A Joy So Near To Melancholy

Why I Fly Why does it matter where I fly, If I never wonder why? Elephant of Doom stomps through the grounds. They haven’t seen such a sight in their lifetime— can there be a reason found? Godly and provoking, a village now stuck choking, round and round men croaking… blood forever soaking. I vanish in a flash and direct my flight somewhere else. Do I wonder why, if I fly, fly, fly? I sit upon a mountaintop, waiting for the trumpets of men to sound their last lingering note — and then stop. I count: one, two, three, go! I watch thousands of men charge, spears in hand. Hours pass by, and I can’t understand. The gutting and wrenching, the screaming, the clenching — a frenzy for a life worth catching. I wonder why, and fly, fly fly. I return to the village, curious as I am. Burnt down in the rampage of an animal, I decide there’s nothing left. I scan the hot, humid savannah: thick, ta...

 Ancient Darkness breeds inside a sacrificial pigeon     Here, put it into this pot of gold!     What will become of it? Will it grow in size? Will it feed the entire village? The world? Thick black tendrils grow out of a shadowy mass of cancer in its heart The arms sponge outwardly from tar stained bone to fragile webs of tendons, until it captures the men in a rather mycelial prison.  The spores have already taken hold of the men's mental capacities... in through the nostrils, and out through the blood stream to every single powerhouse of the cell.     I can't see anything anymore...     My body feels like it is burning from the inside... fuck!      Why is my heart screaming like a boiling tea kettle? Ancient Darkness breeds inside the men. Their lives have been confiscated. The rotting cage infiltrates their bodies with its now ten ton tendrils, imbibing them with a final shock of fate, their eyes flashing green. As the...

The First is always the hardest. But after a while, it is simply but a morning routine: One head to the block, let the gravity work the guillotine. I forget to wash the floorboards since the rich red Mahogany soaks it in nicely. I just let the bodies air out, figuring they'd learn to breathe again eventually. It's not until the raccoons come inside to take their supper, that I write the time of death. If a bird sings its song in the canopy of the forest, and there's at least one other to hear it, does the struggle of man make a sound? - Father Time, XX89AD

Death waits for the tulips to dance Therefore...          Water your Soil          Give it the Light you want to witness          Let your Garden be caressed by the Spring winds          They are well intimate with the passage of time          It doesn't matter that you bear the sour lime          The energy of the world will remember          All of your greatest aspirations in time Death is the ultimate orgasm, Therefore...          Cherish Every Moment          Let it Pulse within you          Let your body feel the warmth of the burning sun          It is there that you can feel a moment          It is there you can feel her with you          ...

  "Choose Your Poison," they say. But how can I, when they all look delicious? A foamy, strawberry milkshake   with blended pillowy marshmallows is a sure way to die well. But I'll take the tangy sweet raspberry filled chocolate , for that poison gives me the right vitality. If you ask me, that can of dihydrogen monoxide is a bit underwhelming, but I can drink it afterwards to clear my palette. And then afterwards I'll clear my stomach of these toxins with a cold glass of whiskey, next to that ghost that always hangs by the staircase. She always looked a bit dead compared to other ghosts, aren't they supposed to be scary? I hardly even notice she's there until I have that glass. And then it's that lullaby. The window her eyes lead to is the royal blue gateway to a far more desolate place. She continues to hum to that dying star. I can't bear to look out the glass, it's too bright. Her eyes undeterred by the madness, she quietly keeps every mome...

Dancing cricket on the picket fence. Borrows Light from the Moon . From its wings it calls incessantly, for the other dancers of the night. The bleeding Sun 's twin sister... Why does she look down in  Gloom? When the cricket has yet to see dawn, and remains so full of fight. Is that not what the Moon likes to see and hear? It surely instills hope in her as it does her brother. For whom this dance is a rhythmical transition from the dead to the living And for whom its the start of the Gladiators' breakfast, welcoming the winners of tomorrow to feast upon the winners of yesterday And so, ... "Why are you weeping?" her haughty older brothers asks. The moon answers , "Your self-consumption... is constant... and pitiable. Where will you be in a millennia when you have nothing left of yourself to consume?" The Sun laughs "That is what you are there for! When the Earth no longer can serve my appetite, you'll be right there!" T...