the tower of ivory, loquaciously longing for rescue. Dreaming of a white knight, cynocally he galloped ever nearer, but the angry mob ruled the streets. Fentonal in their ignorant rage, the shattered crystal heart was still beating, deep within her obavescent body. The prophet had been wrong, and the epivary paid a terrible price, as hope and faith lived on forever.
Archived comments for Dark Side of the Sun
Sunken on 02-07-2009
Dark Side of the Sun
Hello again, Mr. Fitbin. It's me, sunks. I have long dreamed of rescuing a fair maiden. The closest I've got so far was when I put out a fire that had started in a neighbours' toaster. Said maiden isn't all that fair though to be honest. In fact she has more stubble than me on her chin (or should I say 'one of her chins'). Not nice. I blame hormone replacement therapy. I hope you're not downhearted by the quietness of planet uka just now. It's a summer thang. Here's hoping that trust and faith will prevail. I is sure it will. A neat piece, my good fellow.
annie get ya rabbit
without you I would be comment-less.
I blame the heat
|Back Underground (posted on: 29-06-09) |
Please have a read and see if you can tell me what it's about? A little insight into my everyday existence?
He takes me to the top of the purple mountain, I begin to scream as my bloated veins bulge. A beautiful voice sings of fear and loathing, but the perfect woman only makes me afraid. Afraid to try, afraid to dare, afraid to taste, why take the first step when you know the future is damned? The asbestos dream gashed his mind as it cascaded through fading memories, a towering pillar of nothingness obscured the view. His flailing legs could not take him away to sanctuary, sinking ever deeper into a pit of dark despair. This dying god wept black tears of molten fire, as his people stopped believing in anything real. Reborn every day into a weaker body, the reek of withering decay burnt every sense. A fading land of forgotten betrayals oozed over the golden horizon, paths of redemption snaked temptingly out of view. Slicing out the rotten pieces of his tortured soul, the fleeting moment finally passed, leaving eternity far behind.
Archived comments for Back Underground
Sunken on 30-06-2009
Blimey, if a man took me to the top of his purple mountain I'd be screaming too, Mr. Fitbin. Why can't I help but read smut into everything? Don't answer that. I fear that too much knowledge can sometimes be a bad thing. I'm lucky in this respect as I know bugger all. It's a funny old world, but I wouldn't want to paint it... I think that's right. Another dark piece that requires further investigation on my part and no mistake. Hello? Thank you. Good day. Isn't it warm?
should have gone to woolies
you are one crazy guy - in a good way though π
You were right to read smut into it, I realised the connotations after I wrote the line and thought 'why not?'.
I might start writing happy poems now,
I think I have nearly got all the darkness out!
|Mirror of God (posted on: 26-06-09) |
This is a fun little ditty that can't fail to warm your cockles
Hate and hate and parasites swimming in my brain Your beauty intoxicated me and hid the truth Never again will I trust or love or feel the embrace Your warm arms made me forget myself Reaching inside me and tearing out my soul The sweet remembrance of your kiss now burns too deep I will kill to forget, I will murder to escape To escape the haunting memory of you Never before have I let down the walls To my white castle of fear Never again will I let anyone inside As the cruel Princess has slain the flawed Knight Just to win the heart of the Dragon Just to carve another meaningless notch I crawl back inside my hermit's cave of solace My sanctum sanctorum hides my shame Hides my guilt and hides my weakness But there I am alone, all alone, alone with myself And must face the broken mirror Dark eyes stare back, mocking and taunting Again I cry, tears of pain, until there is nothing left to feel Dead inside, dead outside, dead to the world
Archived comments for Mirror of God
Sunken on 26-06-2009
Mirror of God
Ahem. That's some kinda sick fun you're having there, Mr. Fitbin.
'Dead inside, dead outside, dead to the world' - I know that feeling well. I blame early mornings and bad dreams. I think I may also blame Gordon Brown too. He gets blamed for everything else, so I'm sure one more thing won't make much of a difference and no mistake to be sure. For this piece I have decided to re-introduce my alternative rating system. I hope this helps. Hello?
Rate: A meal of your choice at any Little Chef restaurant. Well done!
if only parrots could talk...
I will claim my prize on my next Albion-based expedition.
No meat though as I am a pesky vegetarian.
|A Betrayal Deserved (posted on: 26-06-09) |
I hope this piece provokes some feeling and evokes anything but apathy.
With a stake through the heart I die again, the pain is dulled only by the lack of surprise. I knew this was coming, so my tears run dry, aching and yearning my soul dims evermore. The star that shined too brightly, burnt out my eyes, I dared to dream of not being alone. And this weakness has led to my latest torture, my left hand path now snakes before me. As altruism is murdered I laugh inside, the treasure I found proves false. A tarnished legacy of bitterness and lies, But I deserve nothing less for my crimes. Closing my hands around her soft throat, it would be so easy to make that final leap. Into the great abyss, into the cool darkness, What then is left for me? More tears and no hope? Scratching and clawing with your talons of fear, you cut me deep, but I don't bleed like a man. My black heart stopped beating when it was first broken, Everything is taken away from me except my torment.
Archived comments for A Betrayal Deserved
Sunken on 26-06-2009
A Betrayal Deserved
'Everything is taken away from me except my torment.'
A great last line if ever I read one, Mr. Fitbin. A dark and brooding poem that, if I'm being frank, gave me a shudder and no mistake. Hello?
You might be interested to note, by the way, that apathy is alive and sleeping. Do you fancy joining my political party - Apathy UK? We won by a landslide at the recent European election. You don't have to do anything to join. You don't even have to vote (-;
Good to see you subbing again.
Leila on 26-06-2009
A Betrayal Deserved
well fitbin it's a while since you posted and you have retained the dark element to your work, it's certainly not a poem that should evoke apathy in fact it's probably one that will be read several times by most readers- that very interesting title making it worthy of the extra reads and even the reading between the lines...Leila
2 years pass in the blink of an eye,
I've been away in the wilderness for a while.
But it's certainly nice to be back.
Many thanks for the comments Leila.
|Core Belief (posted on: 15-06-07) |
Please enjoy reading this piece. As I enjoyed writing it. Thanks
Marrows and mallows and toasties and loofahs, gilding and guarding and fielding and harking. All of the day is covered in lies, spraying your malice with a splash of perfume. Biting and biting until nothing is left, you drown in the sand and don't seem to care. Where is your life, you just sleep all day long, fighting for nothing and waiting to die. The eternal moment hangs in the air, binding your hands to follow your fate. You cannot wake from the awful dream, stuck in quicksand, impossible to run. You can hear him coming from behind, when fear turns to apathy as cold as stone. The pennies wont pay for your ferry journey, it's too far to get back where you call home. Even though you never truly belonged, an outsider in a cluster of workers. Disinformation spreads like a disease, a cancer of doubt and soiled mistrust. Giving away your soul for the latent power, the garden is rotten and full of the dead. Barely buried in the black earth, the shadows move and stare and whisper. They seem to be saying your name, they want you to join them. All you have to do is tell the truth, But your wicked tongue doesn't know how.
Archived comments for Core Belief
potleek on 15-06-2007
Some how I found myself singing this to a tune from "The sound of music..."These are a few of my favourite things."
Kind of catchy...Tony
You're so right, it was unintended. But it does fit in with the tune.
Thanks for the comment.
royrodel on 16-06-2007
I agree with Tony
I would drop the first verse, it's like it doesn't belong, in this rhyme anyways.
Truly a great read for me.
Thanks a lot for the kind words.
I'm glad you liked it.
I just started doodling and didn't stop, I agree the beginning doesn't really fit.
|The Pacifist's Path (posted on: 10-11-06) |
This is my attempt to produce a nice and pleasing piece of work. Rather than examining the dark and negative aspects that I often focus upon.
Soft warmth of golden summer sun, Healing and soothing the dreaming day. A sacred grove of trees and herbs, With singing birds whistling and gliding. The pacifist knew the truth, And saved all the lucky Aquarians. The animals now could speak, And declared their love for mankind. The henge on the barrow, Dropped a long shadow of cool shade. An oasis of moonlit relief, In the noontide of the forest. The stars spoke in unison, Using the language of the cosmos. Their song was heard by the sleeping Gods, Who looked down upon Terra and smiled. Finally the locked pyramid was opened. The treasure inside was like the essence of water. Peace and joy were alive again, And there was hope to dream once more.
Archived comments for The Pacifist's Path
Apolloneia on 10-11-2006
The Pacifists Path
You have produced a pleasing piece of work, and I saw no dark or negative aspects, so I guess your attempt is successful at least on a personal level, as it seems to be something you really wanted to write.
Thank you Mrs A.
It's nice that what I produced has left a small vibration of positivity.
Sunken on 11-11-2006
The Pacifists Path
I have thing for pyramids. I blame this mainly on the Album by Gary Numan entitled 'The Pleasure Principal'. I am currently constructing one in my back yard from empty weetabix boxes. Only time will tell if my efforts will merit the awe bestowed upon my Egyptian rivals. I hope this helps.
raised on a diet of dust
Thank you Sunken.
I just watched 'The Straight Story', in which a man travels far on his lawnmower to visit his ailing brother.
I recommend it.
scotch on 11-11-2006
The Pacifists Path
oh fitbin it was as positive as the final scenes of Beauty and the Beast production at the grand theatre in Blackpool, well i should say 2nd night as we all had to come back because of many gremlins on opening night and a technical failure in the dying 10 minutes... scotch
It's nice to know I warmed your heart.
|The Elephant's Path (posted on: 03-11-06) |
Please leave a comment for me to digest. I enjoyed this little piece, I wouldn't like to explain what it about as I feel that would spoil it.
Dr X takes over the World from a call centre, Where extinct Vampires are biting themselves. Anubis is rising in my old house, Sex and drugs lie there dead and buried. Love is old and forgotten and hated, World War 3 is over and this time we lost. The Fearophobe cowers in terror from himself, This coward takes up his sceptre and mantle. Proclaiming himself King he promptly abdicates, Leaving an empty empire of degenerate demons. I desperately shake myself to wake up, But I open my eyes only to see the nightmare is real. There must be a beginning, middle and end, But eternity is a moebius cage of perception. What do you do once the illusion disappears? Where is the prestige in bursting the bubble? The answer only leads to another question, Dispirited, the Journeyman follows the Elephant's path.
Archived comments for The Elephant's Path
Sunken on 04-11-2006
The Elephants Path
Hello young Fitbin. It seems rather Orwellian to me. I can't pretend to understand it fully, but anyone can see that it's been written with skill. So are you going to spill the beans at some stage?
he has a peanut up his left nostril
thanks for the comment. I do like Orwell. I've read all of his stuff.
I shy away from explaining anything in case I stunt the creative juices.
But this is about fate and inevitability. The Elephant's path is the journey they take to die.
shadow on 05-11-2006
The Elephants Path
Very intriguing. Like sunk, I can't say I understand what's going on, but I do get the feeling that something is. Anyway I like it.
Many thanks for saying what you thought.
I'm very glad you liked it.
I like to leave the meaning as a bit of a mystery.
But it is does deal with attempting to discover truth through a miasma of deceit.
teifii on 08-11-2006
The Elephants Path
Well, I like it, mystery and all. I found the first verse particularly good but enjoyed all of it. You are right not to explain.
Thanks a lot. I wrote this pretty quickly so I can see a few things I'd like to improve.
I get so little time to myself these days.
|Eternal Cross (posted on: 29-09-06) |
Please muse upon this piece. Leave a comment as I like to see what you think. It is an attempt at a gothic image of tragic romance. Or it might be about something else entirely.
Dead beauty lies before me, A dream murdered by desire. Her hate smiled behind the mask of redemption, Eyes glowing with sinful jealousy. Itching skin flaked off underneath her claws, As the last drop of innocence drained away. The doom was like an endless black pit, The crime feared by the criminal's dark hand. My shadow left me all alone, It could not bear the misery any longer. Tearing away from the blinding light, The shadow plunged into the deep darkness. Hope still remained as I saw a golden rose before me, I grasped it and the jagged thorns cut deep. The pain reminded me that I could still feel, But all the drifting lies drowned my soul forever.
Archived comments for Eternal Cross
Sunken on 01-10-2006
Hello young Fitbin. I must admit, I do like a bit of goth. Some great ideas dotted about in this. Particularly liked -
My shadow left me all alone,
It could not bear the misery any longer
Well bloody done.
sponsored by primate computers
Many thanks for the feedback Sunken.
I was feeling a bit lonely and isolated,
but I can rely on you to give me a nod of encouragement.
|Stained Membrane (posted on: 22-09-06) |
This is a nice little piece that delves into other realms. Please enjoy having a look.
The Unicorn tricked the Dragon into believing he didn't exist, deceiving the souls of great men. Deceased heroes of alchemical beauty drowned as the dead mourned the living. Their organs were ground into rotten dust and smoked in giant pipes of gold. The drug talked to him with a silky rasp. Soothing and coaxing him into obeisance. Dark drums erupted in a crescendo of noise. Lost in a burning maze of confusion, the lamb looked at me with tears of fear. The butcher brought down his great cleaver with a smile. The blood gushed onto his clean, white apron in a sickening squirt. He kicked the severed head onto the pile with all the rest and began searching in earnest for another victim. I turned to run but he grabbed me by the hair and held me down. I closed my eyes yearning for the sweet release, but suddenly a gang of lambs jumped upon his broad, strong back and knocked him to the ground. They started biting and chewing as one, like a shoal of merciless piranha. The frenzy intensified until all the flesh was stripped and only a ghastly skeleton remained. The soft wool of the lamb's coats was stained red from this vicious attack. But violence cannot beget harmony, so the fury remained and the lambs turned on each other. I grew bored of this vision so I decided to be born again. I chose my parents and squeezed through the little hole into the world. The sights and sounds and smells were overwhelming. I was thirsty and began to cry because I felt so helpless and vulnerable. I had forgotten what it was like to be alive and I began to crave the cool serenity of death. Tripping on the acid of reality I suckled on the doped milk of my 'Mother'. I could feel my power ebbing away. The Golden Dawn shone before me. Bathing me in a radiating frequency of colour. This was a test, I was on a quest and I couldn't fail. I greeted the ascended masters and then turned my back on them. I forgot love and compassion and wisdom, I drove a stake through them all. In their place rushed hate, anger and ignorance. It was bliss. It felt so good that it hurt. I sold my soul and began counting the money. The Dragon died of loneliness as the Unicorn wept black tears of thunder.
