Month: January 2013

Of Memories Unearthed, Pt. I: Brown Dwarves on Mushrooms and Other Dead Things

Written on . Posted in Lullabies, Products of the Chaotic Mind.

Once upon a time, when everything was younger, someone wanted to try my special dish of Pure Honesty™

… To Maria

Oh any time! Though I must warn you, it is sour, with a hint of colourless mushroom clouds, dream-shaped cheese and anti-viruses, best served dead with hollow raven heads and sliced brown dwarves (23-33 Mj is recommended)… Enjoy!

H.Q.
10th Aug 2011

What she replied with, is something that I no longer remember, but what I know is, it was so bright it lit a spark inside a once-infertile mind, and these lines were born:

But the sliced brown dwarves said nothing,
for they were sliced, and they were cold…
And the mistletoe is no more;
as The Grinch stole her sanity with a bat’s spinal cord…

Thus here I wait, with a box that ain’t mine,
a key that ain’t hers and an elf that ain’t there,
we look at each other and laugh as one,
for we just did what’s never been done!

The old gnome smiles, his name was “Answer”,
he loved to raise elks, he’s a hell of a dancer!
He solved the quiz and opened the box,
he didn’t need a key for he’s half an ox!

But then it happened, the secret was revealed!
The bats went slaying, their wounds cannot be healed!
I screamed and begged for the mercy of the Master,
but he just flew as he blasted into laughter!

“Oh Lord of Bats, ye Harbinger of Sin,
can’t ya save Vesper and save her elven-kin!?”…
“HOHOO HELL NO!” he jawed from outer space
“YER ON YOUR OWN, SO SHUT YER UGLY FACE!”…

So here I lie, split in half and shattered,
my blood runs dry as I think of what he’s muttered;
could it be true? Or does it really matter!?
Is it just ma face? Or am I gettin’ fatter!!

The answer to this troubling quest,
shalt not be known to man or beast,
for the jolly “Answer” ain’t no more
than half a gnome and half a feast…

H.Q.
22:40
2011 Aug 12

Phoenix, Arise…

Written on . Posted in Products of the Chaotic Mind.

The nearer to my throat this world comes closing in, the deeper I breathe, and the more I see death around me, and the more I see the premonitions of failure burning brighter, the clearer this my path I see.

I won’t apologise for the dreams I chase, I won’t say sorry for the words I utter but you misunderstand, I won’t stand ashamed for I know all that you never will, I won’t step back in fear of your arrogant ignorance crushing my every plan, I won’t ask for forgiveness from a schizophrenic God who’s yet uncertain of his own fate; for my only regret is the time I listened to those who do not know, those who cannot see beyond the walls built around their minds, those who weigh not but the mere mud from which they’ve come, those who smother you with rusty chains of inherited dogmas and expired beliefs, those who would do anything and everything to keep you from being the smile you once saw on the other side.

Here’s to the ones, above and below, who saw the aura I’ve never had, who bled and wept for me to rise, who touched the beast behind the mask and deep within they carved their names, forever there, till my demise. Here my oath, and the dead be my witness, for I shall walk the path I drew, lone, firm and fearless, leaving my trail on every ground, on every wall and every heart; forever there, until the end of time.

For I only make the memory, thence it’s yours to keep.

H.Q.
IX:XIV p.m.
dies mercuri, ante diem III Nonas Ianuarius, anno MMDCCLXVI a.U.c

At the Gates of Amnesia / A Halo for the Sane

Written on . Posted in Poetry, Products of the Chaotic Mind.

And round it spins, and round it goes around your fingers; a perfect world in a perfect circle, a portal through which your soul is channelled to the heart for which it longs, to a cradle in a room that is your home, to an empty bottle, to a lonely glass, to a desolate shadow that is not yours to embrace.

Your eyes can no longer sleep, awaiting a ray of light that’s gone astray, for all you see are blackened shards of shattered glass and bleeding curtains of murdered hopes. You turn the ring, you close the portal, you lock the door, and back to the darkest of all of them corners you crawl.

“Stolen chords and borrowed rhymes,
fractured songs of madness
Echo with the bleakest chimes
dragging trails of sadness

By the altar of the lost
and torn, her vows she’d utter
Bathed in darkness, with a crown
of thorns, her heart aflutter

So broke the void from whence he show’d;
a crow of wit and age
And there he stood, with night adorned
Thus quoth the sightless sage:

“This my kingdom, thou behold
nigh the shores of Lethe,
nurtures neither love nor gold
hence foredoomed shall be thee”

Stolen chords and borrowed rhymes,
fractured songs of madness
Echoed in my bleakest times
and wrought my life of sadness”

H.Q.
04:33
Monday, 07/01/2013