Blue Winter Moon

Look up!

And see the blue winter moon—

Crumbling with delight,

Echoing my broken pastime of singing,

Laughing on broken boats that

Dock by the waves under the bridge.

I see the twinkling smile—

It watched with eyeless eyes and

Empty pupils where watchdogs used to sleep,

But now they just rest.

I wonder if it's real or

I see nothing I don't want to.

I see the blue winter moon—

Where the farmers farmed gold

And sung their phantoms into existence

And cried them away the very next day.

I wonder if it's real or

I see nothing I don't want to.

I see the clouded skies that part ways

Parting for the blue winter moon,

Shining so briefly until day—

Why so blue? I wonder if it's real.

Oh! My blue winter moon,

I wonder if it's real

Till the dead sun rises and the bitter day comes,

And I see everything I don't want to.

________________________________ 

I hope you enjoyed that! I realize it's been a while since I posted on here, and I do apologize. I've been insanely busy lately. This poem was just a reflection of some things I've been thnking. Leave a comment with your thoughts below. I'll see you in the next post!

Hiroshima

The pilot carried the bomb to the target; those were his orders. Below him, empty waters stretched into grass, cities, lives. He listened. They wanted him to do this. He pressed buttons. He pressed all the buttons. Too many of them, always.

The pilot pulled up. He dropped the package.

The papers called it Hiroshima; he called it work. He went home that night. Kissed his wife, hugged his children. Went to bed, lying, dreamless. He'd forgotten how to dream.

So he slept, and wondered if the dead remember their killers.

He didn’t think they did.

 ______________________________________

Before I say anything else, let me just mention that this piece is not meant to comment on anything that's been going on in the past week. I just have a bad sense of timing, is all. The story is about the horrors of war and violence. Please don't read it as a commentary on current events, because it really isn't. I obviously condemn all forms of hatred and discrimination in this world. Right now we need love more than anything else. 

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this post. I love writing flash fiction every now and then, to stretch my creative muscles and see how much I can fit into how little. Thanks for reading, and let me know your thoughts in the comments below!

My World - Chapter Two - Underground

So…

I think I owe you guys an apology.

A while ago I started working on a short story entitled My World and posted the first chapter. I then said the next chapter should be up in a couple weeks. Shortly afterward I started working on said chapter before getting wildly busy and never having time to finish the piece.

It has now been three months.

Whoopsies.

In my defense, I never actually forgot about this project. I simply couldn't find time to finish it. A weak excuse, I know, but a legitimate one. I'll try to be more timely with such uploads from now on. Chapter three, the final chapter, should be up before the month is out. Seriously.

Chapter one can be found right here: http://therustedinkblot.blogspot.com/2017/05/my-world.html. Please do give it a read. I'm really proud of it. Come back afterward to read to next chapter.

Now, without much ado, here is chapter two of My World.

  

______________________________

Deep in the recesses of the castle, there are the mines. They stretch for miles, winding up and down in a crawling web of networks, crawling like the spiders they shelter…lined with dust, tarnish and blood, they house the skeletons of all who once inhabited this place. I have seen those skeletons, and they are glorious. They tell the tale of humanity, the grand venture that was once my ancestry and is now the forgotten legacy I alone remember. And yet that is just the mouth of the mines. There's more there—such darkness. The bodies pile up and the bones outnumber the spiders. I've never dared venture that far into the mines, for I know I'll not return. I know it as sure as the hair rising on my skin. I'll never return.

So, of course, this was where Shard took me.

It was silent. Not the mines, but Shard. The mines—they spoke to me. They spoke in smell. They spoke in sight. They spoke in the sodden must that clung to the mud ceiling and the dripping stalactites that jutted from the roof. They spoke in whispers and screams, they spoke in curses and slurs. The problem was, I didn't understand a word they spoke. But Shard did. How else would he know where to go? How else would he navigate the mines so well? This was a labyrinth to stump Daedalus. Every twist and turn led to even more twists and turns. Every now and then blank walls would show up out of nowhere, ensuring that none may pass their obstruction. And through it all, Shard steered a course smooth as his own metal skin.

This was unnerving, of course, but it was nothing I wasn't used to. I considered fleeing several times, but where would I run? There was nowhere to go. If I left now, I would age and die in these very tunnels; alone, cold, and defeated, with nothing but the spiders for food and the dew for water. Shard was intelligent, walking me down a path I was doomed to follow. He beckoned me now. "Come, human," he said, and his face was unmoving. He was standing at the very edge of one of the tunnel walls, back pressed against the moist rocks. At first, I was confused as to what he wanted me to do, but then I saw it—there was a small trap-door at Shard's feet, covered in rust and dirt, untouched for what seemed like centuries. I approached it and keeping my eyes on Shard the whole time, wrenched it by the handle. It opened cleanly, without a sound.

Below the trap-door was nothing but a ladder, leading down towards the annals of hell. Shard beckoned me once more. Of course. He wanted me to go first. Vivid images flashed before my eyes—what was down there? Some frightening creature, ready to tear me apart limb by limb? Or more likely, there was absolutely nothing, and the ladder simply continued down forever. Maybe that was what Shard wanted to show me. Something beautiful, right? Death was beautiful.

A shallow smile playing on my lips, I paid Shard a cursory glance and descended into the hole. Darkness instantly swallowed my person; my finger met nothing but the cold, clammy rungs of the ladder. Metal that had been scarred throughout time. Throughout life. I moved my hands down a rung and my feet followed. I moved my feet down a rung and my hands followed. Back and forth, back and forth, down forever, like a pendulum swinging above the earth…Shard was above me, too, and he seemed to have no problem descending. The darkness was sickening. Why wasn't the light from the mines reaching down here? Maybe Shard's body was blocking it. My hands were getting sweaty now, and panic clutched my soul—what if I fell? Well, I guess one way or another I'd find out what was down there.