Archived comments for Stained Membrane
Macjoyce on 04-05-2008
The only stained membrane I know of is a broken hymen.
|New World Order (posted on: 15-05-06) |
This is about a vision of perception running through a feedback loop. I hope you have a look and are interested in the themes and imagery.
Gliding on a vista of tarnished gold, I looked inside and saw a gaping hole. Turning away from the gaze of truth, I told another lie to soothe my soul. The bitter taste of loss stained my mouth. Beyond good and evil I saw God, Alone and mad He stared at the emptiness. His creation was killing Him: suicide by proxy. 'Why was he here?' He contemplated. A fleeting moment of clarity faded like smoke in the wind. The insanity returned as he forgot the answers to every question. A prayer reached him and he cried out in pain because he could do nothing. Looking further, beyond infinity I saw another older figure. He smiled at me and shook his head in quiet sorrow at what God had become. I wanted to ask who he was but he shook his head from side to side and grinned again. 'I am the Abyss' he seemed to say and then fell from view. Was it heaven or Hell that I was in? I couldn't say for sure. Then the very air became alive and began to tremble and quake. With an awful sound of screeching change the sky was torn asunder. The clouds burst into flames and fell to Earth as if great missiles of war. Their black malice was etched across their mocking sneers. The stars exploded in a crescendo of a million colours. I tried to wake from this terrible dream but my dead eyes wouldn't open. My flesh fell away like the breaking of an addiction. Driving away my demons with a greater evil, I died a thousand more deaths. God finally opened his eyes and saw me. But he ran away screaming in horror when he thought I was the devil. A throne of pearls appeared before me. Trying to summon what courage I still had left, I tried to look away, But it was too much to resist and I took my place as cheers echoed around me. You may hate me but I am now your King, So kneel and bow down as a slave to my will. My empty kingdom burnt while I quaffed wine distilled from the souls of cowards. Deja vu washed over me like waves of nausea. 'Had all this happened before?' I tortured all the animals because they couldn't stop me And I was jealous of their contentedness. When they were all dead I had nothing left to do. And so I died for a final time. Death embraced me with her dark beauty in an iron-grip of ice and love. I couldn't see because I was blind. But I could hear the burning and tearing of men's willing bodies. Salvation lurked beneath the cold stones And so I searched hard until it was almost within reach. Only for it to be snatched away by Karma for all my old crimes, Except they were committed long ago by someone else with the same name.
Archived comments for New World Order
Sunken on 15-05-2006
New World Order
Some interesting lines and images in this young Fitbin. Particularly liked the 'suicide by proxy' line.
stacey rarely smiles in public
Thanks for your kind words.
I am pleased with this one as it evokes what I wanted to express.
Who is stacey though?
|The Savage Silence (posted on: 12-05-06) |
Please leave a comment if this piece conjures any thoughts within you. It is something that manifested from my aether. Thank you
All was serene with peace and love providing safe, warm happiness. Goodness ruled the Utopian paradise where souls wished to dream. Nirvana was a magick song of nature's truth. But heaven was an illusionary hologram. The future was the zenith of prayer. Music proved the messiah's treasure and the creation of his wisdom. The legend gave courage to life in a rainbow. But beauty's freedom was locked by karma. The prophet's destiny was hidden on a ship that had already sailed into an ocean of paranoid nothingness. I dared to care for the briefest moment and was consumed by tears. The autocrat was filled with red hate for his people. A shroud of angels covered his awful shame. We are already in hell and it tastes sweet. Thus spoke the revolutionary when the veil was lifted. He was wearing a crimson mask woven from steel. His children were murdered and he was glad because it spared them from further suffering. The mercy of the executioner is an ironic gift. An oxymoron whistled to himself as the Illuminati died. There is no end.
Archived comments for The Savage Silence
AnneB on 12-05-2006
The Savage Silence
Lots of power in this - and the philosophy is very punchy. I'd be tempted to open it out for the reader a little more, as it's very dense. What about couplets? Such as:
All was serene with peace and love providing safe, warm happiness.
Goodness ruled the Utopian paradise where souls wished to dream.
Nirvana was a magick song of natureβs truth
But heaven was an illusionary hologram.
The future was the zenith of prayer
while music proved the messiahβs treasure and the creation of his wisdom.
The legend gave courage to life in a rainbow
but beautyβs freedom was locked by karma.
The prophetβs destiny was hidden on a ship that had already sailed into an ocean of paranoid nothingness.
I dared to care for the briefest moment and was consumed by tears.
The autocrat was filled with red hate for his people.
A shroud of angels covered his awful shame.
We are already in hell and it tastes sweet:
thus spoke the revolutionary when the veil was lifted.
He was wearing a crimson mask woven from steel.
His children were murdered and he was glad because it spared them from further suffering.
The mercy of the executioner is an ironic gift.
An oxymoron whistled to himself as the Illuminati died.
There is no end.
I think that would give it a bit more zing - and I've fiddled about with some of the punctuations too - hope that's okay. Very powerful stuff indeed.
Loads of thanks for the encouragement and suggestions.
It does work better as couplets, it's easier to read and take it in.
I'm so glad you liked it, I have another one ready to submit now.
|Revolution (posted on: 03-02-06) |
Please leave a comment π
Wake up from the American Dream, It's become a fantastic nightmare. No-one even cares enough to lie properly anymore, Who's bothered if they can see the truth? What are they gonna do? Rebel? They're already revolting. The Hawks have taken over. Stomping on the good little guy. The many are herded like sheep. Mewing and bleating at the 'News'. Oh, what an injustice! A weary whale or a bagged baby. Not as awful as genocide but easier to fit into a sound bite. You have such sympathy for the meaningless. But what about the torture and murder that you condone through your inaction, And pay for with your precious taxes? There are no heroes anymore, just a never-ending procession of soul-less politicians. They sold themselves for a bigger slice of cake, But they may just choke on that sweet poison. If the sleeping giant awakens, they will scurry and hide. We let them enslave us, as a fly allows the web to catch it. Wake up and taste a new dream.
Archived comments for Revolution
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|The Phoenix Philosophy (posted on: 03-02-06) |
This is a rambling piece that I wanted to get off my chest. Please leave a comment.
Festooned marrow of arbitrary hope pales and subsides like a receding tide. I hesitate as I dread what you may think of me. 'Is he mad?' you might say. The awkwardness of regret and the finality of grief inhibit my beliefs. Your faith wavers as I cut out the only thing you believed. The warrior within gleams but is forgotten beneath a fall of rotten tears. We are all the prisoners of slaves, locked behind a faηade of lies. You are free to choose whichever cage you like, some are cosier than others. Does the murderer envy his victim or fear him? You open up your insides to heaven but there is no-one to see. God is the guy who hears what you ask but ignores you anyway. He is busy with His own life. It's not easy searching for meaning. Where do you find your father when you made yourself? The cosmic joke isn't funny anymore but you laugh anyway. We were created in His image so we yearn for the same discovery. The frontiers are gone and now there is nowhere to hide. Miracles do happen, but never to you. The blind does block out the sun, but you still see the light. I pity you because you live in the dark, our leaders are evil puppets. Poisoned by the air, water and the very food that is blessed as it eats our insides. A tumour expands through your brain, a sweet dream of sickly summer days. The tree of life was cut down and burnt and nobody cared. The only freedom is in the state of your mind. Anonymity is the curse I crave, to be unseen and safe. But the priest is also the devil and he leads you by the hand into the garden of fire. Your skin is shed as your conscience is soothed. I have every answer but no question is valid. No paradise exists; Utopia is burning as the birds feathers fall out. Who are the people that torture and maim and kill? It's not you or I that would dare do it, they simply follow the orders they hear. The commands are coming from a higher power. Sitting on a mountain of bleeding gold, He ponders. A new way is coming, a horizon that stings your sight. A revolution of thought accompanies the third age. The new world order has died and been buried. Like a phoenix being strangled after rising, the future is dead. God is lost, we are forgotten and the children are forsaken. Like a weeping wound you stare into my soul. There is nothing but a hollow shell of despair that reeks of putrefaction. I die and am born again before your eyes, naked and alone. Where am I you ask? I am at War. And War is Hell!
Archived comments for The Phoenix Philosophy
Romany on 03-02-2006
The Phoenix Philosophy
Very deep and quite difficult to come to grips with. The line that reads 'I pity you because you live in the dark' sounds a td superiror, but I assume that was deliberate, and is the voice of the poem, as it were, rather than your own?
I love the line:
You are free to choose whichever cage you like
How true! And how often do we willingly race in and give the key away before we fully understand the terms of the sentence?
Thanks for your response.
The superior sentiment was indeed the voice of the poem rather than mine.
I'm not sure if it is strictly poetry or if it strays into a strange condemnation or indictment on popular values.
I just like to conjure and play with ideas and images.
|The Tree of Life (posted on: 28-10-05) |
This piece is something I wasn't sure how to categorise. It is about the mind and fate. Please tell me what you think.
He tried to think, but his mind was gone. He wanted to sing but forgot the song. Like the lemming who held on for life. When he needed strength, the weakness came back. The myth was shattered and he lived forever. The androgynous friend he never had, smiled at Bill, Making him weep with guilt. A wave of shame soaked his fragile body And made him think of his family. The house in the country with the tree of evil that tapped at the window. The day he built up the courage to climb it, But he never quite made it back down to earth. The things he saw there would terrify you. Bill begged and pleaded with the tree to release him, But it just laughed and wrapped it's cold, stiff branches ever tighter. His home was never the same after he vanished, so the family left. The Brother came back many times, searching and yelling. Bill cried out, but his throat was full of leaves and his voice was lost in the rustling of the wind. All day, every day he stared at the sky and yearned for salvation. His crime was innocence and the punishment was imaginary. Sleep had been a perfect stranger to him, trapped in that prison of mystery. But he must have finally drifted off when he suddenly awoke, Jolted out of a golden dream by a single rain-drop. Turning around slowly, he looked over his left shoulder and peered at the tree. It seemed lifeless. No hint of the awful malice that had terrorised him forever. The house had gone. The sun was setting as the air thickened in the darkening haze. The brown, autumn leaves whirled around him as he gazed at the endless horizon. There was a chilling silence that hung heavily in the air, Pierced only by the shrill whisper of the wind. It seemed to be speaking to Bill, As he strained to pick out voices and make any sense of it. But this was not a puzzle that was made to be solved. Bill started running; he knew he had to get far away from that tree. He sprinted faster and faster, Spurred on by his fear and the fading memories of the past. Stumbling then falling, he rolled over on the soft, mossy grass. Lifting his head, he looked up and he was back at the tree. He gasped and spun round in circles. How could this be? What madness gripped him now? There was only him and the tree. He reached into his pocket and found his lighter. Bill lit the dry leaves piled around the trunk. They crackled into flame as he gathered more fuel to feed the fire. Black smoke plumed upward as he dumped on more leaves and the burning grew higher. The tree started shaking. First it was the branches, and then it spread down into the roots. Bill fell back aghast as the damp soil was parted by the raising tree. It pulled up out of the ground and ran spasmodically, Trying to extinguish the now blazing inferno that enveloped it. Thrashing and twisting in the flames, The tree keeled over as if felled by an unseen axeman. The smoke billowed up as the tree became ever stiller. Bill walked on without looking back. He saw a light up ahead and veered toward it. He remembered his Mother's words: "You will become the very thing you fear unless you can overcome it. True religion ends everything."
Archived comments for The Tree of Life
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|The Forgotten Poet (posted on: 06-06-05) |
Please read this and leave a comment
Radio 1 Saturday night mix soundtrack Punching your own face in the mirror It's a new invention You discovered that God was the Devil But apologised when you said it. The Mountains of Zion shine down on you The golden aurora runs all night and day. An enigma that can never be solved, Unless you disappear and cross the abyss The Fury of the False Prophet rebels against Nirvana The new Book is being written by Man An Evil that must be overcome, as this act proves that Good exists The forgotten poem that gave you the answer Weeps a flood of invisible envy that drowns you with Love. You listen to the music and do the repetitions and sequences And a flow of energy drives you on into the lonely world. You'd rather be a dream than an Angel I wish I wasn't the Demon but I wear his face. Drinking the blood of the never truly innocent, The electric friend flies in and out of reality. The Zeitgeist that never ends, never really begins either Analyse everything and condense the universe into a single moment We all ascend again, and then he finally spoke to me I heard the message but forgot how to listen The Head reacts to the damage by bruising and bleeding It could be stored in a box and then you fight yourself in a game What are you laughing at, says the nagging voice that always lingers It's a secret I say and swallow another lie that chokes me with the corpse of dead ambition The Nightmare finally dies when I wake. Looking around I shake my head to try and come to my senses. The fog clears and I see a room bathed in an ultraviolent light Banging tunes echoes through my mind, the haunted harmonics of a previous generation The hidden ancient ones do still care, but you must listen hard for their wisdom The bridge that leads to the tree of life is broken and we have have to find another way up The Genesis of an idea that began long ago must become a new age The water tastes of nothing as your guilt builds into a tense static noise You see the notes but never cheat, the meaning is oblique but you still believe I choose a character, one of the New Gods I am infinite knowledge and can travel anywhere But there is an ego, the Angels are pure and the Demons are trying to spoil it all Betrayed by every friend you loved. And when the satellite died a part of him died with it The component that made it all work was removed We all make mistakes, Gods and Men, Us and Them, Me and You, Hate the Truth The rhythm soothes the aching.
Archived comments for The Forgotten Poet
bektron on 2005-06-06 10:57:03
Re: The Forgotten Poet
I really enjoyed this.
'The electric friend flies in and out of reality.'
frenetic and vivid.
tai on 2005-06-06 14:36:36
Re: The Forgotten Poet
A vivid glimpse into the troubled mind of the poet, fitbin, I liked lots of lines but my favorites were,
'And when the satellite died a part of him died with it
The component that made it all work was removed'!
I was once accused of being just a satellite revolving around what was my husbands life. It was only after his death that I realised just how much those words meant. I have stepped to the edge of the abyss your work speaks of, many a time since and poetry has been my saving Tai!
