Παρασκευή, 15 Ιουλίου 2011

Ten Little Soldier Boys

I first discovered that back in 2006. It's still engraved in my memory.


Ten little soldier boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were Nine.

Nine little soldier boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there was Eight.

Eight little soldier boys travelling to Devon;
One said he stayed there and then there were Seven.

Seven little soldier boys chopping up sticks;
One chopped himself in halves and then there were Six.

Six little soldier boys playing with a hive;
A bumble bee stung one and then there were Five.

Five little soldier boys going in for law;
One got in Chancery and then there were Four.

Four little soldier boys going out to sea;
A red herring swallowed one and then there were Three.

Three little soldier boys walking in the Zoo;
A big bear hugged one and then there were Two.

Two little soldier boys sitting in the sun;
One got frizzled up and then there was One.

One little soldier boy left all alone;
He went and hanged himself

And then there were None.


Πέμπτη, 7 Ιουλίου 2011

Existential Neurosis (Prologue)

Ok so I begun rewriting a story originally conceived something like two years ago. I didn't like my first attempt and so I'm writing it again! This is the prologue, I hope you enjoy :)




Prologue

If one were to defy the elements of time and space, he might have been able to come across a mahogany door appearing to float in mid air. However since that place did not follow the laws of the three-dimensional spectrum, the door would merely exist for it was neither mater nor anti-mater.

In this hypothetical situation the person, who wouldn’t consist of any known human elements, would open the door that does not creek, only to come across a dimly light room. Its light source were five cream-coloured candles, secured on the surface of the walls with scones. One on each side of the door, one on the opposite wall, and one on each of the facing walls. Some would acclaim that the existence of light, as well as the room,  was absurd, for mater would cease to exist outside the mahogany door. Others would call it magic. Neither of those groups would be entirely mistaken nor correct. After all, both the absurd and magic exist, in their own special ways, in the majority of dimensions.

If the person that entered the room accepted, or merely dismissed, the irrationality of the situation, his sight would wander around the room. The walls were painted to resemble medieval art.  Someone experienced with that period’s art might have recognized it as Hans Memling’s “The Last Judgment”. However it didn’t take an expert to realize the message conveyed from it. People are judged by God, with Archangel Michael condemning the sinners to an eternity in Hell with demons and their agonizing screams as a company, and the pure, whose sins were not great, were sent to serve in Heaven.


At some point the person would have to avert his gaze from the Christian Eschatology painting to explore the rest of the room. His eyes would travel to the ceiling, where no chandelier seemed to hung, to the wooden floor where books were scattered in a chaotic fashion. The person would probably raise a book from the ground only to find out that in contained no words, no pictures, just paper that had become yellow over the course of time. The book would be placed down on the floor at its original place and the exploration would continue.

As the person’s sight adjusted he would clearly see a bundle lying on the floor. Whilst approaching it he would stop dead on his tracks as the bundle moved ever so slightly.

This hypothetical situation unfolded often. I’ve lost count of the number of times it has happened.

Today was no exception.

I opened the door that does not creek and entered the room without making a sound. Keeping my gaze on the wooden floor I trod carefully not to step on the books, without acknowledging the intruder’s presence. After all the man needed a sense of security provided by his supposed invisibility to my eyes. This logic is buried in the human childhood, when the children thought that by being covered by a blanket they would be invisible to the bogey-man under the bed, thus maintaining their safety.

I reached the moving bundle that was covered by a wool blanket, with the colour of coal. I knelt  before it and raised the blanket slightly with the tips of my bare fingers. Below it lied a girl, no older than twenty years. Her hair was a deep red colour with copper undertones. It was quite long and slightly wavy.

I observed her, from her ivory skin, down to her bare, slender neck. My eyes stopped at her clavice where an Ω had been carved, leaving behind a soft pink mark. Her chest was rising and falling rhythmically.

I turned my gaze back to her face. Her rosy pink lips were slightly parted leaving a small gap where the air from her lungs was exhaled in the room.

I was a bit reluctant to disturb her slumber but I knew I had to. I always did.

And so I lowered my upper body and planted  a soft kiss on her warm forehead.

She let out a few small noises and opened her eyes groggily.

I raised my head and met her gaze. Her green eyes seemed to be still hazy from the sleep she lusted to regain. After a second she focused her gaze on my eyes and smiled.

“I was hoping I could get a few more minutes of sleep, you know? My sleep cycle is way too corrupted for my tastes.” she playfully scolded me as she raised herself to a sitting position with her legs crossed tossing the blanket to her side. Her garment consisted of a petrol nightgown that covered her arms above her elbows and reached just below her kneecaps.

