suum defessus.

The night was coming to an end. a layer of spilled booze coated the floors of the bar where numerous patrons were indulging themselves on greasy food, and slowly drifting away, drink after drink. here in this bar sat one patron who stayed though all his friends left, with the bartender who was to close this now quiet evening.

he too had been drinking this evening. he looked up from his empty plate and he caught sight of the clock behind the bartender, who was tediously cleaning the many glasses that piled behind him. a weak, red glow flickered from the digital clock 2:45.

tall, with unkempt and curled brown hair, the bartender relaxed and stole away from his work with a drink in hand, making his way over to his last patron. he seemed somewhat anxious and, as stated before, everyone went home but this last patron. rather high cheekbones and blue sunken eyes, clad in somewhat tattered clothing, he raised his glass to his face as he sat at the bar and lowered his head after his sip.

"Is there anything else I can help you with this evening sir? Do you maybe need a ride?" the bartender inquired of the man.

the man looked up from the porcelain and with a sullen edge, nodded his head, stating with this that he needed nothing of the bartender.

the ominous glow of the silent television set that was set to static, hummed. the bartender nodded in turn. the gentleman then said "i'll be going shortly, though i have no one to go to now. not even my own shadow follows my footsteps anymore."

the bartender leaned against the lacquered birch bar and questioned the man. "What do you mean your shadow doesn't follow you anymore?

"under the night lights and street lights, he walks along with better men than i. he is all the wiser. he became more of me, and where i used to leave him behind, here i am now; in his dust."

he rose to his feet and stood. his shoulders were broad and his patched canvas jacket looked quite warm.

"don't let what you love slip away from you."

he turned to the door, set it ajar, and slipped away into the cold winter night. he plucked a string in the bartender's heart, the start of a concerto of sorrow. he placed his drink and wept.

➡➡

     A BRIGHT LIGHT pierced the darkness of this very large and empty room; only flecks of dust are found littering the gray and void space. From the light which gave life to the room came a pair of withered hands. The hands were completely identical A snap from the fingers of these cadaverous hands spawned a box, whose enormity dwarfed the hands. The hands cracked the fingers of one another, and then promptly delved into the box.

     The box shuddered rapidly and violently from time to time. The convulsions were followed by a series of esoteric sounds; a cacophony of sounds befell the now populated hall of gray. From the sounds of bells ringing, to the roars of mighty beasts, the mania ceased; the hands had returned from the interior of the mysterious box. The hands were grasping something unseen, however, it was clear that the what the hands held in their clenched fists was something of immense power. A miraculous and incredible light, more mysterious than that of the light that currently illuminated the hall, peeked through the cracks in between the fingers of the hands. The hands fluently drew away from one another, then clashed, creating a blast of light, and from this light, another pair of hands was made. Different from the creator pair, this pair had a left and right hand.

     Following the second pair's creation, the hands smashed together, again, with tumultuous force, joyous of what they had made. The spawned pair were confused by this display, but, nevertheless, awaited orders. The creator hands ushered their creation to the box of enormity. The creation did too, delve into the void of the box for some time, whilst the creator hands took the light that graced the grey room and clasped it between themselves.

     The creator revealed the "light", which was no longer light; it had been formed into a small, babbling little beast, pink as flesh, cute as a button., adorned atop a pedestal of bone. The beast wold babble and babble nonsense about how he lacked a means of moving about. He cried for arms and legs, and a torso for he to sit about. The creators took more light and did grant the miserable little beast his wishes.

     Meanwhile, the pair inside the box had tilted the box over, and dragged a great mass with them as they departed from the box. The hands created a sphere, flawless and lacking any evils. the sphere was blessed with light from the creator's gift, which, in turn, created Life.

     The Creator Pair had but one more bit of light and hadn't thought as to what to do with it. They turned to their ever-babbling creation to ponder. Time and reflection upon the creation allowed the Creator Pair to decide that the creation should hear itself, so it may be silent. With what light was left, the Creators gave the beast ears, and it was silent.

