The End
The city was alive with panic. It was almost humors to me in the darkest sense of the word. Removing the stability, the routine, the false sense of safety we all believed in. removal cause complete and utter chaos, Social anarchy. We were all going to die regardless. The sirens where just a useless warning of our impeding trip to the grave. We couldn’t escape the blast radius. Not with how little time we had, but that didn’t stop the hordes of people from flooding the streets in a desperate attempt to escape the urban jungle. Literally clawing over top one another like animals. No regard for anyone other than their own blood. Which was again humorous for we all have the same blood. Yet we make distinctions. Caring more for our own families than other people, justifiable selfishness.
Few religious devote praying in the streets, pleading with their gods for salvation. But god didn’t cause this tragedy.it was man with all his science and knowledge man chose to destroy itself. The few at the top decided obliterating each other was more important than losing their power. They blamed the possible evil of foreign powers to justify acting evilly themselves, and their flawed logic was to be the end of us all.
Sitting atop the skyscraper ensure me a front row seat to the carnage. But it wasn’t the carnage I came to see. It was life, because in those final moments I could see what everyone had lived for. Those praying to god had lived for religion. Desperately trying to appease the divine forces so that they may be granted life after death. Those trying to save their own kin amongst the chaos had lived for their family, so that their lineage would be carried on. Those desperately trying to flee to safety alone lived in fear of death. Doing everything they could to escape it. Those who decided one last act of intoxication or sexual acts was the best way to go out, they lived for pleasure so that their memories would live on joyously in their mind. And me? I lived for nothing, so death has nothing to take.
I was simply a watcher. My life’s purpose was examination. Silently watching, calculating, seeking to understand humanity and life in its purest form, and I got exactly what I wanted. The rawest display of why people live. Only the fleeting moments of life and the introduction of death could craft such a pure cinematic. The splitting of an insignificant atom would incinerate us all, and everything we lived for with it. Only ashy silhouettes would remain.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Another Poem
Evolving and revolving the earth twirls amongst the stars
Faster and faster as it falls apart at the seems
Decaying, Destroying
Falling and Failing
Giving birth to new generations, into the pollutions of the last
Each year the creature claws at control
Hate filled eyes that plot and scheme
Evil war machines their gears begin to turn
The violence no longer dormant the creature digs its claws deeper and earth bleeds
The master puppeteer cries on his creation
Shimmering strings of salvation, ignored in shrouded darkness
The creature tightens the vice grip. Choking the life from earth
The puppeteer watches the helpless masses suffer in agony, as the creature sinks his venomous fangs deeper into the soul.
(Explanation: picture the earth suspended in air as the years pass its starts to weaken and decay. Generation of people born into the problems left by the last. Satan is the creature and sees this as his opportunity. He starts clawing his way up from the bottom of earth, Taking control of the planet with war, violence and hatred. God is the master puppeteer, he is crying for humanity a top the world. He lowers the strings of salvation, but no one takes notice of them. They are too blinded by ignorance, hatred and fear. I am not deeply religious but I was in class and I pictured this scene so I decided to try to capture it with a poem.)
Faster and faster as it falls apart at the seems
Decaying, Destroying
Falling and Failing
Giving birth to new generations, into the pollutions of the last
Each year the creature claws at control
Hate filled eyes that plot and scheme
Evil war machines their gears begin to turn
The violence no longer dormant the creature digs its claws deeper and earth bleeds
The master puppeteer cries on his creation
Shimmering strings of salvation, ignored in shrouded darkness
The creature tightens the vice grip. Choking the life from earth
The puppeteer watches the helpless masses suffer in agony, as the creature sinks his venomous fangs deeper into the soul.
(Explanation: picture the earth suspended in air as the years pass its starts to weaken and decay. Generation of people born into the problems left by the last. Satan is the creature and sees this as his opportunity. He starts clawing his way up from the bottom of earth, Taking control of the planet with war, violence and hatred. God is the master puppeteer, he is crying for humanity a top the world. He lowers the strings of salvation, but no one takes notice of them. They are too blinded by ignorance, hatred and fear. I am not deeply religious but I was in class and I pictured this scene so I decided to try to capture it with a poem.)
Monday, October 3, 2011
Apartments
Shouts of anger seeped through the ceiling, something Will Arnet was all too accustom to. He pictured the scene as the words played out the drama. The mother would take out her frustrations, yielding them as a weapon just to watch someone else bleed like her. The daughter was helpless, always drawn into the trap like a fly to a web. It was easy to break down the blossoming teen, it was easy to make her bleed the emotions her mother held inside, and the mother wouldn’t stop till the crimson liquid splattered back in her face so she could see someone else the way she saw herself, broken and hurt.
