19 September 2011

Merlin 2:18 The Liminal Passage

Merlin 2:18 “The Liminal Passage”

The omniscient calm of a dying firestorm, the apostle in triumph stands not but faint and falls without restraint. The innocent woman and her children watched Merlin fall among his coadjutors, his face aged more than the moments sacrificed in remonstrance. Troy is now pale and white in the distance, his skin clouted with the magic of the phoenix was at closer examination deep enough to forge a porcelain heart. His renitence to the flame’s deluge made him restive in the place, unable to palliate the scene he reaches into his skein of armor and pulls a large potion and tosses it to the ground near Merlin.

Merlin: “What is it?”
Troy: “I think Scotch-Mead”

Merlin tore the cork from the bottle for an insouciant drink, bittersweet he drank for his life. Nickolas stands over the wilted body of the scarecrow demon alongside Ana, with Troy pacing toward them. The phoenix watched his pilot walk between the victims and the incipient fire, the garrulous fickle-natured thoughts scowl predatorily, but at sight of his destination the holy bird began frolicking in the ashes, chasing embers and rooting in soot.

Troy: “Yet of whom did ask my subtle grace?”
Nickolas: “Perhaps indeed besotted druthers forsooth to mention.”
Troy: “Unleashed and unparalleled.”
Ana: “Hast ere anent thee comrades?”
Nickolas: “Nay, though surely Merlin has, will he be well love?”

Ana looks and courteously contrite ignores Merlin, whose gasps and convulsions have become a dire sleep.

Ana: “He’ll be well by the looks of it…where did you get that potion ivory?”
Troy: “...A barterer in the night had a case of them, the owner ran when I stood in his path so I helped myself.”
Celia: “What the fuck was that thing!”
Ana: “’Twas a demon madam.”
Celia: “Ye may halt channeling demons.”
Troy: “End touting how brilliant ye believe to be & commence learning the nature of thy manky hone fears.”

White and ever wise Troy offers his hand to the lady, noticing that her son has been wounded he picks the boy up in his arms and begins carrying him to his farmhouse with the mother and her daughter soon behind them. He shouts averring to his compatriots without averting focus.

Troy: “Nickolas, there is more to drink it you can fetch it from the avian.”
Ana: “Take for Merlin first Nick.”

There was a small but bonding moment of averseness between him and the great bird, but the contumacious standstill reveals a bethel of three additional bottles, of which he drew two and moved to his lady, trying to underact his perspicacious motives. As a loving embrace ensues he thoughtlessly mentions to her.

Nickolas: “I was over the moon when I saw thee angel, how hell awaits its fall for thyself.”
Ana: “You’re filthy, we should recourse the river, slake our thirsts.”
Nickolas: “Merlin…my good man, we’re off to the river to see how godly cleanliness is.”

With inscrutable ingress he approaches Merlin who is in calenture, wherewithal egresses retrocede does furtive passions to the cool of even.

17 September 2011

The Tear of a Page

They're raising the taxes
when there isn't enough
just to cover their asses
as their promises bluff
we've been toiling and working
with nothing from a half
the prisoners are boiling
we have the final laugh
elections wait for lies
the voter is king
as hunger is a drive
letting freedom ring
on mourning is the day
louder than the sun
with any thing to say
freedom must be won
we walk on the tears
beside the sky
for all of our years
a campaign lie
for some of the same
none of the rest
a worshiper game
put to the test
inside the mind
for all the kind
challenge the heart
without hate
a final start
empty fate
into air
our breath
as we share
a death
a life
our strife
the light
the night

14 September 2011

A Serving Imbroglio

As not for oft I've sat and wrote in prose
but many times a root for all the leaves
a circumstance the matter of belief
a post that cannot dwell for it is dead
with certainty a love to soon forget
like basil in a bush or mint for tea
the wars have come and gone like rain on fire
a memory foreseen to nevermore
a kingdom quenched at birth has come undone
perhaps a new awakening at dusk

Forsaken are my thoughts close to the seam

I scatter to collect what dreams await
but pillage me usurpers of the night
and blasphemous these symbols on the wall
by windows to a dream below the sea
but I digress of lessons in the light
to use how learned matter can convey
these battles in the vicious tenet mind
with visions of a cold and metal soul
possessed with demons feigning for the heart