     The Creators took their creation to the pair of "Perfect" hands and gestured towards the now, silent little being, so silent, that only the murmur of its heart could be heard. The Perfect hands elevated their fifth digits to their Creator and plucked the beast and cast it onto the sphere.

     Life on the sphere flourished. The creation of the Creator's hands multiplied. Each beast was given a box; a box with infinite possibilites. All the creations were the same. Identical. The boxes which they possessed had infinite possibilities within them. Still, they were all the same. Their creators saw this, and lowered their fifth digits.

     But the Creators had forgotten.

      They gave their creations not the gift of sight.

      A day once came though, when a creation found itself taking pieces of the world around him, instead of what lay in the box, and crafted itself a means of vision. This single creation, could see.
   
      He saw that his hands were both that of right.

Capitulation

A sharp, yet defined rap echoed through my hall as I was seated upon my throne, gazing into the sands of my hourglass.




The last few grains trickled down the bulb, and the rap grew into a cacophony of hands, beating at the iron spiked door of oak, coated with the greens of moss.




I saw the face of an old man, staring back at me from the reflection of the glass. His face scarred with wrinkles and littered with cuts and bruises.




I saw myself, of course.




The rapping grew into a steady and continuous pounding. Cries of anguish could be heard from outside the powerful door, holding back all the angry and crazed hands. I raised my hand from the armrest and slew the watch glass to the ground; it's contents lay splayed about my court on the marble tiles.




Louder and louder, they had beaten down the first door.




The captain of the guard and his men stood before the souls. Their plate emblazoned with the luminosity of the mob's torch.




"Schießen!" the guard ordered. The royal guard stood with their pikes in hand, forming a strong wall that prevented the advance of the mob, and overhead, archers fired volleys into the mob.




The mob, of course, didn't stop at this. Their shouts could be heard from inside my hall. I rose from my throne to my plate. My armor. My blade. Once used to unite my realm with the bonds iron and flesh. No more.

Again, I saw myself. A broken man. Once a proud and honorable monarch, true to his word, true to his people, but now? I am no more.

I walked about my scarlet carpet, leading to the steel doors that lead out onto the facade of which my men where. I found our sculptures. Busts of our family. 

We were once gods. 

There was no one higher than I or my brother.

We were respected by all men and women alike. Where are we now?

I forced the busts to the ground. The beautiful and meticulously carved marble fell to the ground, and shattered.

I no longer heard the commands of my captain. The mob was afoot once again, this time, at the door of steel, ramming the door. I found myself on the balcony, looking over my kingdom, my dominion, my realm. My home.

All in a wave of red and orange.

The mob was finally rushing through my hall.

But when the came to meet me on the balcony, all they found was my crown and blade.

They were not ready for a reign of love and wisdom. Blood and iron was forever in this land. 

Forever the dream of my brother.

Will

I saw him bound on his hands and knees, in a pool of his own sweat. For long, he writhed within his bindings, helplessly trying to piece himself free, his efforts in vain. Incapacitated, he lay there, slump in a pool of his own failure.

Sad, isn't it?

He was beautiful too. A work of God's art, from his long, flowing brown hair, his crisp blue eyes and a very defined nose.

His hair cut, locks scattered in a puddle of blood, which had poured from his now cracked and misshapen nose. What could have done this to him?

One thing.

It is a almost holy thing, talked about all one's life.

It battered his will, once wrought of iron. Tore his mind, cast of gold. Shattered his heart, once of glass.

His cold eyes meet yours and you feel them, piercing your soul, melting your heart.

Everything he does is a blatant attack of your home, your temple. He only seeks now to defile every temple he can; to steal the tithe and upset your font.

Nothing can save him, he is unbound. His soul was swept away from him, as he lay bound. Wisps of smoke rose above his head, the soul sought no more anguish. He forced it from himself.

He feels no longer.

His body is warm.

His touch is cold.

His eyes?

Much colder.