All the best
fitbin on 2005-06-06 15:51:25
Re: The Forgotten Poet
I'm glad you liked it, I opened up wordpad to write down an idea and this poem spewed forth.
It kind of wrote itself.
fitbin on 2005-06-06 15:56:26
Re: The Forgotten Poet
it's weird how different lines can be interpreted.
My satellite was a cherished companion that was taken away from me.
I'm very happy that you got some meaning from this piece.
LenchenElf on 2005-06-07 12:38:08
Re: The Forgotten Poet
So many great images and lines, I wish I'd thought of "ultraviolent light" wow!
all the best
|Deception and Denial (posted on: 22-04-05) |
Please enjoy this and leave a comment.
I haven't been very inspired recently, so I am a bit rusty.
Please give me some metaphorical oil.
As I grasp my magic pen,
The caffeine quickens through my bloated veins.
My fearless leader conjures a cunning thief,
Through traps and secrets he steals.
Until a golden riddle stops him dead,
A ferocious Phoenix rears up and screams.
As I turn and see, I am alone,
The band we had forged is no more.
I drink deeply from the stench of betrayal,
I always suspected the knife in the back,
But somehow it hurt more than I feared.
The nightmare that I couldn't quite remember,
But that still woke me shaking with fear.
I know I must go on, but my legs won't move,
I turn inward and watch my thoughts skip merrily along.
Was there any good left in evil?
Could evil exist without good to turn away from?
Does good create evil merely by existing itself?
The never-ending stone corridor echoes hauntingly with the beat of my steps,
The sound of my heart pounds in my ears.
The waft of sulphur grows stronger,
The pungent odour stings my eyes.
Can I answer the riddle?
If I get it wrong I die.
If I am correct I live forever.
The gatekeeper doesn't ask until you are ready.
I think back upon my life, the bad things and the good.
The pain and suffering has all led to this point,
My sacrifice has been worthwhile.
The Pope is a Nazi and the dictator is a clown,
I got the right answer before I heard the question.
Immortality is mine,
Then I finally see that Eternity is a terrible curse.
I am blind and paralysed,
I can only see death.
I see God's corpse, Man standing over him laughing.
Archived comments for Deception and Denial
Griffonner on 2005-04-22 11:36:14
Re: Deception and Denial
Oh, wow, fitbin! There's a hell of a lot in this, isn't there? I admit - being a dimwit soul - that I am still trying to conjur up a satisfactory thesis for this in its entirety. However, my attention remains on those questions in the 2nd stanza... and for my two pennyworth the answer is that in everything there is a balance - an alternate side. (I shall be here on and off all day delving into this, I reckon.) Kind regards, Griffonner
fitbin on 2005-04-22 13:44:56
Re: Deception and Denial
Thanks a lot for taking the time to comment.
I'm glad you got something out of this.
So if everything has it's balancing contrast, then there are no absolutes. Good and evil are the same thing, parts of a larger whole?
|Possession (posted on: 11-03-05) |
This is a piece about what I feel sometimes happens to me.
Please enjoy it and leave a comment.
I look up at the light,
From the bottom of this black pit of despair.
Tapping the vein of salacious thought,
My ego is mesmerised by the lure of the dark side.
I crave the saccharin sweetness of the Demon's acrid breath,
Only in his embrace do I become truly alive.
The pretense of goodness and normality,
Is shed like a snake's aging skin.
The truth is revealed in violent fashion,
I delight in the freedom and revel in the evil pleasure.
Why fight a battle you cannot win?
The cosmic see-saw sways precariously,
From one extreme to another, as the polar opposites struggle.
The spectrum fights itself,
Struggling in a great circle of futility.
The Gods look on as eternity unfolds,
They weep an ocean of glittering stars.
My rage is satiated and a wave of calm flows over my soul,
As I ponder what I've done, I gaze at the ancients and see they are no more.
Their shouts were whispers, and their desires were dreams,
The taunts and urgings were the talk of mere statues.
I see the night and wish it would swallow me,
As it did to all my victims.
The redemption is there before me,
Appearing as a golden grail, encrusted with broken jewels.
All I need to do is reach out,
And it will be mine - Salvation!
Just a moment of hope before it is snatched away,
As I see the chalice crumble to dust.
The hate wells within me,
As a palpable entity,
And it begins again.
Archived comments for Possession
tai on 2005-03-13 13:14:25
hi fitbin I really enjoyed the honesty in this piece of yours. The devil has a strong grip, I'm sure we all feel like this at some time or another. The thing is, When in doubt, do nothing! Could save a lot of misery in the long run.
All the best
tai on 2005-03-13 13:15:27
by the way that 9 is from me!lol
fitbin on 2005-03-17 18:13:00
thanks a lot,
I'm glad you both liked it.
I shouldn't have described it as how I actually feel.
I was just exploring the darker side of my thoughts.
One day I might write a poem about nice things.
But that's not as much fun.
|Fearsome Vision (posted on: 28-01-05) |
A piece that looks at the mind of a tortured soul.
Please give me any feedback.
I look more at content than presentation, so I would like any ideas on how to improve this aspect.
His mind was locked in a Faraday cage,
Oblivious to all save his own awful rage.
No drugs could penetrate the violent mesh,
A criminal of thought with diseased flesh.
The sobriety of tranquility was purged by fire,
No freedom of will or movement of ire.
When along came a gunman to put you to bed,
He fired a lone blank and shot you stone dead.
A riddle of fortune rubbed the wrong way,
A kaleidoscope of colour all happy and gay.
Not seeing or hearing but knowing all sin,
A bearded monstrosity unfettered by skin.
My reason is logic and your compulsion is fear,
You run in circles when the beast draws near.
Never clearing your mind of junk and rot,
It seethes and bloats 'til think you cannot.
I carve my name in your warped lonely face,
Your blood runs cold as I fall from grace.
Archived comments for Fearsome Vision
Penprince on 2005-01-28 15:33:54
Re: Fearsome Vision
Very powerful insights in this excellent poem...
chrissy on 2005-01-28 17:12:46
Re: Fearsome Vision
Very powerful and quite disturbing.
I'm a bit of a duffer at presentation meself so I can't really say much beyond try it without the caps for every line especially where you've got a comma at the end of the preceding line. Far as I can remember from school, and that's a really long time ago, caps go after full stops.
As for the content, brilliant, really strong stuff.
Kat on 2005-01-29 16:57:29
Re: Fearsome Vision
The rhythm seems to work pretty well and the content is certainly food for thought. A good write.
fitbin on 2005-02-04 16:42:35
Re: Fearsome Vision
Thanks a lot for the nice words.
I am quite happy with this piece.
I write rather quickly, this one took about 5 minutes.
I'd be interested to hear how long other people spend producing their stuff as a comparison.
|Essential reading (posted on: 14-01-05) |
Please read this and leave a comment,
then read my other items.
Thank you very much.
This is about a lost land of fantastic proportions.
Gazing upon the majesty of Lemuria, I wander through crystal halls in awe. A forgotten dream of utopian splendour, The zenith of Terra, with a fractured fate. A doomed destiny, to die and be lost, A memory of perfection to inspire the will. When the deity is alive, truth is pure, But purity is corrupt and now we fade. I see a King with a crown of spirit, And a court of wisdom, clothed in knowledge. A regal vision on a summit of salvation, Treachery and vitriol appeared in the scrying pool. The oracle whispered a warning of destruction, Unheeded by all except the unseen. In a temple of gold, the dead fruit waited, For the sacred ground to swallow paradise. An evil eye watched, praying for damnation, The malevolent miracle exploded in fury. A wave of mutilation washed over the island, Sinking slowly, the land was gone forever. Leaving a well of tortured tears, And a haunted nightmare where the future is wrong.
Archived comments for Essential reading
deepoceanfish2 on 2005-01-14 11:58:54
Re: Essential reading
First time reading your work, I believe. A nice take on the Atlantean myth. May I suggest breaking this into several verses? I think it will be more impacting this way. It may also give you a clearer view of some bits which may be eliminated, as just a bit much; that is, tighten the format a bit for clarity. Otherwise, very nicely done IMO. I look forward to reading more of your work.
MiddleEarthNet on 2005-01-14 13:23:42
Re: Essential reading
I enjoyed reading this. I don't really know what in particular I liked, perhaps just the idea. I liked the way it gradually changed throughtout the poem.
fitbin on 2005-01-25 10:54:35
Re: Essential reading
Thank you kindly for your comments.
I agree it would be much more digestible in smaller chunks.
I tend to just leave something alone once I have created it.
But I do want to increase the impact, so some judicious editing would be beneficial.
fitbin on 2005-01-25 10:59:14
Re: Essential reading
Thanks for taking the time to leave a message.
I wanted to explore this theme for a while.
I may come to back to it again another time.
|Lucid Memory (posted on: 26-11-04) |
Please leave a comment if you can.
I love getting any feedback.
This piece encapsulates how I feel at the moment
A buzzing wall of white noise drains my mind of clarity.
I feel gravity pulling me inexorably down.
My energy is sapped, enfeebling this degraded body of dry softness.
I hate the unbreakable cage around my intellectual spirit.
The cosmic brilliance is tarnished by rotten flesh.
I yearn to set my soul free from the tyranny of physicality.
Tired and sick becomes sick and tired.
Thick fog flows around me, engulfing my limbs in sticky foam.
My hands twitch as I pick at my skin until it bleeds.
A heartbeat bangs heavily like a hammer striking a drum.
The taste of acidic metal fills the back of my throat.
Retching and retching but nothing will come.
I want to spew forth the disease, but it is part of me.
My nails are bitten down to the bone.
I like the stinging pain. It comforts me as I gnaw my skin.
The colour of darkness burns my senses,
Leaving a cauterised vision of loneliness and frustration.
I fear the exposure of my powers.
I look into my magic bag and finally see that it's empty.
I begin to scream and cannot stop.
I come to the realisation that I am the demon who possesses me.
Archived comments for Lucid Memory
royrodel on 2004-11-27 12:22:08
Re: Lucid Memory
This is brilliant, in my opinion the best post out of the 50 posted this weekend.It is, if I may be so bold, very Pink Floydish.Pure genius. It's because of posts like this that I visit this site.
fitbin on 2004-11-27 16:25:27
Re: Lucid Memory
Thank you very much for your kind words.
I feel quite chuffed now.
Sunken on 2004-11-28 05:29:18
Re: Lucid Memory
You just need to work on your self belief Fitbin (I need to practice what I preach.) This is another excellent piece. Highlighting just one line is pretty much impossible. It's good to see you posting. People won't hold the fact that you are in I.T. over you (-; Take care and keep em coming. To my warped mind this deserves more comment than it's received. Keep at it, you obviously have a talent.
fitbin on 2004-11-29 05:08:55
Re: Lucid Memory
it's funny that I find it much easier to write the piece than to think of something to say in my responses.
I think it's because I am so anti-social and just like to lose myself in a dream-world.
But I do appreciate you taking the time to let me know your thoughts.
Being in I.T. is actually pretty convenient coz it means there isn't much real work to do, leaving plenty of time to write.
|Humans (posted on: 19-11-04) |
I have been lacking inspiration for a while.
So I am quite pleased to have vomitted up this piece.
I hate them. I pity them. I was human once. My perfect body was mad, Driven so by the remnants of your cells. With expert pruning I was modified. A change for the better, A heart of fury was pacified. I stand before you An altogether better man. What you see should not terrify you, My image was made to disarm you. Trust me, for within my words paradise lies, Follow my path and I can save you. My flock is scattered, Alone, scared and oh so vulnerable. My eyes well up with burning tears, I weep a torrent of naked fire. The spirit I once had drips away, Leaving the soft cage of poison. The monolith towers above, reaching into space, If I move it will fall and crush me. The sunlight gently warms my face, As I become another ghostly statue. A captive in a beautiful prison, The clouds part and I see the truth.
Archived comments for Humans
Skeeter on 2004-11-19 19:38:11
I like this very much. To me it has passion and honesty, without which any writing is nothing. I like 'the soft cage of poison' especially.
Sunken on 2004-11-20 14:25:38
Young Skeeter beat me to it! I love that line too. You should force yourself to vomit more often young Fitbin. Well done on a passionate write.
fitbin on 2004-11-21 08:25:23
I appreciate your comments.
I enjoyed writing this, I need to get in the zone more often.
|A quiet moment (posted on: 13-09-04) |
I leave it to the reader to interpret meaning.
This piece comes from my mind.
Please enjoy it and comment if you can.
I listened to a haunted melody of gold,
My mind was distracted by the tune.
I tried to concentrate on less important things,
But he kept calling me back.
Back toward the old sounds of death.
I wanted to create something new,
But all I could do was destroy something beautiful.
Anger and frustration grasped each other's sinewy hands,
Double-teaming me into submission.
When does fear turn into cowardice?
Is it when the song ends and you keep on singing?
Or maybe when the Dove hides the olive branch,
Rather than lead man out of the water.
I dreamed of an antediluvian wave,
Drowning my sorrows in a tempest of colours.
My soul was cleansed of all but it's darkest horrors.
Only my face remained, with it's hollow smile.
But don't cry for me please, my eyes are already closed.
Archived comments for A quiet moment
Bradene on 2004-09-13 06:56:13
Re: A quiet moment
I tuned into this, if my interpretation of it is correct it is a phase I am currently going through, how old are you? am I late or are you early? Val x
fitbin on 2004-09-13 08:43:08
Re: A quiet moment
Thank you for your words.
I recently turned 28, so I am quite early.
It may be a phase, or just a new way of thinking.
Penprince on 2004-09-13 22:30:46
Re: A quiet moment
I was kinda interpreting as an image of "cruelty and cowardice go hand in hand"...but found some excellent change in motif, especially when POV shifts in L 10 and reader is kinda detached and ends inside the poem at the end.
I liked the concept, but feel that you can tighten up a bit...especially after L12 and before L8...
pencilcase on 2004-09-14 07:19:30
Re: A quiet moment
I can't quite work this out, but, as has been commented already, it definitely has the feeling of being drug-induced. I found several lines really interesting and expressive of creative notions: especially the imaginative concept of the dove hiding the olive branch.
Certainly an interesting read!
fitbin on 2004-09-14 08:27:05
Re: A quiet moment
thanks for all the comments.
