Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Without Me

take me out of the world,
they'll never see me go,
never notice they're without
my name, my face, my floe.

take me out the world,
you'd do just fine without;
you can live without my give,
and never even doubt.

Saturday, November 8, 2014

From the Internal Narrative of Callidus Igni

I always set my tent up on the outskirts of the campgrounds. It was quieter and easier to slip out into the darkness. And in the many times I felt a need to disappear into my world, it was easy enough to exit the other world and leave it behind without interruption.

Unlike the other players, I didn't need leveling and questing to survive, but they certainly didn't hurt. I lived my world more than I left it, and lately, more often than not, I stayed in loyal character.

It's easy to be loyal to your character when you are your character. Calli was based on my true self, and my true self preferred being Calli.

My world was this, and I was happier within than I could be without.

--

My tent, though not hand-stitched like most of my clothing, was at least custom-built. I'd taken non-reflective, dark, earth-toned trap, and machined them together, even going so far as to heat-seal the hems. Pockets lined the walls that could be left packed even as the tent was torn down, though it took up considerably more space that way, but I could strap the whole assemblage to my back in lieu of a pack.

It was, in a word, sufficient. Satisfactory, literally "good enough."

My hardware was all scavenged, portable speakers, pulleys, rope and string and the like. I was a poor hand at programming and circuitry, but for a trade of game aid, I had a legion of players to help me in a pinch.

Who doesn't value a players who has no need to share your hard-earned experience points with him?

Even those I'd trapped were willing to help, for the right price, though I hardly turned to them for support.

I adjusted myself in my tree, and continued to watch what was a game to them unfold and play out.

--
PreviousIndex | Next

Untitled

my dreams are too big
and my world is too small,
my wings have no strength,
and I only can fall,

my hopes are too heavy,
and my fingers are too weak,
my wishes are to wispy
and too many people speak,

my self is too tiny
and the world is too big,
my voice is too muted
and for too long I'll dig

my body and my spirit
into the suffocating dust...
I'm a too small can of oil
in a place filled with rust.

Jump

A line around my neck,
Leading to my heart,
Cooling round my weakness
And tearing me apart.

A line around my neck,
Tied down the noose,
Makeshift and makepeace
Sets my soul loose.

A line around my neck
Straps me in place,
Bookmarking this world
Aligning my face.

A line around my neck
Leads me to you,
I can't let go
I always need you.

A line around my neck,
Weathered worn with lumps
Catches all my worry
When I finally

Vanilla

I need a world that needs me,
a world to steal my home,
a world that pulls me down,
where I'm not worried about being alone.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

The Whole Message

a word of wisdom isn't needed by the wise,
they work for knowledge instead of clear blue skies,
they hold out for the willing, scholarly pride,
and recruit or pillage what captures their eyes.

a wall of keeping, not protection, endures,
whetting their palate with bricks, mortar, pores,
they'll make into mine what you thought was yours,
and all you'll end up with are tightly locked doors.

a wish for the watching, you'll never get close
to the world that they're making from your skin and bones;
you can hope but it's hopeless to see what it shows,
soon inevitably you'll be left alone.

a wing sprouts from your backside when you lay to dream,
a thought of freedom from bondage that seems
to be love, to be nothing but peace;
lies knee-deep like latrine feces.

a warning to you, is all that I can offer,
money drains like blood from your happy coffers,
you'll never get back what you paid to the proffer;
they don't feel the pain that they know you suffer.

--
This poem is used in the MindGames project on DreamCollectivelier

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

The Easy Way (Out)

I slept on a thin, narrow mattress. A too light blanket covered my body, and I pulled it tightly around me. Despite the feverish temperature in the room, I still felt cold.

Every quarter hour through the night, I would be startled into wakefulness by the light of the hall glaring in onto my pillow. It reminded me of the moon, which I hadn't had opportunity to see in days, but less reassuring.

They took me in because I wanted to hurt myself, and they didn't want me to hurt myself.

With all the advances of medical science, natural selection has to find some recourse for its workings. Why not turn from the usual method of physical determination of strength to that of mental fortitude? Why work to divest mortals of their strength and destroy them with thine own, when thee could merely torment their souls with knowledge, and let that knowledge and wisdom that they work so hard to achieve rot their brains instead of redeem them?

If

if I could pay my way with words,
I'd have nothing left to fear,
no pain of unmissed shifts,
no nights beget with tears;

if I could pay my way with words,
I'd bid the pharmacy adieu,
stop worrying these pills,
mortar a stronger glue;

if I could pay my way with words,
I wouldn't feel this pain,
I wouldn't think I'm suffering
because I use my brain;

if I could pay my way with words,
braininess would be bliss,
I wouldn't want to be stupid,
mute and ignorant.

Ignorance Is Bliss

trapped with the words
locked tightly in my head,
too much thinking,
too much whirling,
too hard to get out of bed.

nothing I fear more
than losing my mind,
but lock me deep inside
and know not what I find.

trapped with my worlds,
locked tightly in my brain,
too much working,
too much hurting,
if I were dumber, I'd be sane.