Your temple will become his own. A house of pain and sorrow. He will pray to your god so that he might be set free, but the same of him will happen to you.

You will know sorrow, you will know pain.

He will smash the stained glass windows, mutilate your effigies and destroy your altar.

He will become your god.

He will become all your think of.

All you dream of.

You will have many sleepless nights.

All because you let love crush you the way it had crushed him.

Reditio Naturorum

Dollar sign.

DOLLAR sign.

DOLLAR SIGN.

That's all I see them as. That's all they are. Dollar signs with legs. You think they have heartbeats? What makes you think that they have the same thought capacity as you and me?

Do you see the gods they worship? Silicon bodies and their teeth so perfect? They're royalty.

But truly? No. They simply have more paper than what they know what to do with. Benjamin's pure power, baby. Nothing can stop the almighty dollar sign.

That's why we keep our eyes on them, our dollar signs. These mindless thralls that wander the streets we call ours. All we have is because of them. All they have is because of us.

Without that little ping every so often to make them feel like they're important, they draw less and less away from the almighty dollar sign.

Eventually, they'll see that it's all a sham. They'll realize that it's all a power struggle. It's an obsession.

One big game of "Who the hell can hoard the most paper?".

They dedicate their lives to us, unknowingly, yet willingly.

The more paper they collect, the more powerful they become. That's why they die before they can see the world from where you and I do.

Some of them are more dangerous than others. They see past our ruse, they see our game and they think they're strong enough to become a part of it.

They too, are pawns just as all the rest are.

No matter what the case may be, the mindless demoralize those who speak out against us, shunning the thoughts of those who care to think, who care to try; those who want to make a difference.

Perhaps someday, they might.


WITH THE ADVENT OF MACHINE, Man has achieved many splendors.

Man has even replaced Man with Machine.

The coming of the age of machine means one thing though: The downfall of the almighty dollar sign. The dollar sign will no longer possess the strength of a god, machine will.

Machine will make all of Man return to it's roots. The return to nature.

In troves they will flee from cities to the darkest of shades under canopies that cast a divine shade.

Man will learn once again to work with one another and live in harmony, but in fear of the mad gods who manipulate their machines.

The gods though, will find themselves powerless.

Without their thralls, their workers, their slaves, there is no power to exercise over Man, thus, leaving the gods much less than gods. They simply become false idols.

Without any followers, they lose power, they lose their will. They submit to the power of Man and leave the Machines that they have tried to replace Man with.

The men who once sought to change the hearts of Man have had their wish granted to them. They wish not to abuse the power of leading Man, they only wish for Man to love one another as they have been made to.

They have awaited this day.

The day that Man could finally live in perfect and true harmony with it's home, it's goddess, it's mother.

Earth, the one and only god that Man should and shall ever have.

XXI

You can have this head upon my shoulders, so long as it frees me from the burden of having your lovely self running through my mind all day and all night. It's become a struggle to find ways to keep you out of this head of mine. I want no more of it.

You can have this head of mine, so long as I can keep my heart. I wanted you to have it a long time ago, but now, it's all I need to stay alive. All I should care about is myself but still, here you are, sprinting through my mind all day and all night. I tried sharing my love with the world, but the world wasn't ready for it.

This beast will remain caged until the day the world proves itself worthy, or until you come along with that key I handed you, many moons ago.

Instead though, you smashed my chest, tearing tendon from tendon trying to take away from me what was rightfully mine. You claimed my mind and you hungered for my heart. Bone after bone you crushed, word by word, my screams went unheard. 

All you heard was the cracking of my backbone.

You forced me to crumble. You broke my will. I can't stand anymore. You've found my heart and you've taken it as your own.

A long time ago, you lost your own to someone much stronger than I.

He broke your cage, just as you did me. 

How you retain your sanity will forever remain a mystery to me.

So keep running, you horrid and black soul. 

Wherever you might go to run and hide, I know one place you'll always be.

And that place is here, along the track that is my mind.