Tick, tock, tick, tock. Over my years in the castle, my mind had developed an innate clock that guided me through the passage of time and now I relied upon it desperately. Tick, tock. One, two. Three, four. One minute, then two. Three, then four. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. An hour. My god, how long was this ladder? I didn't dare ask.

"Stop."

I froze. Shard's voice echoed back and forth throughout this thin tunnel, this infernal vertical tunnel. "We are there, human. You must fall now."

The panic returned. "I—"

"Do it now."

A bead of sweat slunk down my neck. "I can't."

 "Do it now."

"But—"

"Do it now."

I squeezed my eyes shut. Then, quick as a raindrop hurtling from the sky, my aching fingers gave way, and I fell. There was no light, and no sound; there was just the aching of my body and the sense I was falling—some small intuition told me that Shard must be close behind me, but there was no real way to know. I wanted to count the seconds, but I couldn't. I didn't dare.

"Stop."

I stopped. Wait, what? The ground was there. I'd landed softly, and gently. I stood, my knees quivering.

"Light."

There was light. I cried out, and collapsed, clutching my eyes. After the darkness, the light burned so bad. How could this be happening?

By the time I rose to my feet my eyes were wrinkled with tears. Shard was gone. I was alone.

"Sh—Shard?"

Nothing.

Yes, I was alone.

Taking a deep breath, I looked around.

I was in a vast cavernous room, quite unlike the mines above. Even though the light had blinded me at first, I saw now that it was quite scanty. The circular walls surrounded me, enclosing themselves in a dingy setting. There was no way out except back up the ladder. I felt my knees shake a little, but I ignored them. I always ignored them. Instead, I straightened my back, steadied my mind, and focused on this place I found myself in. This…room? Could it be called a room? It was entirely empty aside from a small computer that lay on a table right before me.

What was this thing? It was strange. Not quite like any computer I had seen before, it was not big and bulky, or animated like the machines, but small, and sleek. Beautiful, even. I approached it with wonder. The screen was blue, with error messages popping in and out. So beautiful. A slab with dozens of buttons was attached to the monitor by a hinge, presumably the apparatus that fed input into the machine. The whole thing was compact enough to fit into my lap. I'd never seen anything quite like it. I had no idea what was going on, or where I was, but whatever fate had befallen me, this computer would know. Computers always knew. I was sure of it.

"Beautiful, no?"

I turned around. Shard was looking back at me, an unmoving smile plastered to his face. The smile that broke me. By now I was quite sure that whatever the machines planned to do with me, I was not going to make it out alive. I squeezed my eyes shut, flashing back to my time in the jungle, how I'd spent so long out in the wild, searching for answers…had I lost? My mind couldn't settle on a response, to either myself or Shard. All I had was questions, and I wanted to rid myself of them, those infernal things crawling on the inside of my skull, leading me astray from life. I wanted to be free. "Shard," I whispered, small tears glazing my eyes, "Where the hell are we?"

"We are in the bunker."

I frowned, brushing my tears away. "A bunker?"

"The bunker. Your bunker. Theirs. His. Hers. Mine. Ours."

Now he's just cycling through all the damn pronouns. I swallowed the lump that had spawned in my throat and took a deep breath. "Care to elaborate?"

Nothing. Shard stared back at me, unmoving as always.

I squeezed my eyes shut again and took a deep breath. This room had begun to suffocate me. I wasn't used to being in such confined places. I wanted nothing but to be washed away in the darkness that welcomed me behind my eyelids. "Why are we here?"

Nothing.

I turned to the computer. It was still displaying the same error messages. "What is this?"

Nothing.

I gritted my teeth. "Shard, I swear to God—"

Shard smiled. That goddam smile…"There is no God," he said, and his mechanical voice ripped gashes into my ears. "Well, then," I growled, "I swear to the closest damn thing to God.  I've had enough of this bullshit, you hear me? So either you tell me what's going on, or I—"

"Or what?" Shard smiled again, his metal mouth contorting into a grotesque parabola, his red eyes flickering asymmetrically…and this time, I lost it. My eyes swam red, and for the first and last time, I saw the world as Shard did. Hollow screams clanged throughout the bunker, screams of rage, and pain. I flew at the machine and rammed it into the ground, wrestling metal with flesh, screaming, punching and pounding with the closest thing I had at hand, ramming the stupid machine over, and over, and over, until the rage was gone, and the screaming had finally stopped. Oh, the screaming…whose was it? I didn't know, but that moment I realized I would never again sleep in silence. Those screams would forever be locked in my mind. My screams. Shard's screams…Shard…Shard?

I tried to say something, but my vocal cords seemed to have stopped functioning. Shard was dead.

I sank to the floor, my legs giving way. His body…his body was sprawled senseless across the metal floor. Bits of metal were strewn around the room, his wires tangling with my blood, the blood that dripped from my bloody fist. But my fists were not the only weapons I had used. The closest thing at hand—what was the closest thing? My eyes widened as I stared in horror at the dead machine. Not Shard, but the other machine. In my rage, I had taken the computer and beaten Shard to death with it…yes, it too was gone. Torn to bits, like the body that lay before me. Tears tore through my eyes, and for a moment I was unable to move. Why? There was no why. The one thing that had given me some hope, some small measure of hope, was gone.

I was alone again.