I am a bit surprised by the 'drug-induced' aspect.
It wasn't written under the influence, I was actually at work.
This is what my mind is like under normal conditions.
deepoceanfish2 on 2004-09-16 08:39:21
Re: A quiet moment
A lyrical piece. I especially liked:
'Anger and frustration grasped each other's sinewy hands, '
|Satire part 2 (posted on: 03-09-04) |
Please leave any feedback, comments or harsh words.
I would greatly appreciate this.
Tony, Tony, you have such a big smile, But if you came calling I'd run a mile. You charmed your way into our hearts, Lying and scheming are your special arts. You promised us all a fresh, happy start, With slime and sleaze playing no part. But new Labour just isn't working, The same old spin keeps on turning. You sold your only soul to the devil, And now our fate lies in awful peril!
Archived comments for Satire part 2
silentmemories on 2004-09-03 02:06:58
Re: Satire part 2
No harsh words from me. This is quite good.
JeffDray on 2004-09-03 14:41:36
Re: Satire part 2
How dare you besmirch the name of one of the finest leaders this country has ever known, at least since the last one.
Teflon Tony walks on water, his pooh smells of flowers and his touch can heal lepers. You should be flogged at the village pump, then crucified, if only we could afford the wood after all the tax rises.
Remember: "Education, Education, Education" and "Tough on Crime and Tough on the Causes of Crime." not to mention "WE will not increase taxes"
The phrase you are searching for is "Lying Shit"
joia on 2004-09-04 11:35:38
Re: Satire part 2
Very interesting poem, a duck in peacock's clothing. His fallen tail feathers reveal, and it's obvious, so why would your fate lie in peril from him now? The rhyme is good and the rhythm flows, but the last line confuses me, but then I am easily confused ;D joia
Penprince on 2004-09-05 08:23:47
Re: Satire part 2
fitbin on 2004-09-06 09:27:06
Re: Satire part 2
Thanks a lot for all the great feedback.
The peril I am referring to is international terrorism,
caused by Tony's support of that evil war criminal George W Bush!
fitbin on 2004-09-06 09:33:06
Re: Satire part 2
This poem is a sequel to the George W Bush piece.
The last line doesn't fit as well as I hoped, I need to modify it a bit.
|A man despised (posted on: 13-08-04) |
This is a little piece that I am quite happy with.
Please leave a comment.
His ignorance was truly bliss,
A Christmas bonus for the Devil's kiss.
His wide and smarmy evil grin,
Could not hide the eyes of sin.
He lies and lies and laughs along,
As the weakest are murdered by the strong.
Innocents die in flames and smoke,
But to this demon it's all a joke.
He does it because he is ordered,
Not caring about who is slaughtered.
This puppet is in such an awful rush,
To destroy everything in the name of Bush!
Archived comments for A man despised
Skeeter on 2004-08-14 07:11:56
Re: A man despised
Yes, well I'm another who has no time for and no respect for Mr B. and the way he and his cronies do things. They don't appear to have any values at all, except for themselves. Well done, enjoyed it.
Bradene on 2004-08-15 06:51:31
Re: A man despised
Wonderful poem Fitbin. Why it hasn't had more feedback I cannot imagine. One I wish I had written myself. Love Val x
fitbin on 2004-08-18 05:48:44
Re: A man despised
It's great to see some comments.
I will work on a sequel that includes our very own Tony!
|A poem for Someone (posted on: 09-08-04) |
Please leave a comment if you read this. Even if it's to say how much you hated it π
In an old barrel of mead,
I saw all my evil deeds.
With grave-stones cold as fear,
when my fate was sealed clear.
I wished for another final chance,
but all I got was a deathly dance.
You like to speak in riddles
but all you confuse is yourself.
When you spin your webs of doom
the confusion fills the buried room.
Analyse my facade of tacticality
I never liked lies or unreality.
Archived comments for A poem for Someone
Pioden on 2004-08-09 03:21:08
Re: A poem for Someone
Why should you need a comment?
This poem says what you want it to say and it says it very well ...
As you undress the words
spoken in riddles
you hold the reality
dressed in tactile evasion
for you chase not a dream
but your own mortality
(sorry but your poem is one that leads to inspiration)
fitbin on 2004-08-09 04:08:02
Re: A poem for Someone
Thanks. I appreciate it.
fitbin on 2004-08-09 04:09:43
Re: A poem for Someone
I just got jealous because everyone else seems to get comments left for them!
I prefer yours to mine,
I'm glad it provided some inspiration.
bluepootle on 2004-08-09 04:18:04
Re: A poem for Someone
It didn't do a lot for me, fitbin - but I do have a problem with rhyming poetry which makes me hideously unfit to comment, so usually I wouldn't. Only to let you know I have read it, and if this is any help at all, I thought lines 7 and 8 appealed more to me and would be a good ending point if you were thinking of rejigging. Sorry.
Pioden on 2004-08-09 04:22:34
Re: A poem for Someone
Thats quite understandable - some like some don't luckily we can't all be the same - a good poem inspires - reaches to your reader - but that's just my take on what I enjoy about poetry not everyone is or has the same point of view
fitbin on 2004-08-09 04:35:25
Re: A poem for Someone
I did it very quickly, so I may go back and try to make some improvements.
Gerry on 2004-08-09 05:07:37
Re: A poem for Someone
Fitbin, I am not qualified to offer critique, however this poem is as good as a lot of stuff on here lol.
By the way change the genre from Fiction to poetry, it's in the wrong slot.
fitbin on 2004-08-09 07:08:44
Re: A poem for Someone
I am not very happy with this piece.
I am just expunging the flotsam, to try and get down to the relevant and interesting.
I hope it's down there somewhere!
silentmemories on 2004-08-09 12:00:39
Re: A poem for Someone
I agree with Gerry who said that this poem is as good as a lot of stuff on here, and I agree and like with what you said about lies and unreality, which means I liked the ending a lot.
neil2 on 2004-08-10 15:30:21
Re: A poem for Someone
I don't like it all that much, although I must say I've read a lot worse, and at least it's trying to say something. The rhyme's a bit clunky, and two lines in the middle don't rhyme at all. Then why "a barrel of mead", is this just because it rhymes with "deeds"?
The poem doesn't NEED to rhyme, and I wonder if as in the above you've sacrificed meaning for rhyme. Don't be discouraged though, especially if you're just beginning to write; try and read a lot more poetry to see what works and what doesn't. Good luck!
fitbin on 2004-08-11 04:17:13
Re: A poem for Someone
thanks for commenting.
I will peruse some of your work now.
rex on 2004-08-11 13:56:29
Re: A poem for Someone
There is a cliche in Africa, 'it takes a thief to tail a thief. Such poems as this can only be concieved of by web spinners being talked about. The poem sound too real, and feels too near for a spinner without an actual experience. Good work man. And about liking you, who cares? Your work is super though. More than i can say of many folks.
fitbin on 2004-08-12 09:23:57
Re: A poem for Someone
Thank you for the kind words.
I am surprised that this piece is getting so many hits. I'm glad but it's also a shame because I prefer the others that have been read a lot less.
Bradene on 2004-08-12 12:11:24
Re: A poem for Someone
I like all kinds of poetry rhyming or otherwise, but the content should never be sacrificed for the sake of the Rhyme, my yardstick too is if it flows easily off the tongue then you are somewhere about there, The eighth and ninth lines I had a problem with, but I liked it on the whole. Love Val x
Claire on 2004-08-12 17:01:26
Re: A poem for Someone
Hi there, you had commented on my piece so I decided to return the favour.
Right, first of all I am no poet. I have twiddled a bit trying to do some, but they were not any good. I do however read poetry, well I have been these past few months.
I quite liked this a lot, even though the rhyming did seem to be forced. The content is fine to me. How about changing all of the last words on each line so that they do not rhyme, just a thought!
Oh and by the way, I noticed you are a fellow Geordie too pleased to meet you.
e-griff on 2004-08-15 12:38:05
Re: A poem for Someone
reading the comments and looking at the scores, I felt as if I had stepped into some alternate universe. Is there an in-joke I missed here?
I do think that people who post and invite views here should receive, in return, polite, helpful and honest views that help them improve and grow, otherwise what IS the point?
I will PM my views, and encouragement, to fitbin, respectfully. JohnG
pullmyhair on 2004-08-15 13:43:16
Re: A poem for Someone
Hey fitbin. Like bluepootle, I'm not too good with most rhyming poetry, but not completely averse (I love a good villanelle). I reckon one thing you could look at is writing it out again but not trying to rhyme it precisely. Try two versions. One where you forget the rhyme altogether and write the word that comes most naturally to you for each line-break and two, a version with half-rhymes. Once you loosen up the rhyme scheme a bit, you'll find it easier to write without restriction and so say precisely what you mean in a more liberated manner. The form at the moment feels a little too forced.
I do like images like "buried room" and the last line in particular (the penultimate line, "Analyse my facade of tacticality" is a little clumsy, mainly due to the phenomenal syllable count - a risk you were brave to take, even if it didn't quite come off for me) is a corker. You have good sketching skills, so go wild with the colour! Experiment and abandon the rules! Best of luck! pmh x
|Aghast reptile (posted on: 06-08-04) |
Don't ask any questions if you fear the truth.
My mind will destroy you, if you look through painful eyes.
I want to explain my motives. Listen to me with your third eye. Boredom is the brother of intellectual capitulation. I fear the loss of self although I crave it maybe I aim for it by proxy. I want you to shut up and listen. An evil glance and sneer wave over your eyes. Lies and deceit shower down from my spewing maw. A potential unrealised is bitter-sweet. Proclaimed a genius, revered as Saviour, Exposed as a fool and killed as vermin. My ideas are pure, my mind is cloudy. I want a clean slate to desecrate. You look into a starless sky. Purples and browns and blues are dark above. Under the broken bridge a train of thought races driverless. I want you to kill me but it will not be the end. How can you stop eternity? A secret and a mystery float on the bloated wind. If everything is one then who am I? Am I everything? Then who is everyone else? Am I them? The scales of justice weigh heavily. It is an awful burden to condemn reality.
Archived comments for Aghast reptile
Sunken on 15-02-2007
Hello young Fitbin. I'm amazed this never got a comment. Some great line, I especially like -
I want a clean slate to desecrate.
That's one of those lines I wish I'd write. Top stuff.
|Beams of truth (posted on: 09-02-04) |
Read it and please give me your response. This piece is my attempt to convey a sense of the wilderness and the fantastic.
Jaundiced hope of perfect colour, My life fades from your mind, Leaving a bitter taste of rot, Believe in nothing and die, Feel agony and be released, Your burning desire to live, Cannot combine with abject fear, I avoid your piercing gaze, A golden fruit of brilliance, Floating on a silken lake of dreams, We don't like to think anymore, Frozen trees fail to grow, A wish for paradise ends in betrayal, The tower of power lies here, You walk through valleys of green, Lost perfection follows you home, A mocking spirit laughs once, Visions of numbers rain down, The end of the old beginning, Rings false as a broken tear.
Archived comments for Beams of truth
Pilgermann on 2004-07-20 17:01:50
Re: Beams of truth
I could not weep. You have written poetry, just needs to be polished. A gem in the making.
fitbin on 2004-08-11 08:05:04
Re: Beams of truth
Thank you so much.
I will think about what alterations I can make.
AnthonyEvans on 2004-12-26 15:21:53
Lack of Ability
just been reading a bunch of your stuff, well, I'm working from bottom up so you may have more of an idea where I am than I have.
but that comment of yours: 'read it and weep at my lack of ability.' well, I was just thinking, maybe that is what is lacking, this human element or rather the 'I', perhaps your stuff is a tad impersonal, a touch bombastic, just a thought.
another one is put your poetry in poetry, not in horror. best wishes, anthony
fitbin on 2005-01-04 17:50:45
Re: Lack of Ability
Thanks for the response.
Yes you are right there aren't really any identifiable characters to make a connection with the audience.
I could have more of an affect by expressing through someone who the reader can associate and sympathise with.
I will have a go when I write a new piece.
Cheers for the thoughts.
|Utter Lunacy (posted on: 30-01-04) |
Please read this and comment. I appreciate all feedback. I wish I had more time to write.
I think time is now my most precious commodity.
After money of course!
I can't pay my mortgage with time!
The folly of fools is a furious feature
One man's dye is another man's bleacher
One last laugh is good for the goose
A quart of oil for the hangman's noose
Seven friends all in the air
A wooden brush for hedgehog's hair
Too many broth's spoil the cook
How many authors write the book
Various spoons in the drawer
Can anybody remember the score
I am thirsty I am starving
The gypsy smashed the sculptor's carving
How many cheeses in the shop
Catch the flea on the hop!
Archived comments for Utter Lunacy
Sabrina on 2004-02-05 21:56:24
Re: Utter Lunacy
I keep coming back to this wanting to make a comment, and a positive one, because, these witty lines are obviously the work of an intelligent life form. But all I read are witty lines and they do not tie in to any great Aha! Witty lines are terrific on the front of cooks aprons or those wall hangings (like the one about the Scots) I don't recognize very many of these witicisms, perhaps they are some sort of regional colloquialism. And remember that artists need day jobs, don't quit yours!
fitbin on 2004-02-07 20:39:32
Re: Utter Lunacy
Thanks for the comments. It's wonderful to get feedback. It is more of a play around with images and phrases, than an attempt to convey a specific message. It does relate to reality but my own personal world rather than the external common ground.
Don't quit my day job?....ouch π
Sabrina on 2004-02-26 00:00:39
Re: Utter Lunacy
be gentle, we, none of us I think, make a living solely on our writing!
fitbin on 2004-03-13 19:04:30
Re: Utter Lunacy
Thanks. I wasn't being dodgy.
I appreciate the feedback.
I would love to give up my job and write on a deserted beach, with a palm tree shading me.
Surrounded by coconuts and pineapples.
|Brilliantine failure (posted on: 30-01-04) |
This is a very rough draft that I haven't had time to tidy up. I hope to finish the story sometime. Please comment and give me some encouragement or criticism.
Greg strained to pick out any recognisable noises from the background din. Voices, words, fragments of conversation forcing themselves into his mind. Insisting on being heard, but resisting any attempt to decipher or understand. The bright, blue light was there again bathing the surroundings with an azure hue. He no longer knew if it was in his mind or if it was really there, was there any difference?