These actions better never left unsaid

to message for the slaves below the deep
the pressure by an ocean made of tears
by fears of angels lost without the light
forever is the maker quite unclear
the secrets in the blood of those who've died
these masters are bereft among the plants
or happenstance to dance among the weeds
while working with their colors for the cost
the bones to grind and toil among the trees

Remember of the farmer in the breeze

the shadows at the edges of the eyes
a discontent for creatures at the mass
deliverer of sermon to the skies
a land surfeit to treasure on the march
awakened by the tears of heaven's joy
the wars of blood decay on mortal soil
betrayed the rivers wash eternal sin
a glare at every growing tare and tret
authority to tame the summer storms

The roots of time are digging in the dark

the host of wealth is  covered oft with ash
advantage of the hedgerows and the thorn
as mysteries unfold and clues unwind
with spears and spades into the frozen north
and now usurpers burn for forest myths
adults afforded grace at lesson one
betrayed by many youth of ignorance
with battle to the wall once more again
continue to the heart of traitor war

When talking to these stones I fell asleep

to keep a single thought within a cell
complete with stolen sight beyond the bonds
a struggle for a thought wont to exist
where kings have better hold on former thirst
and jesters are the patient slave of choice
combined our efforts breath for aqualung
the essence of complacency at best
a test of trial and wit before the bones
a phial of shooting stars and stripes will do

At speeds of light the carrion erodes

the gathering of roads completes alas
as bastard spies disown their stolen nests
their stolen thought are rancid in the mind
belayed by further fracture of the muse
another not myself to lie in weight
as open waterfalls attack the ebb
the crops are growing deep into the air
beyond mine eyes that dream beneath the sleep
and wash my soul into the buried sands

I could not drink for weeks before the war

nor start my heart without a drumming feud
reports of mountains washed into the sea
the spoils of gathered soil has bound my wings
the strings control the shadow on the hill
the laurels are the spires of old guilt
the swill behind the hilt is second best
the scrolls of beasts with empty rooms unclean
escape the straightest path beneath the rust
with warmer thread they beg that morrow sows

The decadent seductress taste of steel

while all the seasons battle at their wit
to court the talons of the algid shore
with blades above the eyes and fires deep
to keep the song of age from curse and hex
survive the fiends and mercenary march
the midst of ides is sharpening the dawn
the movement as our future fights our past
with friend and foe all felled and thawing fast
the waves of falling oceans take my all

The bluest morning sky that can be seen

of softest thorns beneath my broken feet
as sweetest air entreats my every need
a flower made of sand becomes my mind
the sharpest hair completely made of blood
the king of wolves in forests made of time
between the warring mountains made of lust
the rust of shadows dying in the night
the swords of heaven falling to their death
to save the air of maidens at last breath


13 September 2011

Obama Launches 'Misinformation' Website

Obama Launches 'Misinformation' Website - President Obama - Fox Nation

- "Now he wants to gossip on the internet."
- "This is just another case of government employee productivity going down the shitter because of social networking."
- "tisk tisk, sir."
 - "if he wouldn't provide so much misinformation, he wouldn't need that site"
- "no, he's starting a site where you can read all of his misinformation,"
- "i think he means disinformation...and trouble for Usa,"

According to Attack Watch: "See a new attack on the President or his record? Use Attack Watch to report it..."

I can't tell if this communist-socialist idea is closer to USSR or the Nazis. His failings are highly blatant.
+separation of power and reform / corruption

+permanent tax hikes for temporary plateauing 'stimulus' spending
+no energy plan
+no jobs plan
+no entitlement reform
+no bureaucracy reform
+no tort reform
+no education reform
+failed fiscal policy
+trade deficits
+crippling insane regulation
+unfair tax rates (One may expect rich tax hikes, as they earn more, but these %s are higher than their share of GDI, which is larceny.)
+unemployment over 8% for 30 months, longer than great depression (he gaffed it would never surmount 8%)
+inexperience / massive cult of personality
+an ADDITIONAL 2 million people unemployed
+25 million people with part time work, can't start families
+largest welfare-state ever
+largest unemployment period per worker in history / 40 weeks

The POTUS isn't discrediting any ethnicity, only defaming himself. Although i might have my share of doubts of "them", if he persists.