Slowly, as the clock in my head ticked and tocked, I found within myself the will to stand. But it was no good anymore. It—what was it? What had I done? I took a step back in horror, but there was no time for realization. A sharp grimace tore into my face, and I felt the pain, fresh like the blood that I hadn't shed. No, the only blood I had shed was mine. Then what did I feel? If this wasn't remorse, what was it? I didn't have time to find out. I—I had to get out here.

The ladder that led us into this place was still here, of course. Us? Before I knew it I was once again climbing into the darkness, racing from rung to rung without stopping, grabbing the same metal that had been so cold before, and so clammy. But now it was neither of those things. I wasn't afraid anymore. I didn't know what I was. All I knew was that I must run as fast as I could and never look back. When I finally emerged at the top, my chest was heaving and sweat soaked my clothes, down to my shoes. My muscles burned like hot coals. My eyes wrinkled once more from the goddamn light. It didn't matter. I wasn't quite sure how I'd made the climb so fast, but that also didn't matter. What mattered was simply escape.

I climbed out of the hole and clasped the trap-door shut. My fingers cut against the rusted metal, brushing against the scarred and stained metal, the blood flowing freely down my hand and onto the ground. Nobody should ever have to go down that hole again. I licked the blood off my hand, staring at the billowing stain on the dirt floor. It was spreading slowly, darkening the mud in the process. And what was right next to the blood? Footprints? Yes, footprints, blazing a clear trail through this labyrinth. This sodden ground had borne the imprints of our feet quite nicely, especially Shard's, who was much heavier than me. Used to be. I looked down at the trapdoor, panting heavily and feeling the sweat race down my face. Somehow I didn't think it was from the climbing…

Run. Keep running. Never look back.

And I ran.

***

Once I started, I couldn't stop. The path was laid out before me on the ground, and there was nothing to stop me now but the wind in my eyes and my tired body that dared not betray me, racing along the dust that billowed at my feet. In a few minutes, I was out of the tunnels and into the castle I hated so. I flew through the corridors, darting through the marble halls where the machines were wandering aimlessly. Always aimless. But why did they care? They didn't have any purpose in life. That's what separated them from me.

Grimacing at the cruelty, I slipped through one of the side entrances of the property and out, finally out, into the broken world that lay before me. The blue sky arched over me, the morning sun still rising into the sky. I'd gone into the mines at night, and it seemed like the world had finally spun around again now. I still didn't dare look back. I knew that it hid behind me, the marble monstrosity, but I ignored it. I kept running. I kept moving. I kept breathing. I focused on the smells of the forest, the blooming flowers, the pine, and the thousand other scents carried by the cool wind. I focused on the grass crunching under my feet. I focused on the grace of the trees, and their mighty indifference. Their canopies stretched up ad infinitum, touching the sky, touching the heavens, and I wondered whether they cared about the clouds they held. Did they? All they did was sit around all day, while the universe gave them everything they ever needed or could need. They didn't care, and they didn't want to. Was I the only one cursed with purpose?

I stopped now, clutching my knees and bending over double in pain. I hadn't comprehended the exertion I had placed on myself, but it was catching up to me now. I collapsed on the grass, clutching the blades and grimacing. My wounded hand still stung from the mines, and the flesh around my fingers was stained a grisly red. But the discomfort didn't bother me. I didn't really care. I—what was I doing?

I stood up, clutching my face. The blood from my hands dribbled down my cheeks. I flicked away the beads, staring back at my prison. I hadn't really come that far—the entirety of the castle was lurking uncomfortably close to me. Sheer marble walls, sheer stone towers…everything was sheer there. But there was nowhere to run. This forest was death, even more so than the machines. I thought back to my attempted escape just before Shard showed up, and I shuddered now at the confines boring upon me. 

I frowned. Was I being stupid? I wanted to leave, did I not? I had wanted answers. Earlier I hadn't even minded death, so long as I had my answers. But now…now I wanted nothing but to flee this hell forever. If that was a given, then the only things that could possibly show me the way out were none other than the very machines I was attempting to escape—they were the paragons of knowledge here, and they were the ones I had to appeal. I'd been too scared before, but now I was certain. The machines knew, they just didn't want me to know. And so?

I think I understood what I had to do, I just didn't have the guts to do it. I gritted my teeth and then started. There was a loud crash emanating from behind me, a deep thud rattling my bones. I turned around. One of the machines was standing a couple dozen feet away from me, hacking at a tree with an ax. Collecting firewood, presumably. Several of the castle halls were still lit by firelight. I took a step back involuntarily. The machine hadn't noticed me, and probably didn't even care to notice me. It looked almost like a smaller, resuscitated Shard. I felt a small sting within my heart, presumably of guilt, or possibly fear. I don't think I knew the difference anymore.

"Machine."

The machine froze and turned to stare at me. Those red eyes were painfully familiar, but I didn't have time to reminisce now. Slowly, methodically, the machine put down the ax., and spoke.

"Yes?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a deep breath. This was it. I had to commit.

"I—I need you to show me the way out."

The machine didn't move a muscle. "Way out of what?"

"This castle. This forest. This world."

The machine moved now, and I winced at its creaking joints. It took a step towards me, and I took a step back.

"It is your world."

My world. I took another step back, almost involuntarily. The machine smiled, the same infuriating smile that had driven me to murder. "No,"  I whispered, clenching my fist, feeling the sweet blood on my hands, "It isn't."

The machine stopped smiling and contorted its features into a scowl. Scowling was fine. I was used to scowling. It was the smiling that threw me off. "Then it is your prison," it said, and I marveled at the apathy in its voice. This was not cruelty, it was indifference. The same indifference the trees had. But there was nothing majestic here. This time it was I who smiled. I was done walking backward.