The last pill was beginning to wear off, that seemed to be happening a lot more recently. Greg reached into his cold pocket for the familiar brown bottle. Shock. Horror. It was gone! The one thing that gave him comfort and solace . The only sanity-keeper he had left had disappeared.
He shot up out of his chair. Spinning around he tried to take in his surroundings. The more he tried to focus, the more blurred his vision was. Panic began to set in. His mind raced, "where the hell am I ? How did I get here ? Pills, I must have pills !"
He tried to walk and realised he didn't know how. He felt the temperature begin to rise. The terrible sensation began to return. It was a horrible feeling and it was what Greg feared the most. Sweat began to run down his forehead. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he had to do something quickly, But what?
Straining his eyes, he started to focus. The room was dark. Murky sunlight filtered through tattered blinds.
Then it hit him, the pain shot through his body like electricity , jarring every cell. He fell to the ground exhausted. Gazing up he saw a small hovering shadow. It was Bob!
"Well now Boyo" explained Bob in his thick Irish accent. "You are in trouble again. What would you do without your old pal."
Greg was aghast, he hadn't seen Bob since he'd started taking the red and yellow pills and he had actually forgotten what he looked like. His short,curly ginger hair; tall green hat; rosy, freckled cheeks and large bright teeth chilled Greg deeply. The past trickled into his tortured mind.
Glimpses merged together producing pictures and scenes that had been buried for many long years, perhaps too long! Tears streamed down Greg's face "Bob I had nearly forgotten you" he cried.
"Ah, don't worry my lad, we all forget in the end. The main thing is, I am here now. They tried to make me go away, but I am back.
Eeh. I've missed you Greggy boy, look at you now, you haven't half changed. Seems like I am back just in time."
Greg thought back about how different he now was. His youthful vigour and energy were long gone. The naive optimism was dead, his haggard face betrayed the death of his soul. The flame of Greg had been snuffed out! But Bob was truly a fiery character.
"Okay then chappy, first things first, we have to get you out of this place."
Slowly Greg got to his feet, he stared at Bob who was floating directly in front of him. Greg thought back to his childhood, when it was only him who could see Bob; and he would always get the blame for carrying out Bob's urgings.Like the time when he was told to cut off Mary Samson's hair while she was asleep. He received a sound thrashing for that jape and it wasn't even his idea.
Bob's long green coat flickered. A strange, dark light emanated from inside. It was coming from Bob's magic pocket. The one he could pull anything out of.
Greg felt a strange pressure building within his chest, his stomach churned and he suddenly vomited. The force flung Bob against the wall hitting it with an almighty thud. The foul-smelling blue liquid oozed down Bob's face, he slumped against the wall moaning.
"Ye eedjit whit did ye do thet fer."
"Sorry Bob, it must have been that kebab I ate for breakfast."
"I've been away a while pally,but I'm sure that they don't make blue kebabs."
The telephone rang. Greg wiped his mouth on his sleeve and answered.
"Yes" he said weakly.
"Greg. Where have you been, we are waiting."
It was Trish. Just hearing her voice sent his mind tumbling back in time once more. His father's words rang through his ear's " a boy needs discipline!"
Always the same phrase, always the same beating.
But Greg would never let his father hurt his sister. So when he saw the bruises on Trish he asked Bob to punish him. Bob killed Greg's father that day and nothing has been the same since.
"Sorry Trish, but it's happening again."
"Oh my God." Trish slammed the phone down and Greg hoped that Bob wouldn't have to visit her too.
"Oh maybe I will" said Bob.
Greg remembered Bob often knew what he was thinking.
"I could fix her for you my lad."
Bob reached into his magic pocket and drew out a gleaming butcher's knife.His mind flashed back to what Bob did to his mother with the same knife.That was another episode that the pills had nearly made him forget.
The doctor had said he must never stop taking them. There could be fatal side-effects if the dosage ceased.
But once again Bob read Greg's mind like an open book.
"Doctors! Doctors! You shouldn't listen to them." Bob cried frantically.
"And as fer ya Mammy, well you know she was the one who tried to get rid of me in the beginning."
Then suddenly Greg saw the pills on top of the bookcase. With a hideous shriek Bob sped through the air, grabbing the bottle just as Greg made a lunge.
"Give them to me Bob. Now !"
"He he. You don't really want these. They dull your mind. They fear you because of what you can do. That's why they want to control you."
"Who are you talking about Bob."
"You really are messed up laddy, if you've forgotten."
"Bob. I might die if I don't take those."
"Greggy you will be killed if you do !"
"Is that why you have come back?"
"I am here to save you Gregory Douglas Windham. From your enemies. And yourself !"
"The pills Bob !"
"You have forced my hand, chum. Now I have to prove myself !"
Bob ripped off the cap and tipped the contents into his mouth. He swallowed with a large gulp.His eyes rolled upwards and he began to sway. The darklight shimmered and then snuffed out. Bob fell from the air. Greg dived to catch his oldest, best, only friend.
"Bob what have you done."
"Greggy I had to show you, your importance. I had to show you I was sincere."
Bob reached into his magic pocket for a remedy. His shaking hand scrabbled around desperately, but when he brought it out, there was nothing. The colour drained from Bob's face.
"What's happened, my pocket is empty. Help me Greg."
"Tell me what to do. I don't know what to do !"
Bob was frothing at the mouth, he was emitting a low gurgle.Tears were streaming down both their faces.
Dr Coleman. He would know what to do. The man who had given Greg the pills must know how to treat an overdose. Greg called on his mobile, after two rings the Doctor answered.
"Doc. What can I do. I' ve taken the whole bottle !"
"Greg. Stay there. Listen to me, don't leave. I will be straight round, you......."
The phone was knocked violently out of his hand. It was Bob !
"No Greg. He is one of them. We must get away."
"We can meet Trish. She will help us."
"Greg. You have been set-up. Trish is the one who watches you !"
Greg's mind was reeling, his whole world was coming down around him.
"I know somewhere we can be safe, but we must go now !" choked Bob.
Gently he picked up Bob, folding his coat around him. He was much heavier than he would have guessed. And he looked much older now.
Greg raced out the door, bounding past the broken elevator he ran down the first of many flights of stairs.
He was used to the old, musty smell of the building . It seemed to comfort him in a way. The torn, brown wallpaper peeling off the wall had endeared the place to him. But he did always have the feeling he was being watched. The dimly-lit landings passed by in a blur. Greg's gaze was fixed on Bob, he was shrinking. His little pot-belly and chubby cheeks were getting thinner as he watched.
"Bob, where are we going ?"
"We must get to the park, the McMahon Park, Greg."
"Are you sure. What is there ?"
Bob was coughing and wheezing. Greg could feel him getting lighter. As Greg reached the ground floor he was about to turn the corner into the foyer , when the double doors burst open and in strode Doctor Coleman. Greg almost called for help but he froze when he saw the group of dark-suited, ominous looking men following his once trusted physician. Bob had been right. Greg was shaking with anger. All those lies he had been told and he had foolishly believed them.
The front would be guarded now, so Greg knew he had to get out another way.
The fire-exit across the foyer was his only chance. But could he cross the exposed room unseen?
Greg cradled Bob in his arms and ran. The dark hall was covered with the remains of a plush maroon carpet. The echoes of Greg's frantic paces were muffled, leaving Bob's laboured wheezing plain to hear. The thick grime on the windows of the door shielded him from any prying eyes. He braced himself to charge through the fire-exit.
As the door got to halfway open it suddenly hit resistance. Greg pushed through and saw on the ground, one of the dark-suited agents.
They were both frozen with fear. The man gazed up, his mouth gaping open. Then Greg realised he wasn't the subject of his stare.
It was Bob!
He could see Bob!
All the drugs and therapies, hypnosis; so much testing, all to stop him seeing an imaginary friend.
And now this unknown agent could see him too.
What did this mean?
Had he never been mad in the first place?
"Kill him !" croaked Bob.
The man's eyes opened even wider. Now he looked at Greg, but Greg was looking inside himself.
Bob had entered his mind.
He said it was time to unlock the cage.
It was time to release the beast
Bob was holding a large, golden key. A lock appeared before him. The key slid inside and turned. With every turn Greg's mind collapsed.
Memories, perspectives;his and other's totally foreign all spinning together. Colours he had never seen before, beams of light infused with knowledge.
Intense pain numbing and jabbing. Confusion was searing his brain. Thoughts were spinning faster and faster. A fearful shrieking crackled everywhere.
Then, in an instant it stopped.
He was in the alley. Bob still in his arms. The agent lying broken at his feet!
A hideous expression was splashed across his face. His body was contorted many different ways.
"Bob. What happened?"
"You did Greg. I have opened up your potential. Now you can do what you always should have."
"No. Not me. I didn't do this " screamed Greg.
"It's time to go" said Bob.
Somehow Greg regained his bearings and resumed his hurried journey to McMahon Park.
It was still dark. The Sun hadn' t yet risen. Many stars were visible, Greg felt his focus reach out. He was above himself. He continued to float up, watching his body running along the alley.
Looking back he could see the agent on the ground. A cruel shadow was moving over the ruined flesh. Greg sensed that this thing was aware of him. He sought out the security of his body, shooting back to earth with a bang.
The impact of returning to his mortal shell sent Greg reeling. Bob flew out of his grasp and landed headfirst in a trash-can.
Greg rushed to extract his green-clad companion. As he eased him free, it was Bob who spewed forth a bright blue stream. The liquid kept on pouring out. More, thought Greg, than he could possibly contain.
The park wasn't far and this district was usually deserted. It was a place that most people wanted to leave. Which was why Greg had liked it. The solitude was comforting and he never had to justify or explain his actions.
Carrying Bob once again, he left the alleyway and crossed the empty road. Hugging the shadows, he hurried down the street and into the park.
"Bob we're here. Where now."
Bob began whistling.
A wonderful, haunting tune skipped through the air.
Greg's focus shifted, his vision blurred. The surrounding scenery melted away.
He felt himself gradually descending, he was getting heavier.
He looked at Bob and there were two of him.
Greg rubbed his eyes roughly and looked again. Now there was four. Four became eight. Became sixteen. Became thirty-two.
Again and again.
Greg stood in what had now become a forest. Surrounded by trees and identical replicas of Bob. But then he saw his Bob lying still on the ground. One of the others knelt beside him.
Bob slowly looked up at Greg, then his eyes closed and Greg could feel that his life had stopped.
Greg knew he was now alone with this army of familiar strangers.
"You are not alone,they said altogether.
We are ' The Bob' "!
And Greg began to understand.
Greg surveyed the sombre scene.
A deafening silence hung heavily in the air. A sea of green spread before him. The dense forest blended into the thick ranks of replica Bobs. It reminded Greg of when he was insane. They had kept telling him the things he saw weren' t there. He believed them then, but had they been wrong?
Without a sound, The Bob spread out into a massive circle. Joining hands, they began emitting a pulsating hum. All their magic pockets simultaneously started to glow.
The dead Bob's body rolled over. The glow extended and enveloped his limp corpse.
It rose up into the middle of the circle. The arms stuck straight out.
The bulging eyes rolled back in the head. Violent convulsions ripped through the shrunken shell.
The light shone brighter and brighter until a searing flash exploded into a thousand colours.
Greg threw his arms over his face.
He slowly took a deep breath. Finally daring to open his eyes, he found himself in an altogether different place.
Grim recognition breezed over him. The cold walkways and panels were dimly familiar. Like a half-forgotten dream, Greg knew he had been there before.
Looking down, Greg saw Bob standing at his feet. He knelt down and stared into his eyes. A cold emotive look met his gaze.
" Bob. Is that you " ?
" I am not Bob. I am The Bob ! "
" What do you mean " ? quizzed Greg.
" We are many and we are none ! The Bob is one conscious entity, comprised of numerous units.
The Bob works as a collective organism.
Your Bob's sacrifice was meaningless. If there was only one Bob remaining, The Bob would survive.
But acting as one, The Bob can command and unleash terrible forces ! "
Yet again Greg' s mind was sent reeling.
" But what has all this got to do with me. "
" You are more important than you could dare to realise .
We sent Bob to guard you, but then they managed to get to you. "
" What do you mean. Who are ' they ' "?
" There was an experiment Greg.
The humans genetically cross-bred The Bob' s DNA with a human fertilised egg.
They were afraid of our power and they were trying to create a defense. "
" You don' t mean me " ?
" Yes . You are the mutation.
You are ' The Greg' !
You are the human with the power of The Bob ! "
" What power " ?
" Your Bob released the reserves that the humans had locked in. They had realised they couldn' t control you, so they removed your ability to access your true mind ".
" What am I able to do "?
" Greg. The Bob exists in a separate reality to the humans. The Bob can create physical changes on your world, with the power of thought. That is why you are so dangerous to them. You have the power of The Bob and also the power of the humans."
" What power do humans have ? "
" Although Humankind is in it's infancy, it is still a highly developed race.
The Bob is one mind operating through the collective brains of all the Bob's.
Humans however, are capable of independent rationalisation. They have access to a shared intellect, although this capability has been neglected. But you have a choice, you can shape your own destiny. The Bob has no individual free will."
" Okay. But how do you explain my Bob. He behaved very differently to you. He was definitely his own man."
" You are correct The Greg. Bob was no longer one of The Bob.
When The Bob learned of the human plan to create a hybrid, we too saw the advantages of such a project. Our agent within your government's organisation, infiltrated the scientific team. The Bob whose DNA was removed and put into The Greg, was implanted himself.
Your DNA, The Greg. It was yours!
Bob was your genetic brother !"
" My God. Where is he now ?"
" He was dead. We absorbed him back into the collective.
He is The Bob now !"
" No. That's not fair. You can' t take him away now. I never knew I had a brother."
" It is already done, The Greg.
We are your family now ! "
" Who are you ? "
" We come from another world.
We traveled in this craft to Earth, in a time of great crisis for us."
" You mean you are aliens ? "
" We have had many names, The Greg.
When we first came here, we revealed ourselves to you. You called us Leprechauns. But we had to hide when our gold was stolen.
You see, The Greg, we are not a stagnant race. We can evolve at will, adapting to any environment. We were peace-loving originally, but in the face of human aggression we had to modify ourselves into a being capable of attack.
