We Move LightlyWe move in circlesWe Move Lightly by HtBlack
Music brings us around
in eternal choruses
synchronising at last even
We could never sit
down to take in
the romantic ride.
We were one of the moving
and brief instants
etched in pictures,
but never of us.
And I don't remember until,
looking back at you,
all the lights and music
choruses and memories
in your eyes, your ruffled
I hurry first out of the
ferris wheel so I can catch
the beauty your happiness is.
Reflection Upon FearI've searched for the arbitrary,
Found places abandoned to a plague,
Under restoration yet unrestored:
Awl-marks tagged for eternity,
Fresh rage scored the plaster,
Hastily-painted mural of Christ
Marred upon the stone façade,
The scaffolding’s chain of pipes
And planks were
Dark with soot, vacated.
Some things in us that we can't see
Are narrow, dead ends from pillar
To post, soundlessly guiding where
We shouldn't be led.
He who grabs and demands an open hand
From which to stand again
May stand, higher even,
On other men.
Dust particles poised to curse us,
We cannot cure the condition of "versus".
Children play kick-the-can
With a dented censer;
I watch them battle with each kick, a
Fresh perfume of cinders.
Full Circle“Can’t you go on your own?”
“That’s not the point, James. You’ve got to get used to the way things are now; I know it’s tough, but it’ll only get harder the longer you wait, and it’s already been months.
This argument was nothing new, but Adam doubted he’d ever get used to it. Ever since the Surveillance Revolution ended in Canada, a new, exasperating paranoia had taken hold of some of the more fragile youth: they were afraid to be out of sight. Before the Pan-American Surveillance Agency was dissolved, their main line of propaganda defense had been to assure the public that their programs were in everyone’s best interest: because how else could they catch the bad guys? They didn’t catch them, of course. Not really. Not the valuable ones. But when you’re young and Stranger Danger feels as real as ever, the idea of having somebody always watching your back was co
planetscattered in techruined
carry memoirs of an idea;
that gave rise to empires,
built on nothing but paper
they will soon find me.
i, unlike dust,
cannot scatter in the wind.
Fear of the planetHe lives behind drawn curtains, losing his mind between a locked door
and barred windows, he hasn’t seen the sun in years, hoping – wishing –
praying that the world has somehow stopped spinning in circles,
that the nuclear warheads he is sure are screaming beneath the floor boards
have rotted away, that they aren’t going to de-de-detonate
and he bites his nails down to red stubs, hoping – wishing-
praying that he won’t scratch off his skin convinced a monster
lurks between the pages of paper skin, that the drone of the pylons has
been unplugged so that he can close his eyes without seeing
burning metal melting through the walls
and he has blunted every knife, taped every door shut, disconnected the telephone
hoping – wishing – praying that the world outside is dead, that he is dead
that he can just stop thinking;
that he can stop seeing floods cascade from the sink, towering flames from the hob,
lightning arching from the satellite dish t
Night watch“You see, Master Ben – sometimes thieves dress up in gentlemen’s clothes,” Kneebone said. The candle flame flickered at every word and I found myself staring at it, please do not go off please.
“You’re blowing on the candle...” I clamped my mouth shut; my fingers left their clammy spot on the butt of the carbine to tug at the neckcloth’s knot.
“They rent a couch and four and borrow fine clothes, livery for ten men passing off as servants, and ride in. Just ride in. None would dare stop ‘em at the gate. You see, Master Ben, some thieves behave like gentlemen, too, so it’s fickle to tell. For us it is, at least.” Kneebone smiled from the side of his mouth the pirates’ cutlasses had spared.
I turned away, to the stairs that unfolded before my shoes and plunged into the darkness of the lower storey. My legs were wrapped in an old pair of military gaiters; they ill-fitted my thin calves, the skin sweated and itche
JournalDear Journal, or Doctor, or myself in the future?
The time now is about three o'clock in the afternoon on Tuesday, the 14th of July. The weather outside is sunny, though the morning was rather cloudy. I'm not entirely sure how this works, or what it's supposed to sound like, but Dr. Eckstein did say I should keep a journal of my day-to-day thoughts, so...here it is. If you are reading this Doc, this feels stupid. If anyone else is reading this, please delete these files immediately.
At 9:00AM, I was awoken by my alarm clock. Got up and out of bed. Went to the kitchen for breakfast.
Looked out the window and saw that the sky was grey. I thought I heard that it would be sun all day, so I had expected to stay in as usual today. Figured today would be a good of a day as any to try it again since the sun wasn't out...but not yet.
Bowl...check. Milk...check. Spoon...check. Medicine...check. I washed the bowl out first. I was concerned at first since I thought I had run out of bottled w
Your friendly - but a bit of a troll, admittedly - next-door neighbour. I love cookies, gaming, Magic:the Gathering and anime; I love silence, music and nature; I love long walks, being lazy, I love silly things like earrings, jeans and nail polish (and I have tons of them all, beware).|
I love smiles, cold weather, and I love when my toes are warm next to the fire. I love you.