I took a deep breath, pausing to appreciate the trees and nature around me. There wasn't much here, but there was at least something. I shouldn't forget that.

I looked the dead machine in the eye. It stared back, not blinking, not moving, not breathing. Just staring. Always staring.

And then I punched it in the face.

The shock spiked into my bone, crushing my flesh and painting my fist red. The exhilaration intoxicated me, sending bolts of energy into my heart. Both my hands were dripping blood now. The machine collapsed on the ground, wincing with the paltry self-preservation it had. The machines cared about themselves, even if they didn't care a lot. When the thing stood, I punched it again. The blow was harder this time, and louder. Oh, so loud. So deliciously loud. When it stood back up, I struck it back down. And down. And down. And down.

The machine was wriggling now, and when it stood back up, I moved to punch it. It stumbled away from me, covering its face, grimacing. I grinned. The humanity in this was satisfying. It seemed like the only time you could get anybody to care was when you hit them. I withdrew my hand, sneering.

"Well?"

The machine had stopped scowling now, almost as if it didn't dare. Those cold red eyes had stopped flickering and cracked to the point where it seemed like they might turn off entirely. The machine straightened itself. When it spoke, its voice was shaky, permeated with static.

"Follow me, human. I have something beautiful to show you."

Waters

the  waters  why'd  they  welcome  me  into
the  crux  of  my  troubles  such  that  we  do
see  the  stars  they  fall  and  watch  and  kill  and
myself  and   their  killers  they  watch  me  still
their  climbing  and  running  over  my  will
to  stop  so  cold  and  watch  my  friends  so  frail
so  dead  but  not  so  why  they  live  my  mail
inbox  is  crowded  space  is  flowing  so
jump  and  catch   the  star  that  kills  it  falls  and
stops  the  death  that  we  my  friends  that  we  INSTILL

______________________

I hope you enjoyed that! This is undoubtedly the most complex poem I've written in a while, at least from the perspective of authorial intent. I don't usually leave these little notes at the end of poems anymore, so as to leave the matter of interpretation up to the reader, but considering the thought that went into these verses, I felt I had to mention a couple things. First off, the grammar. There's no grammar and punctuation in this poem, basically making it a giant run-on sentence. In fact, in line five the word "they're" has been misspelled as "their", a common typo in unedited writing. This was very intentional. My hope with this piece was to create what might almost be described as a lazy conversation with language, and to shed light on the structural importance grammar has to writing. The lack thereof only serves the purpose of making things more ambiguous, not "easier", as many English students seem to think. In fact, it probably makes it harder. I invite you to add more grammar to the piece and to find the meaning change substantially each time.

There's also a bit of freedom in the lack of grammar, something contrasted with the almost strict meter and form. Form and freedom have always had a bit of an intertwined and ambiguous relationship in poetry. I guess ambiguity is arguably one of the deeper themes of this poem. Here you'll find the verses written in good old iambic pentameter, with the last line a single syllable extra, something I considered rectifying several times. That extra syllable alone can have multiple meanings. It's part of a critical word in the poem, arguably the most important, and there's really no easy way to take it out without impacting both the form and the freedom. I'll leave you to ponder that further.

I think that's all I have to say. I could say much more (I haven't even begun to talk about the actual "meaning" of the poem, for instance, or even the rhyme scheme), but I don't think I have any special authority there. I gave the poem meaning, I gave it substance, and now it'll be subject to whatever you want it to be subject to. In short, I have nothing of value to add that you can't add yourself. I talk about this more in my post "Some Thoughts On Art" if you're interested.

Welp, that's all I've got for you guys today. Be sure to leave your comments below! Thanks for reading, and I'll see you in the next post.

Avalanche On A Summer Day

Hello, dear readers! I have something a little bit different for you today. As you probably know by now, I love writing poems. I've written quite a few on this blog. But art is all about trying new things, and for a while now I've wanted to do something different with my work, to try and freshen up my content a little bit. So, today, I have for you a song. Yes, a song! Keep in mind this is an experiment, so as always let me know what you think in the comments below.

Now, I haven't put music to this yet, but I plan to very soon. You can probably expect that in a week or two. But for now, please enjoy the lyrics to Avalanche On A Summer Day.

________________________________

[Verse 1]

I was standing at the foot of the hill

The sweet sun was setting

You and I, we watched the blue skies

You must remember the rest

[Verse 2]

You pointed at the aging sunrise

Oh, I didn't know what you meant

Then I heard the graven rumble

That the good lord above had sent

[Chorus]

There's an avalanche on a summer day

It's blinding bright so don't look away

The mighty snow is rolling along

We'll dance the night till its wrath is gone

[Verse 3]

Oh, avalanche on a summer day

What did I do, what did I say

I know where to run so don't give it away

Just take my hand and come my way

[Verse 4]

Yes, grab my hand, let's run let's ride

We'll hide together if we have to hide

Don't flee the snow all on your own

We're stronger together than we are alone

[Chorus]

Cause' there's an avalanche on a summer day

It's blinding bright so don't look away

The mighty snow is rolling along

We'll dance the night till its wrath is gone

[Verse 5]

I've said it to many, I've learned it from few

I'm dead and lost if I'm not with you

If the cold kills us there'll be nothing to do

And we'll keep dancing forever,

Just you, me, and the Grim Reaper too

[Chorus]

Cause' there's an avalanche on a summer day

It's blinding bright so don't look away

The mighty snow is rolling along

We'll dance the night till its wrath is gone

We'll dance the night till its wrath is gone

We'll dance the night till its wrath is gone

[Fade out]

Happy Fourth of July!

