Spin me a story

Have you ever been told you were to meet Mickey Mouse; only to find out he was a pot-bellied man in a cotton suit?

Imagine my surprise.

I was invited to meet Death; the man who stalks the earth.

I always admired him, in a way.

He caused me nothing but sorrow; taught me nothing but pain,

and all without meeting him face to face.

So imagine when I found that; like Mickey Mouse, Death was only a facade for something completely different.

That he only summarized the collective endgame of several entities.

Worse; that I already knew them.

First, there was ambition.

Even as I sat at the table he would walk over to me and whisper that I could be sitting at the head of the table.

He explained that his promise lifts even the most grounded person up.

The higher they get; the hungrier they get,

And they are doomed to die of starvation,

miles above the ground.

I knew ambition well.

And through our friendship, it was expected he was a part of this grim circle.

The others; though strangers;

their participation was what felt like a thousand stabs to the back each.

For sitting alongside Ambition was Peace.

Ever deceptive, Peace was a beautiful thing.

He knew Man was naive; and would gain his audience through violence.

Those he visited were worst off, they were deceived into believing they were free.

They had no thirst; or worse; did not think they did,

they were doomed to their own satisfaction.

So in love were they with their ideals,

they ultimately dug their own graves.

The third seat was empty.

When the two introduced their missing brother, I felt all the weight in my heart crush me .

His stories were spread to all of man; who looked far and wide for them.

Some abandoned ambition, and some even abandoned peace; just for this entity.

So imagine how I felt:

I had come face to face with death and still was denied meeting Love.

It's just how I roll

11/6/11

As I wandered the wastelands

towers in ruin around me

lay a tree no mortal eye could comprehend;

no mortal mouth could describe.

Beneath it, he rests;

a giant chrysalis.

And as the leaves rattled; like children waiting to be fed;

the howling winds danced around me; and I looked.

The destroyed fires; the wrecked buildings,

What once dared to grab the sky; on its knees

even remains of mortals, just trying to grab on,

And they pointed in one direction; like schoolchildren taunting.

A tree, in the center. Its leaves rattling,

its core; pulsing

its chrysalis; rocking as if it beckoned

and though I knew better; I dared to touch it.

And I saw it.

I saw the chrysalis; its pulse growing heavier,

it glowed from the inside; it started to cleave itself open,

I almost thought I could reach the hand escaping the chrysalis.

And then I saw it.

as it darkened; its pulse slowing,

the embers let little glowing beams; pouring from cracks.

There were no words to describe this tree; as it bent; distorted and twisted as it came to the ground.

Have you ever seen a candle?

The tree tried to describe the flickering flame; dancing wildly,

I could almost hear a scream of pain

and then nothing.

It did not go without leaving marks; though;

it joined the others;

just mounds of dust;

in the barren wasteland.

I thought long and hard;

The others must have been beautiful too;

and I felt rage and sorrow flood me until I drowned from the inside out;

but I swallowed it and just kept walking.

I like to believe that is what this wasteland will mold me into;

Because stopping only draws pain and sorrow;

reaching only brings destruction

but walking brings about nothing.

It's just how I roll

17/3/11

I was face-to-face with the mighty Gilgamesh,

his maddened gaze was empty,

yearning for companionship, for acceptance,

He was bound to the earth, almost chained.

Like so many after him, he wildly swung his arms,

his gaze ever present as he bellowed,

the immediate trees shook, but no more after,

In his asylum of the great Plane, I was the only one to know he was there

'O ye of whom yourself have crowned king, you are a fool!' he yelled

'Thou cannot count the Zebra! Ascend the tower of Babble!

I slayeth Humbaba, for naught! Enkidu, gone, immortality; lost!

For every mountain climbeth another three ditches thou fall!'

I did not meet him by will; and he did not wish to be avoided,

Like all the wrathful with the burning flame he was consumed within himself,

but like those who had failed before he lacked the fuel to press forwards

the fire in his heart was doused quickly, and he himself collapsed.

After besting the mighty Gilgamesh; I considered his words,

this plane was empty; In the happy time I was alone,

In moments of great joy I wallowed in solitude,

and in the distance, someone cried

It's just how I roll

Negativity

As I walked on through the dark recesses,

The rocky cliffside; where shadows lived in the afternoon sun,

a place where the lost in time forever roamed,

where no light could survive

By noon it was it was modest of its breadth,

a small crack on the ground of a vast plane

Almost invisible, but still there.

It was here the Vultures roosted,

their broken backs; bent forward and looking onward,

They sharpened their talons at passers-by; "What benefits do they posses?"

As they circled above them, waiting. watching.

In this valley could be found the mighty ox;

who's body in scars were covered like the seasoned hero;

As he stepped on the sharper rocks he would lash outwards with his mighty horns;

as if trying in vain to break out; as more rocks would land on him.

I have met the vultures,

even the ox who forever thrashes,

once silenced, they are barely noticeable,

Even those who belong waist-deep in ice; their threat means nothing to me.

It is the mind I truly fear; for it is deemed creator of such dark places,

It snakes like a vine; controls your eyes,

such that no matter how bright the sun,

all you will see in this plane is the beckoning shadow.

It's just how I roll