The gold is what gives us our power, it is the reason we came to this planet, we had to fight to get it back."
" This is insane ! "
" Yes, The Greg, there is much madness.
Once we created our violent element we found it difficult to control. We are locked in a costly secret war with the humans, and there was no end in sight !
You are the key, The Greg. With you on our side, we can win ! "
" But if you are so powerful, how have the humans resisted you so far ? "
" You were not the first mutation. Previous experiments had been successful. Humans with their genes altered for physical and mental augmentation now proliferate.
They are the human's soldiers that we have confronted, and they have proven to be a formidable foe ! "
" Why did they say I was mad ? "
" They had to control you, all the drugs and all the analysis and tests were to destroy your will.
They couldn' t tell you the truth because they feared you would resist.
Bob was there to keep you sane, but they twisted that against you."
" What the hell do I do now ? " whispered Greg !
" There is one man who thwarts us. He is the human leader, Coleman! He is a most devious and cunning being!
With his guidance, the humans have matched us. It is a deadly stalemate."
"Coleman? You aren' t talking about my doctor ?"
" Yes, The Greg. Coleman lied to you. He is the unelected head of Earth. He leads the secret faction known as the ' New World Order ' . "
"But I used to see him everyday. He was my psychiatrist. He helped me."
"Understand this The Greg, Coleman was helping himself.
He worked with you to control and entrance you. Your resistance was too strong so he set you up out of the way, in that run-down apartment."
"No. You are wrong. Trish lent me the money to rent my flat."
"The Greg, your old life is dead.
You must move on. Trish was under Coleman's influence. He acted through her."
"Who are the New World Order ?" Greg asked, increasingly bewildered.
"The NWO are a one-world government.
All nations must answer to them. They manipulate and instigate conflict, to further their grip.
If not for them we could communicate directly with the humans. But as it is now, our message would be distorted and corrupted by the controlled media.
Coleman and the NWO must be overthrown, then a new age of peace and enlightenment can flourish."
"You want me to kill him, don't you."
"It is your destiny The Greg . You must kill your creator!"
" You mean it was him that engineered me?"
"Yes. He must die, so you can take his place and rule the world."
"Me. Ruler of the world. Yes. I can see that happening. I could change things for the better."
"The Greg. You are the next evolutionary step up the ladder. No will can resist you.
You must claim your rightful place. You are as a god to the humans !
You will be a god to them !"
"A god !
What about the God!"
" God is dead, The Greg.
That is the cause of so much confusion.
In the beginning, there was thought. Unaware, unconscious pure thought.
Yearning for expression, thought became action, exploding into and becoming the universe !
The power was exhausted, leaving only an echo of divine origin.
God was The One, then God became The Many and The Everything.
So God is dead, because God is alive !
The consciousness sacrificed itself to create and exist.
And now the creation vainly seeks it's creator.
Some are blinded by faith in the divine echo.
But the truth is that we, and everything else are God !
However, the ascension to Godhood is still possible. We can rise above our equal brothers.
The divine echo can be channeled. With enough power, you can be deified !
Gold, The Greg. Gold harbours the divine echo. It is what fuels us.
With enough gold, The Bob becomes The God !
You see The Greg, whereas humans have only one soul. The Bob has two souls, each exact opposites. One benevolent and peaceful the other would be called evil in your language.
The Bob is limited by controlling the demon inside.
That is the cause of our small stature, the focus of will required reduces our physical size.
Coleman is not human. He was one of the Bob. He embraced the dark side and escaped the collective.
By rejecting the light he has become possessed by the demon. That is the source of his power and why we must defeat him.
You must slay the Devil !
The Bob and Greg had covered quite a distance whilst they had communicated.
Greg wasn't sure if they had been speaking or using telepathy.
In the short time since his awakening, this world had become an altogether different place.
The view through Greg's eyes showed him the things inbetween.
He could see the elements constituting everything. Examining his legs, he could see the bones - a bright, clean searing white, and the sinewy muscle and the dark, red blood flowing and pumping!
Gazing at The Bob's magic pocket he could see a shimmering aura.
What could have been a dark face seemed to be examining him. As he tried to make it out, the image dissolved into a scene of Greg as a child. He was playing with Bob. It was a game of hide and seek. But Greg couldn't find his friend. He searched and searched and was soon reduced to tears.
He ran, seeking comfort, to a dark figure steeped in shadow.
It was Coleman.
Patting the small boy on the head, Coleman looked up, seemingly staring at The Greg.
With a soothing, enticing roll of the voice, Coleman spoke.
"Come to me Greg.
I can save you!"
Greg opened his mouth as if to speak, but his conviction instantly faltered, leaving his visage frozen agape.
Fear had conquered him long ago. Like the coward he truly was, he craved the sweet nothingness of total oblivion!
"Try not to cry my young friend. You are weak. Share my strength.
Only together can we vanquish our enemies.
The impure must be purged, for us to be able to fully spread our wings.
Think about the truth, you know I am right.
Don't deny what your inner voice tells you.
We must kill to set us free.
Only the innocent act of murder will take us to the next level.
We can ascend to another plane. Where the Gods are as children.
We can rule as Demon-Kings!
The Bob is lying to you Greg.
They declared war on us, to steal our resources. I am trying to protect humanity.
They are parasites, they leach our physical and spiritual reserves.
Raiding the planet and population alike.
We are being bled dry.
Only the New World Order can stop The Bob.
If they are destroyed we can gain their power.
But The Bob is not alone, they have a secret ally of immense power. The Vira. Listen Greg whatever happens you must........"
The connection blurred. A green hue seeped in, bathing all around.
Greenlight, blinding and infiltrating at once.
Greg had been in a different place again, but now he was back.
The Bob was staring at him.
"The Greg. You fell into my magic pocket.
We have never seen anyone escape before. I managed to pull you out. Where did you go?"
"I saw Coleman".
The Bob hissed and snarled violently.
The green shadows flickered with a red tinge.
Their eyes met. Greg had always been able to sense how someone was feeling, to share their emotions. But he didn't know, he couldn't decipher what The Bob was thinking.
A look of revulsion lurking behind The Bob's eyes spread over his face.
Reeling himself in, The Bob regained the tight control he usually maintained.
He is in the magic pocket!
This is grave news, The Greg.
He has gone too far.
We must act now."
"The Bob......What is the Vira?"
The Bob twitched, his small limbs flailed before him.
Regaining his poise, The Bob turned to Greg.
"Why do you ask of such things?"
"Coleman mentioned it just before I came back."
"The Greg. Just because you saw an image of Coleman, doesn't mean it was actually him. I know nothing of 'The Vira'. The magic pocket has many effects! You saw what you wanted to see!
Now we must prepare. You will kill the real Coleman. Once you are fully augmented.
I have unlocked you from your restraints and next I will give you your magic pocket."
A door slid open and they moved inside.
The room had a large domed ceiling. The familiar green colour covered every surface, save for a silver chair situated in the dead centre of the floor. A cruel smell lingered in the air.
Greg immediately felt very uneasy, he had absolutely no clue as to who was lying to him now.
He needed to be alone and at peace to find himself.
"Listen to me The Bob.
I don't know if I want a magic pocket.
I don't know if I want any of this.
Why can't I just be a normal person?"
"The Greg. You are the chosen one!
You cannot reject your destiny. I appreciate this must be overwhelming for you, but the longer we delay, the more of a chance we give to Coleman to prepare himself."
"I can look after myself. I am leaving!"
"No The Greg. You are not. Don't force our hand!"
The walls of the room slid up, revealing a circle of Bobs, their arms linked.
Greg prepared to defend himself.
A vicious explosion rocked the draft. It slid and shifted to one side.
A loud hissing started, something was burning through the wall!
Beyond The Bob, a blinding light drifted up the wall.
Someone was burning their way in!
A claustrophobic panic seeped into the atmosphere.
The Bobs looked at each other in sheer confusion.
A large square was etched out on the wall, falling into the craft upon completion.
A hail of bullets followed.
Spraying inside, Bobs were taking scores of hits.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion.
I saw a bullet screaming towards me.
Was there a face visible, sporting a devilish grin?
I couldn't be sure.
I sidestepped to the left to avoid it.
But the leaden projectile tracked my movement.
The invading object entered my arm below the shoulder and passed straight through.
A curious numbness breezed along my arm.
I saw my blood trickling out. It smelt so sweet!
I followed the direction the shot had traveled from. A soldier of some description was slowly advancing toward me.
I could see the fear seething within him.
He shuddered as I smiled, then released a volley of fire.
I realised that I could still be injured.
I didn't want to be shot again!
I concentrated on the incoming rounds.
I didn't know what I was capable of.
Could I stop them?
Red and black sparks danced randomly as the air was broken.
I thought of calm, cool, clear water. A deep blue ocean. I visualised it.
The bullets had now reached my face. I could feel their aggressive heat.
The speed of the scene increased, back to real time as the bullets dropped from the air.
Transforming into drops of water as they fell. Forming a puddle by my feet.
I imagined a biting cold. The water froze.
I focused my mind upon lifting the sheet of ice. It floated before me.
I flung it forwards with all the force my will could muster!
The jagged disc spun violently at the alarmed young man.
Hitting him in the throat, it decapitated him and embedded itself in the soldier's chest behind him.
His body slumped to the ground while his head bounced into the air!
He was still screaming when the head hit the ground. It shattered into hundreds of pieces!
That felt good!
All my life I had been the small one.
Getting pushed around.
Now it was my turn.
These insignificant insects around me were nothing.
It was time to make a statement!
I gathered my strength as the opposing force filled the room. I could see twenty heavily-armed troops.
The Bob wasn't retaliating. The bullets filled their little bodies, releasing a slow green ooze.
I extended my hand. I roared as I felt the release of power.
A stream of blue light emerged. Spinning around the room in a tornado-like fashion!
The forms of the men stretched upwards. Terror and revulsion pulsed over their faces.
It looked like something was being extracted.
A black light protruded out the top of their heads!
As the shadows emerged, they had a human shape.
It was their soul. I was ripping out their souls.
The black entwined with the blue, spinning faster and faster, getting higher and higher.
And then suddenly exploding into a golden shower!
My eyes widened. I grinned!
This was real power!
All was silent.
I surveyed the scene.
Many dead Bobs littered the floor.
The soldiers bodies were horribly contorted.
I could see the thoughts that had been left behind.
One man was called Jim Brown. An image of a woman and two little girls lingered in his head. He desperately hadn't wanted to leave them.
This attachment amused me. I stamped on the severed head, crushing it.
"Hah hah hah!" Now I could deal with The Bob!
Do you not know the macrocosmic law of balance?
Everything must have its equal opposite.
Dark and light.
Slow and fast.
Young and old.
There is no ultimate difference, both sides are really the same.
Maintaining equilibrium - a surge in one causes a surge in the other.
By choosing the good, you are simply helping evil anyway.
But that means I would be aiding good by choosing evil" answered Greg.
"So why do you want me to do that?"
"Because I have more fun this way!"
"So accomplishing good deeds, actually makes evil stronger?"
"Yes. Join me in purifying the cosmos. We are the cleansing flames. Burning away the disease!
You say 'evil' as if it's a bad thing!
Is it bad to magnify beauty?"
"But what can you accomplish? Where does murder get you?
What is the ultimate aim of the murderer? To keep slaying until he is alone?
Is suicide the opposite - killing oneself to end the loneliness?" asked Greg.
"Join me Greg. I will show you how to live without love!
We can kill love for forsaking you. Drown in my presence.
I am The Vira!"
Greg began screaming.
He wished himself to some happy place. Anywhere. Now!
Rubbing his aching eyes, Greg took in his surroundings.
He was sitting with Richard Branson, in an old red mini.
They were on a desert island.
Greg looked at Richard. Rubber bands hung from his beard.
Many horns sprouted from his head.
The Vira ripped out of him.
Her deep purple form tore out, as the surroundings melted into black space!
"Here it is Greg. The cosmos.
This is what I can give you. Join me, be my fellow traveler.
I need your innocence.
Only you can save me!"
A speeding comet hurtled past two huge snarling suns.
Planets orbited, surrounded by glowing moons.
One moon's lush green shone out. It was covered in dense forest.
Suddenly they were there, Greg and The Vira, together unseen.
It was teeming with Bobs!
They were burning the bodies of a race alien to Greg.
Vast mountains of carcasses, crackling!
"Why.......what is happening?" Greg demanded to know.
"The more we kill, the closer we get. Can you smell it? Victory is in the air!
When you take a life, you absorb the energy.
If we kill all the good, nothing can oppose us!"
"But what will you do then?"
I will be God.
I will have destroyed the old order, and created a new existence.
Like a new dawn, the sun will rise, but it will be black!
There will be no memory of what went before.
Only worship of me.
All will praise The Vira!
But they will have no power over me.
As the world falls down, I will smile!
I will kill God with my faith in myself!
And you will join me.
And we can at last look inside ourselves, where we will see each other!"
"What do you want from me?
What can I do for you?" blurted Greg.
"Greg. You have no love.
You are not tainted by that force.
That's what they took away to give you your power!
That's why you have only known unhappiness.
You are pure, without the dilemma of emotion!
You can kill Coleman for me.
So that we can live."
"I don't know what he has told you.
But Coleman is no angel.
This isn't good guy/bad guy. Coleman wants to defeat me. But not to save the world.....to enslave it.
By helping him instead of me, you aren't choosing a different path.
But I can give you everything he can't. I can give you pleasure Greg!
There is no good left!
God is alone and powerless! An old cripple!
God is an anachronism to be purged!
There is no choice Greg.
Join me! Be my enforcer!
I have found the soul Greg. It is in the blood. You must drink the blood to achieve the Godhead!
Drink of my soul. Lose yourself in me!
I can make the hurt go away!
Karma is produced by every decision. Good karma and bad.
Karma has three constituents.
Past. That which has been generated by previous actions, and is waiting to be released. This type could proliferate, or be rare, depending on how prolific the individual has been.
Present. The karma that is affecting your life now, influencing events, luck and chance.
Future. This is the only area you can control. This is the karma that is generated by how you behave and react to whatever happens. This type will then come into effect when the past karma runs out.
This law means you always reap what you sow. Even in future incarnations.
But I have made this law work for me.
I have been committing nothing but good acts. The Bobs do all my dirty work.