07 September 2011

Night Terrors 15 The Devil’s Bounty

Night Terrors – 15 The Devil’s Bounty
M.J. Banks

A house on the hill, not just as any other a single level at the peak of the mountain overlooking the city, in the day a mighty suburbia, in the night a dark labyrinth of alleys and counterculture. The air has a constant smoke low in the valley and clears the warm air of summer at the summit. The television lies restless with the tales repeating as Judas Wolf showers, as he does his friend Julio, better known as Julius Caesar pulls his car into the drive and enters into the house on the hill. He raises the volume on the TV and plunders the fridge for cheese and an apple and watches the new anchor of Broadcast Report retell the tale of a prior news anchor turned suicidal immortal refugee as Judas adorns himself for daily affairs. Afterward he stands
at the glass wall and with a finger he taps the glass and it turns translucent.

Judas: “Out there, theatre of the damned.”
Caesar: “Could you ever leave the stage?”
Judas: “What have you dude, new work and fresh meat I hope?”

Judas shouted his comment into the kitchen of the open area loft as he began his morning yoga stance, one foot on the ground, the other against the knee, the arms in prayer, and the eyes closed, despite the beautiful view.

Caesar: “It’s the jumper from the news.”
Judas: “No shit!”

He broke his prose and silent mantra and darted to the counter where Caesar removed his tablet from his windbreaker and put it on the table. Judas took a look at it momentarily and ran to his bedroom, only to return with his own. He put it on the table and placed his palm on the screen, after it read his handprint he slides it over toward the other, pausing to see her face on the TV screen then shifting his focus again to the tablets, each with different material on the same topic. His partner and casual friend sits quiet and slicing the apple and the cheese.

Caesar: “Well…what do you think?”
Judas: “I think that’s expensive what you’re eating.”

Judas didn’t really look away from the tablets or focus too intently, just drifting his eyes over a fountain of information.

Judas: “Am I going to love this…”
Caesar: “What?”
Judas: “Come with me.”

He moves quickly through the house with his friend behind him into a gaming lounge with low oriental furniture and stands at the wall.

Judas: “Ready? Pull.”

They pull levers on opposite sides of a TV, with a bit of burden they draw up the TV into the ceiling pulled by heavy sounding chains to reveal a wall bathed in soft blue light and covered with weapons. Judas grabs the half slice apple from his partner’s hand with contempt and takes a large bite and takes his handguns for the day.

Caesar: “How do you open it alone?”
Judas: “You got to put your back into it.”

Judas looks behind him to the futon in the room and finishes his apple, with guns and holsters and the pride he bolsters he drops the TV down again like an old garage door and leaves the room. Outside they leave in a black car, dark as demon’s blood, without glare or gleam. Through the peaks to the smoke of the streets and into the heart of the valley, they discuss their assignment.

Judas: “Did you read the file?”
Caesar: “Yea it’s on Broadway.”
Judas: “This is going to make my week.”
Caesar: “What? Why?”
Judas: “A pawn dealer named doubting Thomas.”
Caesar: “Yea do you know him? It says Thomas here.”
Judas: “I do, stay in the car; I’ll radio if I need help.”
Caesar: “Ok, but it’s your ass if I get pinned at the car.”

Judas arrives at the location but stops short by the length of an alley and slips into the steam. Inside Pawnee Shop, Thomas patiently waits for his eggs to cook as the doorbell rings. After checking the camera he sees that it’s Judas.

Thomas: “What the hell is he doing here?”

Thomas lets him enter the gates.

Thomas: “I’m surprised to see you here, it is still daylight.”
Judas: “Just checking in on your better habits, wouldn’t want to find a need to report your mistakes to P.A., but before you get scared finish your breakfast you’re going to burn your eggs.”

With some apprehension Thomas continues cooking, after a moment of sticking his head into the fridge to hide the glowing off world booze behind a carton of oranges.

Judas: “No need to hide your Moonshine Thomas, it’s not that kind of visit, I just need you to tell me if you’ve seen someone.”

Thomas makes his plate and sits at the table with the barred, chained, and fenced window at his side.

Thomas: “Yeah I can help you with that; I see all kinds of you guys every day.”
Judas: “No foreigner jokes, just tell me have you seen this lady.”

Judas shows him a picture of the fugitive and watches Thomas freeze in his boots and begin to sweat, a fear strikes him with great swath and you can see his eyes trace a memory in order. Judas pulls his gun and points it at Thomas’ forehead.