“You’ll get used to it. Mine is practically non-existent.” I said chuckling. She smirked at my comment. As she stretched her head her glimpse caught the third person in the room. Her grin became wider and turned her head with her eyes boring into mine.

“You have a job for me...” she stated. I nodded.

“Indeed I do.” I told her.

“V. status?” she asked as she rubbed her neck with her left hand, briefly touching the scar and then bringing it down, tangling her fingers together.

“N.D.E. while O.D with Ecstasy .25 years of age. No previous contact.” I said in a monotonous voice.

She sighed. “Was there any reason?”

“Nope, he was at a party. He just went too far.” I replied

She rubbed her temples with her fingers.

“The Client is waiting outside.” I continued.

She nodded and we both stood up. We turned our attention to the third person in the room, who was now shaking.

She formed a warm smile with her lips.

“Hello there!” she exclaimed happily.

“Um... Hey.. S-sorry for getting in I-I was lost,  I think.” he muttered nervously.

“Don’t fret around such meaningless issues. You are here that’s all that matters.” she told him grinning.

The man was still scared despite her jubilant demeanor.

“Come on, you don’t have to be so shy.” she giggled, “Walk with me, let us leave this dreadful room. It makes me a bit depressed.” she exclaimed as she she stretched out her hand.
The man stood still for a few seconds before realizing that the woman wouldn’t hurt him and concluded that this was all just a dream.

He took hold of her outstretched hand. She smiled satisfied and lead him to a dark brown door in the corner of room. The man found it a bit strange that the door wasn’t there before, but he shunned the thought reminding himself that he was in a dream, thus the laws of the human world ceased to exist.

I smiled bitterly as the duo exited the door. Knowing that she wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours, I searched with my eyes the pile of books lying on the floor. I found the book that I was looking for and I picked it up. It was strange, it was the only book I’ve been reading everyday for the past days yet it somehow managed to remain dusty, the next day after I would wipe it. I blew out the dust and cleared the remains with my left hand.

The book was ordinary looking and quite old. The engraving on the burgundy cover had faded long ago. I opened the book at a random page. It was blank. As I concentrated words begun to appear on the yellow pages in an old-fashion,  handwritten font.  I let my eyes wander on the words, savouring their meaning and eventually getting lost in the story.

Τετάρτη, 15 Ιουνίου 2011

I ache for the touch of your lips ,dear, But much more for the touch of your whips, dear....



My beloved dearest... How much I long for you.
I wish to become the blood running in your veins,   the air in your lungs...

Haha no, this is not what it sounds like. The above is based on a conversation I had with my friend :) (and neither of us would be actually considered as a romantic person...)

Sometimes I just sit and listen to the song "The Masochism Tango" by Tom Lehrer (video posted above).
I understand that's it's satire in its purest, bluntest form, and I love every minute of it.

Why should love be associated with red roses, and pink bubbles, confining the lovers in their own imaginary world? Let us be realistic, life is not a road paved with flower petals. If it were we would be unsatisfied with our lives.

One that has never felt pain and agony cannot appreciate the small joys of life.

~~~

I love my friends, they've been besides me at the roughest times of my life.
I have yet to experience romantic love. After all why should I rush? Life's ahead of me (well of course nothing guarantees that I won't die, say, tomorrow).

I prefer not to fret over issues like these. After all if I always worry about finding my true love, I will shun away the simple joys and the wonderful times I'll have with my friends.

~~~

I ache for the touch of your lips, dear,
But much more for the touch of your whips, dear.
You can raise welts
Like nobody else,
As we dance to the masochism tango.

Say our love be a flame, not an ember,
Say it's me that you want to dismember.
Blacken my eye,
Set fire to my tie,
As we dance to the masochism tango.

At your command
Before you here I stand,
My heart is in my hand. ecch!
It's here that I must be.
My heart entreats,
Just hear those savage beats,
And go put on your cleats
And come and trample me.
Your heart is hard as stone or mahogany,
That's why I'm in such exquisite agony.

My soul is on fire,
It's aflame with desire,
Which is why I perspire
When we tango.

You caught my nose
In your left castanet, love,
I can feel the pain yet, love,
Ev'ry time I hear drums.
And I envy the rose
That you held in your teeth, love,
With the thorns underneath, love,
Sticking into your gums.

Your eyes cast a spell that bewitches.
The last time I needed twenty stitches
To sew up the gash
That you made with your lash,
As we danced to the masochism tango.

Bash in my brain,
And make me scream with pain,
Then kick me once again,
And say we'll never part.
I know too well
I'm underneath your spell,
So, darling, if you smell
Something burning, it's my heart.
Excuse me!

Take your cigarette from it's holder,
And burn your initials in my shoulder.
Fracture my spine,
And swear that you're mine,
As we dance to the masochism tango.

~~

Have a wonderful summer :)