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The Whole StoryFx. Intro music Lapis Philosophorum [piano solo]
Fx. Fades into the sound of rain against a window
Why did it have to rain today!?
I was going to go play footy in the park, but no. I got the joy of waking up at 11:30 to the feckin' rain hammering on my window and mum going on at me about how "since you're not going outside and I'm not having you spending YET another Sunday lounging around the house getting in my way, you might as well do me a favor and go check in with granddad!"
So here I am. Spending yet another gloomy Sunday afternoon sitting on a musty old arm chair in granddad's sitting room, nursing a flowery tea cup and trying not to inhale too much of the old person smell and cat hair.
Fx. The chink of a tea cup and the sound of him moving in the chair.
I knew he was going to tell me one of his stories again. I just knew it. It's what he always does. [Pause] I wouldn't mind if they were actually interesting or had some meaning to me as his grand
To Write You Into LinesI promised I would never write you into one of these
whatever you would call them
I told you long ago that I couldn't
A self-proclaimed poet;
too full up with idealistic notions
and self-satisfying dreams
Entrapment - Dream catcherOnce upon a time dreams were thought of as merely a succession of images, ideas and emotions that occur involuntarily in the mind during the stage of sleep called the REM cycle.
And once upon an entirely different time dreams where seen as a way of obtaining sacred wisdom and guidance for life.
But every night in the bedroom of Valentine Rêverie dreams are a thing to be feared ever since her* aunt had brought her the dream catcher for her 10th birthday, saying it was made especially for her by a genuine Lanape Healer. All lies, Valentine knew, it had actually come from the back of a travelling salesmen's cart, but she couldn't be bothered to complain.
Unfortunately since she had hung it over her bed, Valentine's nights hadn't got any easier, in fact quite the contrary.
It was bedtime for Valentine and her younger brother Erin. This was absolutely unfair in Valentine's eyes, her sister was only just 13 but she got to stay up a whole hour later, where was the logic in that? It wasn'
A reason to stayI have just moved in to my new apartment, there aren't many other residents and I had only met one or two other people as I was moving boxes in from the van. My room is now just a mess of boxes each one labelled with their destination room and contents; I can't be bothered to unpack. The rain has started to come down pretty hard so I had to rushed the last few boxes, only bothering to unpack 'kitchen- kettle, tea, cups, cutlery, etc.'
And I'm now sitting in the window nursing a cup of fresh tea and watching the rain splatter the glass an inch from my nose.
It's pitch black outside apart from where the street lamps spill liquid yellow in to the street, pooling in ovals that ripple in the puddles of rain drops.
Nothing moves apart from the constant rain that glitters in the pale light coming from the room behind me.
And then the stillness below me is broken by sudden movement that slips past the corner of my eye only lasting for a second but long enough to catch my attention, I
Chameleon eyesLike molten lava
spilling from the abyss of his mind
sparks fling as he looks around
Taking in everything around him
consuming life itself
digesting it in that inferno
he operates as a mind
and then erupting with all the new
information he has gained
forming words like fireworks
and hummingbirds wings.
Then they are liquid silver
mercury and rivers of fresh melt water
tears like beads of moonlight
encompassing every emotion
in their fall to earth
blessing the air they fall through
calming the inferno, cooling its fires
letting mere mortals such as I
approach - but still only look
for now it is frozen, deadly
and now he looks into mine
my dull earthy green and browns
and stops crying, for in mine he can see
the life that he could never create in his own
and he learns from mine, taking on the green
and filling the cold with vines and leaves and
soft brown earth that warms the air and feeds
the new life that blooms in this new found
even ground. His flame and ice [his extremes]
Paper DreamsShe wishes to be that picture
ripped neatly from the pages
of that magazine.
The one she just taped up
on top of all those others
each one, perfect.
But that's not it
she doesn't seek their perfection
their beautiful skin or glossy hair.
She has spent years collecting them
lining her bedroom walls with their
Photo-shop smiles and glistening eyes.
She hides herself away with them
half believing that if she spends her life
surrounded by them and only them
not going out, not eating anything
never leaving her sanctum of paper
then one day she can finally
achieve what it is she sought
not their perfection
paper thin, curves and skinny bones
not bracing against heavy flesh
but the subtle under-wiring of tanned silk
Her paper dreams
torn from beauty magazines
Stunning, loved like each of the models
Skinny, thin like each page taped to her walls
You call meYou call me a freak
I say I'm unique
You call me crazy
I say sanity is overrated
You call me a sissy
I say I'm sensitive
And proud of it
You call me depressed
I say it's true
But I'm not ashamed of it
Five AMPre-dawn darkness again, seething, quiet
A monster hugging the city
How heavy, how suffocating it is
The clock has run down on time for dreaming
A void between night and morning
Ready to swallow everything up
A time for old men's reflections
On love, and loss, and sorrow
Oppressive black sky, you eat everything
But the all-night diner
Where lonely old men sit
Drinking coffee at five AM
QuicksandYou trapped me
Dragged me below the surface
And held me there
You chained me
Put brass around my ankles
And left me struggling
You broke me
Beat me with whips made of hate
And hurt me more
You changed me
Made me who you wanted
And killed me inside
You hid me
Stole me away from the light
And made me blind
You crushed me
Blew my dust in the wind
And danced on my grave
surrounding my body
And now I'm twenty feet under
With no chance of being saved
From Your 'Secret' AdmirerHeaven,
this is not a love letter
I will swear to God,
with a halo on my head
and a hole in my heart.