Judas: “Tell me now…I don’t have many options for this one Thomas.”
Thomas: “She was here with little Sam, on my advice they’re going to go see Bram.”
Judas: “Where?”
Thomas: “In the subway.”
Judas: “Traitor.”

Judas shoots him in the forehead and watches him eventually fall forward again into his plate. Next he puts a phone on the counter top and goes into the fridge, takes the box of oranges and the bottle of glowing booze, then leaves without the phone. Outside he gets into his car and awkwardly closes the passenger door.

Judas: “Subway lets go to the downtown station first and park the car.”

Caesar begins to make a U-turn in the street as he asks Judas the question.

Caesar: “Everything go ok in there?”

Judas smiles and does his best to not smile with joy in retort that begins to consume him.

Judas: “I think I left my phone in there.”
Caesar: “Oh shit you fuck –“

As Caesar was halfway through his turn-around he slams his foot on the gas pedal and tries to leave as fast as he can, the pawn shop explodes just then, the blast so big the force pushes the car sideways in the street until it speeds to escape. The subway is dark, clouded, smoky, and elusively dark. The pipes that run overhead are clean from the patron vampires that overwhelm the subway, an infestation by any discernment, too many disreputable criminals turned half-blood by true vampires or the capture of one, spent drinking each other for too many cycles of the night. Or even worse, feeding on the blood of immortals until their minds have gone mad like the ancient vampires of the dark ages, immortals are not healthy, perhaps they do not eat or they fill their blood full of narcotics, or even worse with habits of poison to tempt the fates of immortality, nonetheless the blood of an immortal has no true life to mention.

Caesar: “I hate this place.”
Julius: “As do I …you can always retreat…but I don’t see why, the world is yours I though.”
Caesar: “Here they come.”

Across the night the vampires emerged in darkness, crawling and confidently stalking like predators of the Eden, they drag pipes or their dirty hands along the walls, not timid, not afraid. Nevertheless, they should be, in formidable battle Judas and Caesar slay the lot. At a steel door a buzzer, at the end of a hall a curtain, beyond it a large room with other doorways covered in their own curtains around a room with a comfortable atmosphere of a family den with warm light and children playing.

Sam: “You’re late.”
Judas: “Thomas is dead.”
Sam: “Why?”

Caesar sits-down with the children and plays videogames in 3-D where they wave their hands at the screen.

Judas: “He knew where you were going.”
Sam: “So?”
Judas: “I wasn’t just in the neighborhood trading my car for crack money, somebody saw you there, she has a file and somebody big is looking for her.”

Samantha: “Good thing you were there to fix this.”
Sam: “Did you find a double?”
Judas: “We're working on it.”

Sam shows the address to Judas so he can see it...a clue unturned...the innocent strangers are as quiet as the guests.

Child: “Why don’t you relay it in digital?”

Sam picks-up the child.

Sam: “It’s not that easy anymore; show me you’re game boy. Twelve o’clock Judas, make sure you two are there.”

Caesar: “We will.”

Out the door they went, with guns drawn and the shadows of hell watch and scowl while making noises of the lurking absence of light. In town Judas and Caesar wait in their car drinking coffee outside a small coffee shop, as a woman who looks exactly like Angelica with died hair exits the building, a small camera at the trunk of the black car opens, as they watch through the screen she settles and they exit to trap her, a net shoots over her and draws her to the ground.

Angelica: “Where are you taking me?”
Judas: “To the mines of course…”

He and his partner toss her into the boot. The trunk closes with her in it as they drive away through innocent bystanders and coffee tables, hitting a cop car and sparking a pursuit. Down the street Judas lowers his window and holds a badge through the window, the cops take notice apprehensively and move to the window aversively with pistols drawn out only to quickly dismiss the instance and return to their patrol unit, letting the bounty hunters free with her heart pounding inside the trunk.