Will left the moans of human emotion behind, locking his apartment door behind him. His nightly journey was underway. His ears and eyes had collected years of information on what laid behind each numbered door. He had heard and seen the secrets of countless doors, they were just numbered doors to him he held no empathetic emotions for anyone of them. They were like his test subjects, testing the various outcomes of hundreds of life decisions. Each number held the possible person Will himself could have been had he led a similar life. The laughter from apartment 32 b very well could have been his own, at one point in time it was. He once sat upon that couch with number 32b and giggled himself in a similar fashion. The marijuana vapors practically spewing under the door way and spilling out into the hall. What a pathetic life 32b led, constantly escaping the responsibility, dashing off to inhale the smoke, and then mentally disappearing from reality for hours. Staring mouth a gape as the comical scenes flickered across the screen and out into the dim lit room. Will had quit that habit, 32b was not his life. Not anymore. Reality was a prison sentence Will intended to live out without the escapism.
Will’s feet kicked the carpet as he strolled down several floors on his footstep adventure he passed 24a. Her beauty to this day stirred his heart. She gave her best attempt to awkwardly avoid the eye contact. Will understood the signal. 24a had her next conquest by her side, another man the same man will had been months ago. She would use this man to feel alive, sucking at the powerful emotions of life coursing through his veins. Like a parasite she would suck him for all the cheap pleasures she could. Before leaving him in her wake, with all the other shriveled corpses of her previous sexual exploits. Will had no pitty for her, even though she was the product of her own environment. What chance did 24a have in the world? Growing up around models and actresses, but never quite good enough for herself. Constantly chasing after superficial beauties, when the chase became too much for her lungs to take she turned to other forms of validation. Yet will still had no pity for the error of her ways.
Will sparked the ember at the tip of his cancer stick. Taking in the smoke on the stoop of his apartment complex, his eyes search the night for anything to examine. Something to analyze and keep his mind preoccupied. The strum of a guitar caught his ears. The music notes floated from 3a’s window, dissipating in the night air just like the smoke from will's cigarette. The sounds of a struggling artist. Will laughed to himself. Artist was at term a grown man called himself to avoid the reality of being a failure. At some point one has to distinguish the line between hobbies and profit generating endeavors. Even the most talented people have to get a real job and become a productive member of society. At least that’s the way Will saw it, but 3a would strum away every penny his parents sent him. So long as they paid the bills his life style would be possible. Will thought it was pathetic.
Will’s lungs had inhaled their share of ash; he ducked away back into the warmth of the apartments many hall ways. The warmth wrapped will in a blanket a sensation he paid no attention to. He lacked the capacity to feel. Will made his way to the apartment complexes roof, from here he could see all he wished too. Will very much enjoyed his roof top gazing time. It was always time well spent. From the roof will could see his cleverly titled room 1c. 1c wasn’t a room because the person that lived in 1c was the homeless man that spent his nights in the back alley of the apartment complex. Will peered over the edge of the roof, looking down on the man, sort of like an angel. Will could only imagine 1c’s story for he had never actually meet the man. Will gave 1c the benefit of the doubt when crafting his story. Will assumed 1c had been a business man, a very successful one, but when the Misses found out about his secretarial affair she left with half. Then the stock market hit the rocks, along with 1c’s other half. Leaving him broke and emotional vacant. 1c could have had the life, had he not stooped to the thinking of his other head. His sexual perversion had been his downfall. He could have weathered the storm had his wife not left him just the year prior.
Will had one last stop on his journey; his feet methodically chased after each other one in front of the other. Will’s mind began to wander with his feet, of all his test subjects Will would have taken any of their lives. They all had their flaws, they all seemed beneath him but they actually lived. Something Will had never taken the chance to do. To avoid ever slipping up, to ever stoop to the level of his subjects, Will had avoid life itself. Playing it safe, so safe he had become more of a spectator of his life, and sometimes Will wished he would have just taken the chance, and lived for once. Will’s feet came to rest at room 33b; Will knew the story behind this door. A young man had once lived here. He was mid to late twenties. He kept to himself; he hardly talked to anyone, never disturbed anyone. His only interaction with anyone in the entire complex was with of course 24a. 33b took his own life a few months back. Slit his wrists in the silence of the night. His blood pooled in the bathtub with the shower quietly running. Almost like he had the foresight to save someone the mess of his own suicide. It was about a week before the smell started to bring attention to 33b’s remains. It was sad even to Will, that not only had no one noticed 33b’s passing, no one showed up to collect his things either. So confined by his own solitude, that it finally choked the life out of him. Will’s nightly journey was finally over, he turned the knob and quietly slid into room 33b, his final resting place.