Happy Fourth of July, guys! If you're American, at least. If you're not, well, happy Tuesday. Either way, there's cause to celebrate.

How've you been doing? We're smack dab in the middle of summer now, so I hope you're enjoying yourself! I for one have had tons of time to write, so you can look for tons of new posts soon.

To be fully honest, I'm just popping in because I wanted to share this awesome fireworks simulation I made with Javascript. It was a fun little project, so I hope you enjoy it. Other than that, I'll be posting my regular content on the weekend.

Happy Fourth of July!



If you're curious, by the way, this program was made in p5.js, which is a Javascript library. I'm sharing it with y'all using OpenProcessing, a website that provides embeddable code to put into blog posts such as these. You can view the source code for the program by clicking on the icon in the code window.

The Telephone

Ring and ding and ding and ring

The telephone still rings

I reach across and shut it off

The telephone still rings

I grab my bike and speed away

The wind caught in my hair

The cops they race across the road

I don't think I really care

I make across the winding path

The telephone still rings

I fly across the barren fields

Doing all the things

Ring and ding and ding and ring

The telephone still rings

I reach across and toss it off

The telephone still rings

Chatter, clatter, sing and tatter

They don't have to pick my bone

Yammer, stammer, kill and hammer

Just pick up the screaming phone

Calling Myself

They called me in the night

They asked me if I could come

I told them I had never seen

The places where they're hiding away

So they let me see the day

And I kissed the sinning earth

And I lived in peace

I waited for it to end

And so they called me in the night

Dirty bottles washed in rum

They asked me where I'd been

They held me till the yonder dawn

My heart and my clothes long gone

Fleeing to my flaming hearth

And so I lay in the grease

I waited for it to end

And then the morning sun, she rose

And I ran for bitter life

I ran to those memories

And I laughed and I cried

And I sung and I tried

To make me a better man

Than the nightly shit

I waited for it to end

And when the next sun grows

I know where I'll find the knife

But I can't afford the fees

For living and for dying

Growing and denying

I know where I ran

And there I'll sit

Waiting for it to end

Your Opinions Should Be Like Your Clothes

Your opinions should be like your clothes.

No, I'm not joking.

Yes, I will now explain.

These days, I've noticed a fundamental problem with the nature of discourse, especially political discourse and the incessant misinformation of online mass media (some might argue that this problem has always existed, but that's a conversation for another day). As problems go, it's pretty big. Pretty problematic, one might even say. You see, my friends, the trouble lies with opinions. In particular, how people associate themselves with their opinions so strongly that whenever said opinions are rightly questioned, people feel like someone is attacking their very identity. The moment this happens, a civil, constructive debate is virtually impossible.

Of course, I don't claim to offer a solution. But as a writer, what I can offer is an analogy. A very good analogy, in fact, that can be taken very far in interpretation. You've probably already guessed what it is by the title of this post.

Your opinions, dear readers, should be like your clothes.

Whenever you go out to buy new clothes, you know that they aren't going to last forever. Like most things in life, they have a limited lifespan. Now, either you can be smart and start to replace your clothes as soon as you start to see them fade, or you can be stubborn, and hang on to them for years, until they start to fall apart, and you have no option but to replace them. And yet you could still be stubborn, and hold on to your opinions (ahem, clothes) until they've literally been reduced to tatters, and you're pretty much walking around in the harsh, cold weather with nothing but rags covering up your body. Now, if you're out and about and you see someone like this, with holes and tears riddling their entire attire, the decent thing to do is at least tell them about it. "Excuse me! Good sir/madam! I hate to interrupt your fine evening, but, uh, your clothes are quite torn. You might want to do something about that. Rather strange, considering that fancy car you're driving."

Now imagine you're on the other side. If some random stranger says this to you, what would be your response? If you're sane, you'd probably be like "Oh dear! Why, random but remarkably kind stranger, I do believe you're right. I really should buy some new clothes."

And that would be that.

Of course, if you're sane you probably wouldn't find yourself in that situation to begin with, which is exactly my point. If you can afford new clothes, you're not gonna walk around in tatters! No, if you can afford new clothes, you buy new clothes. As soon as it's needed. Maybe you wait for a sale or something, but you do it. The clothes you wear aren't an integral part of your identity or your self-worth, they're just clothes. You might have some sentimental attachment to them, you might like them a lot, and sure, they might be how the whole world judges you, but in the end, they're simply clothes. In fact, even if your wardrobe is an essential part of who you are, you'd still probably want to replace it as soon as possible. Nobody likes wearing a torn attire.

Do you see where I'm going with this? Treat your opinions just as you would treat your clothes. Replace them as soon as needed, don't let them fade and tear, and more importantly, don't associate them with your identity so strongly that you can't let them go. Realize that just like your clothes, you probably don't want to be seen out with holes in your opinions. And finally, if you do happen to find someone with an old, torn, out-of-fashion opinion, tell them about it. Be helpful. Be nice. And if you start to see them get defensive, remind them that quite on the contrary with what they're doing, if they value their opinions, they should probably get around to replacing them as soon as needed. Otherwise, they're just embarrassing themselves.

That's all I have for you today, my friends. Just some thoughts for you to ponder over and possibly consider the next time you're debating someone, whether it be online or in real life. Let me know what you thought in the comments! And as always, thanks for reading.

Much Ado About Something - Chapter One - An Awful Hullaballoo

“Did you know,” said the Tentacle, stroking his beard and staring intently at the delicate skin of the bright orange fruit, “That bananas used to be yellow before the fifty-second century?”

“Outrageous,” said the Ear.