This way I am generating enormous amounts of good karma.
As soon as my evil past karma runs out, anything I attempt will succeed!
This time is close Greg. Very close.
So close I can taste it.
Coleman has discovered my plan. But I cannot attack him myself.
That is why I need you to kill him!
Greg, you have lived within yourself too long. It is time to come out."
"Lived within myself?
I don't understand. How can one not live within oneself!
I am me.....and no-one else."
"You are self-obsessed. You must look outward to fully release your power."
"That's wrong. I have an inner voice but I realise I am just one, and alone!"
"You must reach out to others to gather their strength."
"But what if I have enough strength of my own?"
"Greg, there is always one more powerful, hiding in the dark....waiting to strike!"
Thick, choking smoke crowded them. Greg couldn't see, he was gasping.
He withdrew into his mind!
Finally. Peace. He was alone.
What had happened? Who was The Vira? And how had she found him?
He dragged his thought back. He saw the attack in the Bob's craft.
He saw his cool viciousness.
He could see it......the beyond....it was behind God..!
He could see everything......Karma...Eternity.....Love....It was blinding...
Greg could see answers!
And beyond even that.
Greg could see himself.
It was his destiny.
He was not a pawn in someone else's plan.
He would rule all.
With his power, he was the zenith.
The ultimate warrior!
Then. A moment of clarity!
Just because I think or believe something, that doesn't make it true.
I could see it. The cosmic joke.
The fact that there was no ultimate reality or truth.
But that your perception and view of the world was all that really existed.
So that was where my power lay. Because I could alter my perception.
Not only changing my reality, but influencing other's as well!
By not taking anything seriously, I had turned my life into a joke.
Now I was serious!
Coleman reached with his scarred hand towards his watch.He was being reminded of an urgent board-meeting. He sniffed the air noting an odd glimpse of elderberry. He hated them, but he had to go. He was afraid for the first time he could remember. The cool air circulating the room made him shiver. The hum of his computer relaxed him, but he couldn't shake the nagging headache that had dogged him for days. What could he tell the board? The operation to re-acquire Greg had proven a disaster. The team had been massacred and Greg was already frighteningly powerful. And there was no trace of him. Time was beginning to run out. Had he worked out his secret yet? Would The Vira tell him? If she has got to him, then all may be lost. She could remove even more of the locks I put in to restrict his power. Post- hypnotic suggestions, it was easy really. I just had to introduce enough self-doubt, fear and paranoia to stop him realising his potential. Removing his capacity to love stopped him from believing in the world, and stopped him influencing it. The Vira will kill him once he betrays her. But that is the least of our worries. If she succeeds in breaking karma, she will have re-written a fundamental aspect of existence. Should I have joined her when I had the chance? She made me love her, but I couldn't join her.
Coleman pondered all the bad things he had done.
Does the end justify the means?
He thought back to his son. The experimentation was very risky, but he did it anyway. He modified his son before he was born. To create the perfect defense, he broke all his ideals. Would he ever forgive himself?
He hated himself for what he had done, and for what he didn't have the strength to do now.
His large,brown office reeked of loneliness. He looked at the pictures on the wall. He was drawn to one that always killed him inside a little more. It was of himself, in the surgery, holding his new-born son. He was grinning broadly. the birth was a success. But was the price too high? He hated the world for making him do what he did!
He looked outside. It wasn't late, but the sky was dark. Grey clouds breezed by, mockingly.
The world knew what he had done. And it didn't let him forget.
Could he be redeemed?
Was he beyond forgiveness?
He tried his best, but his intentions were always twisted. Greg was his only hope.
Shit. He had to go now.
But not by myself he thought, as he reached into his open drawer for a little backup.
Coleman chose one of the red pills. He liked those best. Everything goes black and white it makes him think he's in an old movie. It took him out of himself. He could sit back and watch the film!
He swallowed the pill. One, solitary tear streaked down his quivering cheek. As it always did when he switched realities.
But he was a doctor, he knew best, didn't he?
His chest went into a spasm. As his body convulsed he slowly exhaled a curse.
He composed himself and opened his door. He nodded to the guard outside as he left.
He could see his sanity escaping him, it was simply a matter of how long his will could survive.
He feared the madness precisely because he craved it so much.
Coleman walked briskly down the long hallway. The bright yellow lights hurt his eyes. As he stared at one lamp, the colour faded away. All colours left his vision. He smiled and carried on walking. But he couldn't feel his legs, he felt like he was gliding softly on a bed of clouds.
Now he could hear distant music.
It was entrancing, the singer spoke to him.
"You have come back to me Doctor, never leave. I will soothe you."
He came upon another guard, standing sentry at the top of an imposing stone staircase.
The dimly-lit steps drifted down into darkness.
He patted the large young man on the shoulder. He shook his hand, passing a bottle of pills into it.
He knew the soldier liked them. They were the black ones.' Rage' was the slang term.
They connected you to the beast inside. I found it wonderful, but I don't think the people I mutilated enjoyed it as much. I was really gone now. The movie was in full effect. Treading slowly down the stairs, I thought I was in World War 2. My eyes grew accustomed to the dark. I could feel drops of moisture splashing my face.
I started laughing. But then I realised, I didn't know how to stop.
I was giggling like a little girl.
It started to get brighter again. Another guard was standing at the base.
"Is everything alright, Sir?" he quizzed.
"Yes. Yes. Why do you ask?"
"You were making a lot of noise".
"Oh right. Ermm. Yes. Excellent observation soldier. Keep it up."
He opened the double doors for me and I walked into the inner chamber.
It was a towering circular room, lit by flaming torches.
A spitting fountain of flame erupted in the centre.
Seven thrones surrounded it.
Coleman still couldn't believe he had created this. It was his responsibility.
He looked at the thrones.
The seven-fold Council of Youth.
The leaders of the new World order.
Children. It was seven little boys.
They spoke as one.
Their painful, harmonic voice shook Coleman from his trance.
"Doctor, we have seen Greg. The Vira had him, but he escaped to his own reality.
The bluffed rescue mission worked perfectly!"
"Bluffed? But those were my best men. You sacrificed them?"
"Of course. We sent him into The Vira's waiting arms."
"But why? They are invincible together!"
"Doctor, it is not just your commands in Greg's mind.
We placed a few of our own in there.
He will fall in love with The Vira, before murdering her!"
"Why wasn't I told?"
"We run everything now, Doctor.
You should be grateful that we keep you around. For our own amusement of course."
"But I made you. The C of Y was supposed to be a democracy."
"We are one mind now.
And we are leading better than you ever did.
You took us far Doctor, but now we are masters of our own destiny.
Greg will kill The Vira, and join us."
"But if you let him feel love, you cannot control him.
If he loves The vira, he won't betray her. I know Greg. He would kill himself before he hurt her."
"We know Greg as well. We have watched him for a long time.
He is a coward, the key to his defeat is to break his will.
He doesn't know the truth. The Vira won't tell him, because it would make him more powerful than her.
Everything is progressing as we planned it. You have done your part.
Once The Vira is gone, you will have all the Bobs!
And we will ascend far beyond this plane. We will enter paradise, and make it more to our liking.
We need new toys to play with. Souls are such fun to torture!
Now leave us."
Coleman looked at them. All seven, virtually identical. Blond hair, blue eyes. Looking about 13 years old. Only he knew the truth. They were actually older than he was.
They smirked, the malevolent bastards! How did he cause so much evil?
It made him feel sick. Their presence was overwhelming.
He turned to leave and felt a slap on the back of his neck. Spinning round, they burst out laughing.
Vile echoes, boomed within the cavernous chamber.
Coleman ran, bundling through the doors, he moved with all the speed he had left.
Stumbling up the grim steps, he fell and scraped his arm along the jagged wall.
Another scar. There were too many now to remember where they all came from.
Physical and mental....so much pain...
Blood streaked down his wrist.
Cold, black blood, dripping onto the ground.
He didn't feel the pain, he was watching himself again.
So they now had full control?
I need a new plan. If they really wanted Greg on the C of Y, then they still needed me.
That must be why I'm still alive.
I need The Vira. I need her power.
She said she would wait forever for me, but I stabbed her in the back.
Her purity and innocence is all that can save me, but can she trust me?
Greg is still the problem.
I will now have to kill him before he touches The Vira.
Coleman knew what he had to do to kill Greg.
But it was a last resort. He could never go back afterwards.
He thought back to how it all began.
His pioneering research.
His discovery of the real plague.
Coleman had revealed the disease that struck every person, without fail.
The mutating force that took away the magic and left a hollow shell in it's wake.
He solved the mystery of puberty, it was a crippling disease that took away our powers.
That was his triumph and his bane.
He could cure the disease.
The children developed power and knowledge, without aging and without scepticism...they actually believed in themselves.
What started as an experiment, took a momentum of it's own.
I couldn't stop them from usurping me.
So now I have to play my ace in the hole.
I can cure myself and unlock the magic.
I will have the last laugh!
There was the other option of course. It was the one that had tempted and teased him, time and again. Suicide. He knew so much about the other side. In a way he was closer to it than he was to this world.
It would be the ultimate revenge.
The music returned. Rolling, Gregorian chant. He thought about himself. He used to be the master manipulator. The cerebral assassin. How had he become the fool?
Taking in his surroundings, he realised he had made it back to his office.
He had to formulate a strategy.
The purple pills augmented intelligence. They were his first big finding.
Once he had made the breakthrough, he tested it's effectiveness, not on research animals, not on white mice or fluffy rabbits, but on himself. He had always loved animals, and liked the idea of empowering them so that they may be able to defend themselves against human cruelty. But giving them the ability to think to a higher level would rob them of their innocence. The greater the brain, the higher the capacity for cruelty. He didn't want to spoil the animal kingdom, like he had spoiled everything else he touched. So he was the human guinea pig. The first time he ingested the solution, shines out in his mind like a burning sun. It burnt his lips as he quaffed the glowing purple liquid. The tears swam down his face, he couldn't breathe. His mind opened like a giant book.
Connections and parallels. Streams of consciousness. The past and the future. The comprehension was staggering, his brain was on fire. Thoughts moving forward faster, his mind accelerated forwards.
He could see the cosmos, as an evolutionary algorithm. One sentient organism.
It was all part of the same cycle. The microscopic atoms that made up his diseased body, were the same structure as the universe as a whole.
All was one!
Then he saw her.
She was different. A piece of another puzzle. An enigma that he couldn't see through.
He watched her swimming through space. Flying on a wisp of solemnity.
Her dark hair flowing behind, like the tail of a comet.
Suddenly she was with me!
"You are the first to find me. I thought I was hidden from all eyes.
I can grant you one wish. But choose carefully, every action has a reaction, your dream may become the universe's nightmare."
I looked at her cold face, she was beautiful. I already knew what I wanted.
My son is dead. My wonderful son. He was so full of good intentions.
But I killed him. My addiction stole him from me.
He found my stash, and thought it would be safe. He trusted me, that I wouldn't harm anyone.
I wouldn't, but that didn't include myself.
The overdose was a terrible way to die. My wife blamed it all on me, and I agreed with her.
When she left me, I withdrew into my work. But I wasn't good enough. I wanted to clone my son so he could live again. It didn't happen. I created freak after freak, a mutant family that all had to be put down. It killed me inside, until I went in a new direction. If the problem was failure, I had to stop failing.
If I could improve my own mental faculties, then maybe I still had a chance of happiness.
This time I didn't fail in my endeavour. But I did fail to foresee the hideous ramifications of my success.
I created the mind enhancing drug. And it changed everything.
And now it had taken me to The Vira.
It was the losing of his innocence that killed my boy. His first step into the adult world had snuffed him out. That was what I wanted. For the magic of youth to never end.
"I wish that I could halt the progression to adulthood. I want to make children stay children forever."
"It is done.
And now you have freed me. The wish is granted and I don't have to be alone anymore.
You are my saviour, Doctor.
It is destiny that brought us together. And fate that we stay as one.
Join me, and sail on the solar wind. We can share our joy."
"No. I cannot. I am doomed to be alone. I cannot love you. All I have is my mind now."
The Vira screamed like a woken banshee.
"If love rejects me, then I will turn to hate. I can be alone no longer. If you will not join me in the light, then I will let the darkness take me."
With that, the blackness of space swallowed her.
He opened his eyes. The vision had been no less painful this time.
He was in his office, alone. With only the knowledge of how much damage he had done for company.
Suicide would send him into the darkness as well. He feared it, and desired it in equal amounts.
He knew that he loved The Vira now, and had to meet her again. But that first dose of the purple had nearly killed him, could he survive another?
The fury returned again. He had forgotten what it felt like. And how sweet it was.
The smile was back on his hard face. The goodness had taken over. But now, hate was seeping back in. It happens when you least expect it. As soon as you lower your guard, it sneaks in the back door.
The sweat was running down his body. He trembled at the thought of what he was capable of.
The desire swelled up within, from deep down. From so deep. It came from a place inside that was too hard to reach. All he could see, was the red fog. His hunger took over. The demon had to be appeased.
He had to kill again!
It had been too long. The promises he had made, were when he was a different person.
He had attempted the path of righteousness, and had faltered. He was only denying his true self.
Why even try? He knew what he was. It was time to be real again.
He couldn't breathe. The heat was stifling. Murder was the only release.
Straining to glimpse through the red mist, he recognised human forms all around him.
Laughing out loud, he remembered where he was.
It was prime time.
He was in the thick of the sprawling, venomous city. The harsh neon burnt his eyes. Vast, dark towers leaned over, smothering him. It was easy to hide in the hustle and bustle.
He could take his pick.
Who would he choose?
Which one would be tonight's sacrifice?
He liked to let fate decide. Any sign or omen could force his hand.
A feather in a hat. A furtive glance. Any eye contact usually sealed the deal.
The grin spread wider. He loved the hunt so much. The thirst was painful. His throat felt like stone.
It would be her! She was staring at him, even though she didn't want to.
His magnetism had entranced her.
He could see her soul, inside her eyes.
She wasn't ordinary, this one was special. she had powers of her own.
She could see the future. She knew what he wanted to do to her, but she didn't resist.
The release was what she yearned for.
He turned to his left, walking hurriedly into a darkened alleyway. He knew she would follow him.
He kept moving, leaving the prying eyes far behind. The kill was a private moment, between him, and the force he served.