But the fact is I revere you
more than I have any right to.
After all, we are nothing except
who have awkward conversations.
So why is it that every time the line
falls silent I panic, worrying that your shadow
will make my efforts nothing but a distant memory,
when every word you speak strongly marks my mind?
Simple: I fear having something to lose
and losing the nothing I have. You are a
treasure to me, and this note becomes my confession.
Sincerely- I typed this, but I'm sure you'll recognize the handwriting.
give me a challenge, give me you.i have grown
the blood in my veins
have become more
than plasma, and i
am now trapped
within my own hollowed-out
this haze of
has to be transitory--
i can't let it be anything
Death, Judgment, RebirthLast Time in the ICU
Shadow rats, beady red eyes focused hungrily
Stay still too long and they’ll swarm
Sharp little teeth rending flesh
They know the sick and weak
They can wait
Tenth floor ICU, down with the disease again
He’s resting quietly, the nurse says
She looks like a huge black rat
Does she know what’s happening?
Closing the door
She walks away
Sweet childhood dreams are interrupted
Rats gnawing away at the edges
Toothy little kisses all over
Cleaning, cleansing scurry
Down to the bone
Sentenced to Live
Firelight, poker-faced patchwork man reading aloud
An old but vaguely familiar tome, his tone is somber
Was I one of the wicked? Weren’t we all?
Who can say that they were good?
Sentenced to live yet another life
I cry; I’ve had enough living
I want to sleep forever, leave my shell behind
To crumble to dust, useless, I won’t need it
Every door opens to the same world
Is this hell, then? The onl
are winter fire
that warms my body,
that stokes my heart.
is velvet gloss
through my hair,
under my shirt.
is silk screen
beneath my fingertips,
between my lips.
moves like ocean water,
washes over me,
floods every inch of me.
clinging to your cheeks,
puddling the pillow,
caught inside my kiss.
palm to palm with mine,
soft and breathy in my ear,
loud and gasping
against my mouth.
pressing against mine,
rising to meet me,
applauding in rhythm.
grasping at my shoulders,
sliding down my chest,
clinging to my skin.
squeezing me tightly.
arching up to me,
tilting back your chin,
pressing us so close.
undulating in excitement,
trembling in joy,
shivering with delight.
echoing inside my head,
calling out to the universe,
telling me everything.
tender and delicate,
~days eat days
like I eat potato chips
on a couch whose
springs have thrown out
their backs no longer able
to hold even the remote up.
it sinks between the seats like
I do every lonely saturday night
or every evening I can’t quite
make it to bed, cupped with
similar back problems,
a similar sag.
I’ve begun to
take after my furniture.
"the only unattractive curve,"
a girl once said to me with a few
desirable curves herself,
"is the one a person develops
in their back.”
we dated for a month and
she called me her
hunchback of notre dome
(it’s dame, babe.)
and I called her beautiful.
and nothing else.
but somehow her leaving did nothing
to straighten my bent back but
only managed to deepen
my parenthetical stance on
those who love me
(they don’t exist).
Harmonious DiscordShe dreams
of making music
but it's not music at all.
There is no melody,
no rhythm to her song.
Just the repetition
of the same-
As if the orchestra is
tuning their instruments.
Waiting for the tap of the baton
to bring the mess to order.
hopes that the maestro never arrives.
She loves to loose herself in the fuzzy-buzzing
twanging confusion of it all
The busy white noise
that fills her ears like cotton wool
She knows she could mend it
with the snap of fingers
[bring the rhythm back]
the tap of a foot
[give it a bass line]
the rhythmic clapping
[Make a beat for it to follow]
Start something bigger
than anything previously experienced
In this small static word of
TV snow storms and dial tones
Of broken space filled with
empty frames and fogged up lenses
But she won't.
For this is her harmonious discord
filling the darkness in her head
Twenty-three years before the crippling of Crown Prince James III
He was fourteen and she was probably aged about the same, give or take a few years. It had been an hour since he'd met her.
He hated her already.
She scowled behind him and likely shared the sentiment as they scampered up the hillside in a desperate attempt to escape the roaring mob that seemed to be growing perpetually larger and coming ever-closer. Gabriel would have liked to say that it was all her fault he was in this situation, though it was his careless nicking ofwhat was it? A chicken that started the first old woman running, but how was he supposed to know that she'd stumble and fall and everyone else would think he'd assaulted her?
He hadn't. He'd taken the chicken, snapped its neck and run, because he hadn't eaten meat in weeks and he was starting to feel the affects on his already weak limbs.
This is what happens, he thought. This is what happens when you live like th
Little Miss It“Do you enjoy her company?”
That, Avadaci concluded, had been the extent of his grandfather’s kindness. Thank the stars he had broken his neck after a failed attempt to ascend the castle staircase. Not that many were privy to this information. The official listing on the cause of death involved something along the lines of falling in battle after slaying at least a dozen demons, although this was treated with quite a bit of skepticism by the general populace. Yet, interestingly enough, a decent portion of the locals believed a tale about the cannibals of Unkhtom devouring him whole.
Not that Avadaci really cared how his grandfather had died. He was just glad he was dead. And if he was glad his grandfather had died, Avadaci wondered, why did he have to attend his funeral? In fact, the whole kingdom was glad his grandfather had died. Why did they have to attend the funeral?
“Oh Avad,” proclaimed his mother, “obv
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More