“Outlandish,” cried the Newt.

“Unheard of,” quacked the Frog.

“Ribbet,” said the Duck.

And the Eye just stared at them all and rolled his eye in its socket. What he was thinking of was highly disturbing, but as Eyes are often puzzling beings, perhaps it is better to leave those things unsaid. It was then, as then was a particularly interesting moment, the Clock chimed ten and gave everyone a cry of delight.
.
“Time for second breakfast!” cried the Newt. “I must say the Clock is behaving rather queer.”

And he was right too, for the Clock was shaking on the mantelpiece, looking quite excited and tick-tocking a rather too hard. The Frog quacked thoughtfully. The Ear jumped up and down on the Duck’s new tablecloth.

“Well!” demanded the Italic. “Look at the time! We must get going. Everyone, would you please tell us what you think and oh dear, for goodness sake please wash those dishes in the back!”

“I say the Italic calm down,” suggested the Ear. “What do you say?”

Everyone’s hands went up in the air. Except for the Eye, who did not have a hand, and contented himself with rolling his eye for the twelfth time that day. Behind them, the Noodle poked her head through the door and squawked crossly.

“Oh, would anyone please put the tick back in the tock!”

The Frog quacked in agreement, and the Ear nodded vigorously. The Eye simply stared at them all. "Perhaps," said the Tentacle, still stroking his beard, "It would be pragmatic to remove Clock's tick, and replace it with a new one." The Noodle huffed irritably and slammed the door shut, which creaked apologetically on its rusted hinges. After all, the Tentacle posed a very sensible suggestion, so sensible in fact, that everyone was instantly disinclined toward it. "What bollocks!" cried the Newt. "Let us return to food. I'm hungry! It's been almost ten minutes since we last ate. The Clock will sort himself out. I heard he was having very distressing dreams last night, and I'd say that he's just been frightened, is all."

"That makes no sense," said the Tentacle. "Last time the Clock behaved strangely, there was nobody to wake us up in the morning and we lost two months of our lives. I say we act now. Duck, what do you think?"

But unfortunately, we will never know what she thought, because at that precise moment the Clock gave a strangled screech and died out entirely. This was so utterly unprecedented that the Duck croaked alarmedly and toppled over on her tablecloth. The Newt screamed. The Ear flinched. The Frog quacked. The Eye widened its eye. For the longest time, they all just stood there, rooted in their individual positions, until the Tentacle finally dared to whisper through the silence.

"Oh dear."

"Well, now what do we do?" cried the Newt, gesticulating wildly and clutching the watery Eye in terror. "There is nothing to do!" cried the Ear,  "We are dead! Oh, tarnation! Oh, sweet, sweet, tarnation! Oh, pray to the Lord! Pray to the kind Lord!" And so he collapsed on the floor in tears. The Eye tried to comfort him, but sadly he too had begun to cry in distress. This was unfortunate, because when the Eye cried it did make quite a mess. His tears were rather large, after all. "My God!" said the Tentacle, staring at the two with disgust. "Look at yourselves! Do you have no shame? This situation can be remedied yet." The Duck, who was perhaps the most optimistic of then all, straightened herself and croaked in agreement. "Ribbet, ribbet ribbet. Ribbet!"

"Yeah, the Duck is right," quacked the Frog, helping the Ear off the floor and patting him on the back. "We kinfolk must stick together in times like this." There was a cry of agreement. "We must call a meeting!" declared the Tentacle. "Today's turn of events has been quite frightening. We must assemble and decide the next course of action." "Hear, hear!" cried everyone. "Ear, ear!" cried the Ear.

And so they all gathered around and started discussing a plan. There were quite a lot of differing opinions on what to do, but after a quite some chattering, quite some yammering, and a little bit of tattering, everyone finally agreed on the solution to what was turning out to be quite a frightful dilemma. "We must procure a battery!" cried the Tentacle, and everyone nodded. Except for the Eye, who unfortunately didn't have a head. The Newt seemed to be confused. "What in the name of tarts is a battery?" he demanded, looking bewildered. "It's one them things that powers them electrical doodads," quacked the Frog. The Tentacle nodded, stroking his beard and appearing ever so wise. "Well, then," snapped the Newt, "I don't see any of you with a battery! Where do you plan to obtain one?"

"That," replied the Tentacle, "Is actually a fantastic question. I have no clue." The Newt snorted. "Well, it's not like somebody is just going to come barging into our house with one of them!"

But unfortunately, our dear friend the Newt was about to be proven wrong yet again, for at that very moment, the door smashed open with a sigh and the Noodle charged in, huffing and puffing and overall in a generally disagreeable state. In his arms was a giant metal cylinder, covered with constantly turning dials and knobs. "It's a battery!" cried the Tentacle in triumph. Everyone oohed and ahhed. This really was quite impressive.

And a bit convenient too, sadly. But hey, don't look at me. I didn't make this stuff up, right?

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Boy, I haven't had that much fun with a story in a long time. This particular piece was something I wrote a couple years back, and only recently found among the chaos that is my Google Drive. It was short, unfinished, and barely even fleshed out, but as soon as I read the first few paragraphs, I realized I simply had to turn it into something bigger—and that's exactly what I plan to do! As always, let me know what you think in the comments below (or tweet me @starlightjason2). I've never written anything like this before, so I'd really appreciate your feedback. Does it work? Does it not work? Should I continue it? And if so, where do you want to see these characters go? I look forward to seeing your thoughts!