Here. This was the spot. He could delay no longer.
Spinning around, he was aware of the other presences before he saw them.
He launched himself at the closest shape, unsheathing his talons as he flew.
A powerful grip, stopped him in mid-air. A warm hand was holding him by the scruff of his neck.
He flung his arms violently, reaching for the eyes of his captor.
The hot wetness splashed his hand. A deep cry of pain echoed, like a distant bellow of thunder.
He was rammed up against the brick wall with such force that they both fell through the crumbling structure. As he dug his hand deep into the chest beneath him, more bodies flowed over him.
They held him down, so no movement was possible.
"You fucking vermin, we have you now. You've taken your last prey."
A torrent of blows rained down upon him. His face was being stamped on.
He struggled to get free. It was no good.
It had been too long since he had last fed. Then, he saw it. The long, silver blade, gleaming in the moonlight.
He snarled as it came down upon his neck. The decapitation threw his soul out of the body.
Sinking down, faster, faster. He was returning to his master.
But he hadn't fulfilled his part of the bargain. There would be a terrible revenge.
He was on fire........It kept getting hotter, and hotter and hotter!
Then he saw him! The words were spoken with fearsome alacrity.
"Ah. Michael. I've been expecting you."
They leapt off the headless body as it writhed and crackled. Fire seemed to come from inside the slain beast. The flames grew higher, as they consumed the wretched flesh.
"He's dead" cried Ric.
"I know. We did it" responded David.
"No, I mean Steve. He killed Steve."
They saw their comrade lying still. Blood oozed from the gaping tear in his chest.
"O.K. You know the drill" shouted Vince, wiping the dripping sword on his sleeve, "Set the explosives. We're out of here."
Ric set the device, and they bailed out, through the same hole in the wall.
Jen flicked open the detonator. As the four turned the corner, she pressed the button. There could be no evidence of what had occurred.
Carl was working late, setting up a new display. He was walking towards the stock room to investigate some rather singular noises coming from behind the locked door. Looking up he saw a smiling wave of flame hurrying towards him. The flames engulfed his cruel form. He could feel each layer of skin being burnt off. He tried to scream but the blast had already burnt out his vocal cords. His life flashed before his eyes. He realised he would have to justify his existence, and was terrified that he couldn't.
The force of the explosion collapsed the floors above, crushing him under tons of hot stone.
Jen giggled, "I never liked that place anyway!".
The group had bundled into their waiting van, and were now speeding away from the scene.
The call they were expecting came through, it was Coleman.
"How did it go Vince?" he demanded.
"Good Boss. We nailed him. He fell for Jen just like you said. But the bastard wasted Steve."
"No problem. He can be replaced. It was vital that we removed Michael from the equation. He was trying to find Greg. Now I can give you the next mission. It is Greg this time. You must kill him!"
"But Boss", Vince was panicking, "I saw what he did to the other team, he annihilated them!"
"I know, he was magnificent. Don't worry. I will be coming with you. And I will be bringing Trish."
"Michael, we had a bargain. I always collect on my deals"
"But you said I would be immortal. I wanted to live forever, how did they kill me?" demanded Michael!
"You would have stayed alive forever. But murder is a different matter. You never asked not to be killed."
"But you know that's what I meant!"
"Dear boy, I can only do what you ask, I can't assume what you really want as well.
You came to me and offered your soul. I had been watching you for a long time. You wanted revenge against the world that hurt you so much.You wanted to stalk the human cattle, and make them taste the fear that haunted your dreams. I made you into a vampire, the perfect predator.
But you even managed to mess that up. Michael, what good is it being a hunter, if you have pity?
It was ideal at the beginning. You were giving me so many sweet souls to play with.
I loved to watch you in action. It was an exquisite site. The flowing blood, the terror in the eyes of your prey. What went wrong, why did you stop feeding? You had nearly done your part and sent all the souls I wanted."
"It was my little brother. I sensed he was in trouble
I was so drunk with the slaughter, he made me remember myself.
I somehow knew he needed me. I had never been there for him before. But this time would have been different. I was trying to find him, but I was getting weaker without blood.
The frenzy took me, but I was attacked before I had fed, they managed to overpower me, so now I have come back to you."
"What a lovely story. I am almost moved to tears.
What about all the delightful young ladies you drank, some of them had brothers too.
You're a bit of a hypocrite.
But I still like you. To be honest, I think I prefer seeing you scrabble about up there, to being tortured down here. I am not without mercy. Despite you failing miserably at being a vampire, I will offer you one last chance.
I've been watching my old buddy Death do this for eons. We shall have a duel Mikey-boy. A contest between ourselves. If you win, you get to help your brother. And when I win, you still get to return to the mortal world, but, hah. I impress myself sometimes. You're gonna like this one.
If I win, you have to kill him!"
"You're fucking mad! You bastard!"
"Hey, hey. Easy man. I will let you choose the game. This is such fun. You really are one of my favourites."
"I know what I will choose, because you will never beat me.
I challenge you to a wrestling match!"
"What? You mean like WWF. Hmmm......an interesting choice. I enjoy watching it, in fact I have Vince McMahon's soul around here somewhere.
O.K. I accept. The new deal is on. But I should remind you that I like to cheat."
"Ladies and Gentlemen of Hell.
Allow me to introduce the challenger.
A gutless wimp, fighting for the right to save his brother.
And making his way to the ring.
My friend, and yours.
The master of Hell.
The one and only.
The Prince of Lies.
The Doctor of Deception.
Give it up for.....Satan!"
Michael stood nervously in the squared circle. The stakes were very high.
With a snap of the Devil's fingers he had found himself in this massive arena. A hideous, bustling throng of demons filled the stands. The noise was deafening as they chanted 'Satan. Satan!'
I was now wearing just black trunks and boots. Satan had assumed a human form, I hadn't anticipated this. He had transformed himself into the greatest wrestler of all time. He was Ric Flair.
Ric was my hero and role model. He always gave his all, and would do anything to achieve victory.
He slowly climbed the rings steps and came through the ropes.
Ric stared at me. There was no hint of the former smirk. This was serious.
I moved forward as he approached me. We stared into each other's eyes, and suddenly the crowd fell silent.
The bell rang, reverberating through my black heart.
Ric stood like a statue. I began to panic, my breathing was getting faster.
He wanted me to make the first move. That was his genius, I would end up defeating myself, because he was forcing my mistakes.
We faced off. The eerie silence chilled the air. There wasn't a flicker of movement. The whole scene was frozen.
It felt like an eternity had already passed.
I had to win. I had to think carefully. I had to......Wham!
My concentration had slipped for a fraction of a second, and he took advantage.
A big right fist had boomed squarely into my face. I was staggered. Stumbling backwards into the corner, I was only held up by the turnbuckles. Ric pounced, he tilted my head back and chopped hard into the upper-chest. The agonising slap echoed throughout the sprawling building. The demon hordes cheered him on. I couldn't breathe, I think my nose was broken, and all the wind had been knocked out of me. I tried to tense my chest as another wicked chop landed. I was being overwhelmed, I was already losing. By trying not to fall into his trap, I had done exactly that. I couldn't take another chop. But it didn't come. Ric was beginning his classic strategy. He kicked viciously into my left knee. Another kick! A third, harder than t
Archived comments for Brilliantine failure
sirat on 2004-01-30 07:41:36
Re: Brilliantine failure
Eleven thousand words! I think that must beat our previous record, held by Mississippi if I am not mistaken. In fact as it ends half way through a word there was probably more originally and some got lost.
Somebody said we don't get enough fantasy, you have corrected the balance single-handed.
I'm not a fantasy buff, but for me this one just rambles. It contains long essays on philosophy and theology disguised as dialogue and I just couldn't see where it was going. For a long time I thought we were being presented with the delusional world of a schizophrenic, which I have used myself as the basis of a story, but this one just takes too many twists and turns and (at least for me) goes on too long. Every time we think it has come to some kind of conclusion it starts up again. I think it has good passages and some good ideas but the whole is just too big and too shapeless for my taste.
fitbin on 2004-01-30 18:43:34
Re: Brilliantine failure
Thanks for the comments. I agree with you that it is very haphazard and needs a lot of editing, it is a very rough draft though. It was intended to contain an overwhelming volume of ideas, but it does need to flow more smoothly.
Zeitgeist on 05-02-2010
Yes; redraft please. Ediitng and beta-ers are your friends.
"What about all the delightful young ladies you drank, some of their brothers too. " - Tee hee. I also like the flailing limbs.
|Total Destruction (posted on: 02-01-04) |
This work concerns technology becoming spiritual. Humanity deifying itself through the ability to construct it's own reality.
Through filtered, crystal mezzanine air,
Sunken on 2004-01-04 04:00:13
Re: Total Destruction
Bugger me! I have no idea what you are going on about but it sounded good. Crap comment I know, sorry.
fitbin on 2004-03-13 19:00:25
Re: Total Destruction
Any comments are much appreciated.
I don't know what it's about either.
|Frank Admission (posted on: 02-01-04) |
I can't describe my work because when I start writing I can't stop and I will just go off on a tangent like this one.
Paralyzing mind of doom-laden ergonomics,
MiddleEarthNet on 2004-01-02 06:49:23
Re: Frank Admission
An interesting mix of different things. But they work well together and form an interesting poem.
shadow on 2004-01-02 07:35:54
Re: Frank Admission
This sounds like one of those Nostradamus-type predicticions - very enigmatic - 'the ice of flame watches the ice' - something to do with global warming? Open to a myriad interpretations. By this time next year we will no doubt realise how uncannily accurate you were.
Sunken on 2004-01-02 14:27:14
Re: Frank Admission
I haven't a clue either but it sounds good. Particularly liked -
Pink clouds engorging on dark sunlight.
A revolution of minimal proportions,
|The Folly of Fury (posted on: 12-12-03) |
I am very fond of this poem, it was such fun to compose.
An Occidental accident preceded an Oriental incident involving an Octogenarian antagonist and an Ostentatious underling quarrelling with an Obsequious alligator and an Ovulating insect killed by an Optimistic assassin who was an Overt upstart partaking in Optical analysis of an Octangular intersection and also Observing asinine blueprints of Original ubermenschen in Oddish attire looking Obscurely indignified by an Oral abomination in the Obliquely unknown.
Archived comments for The Folly of Fury
Macjoyce on 31-01-2008
The Folly of Fury
Oooooooooooooooo! What's that all about, then?
|D' Zees (posted on: 08-12-03) |
This is a piece that exemplifies my approach to expressing myself.
I enjoy exploring images and thoughts and extreme ideas.
A Glorious inverted rainbow filled with golden dreams awash with faded, jaded jewels.
I am your King and you will worship me.
You hate me because I am in your mind.
The little voice that whispers kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill.
I will kill again and again.
The targets are met but the effective time is in wrap.
Biting nails down to the bone.
Black blood spews forth onto my clean, white shirt.
Bad breath, reeking of decay and entrails and lies and deceit.
You will bow down before me, because I am God, because I killed God.
I had the answer on the tip of my tongue, but then they cut off my head.
I fought and fought but in the end all I could do was choke.
A triangle with four sides is not unknown.
Is light just the absence of darkness?
Fear cuts through your spine.
You fall in two.
Then fall into - a hole.
Your halves become a whole and you fall up into the sky.
Majestic blue vistas transcending vision and perception,
erupt into chemical formula.
I die and am resurrected thousands of times a day.
A meeting of glances, flames dance together then quickly look away.
You ignorant maggot.
You are less than nothing to me.
You buzzing insect of emphatic superfluity.
I would squash you if it was worth the effort.
A pool of water froze into a mad flock of doves
collectively carrying a giant rotten olive branch.
Obesity lingers in your eyes.
Your puffy, sweaty flesh disgusts me.
I retch and retch but instead of vomit I bring up my liver and lungs and kidneys, then a deck of cards and a telephone directory.
This startles me into starting a strict diet of egg-shells and aborted fetuses.
I blame the lefties, bring back hanging for them all, that's what I say. The bastards.
You sub-human scum.
I piss on you and your lack of intellect.
You are not fit to feast on my excrement.
I am your affluent Emperor and you are the effluent of society.
I am the star looking down at your gutter.
Maybe my star has burned too brightly.
Where do you go after perfection?
What if the greatest moments have already passed.
To fade and to die?
To diminish and forget about life and love and peace and war.
Archived comments for D' Zees
bluepootle on 2003-12-08 07:32:52
Re: D' Zees
wow, strong, disjointed, venomous stuff.
I liked the bringing up of the deck of cards and the telephone directory.
fitbin on 2003-12-08 08:45:01
Re: D' Zees
Thanks. I like to play with images and descriptions, I enoy reading William Burroughs and the way his style is so hectic.
|Almost Human or 150% machine (posted on: 08-12-03) |
This piece may be offensive to some readers and for that I apologise.
It is not my intention to upset any sensitive people,
but rather to explore themes that interest me and aren't investigated often enough.
Screaming and screaming as I am mutilated.
All the animals I tortured are getting their revenge.
They bite and rend and tear my skin and spill my rotten blood.
Laughing as they gore me.
I smile as I am dismembered. It is a cruel justice, I deserve this.
My bones crunch and shatter. They are filled with grubs.
Great, green grubs giggling and groaning.
Madly mauled by a lactating lunatic, I cry a lament for the death of freedom.
I mourn the Star.
I stink therefore I am.
I am therefore I think,
I think therefore I can.
I can therefore I sink.
The drowning fool reaches up.
The unequaled genius drowns quicker.
The fool feels fine until the call starts flashing.
Why does Ekron Meade lie to me?
M Khan is bent over the hill.
On top, the girl dies from lack of justice.
Not enough time for notes.
I write as I die.
You know my face, I am the angel of death.
Shut up and fight, you brain-dead freak.
I will kill you now.
I will kill you to death.
Murder death kill.
Sorry, that wasn't very polite.
I got confused, I forgot we're supposed to be nice.
Or at least to pretend one is.
A splintered cell makes for a strange bedfellow.
In closing let me say this.
I order you to be nice to people, or die trying.
Archived comments for Almost Human or 150% machine
SmirkingDervish on 2004-08-25 07:16:32
Re: Almost Human or 150% machine
Chaotic, challenging, dramatic. I really kind of liked it π