Will left the moans of human emotion behind, locking his apartment door behind him. His nightly journey was underway. His ears and eyes had collected years of information on what laid behind each numbered door. He had heard and seen the secrets of countless doors, they were just numbered doors to him he held no empathetic emotions for anyone of them. They were like his test subjects, testing the various outcomes of hundreds of life decisions. Each number held the possible person Will himself could have been had he led a similar life. The laughter from apartment 32 b very well could have been his own, at one point in time it was. He once sat upon that couch with number 32b and giggled himself in a similar fashion. The marijuana vapors practically spewing under the door way and spilling out into the hall. What a pathetic life 32b led, constantly escaping the responsibility, dashing off to inhale the smoke, and then mentally disappearing from reality for hours. Staring mouth a gape as the comical scenes flickered across the screen and out into the dim lit room. Will had quit that habit, 32b was not his life. Not anymore. Reality was a prison sentence Will intended to live out without the escapism.
Will’s feet kicked the carpet as he strolled down several floors on his footstep adventure he passed 24a. Her beauty to this day stirred his heart. She gave her best attempt to awkwardly avoid the eye contact. Will understood the signal. 24a had her next conquest by her side, another man the same man will had been months ago. She would use this man to feel alive, sucking at the powerful emotions of life coursing through his veins. Like a parasite she would suck him for all the cheap pleasures she could. Before leaving him in her wake, with all the other shriveled corpses of her previous sexual exploits. Will had no pitty for her, even though she was the product of her own environment. What chance did 24a have in the world? Growing up around models and actresses, but never quite good enough for herself. Constantly chasing after superficial beauties, when the chase became too much for her lungs to take she turned to other forms of validation. Yet will still had no pity for the error of her ways.
Will sparked the ember at the tip of his cancer stick. Taking in the smoke on the stoop of his apartment complex, his eyes search the night for anything to examine. Something to analyze and keep his mind preoccupied. The strum of a guitar caught his ears. The music notes floated from 3a’s window, dissipating in the night air just like the smoke from will's cigarette. The sounds of a struggling artist. Will laughed to himself. Artist was at term a grown man called himself to avoid the reality of being a failure. At some point one has to distinguish the line between hobbies and profit generating endeavors. Even the most talented people have to get a real job and become a productive member of society. At least that’s the way Will saw it, but 3a would strum away every penny his parents sent him. So long as they paid the bills his life style would be possible. Will thought it was pathetic.
Will’s lungs had inhaled their share of ash; he ducked away back into the warmth of the apartments many hall ways. The warmth wrapped will in a blanket a sensation he paid no attention to. He lacked the capacity to feel. Will made his way to the apartment complexes roof, from here he could see all he wished too. Will very much enjoyed his roof top gazing time. It was always time well spent. From the roof will could see his cleverly titled room 1c. 1c wasn’t a room because the person that lived in 1c was the homeless man that spent his nights in the back alley of the apartment complex. Will peered over the edge of the roof, looking down on the man, sort of like an angel. Will could only imagine 1c’s story for he had never actually meet the man. Will gave 1c the benefit of the doubt when crafting his story. Will assumed 1c had been a business man, a very successful one, but when the Misses found out about his secretarial affair she left with half. Then the stock market hit the rocks, along with 1c’s other half. Leaving him broke and emotional vacant. 1c could have had the life, had he not stooped to the thinking of his other head. His sexual perversion had been his downfall. He could have weathered the storm had his wife not left him just the year prior.
Will had one last stop on his journey; his feet methodically chased after each other one in front of the other. Will’s mind began to wander with his feet, of all his test subjects Will would have taken any of their lives. They all had their flaws, they all seemed beneath him but they actually lived. Something Will had never taken the chance to do. To avoid ever slipping up, to ever stoop to the level of his subjects, Will had avoid life itself. Playing it safe, so safe he had become more of a spectator of his life, and sometimes Will wished he would have just taken the chance, and lived for once. Will’s feet came to rest at room 33b; Will knew the story behind this door. A young man had once lived here. He was mid to late twenties. He kept to himself; he hardly talked to anyone, never disturbed anyone. His only interaction with anyone in the entire complex was with of course 24a. 33b took his own life a few months back. Slit his wrists in the silence of the night. His blood pooled in the bathtub with the shower quietly running. Almost like he had the foresight to save someone the mess of his own suicide. It was about a week before the smell started to bring attention to 33b’s remains. It was sad even to Will, that not only had no one noticed 33b’s passing, no one showed up to collect his things either. So confined by his own solitude, that it finally choked the life out of him. Will’s nightly journey was finally over, he turned the knob and quietly slid into room 33b, his final resting place.
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