My World - Chapter One - Ground

This is my prison; I was born here. For what, I don't know. Raised by machines in a stone castle vast and unforeseen, an empty binding to the cosmos indifferent, they have fed me, clothed me, washed me, and nursed me. Not people, not sentient in any morbid sense of the word, for they are not alive, and yet intelligent enough to know they are not alive, but that they are hollow men not quite so different from me; they see the world not through consciousness but through hard, floating numbers that govern their actions that they don't know they make. Emotionless faces, hollow eyes—that is who they are. They are not sentient in any morbid sense of the word, but I yearn to join them, for they are all that I know, and I envy their satisfaction. Yes, these are the machines that raised me in a world void of others like me, a world made of stone, marble, and mud.

"Where am I?" I would ask them, and they would reply, "Nowhere."

"Where is nowhere?" I would ask them, and they would reply, "Everywhere."

So, by and by, my questions turned to mediocrity and I raised life into my own flock, for otherwise, it leads me where I know not. And yet through ignorance, my curiosity returned, and I asked, "Why did you give me speech if you don't want me to use it?"

And so they’d answer, "We didn't give you speech, for it was within you, given by your parents and their parents before them, and we have merely brought out in you what you cannot bring out in yourself."

"Who are my parents, then, and from whence did they bring me?"

"They are dead, and they brought you from the dead, so that you will live, to someday return to death."

I didn't understand this, and so as I grew older, I began to explore. This was good, for before long I discovered that my home was large beyond comprehension, with overgrown thickets, vast carpeted rooms connected by empty corridors and hallways, and abandoned mine shafts lit by cracked bulbs in the stone ceiling. An abandoned bastion, made of dusty marble and rusting metal, supported by broken rock that threatened to crumble at any moment. I found room after room, chamber after chamber, opening after opening, all connecting in a vast labyrinth that was this castle. I found bugs crawling on the torn carpets, nesting and breeding in a constant state of rebellion against the arid loneliness pervading their home. I found machines, not like the ones that fostered me, but even stranger, like mechanical boxes the size of entire rooms, purring all day long in a strange language I couldn't understand, imploring each other to do strange things I didn't want to understand. Whenever I'd approach them,  their workings would go silent, waiting patiently for me to leave so that they could start back up again. Once one of them even grabbed me with its wires, and strangled me in a grid tight like iron, clutching me so tight my neck would be red for weeks—when I finally wrestled myself free, I vowed never to approach the things again. Later I'd convince myself that I'd imagined the whole experience, but I knew in the dark recesses of my minds that it must be true. Nevertheless, from then on, I stayed away from that part of the castle. I moved on, only to find even more unanswered questions—elaborate astrolabes, broken timepieces, stark needles covered with what I could only hope was rust. I tried to ignore what I didn’t want to remember.

But it was not all darkness. One of my favorite rooms was the library, with thousands of dusty books resting on colossal shelves that stretched upward into the sky, surrounding me with sweet, sweet knowledge. It was here I learned it was the sun, not the earth, that was the center of the solar system, as the machines had previously taught me. I learned of the arts and the sciences, and read of tales from times long gone, times when there were no machines, and the world was populated with real people. And yet not a single text I came across told me anything about this place, and what it was. Once I came so close—a text from a millennia-old manuscript talked of a dead castle made of marble, one that bore an eerie resemblance to my home. This was a holy manuscript, and one that had born much meaning to the people that once lived in this land. It spoke of God, and Jesus, and sin—but what good was this to me? It was the stuff of fantasy and fiction, not the stark, harsh reality I confronted. A curdled mystery, and all I had for answers were the machines.

But the machines were no better. I didn't trust them anymore. Whenever I confronted them, they'd do nothing but posit nonsensical answers. Nothing they said made sense. Was I simply stupid? Possible. Only when I asked them about the mechanical boxes did they show any emotion at all, warning me that if I inquired further into their purpose I might just find out. I knew now that the machines had a dark side, so I relented. I didn't mind death, but I couldn't bear leaving this world before I had my answers. No, I must find my answers.

Days passed, then weeks, then years. Centuries might have gone by, and I would have been indifferent. Each hour of exploration brought me absolutely nothing other than questions. Where did I come from? Where did the machines come from? Why was there a forest at the edge of the castle? And why was it so silent? Forests are supposed to be teeming with life, and yet aside from the occasional insect, there was nothing to be found there except trees. And why was it that whenever I tried to venture beyond the forest, I somehow always ended up going in a circle? I knew the world was round, but surely it couldn't have been so small. Could it? I doubted the machines now. They never had my trust, but now they had my suspicion. Why must they lie to me? Was it normal? Once I stayed out there for a whole week, determined to find something interesting if it meant the end of me. I let the mud collect in my boots and the sweat drain from my face. I let hunger starve my body for days if only it'd rouse some answers.

Nothing.

So I made my way back to the castle and washed the dirt off my face. My footsteps echoed off the marble floor, echoed my emptiness. Was this it? Was this the fate I'd been condemned to? Maybe. But I mustn't accept it, must I? Maybe.

I returned to the library to marvel once more at its size. I could barely see the end of it when standing at the door. But there was nothing left here for me now. I'd read every book, every scroll, every letter that graced even the highest shelf. I'd climbed the ladders and scaled the walls, all to obtain that sweet, sweet knowledge. For what? So unsatisfying. I strode inside and collapsed on the floor in exhaustion. My legs ached with pain, and yet there were no chairs here, only books. I'd done all my reading on the icy marble floor, never even thinking to bring a seat from elsewhere. Maybe it was a symbolic thing. I didn't even care anymore.