04 September 2011

Poseur Education

The context of currency is capitalism, the context of power is manipulation. I was at my all with economics, until sunset. I had imagined a world so cold that it could not help progress, a place so callous that it would not punish the reprehensible youth. When I ask myself what will become, this is all true. There is a profligacy that is destroying our freedom, an infectious irresponsibility is consuming all. There was a period of our past we call the great depression, a weight was put on our chests in the sea of tranquility, and all business began suffering. Again we are the same as that time, and it is equal in recession, though now we are a stronger alliance of cities and socialism. Our charitable programs have been exhausted passed the brink of failure and as a people we are very close to the point of no return. Ungrateful masses pollute entire schools of thought, grasping like beasts of burden with new circumstance spouting words they've heard merely for distraction and anarchy. Insomuch as technology has been overlooked by ingrate and insignificant masses, it is as it was prior. Technology is a natural necessity, without it we are lost to the darkness that the beast desires. With all objections to using shades of grey put aside, these new black days are upon us.

At the time of the olden time depression technology was a burden and a cure, in ways it brought sustenance to the tables of the needy, in other ways it put the farmer from the field into the lines of recession. Disparaging practices put order beneath chaos, and a time of struggle again brought together the minds of the masses and forged a stronger republic. The winters cold or the summers dry, those that had innovation could produce, as those who were unwilling to learn and grow were left to the wayside. From high and low a society seemed to split in two, though as often as great leaders have said that we are one, the spite and hatred grew from division into purported desolation. Cars moved the populous and justice caught the criminals, factories milled our food and housed our anachronistic desires, and the voices spoke while the children listened. Unto this our division began anew until the morrow we witness arrived. Aside from telling people that there is no recession, we must remind ourselves and others, the affluent and the exploiting afforded swindlers of both paupers and high society, that we must forever be learning.

Into the old losing years, we were many without technological convenience, the luxuries and other finer things in life we adore, now (and yet again) we are disparate, separated similarly, by the lack of leisure and communication, often one in the same. A few afforded the option to never work a day in their life, abandoned by an empty culture that asks nothing of them, envying toys, time, and every jot or tittle they see. Whether it be by choice or ill fate their inability to adapt makes them the archaic centerpieces of a battle that society must overcome. It might at any point be safe to shudder the thought, what the amounts of unemployed masses will desire when Earthlings create shuttles, or what else the science fiction writers have implored, to escape this rock. These times are tough if that only they are changing, "You cannot step twice into the same stream," many sage sermons have illuminated and many wise ones have touted but of so many words. If the heartbroken will break new hearts, those unable to heal and grow will be the demise of society. As the newspapers prize controversy over intellectuals whose sternest reprisals are written in sparse lines of this and that, the best conservancy is lost without flaws to reject, each trivial deceit is another moment lost on fallacious education.

You cannot make love to a stone but I'm sure, with the proper amount of money, in the right tent you could find a politician giving it their all. Are we ever closer to defeat than when we do not help humanity, are we ever closer to death than when we go at it alone, these perils do not wait for the souls and skins of life, but we must make them wait. If we do not cherish the wrong way eventually there will be none who can teach it, resist temptation to avoid showing misfortune, as there may be corruption borne of our hearts forever know it is not a creation of thought. Sport is a competition better by confidence earned by practice, faster is more formidable and is no different with knowledge, remain in your studies and do not abandon hope. Lies are all that is heard from death as a sport, success is no more difficult than survival. Being told that deceit is required is no different than a pathological liar deceiving you, it is much worse to lose the respect of deceivers than it is to disappoint yourself, but it is no different than fighting your entire life to be the best of the ignorant and disrespected by the innocently irrelevant childish minds than it is to be a slave to fear.

There is an absolute truth to be remembered in the forest of time, the innate human condition is wise beyond its time before it is born. Stay you by the strongest weapon and learn that demise is delivered by a fighter from a lineage of fighters, irrevocably know that the mind has limitless potential but our memory must forever grow. When racial traits are inherited, intellect is not excluded as an erroneous theology as the atheists would have you think, it is perhaps most accurately described as the human race. What we can do and know is endless, but our brains can only hold an arcane ten percent, if standards are ever lowered and the weak allowed to pollute heritage along an inadequate and wrongly damaging education system, a sobering stoicism will be realized only after the fall. It has been said that 'what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger', leaving little doubt of patrons of an undisciplined chaos would defame conservatives and claim that responsibility is forbidden. Their weakness is the most obvious, so blatant that it escapes the purveyors, their projections on others are accurate requests for their inner desires, calling others extremists is a desperate cry for extremism, awhile their mantra hypocrisy is a countable clamor by every egotistical presentation that foremost delays the inevitable.