I closed my eyes. The darkness was welcome; loved, even. I had nothing but love for oblivion, but the void did not contain myself, it contained the machines, and I wanted nothing but to be free. And yet was there even any point? If I did find the truth, the reason, the answers, will I then finally be happy? Perhaps the human experience was built not on satisfaction, but on the mindless pursuit of one obsession after another, curling down a spiraling fractal that never found itself. But how would I know? I was nothing but a single human alone in the world. Perhaps my insanity had finally caught up to me. Perhaps this was all but a nasty dream.

"Human."

I jumped to my feet, startled. At the door stood one of the machines; steel muscle, silicon mind. His name was Shard, and he was the greatest of them all. Powerful in strength, but that was not his skill—it was his intelligence the others feared. Why? I don’t know. But fear is in the same in all minds both man and machine. "Yes?"

"Walk," he told me, his red eyes flickering. I noticed now that they were cracked. His entire body seemed broken, actually, and covered in what appeared to be rust, or perhaps blood. They very same substance that had covered the needles. Strange. Frowning, I slowly walked towards him, careful not to make any sudden moves. Shard was known for intermittent violence. "Yes?"

Shard stared at me, his metal face unmoving. Clasped in his hand was a loaded pistol. My eyes widened, and yet I still stepped forward, drawn as if by some ephemeral compulsion.

"Shard, no—please—"

Shard smiled, and his smile broke me. I had never seen the machines smile. "Follow me, human. I have something beautiful to show you."

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Boy, this is probably the most experimental any one of my work has ever been. If you're curious, this was inspired by one of HP Lovecraft's short stories, which you can find here: http://www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/fiction/o.aspx. Of course, this piece is incomplete—the beginning to a longer story I'll be working on over a larger time scale. The reason I don't put out fiction as much as I like to is usually because I like to take my time with it, to stew over every word, puzzle over every phrase, and piece together a narrative like a child pieces together his playtime, with a loving care to every detail. That said, this particular tale doesn't have much left in it, which might surprise you. So many questions still to answer! And some to not. A truly great mystery leaves something to the reader, for them to puzzle over and figure out on their own, even if that something is small and insignificant. I suppose we'll see. Until then, let me know how you liked this. I'd love your feedback. Thanks for reading!

Sitting on a cloud

Sitting on a cloud,
I see the world below me.
Stretching out forever,
Under the sun's good grace.

And here I shall sit,
Waiting till the rain comes.
And takes with it the clouds,
And washes the world anew.

Look now, the sun has risen—
My plight is over, so now I rest.
Rest till the rain comes,
And takes with it the clouds,
And washes the world anew.

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That was nice, wasn't it? Once again, I must apologize for not posting in so long. I've been insanely busy lately and simply haven't had time to just sit down and write. That said, I have a bunch of stuff I'm working on, so stick around! This is just a fun little poem to hold you over until then. I'll see you soon!

Unity

Summer days like summer nights

See the colors see the sights

Washed out light in sunlight too

Lights my face my skin in two

Colored swans in dancing sea

Far above the canopy

The soul that unites us

The pigment that divides us

Reminds us who we want to be

Who are you, why do you cry

Your color doesn't make you try

A blind man doesn't want you to

Tear the book the page in two

Black or white in mindless rage

See the eyedrop in the sage

Your image in the water

Does it beg you to slaughter

A man for his righteous wage

Summer days like summer nights

Feel the colors feel the sights

The looming shade like sunlight too

Don't let it tear your heart in two

The birds still sing in the tree

Feathers of every race and creed

The song resembles unity

Does it anger, does it kill

Or remind you who you want to be?

Dungeons and Daggers

I stare at the dagger, the sun's cold light creeping up on me in the fearful cracks of the stone walls, my silver breath frosting the blade, like the silver spirits trapped inside the women and children, men and mages of this forsaken dungeon. At least there is a window, even if it remained pathetically small. The enticement and hope on the children's faces are like knives to my heart. The ghosts just grumble, but even they know, as well as the dagger, that there was Something about this year, and it wasn't good.

Something. It echoed in my heart, the glimmering, glistening word that whispered of change, which perhaps was the prison of my own self. Since the defeat of the king, of my country, the people, since the survivors had been dumped in the castle dungeon to die, Something slept. The humans aged and went old, leaving behind naught but young men and children, young ones who did not understand what was happening to their tender lives. And then they too grew old, and their children now stared at me, the one they considered immortal, the one with the dagger. They hoped for Something. Hope. Hope sapped their souls like death. Something.

"If the Dagger does not answer, trouble not you," the old man whispered. The oldest man, who had survived for more than two centuries. Old when it started and old when it shall end. No one knew how he did it, not even me, and no one remembered a time he was young. He rested his frail hand on my shoulder now, and I felt the toils it had been through. "We shall try again, next year. Nothing more can be done."

"I don't know." My voice is a mere whisper of myself. "I can feel it from the blade, but it does not answer. I feel—"

I can't say the word. It catches in my throat, like phlegm on a cold day. Something.

The children continue to stare at me eagerly, but the adults have given up hope. They don't want it to sap their souls anymore—they want to be free of this gate and continue onto the road, even if death is the toll. I don't blame them. 

"You said that last year, you and your forsaken dagger," one of them growls. A ghost breathes down my neck, but that doesn't help me. The Eve is not past yet, and the dagger has still to pass judgment. I take a deep breath, commanding my soul to obey me, and not to become another wandering specter.

"It's not over yet. There is yet judgment to be given. We must still hope. For—"

Something.

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Thank you for reading! This was just a little something I wrote several years back, and since it's fairly decent and I haven't posted in a while, I figured I might as well put it online. I do have several pieces of new writing I'm working on, however, so I hope that I can be more regular with my posts in the future. I'll see you again soon!