the vanishing world

2 am outside twin donuts

Mon, 11 Feb 2013 14:29:03 -0500

2 a.m. waiting for a hot chocolate outside the plexiglass protection
at the Twin Donuts. Two youths besides me, one clearly calming
down the other. “i got so much anger in me, people talking about
the shit they do in rap songs, I actually do all that shit. I terrorize
people. I don’t know what i would do if you weren’t here.”

f

Tue, 06 Nov 2012 22:31:40 -0500

there was a girl in my college, a while back,
who was just an arrogant, entitled brat. One
day during art class, her hands, blackened by
charcoal pencil had left markings on her porcelain
white face. she was the beautiful girl I had ever
seen.

grasped

Sun, 04 Nov 2012 10:45:09 -0500

we let the hands, disembodied
embrace us. originating from a
place just beyond comprehension.

the strong grip holds steady,
tethering us to the unknown.
but we let it, because it feels
warm, familiar. like home.

these inky, black hands which
have arms, arms that stretch
backwards into a formless nothing.

but we let them. what purpose does it
serve, than to feel something, anything.
a genuine contact with an outside world
that justifies our internal chaos.

to be loved, to be held, to open yourself
up to the unknown. to be grasped by
a thing with no origin. a knowledge that
vibrates with reality. these hands grasp harder
never to let go if we allow it. they choke,
strangle and throttle when the times become
difficult. they knead, probe and crush …

but we let them.

parting way

Sat, 27 Oct 2012 05:06:13 -0400

there is no grand explanation, no time for apologies
there is no reunion. there is no need for second hand venom.
what words we can have with each other are
lost to the darkening skies of time.
do not mourn what is lost, let it become brittle

and shatter upon the strength of the future.
we have parted ways, and that is that.
starting as strangers, and ending as strangers.
square one. the world keeps spinning.
not affected in the least.

sifting

Fri, 14 Sep 2012 01:58:16 -0400

we sift through so many
liars, fakers and thieves
In our lives
Our true self begins to
erode, with every tiny
contact, skin on skin
flesh to flesh

our bodies rub away onto
the porcelain prosthesis
that houses the fake ones.
our good can be bruised,
and our hearts can blacken
but no one can lie worse
to us, than ourselves.
so in that, we can laugh,
Laugh away at the phony
masses that come in
Onslaughts.

they really can’t hurt us
with their thin, fractured
words … their ill conceived
promises. they are mere
hiccups of reality.

we are the ones who can
cut them off, square them
away into the recesses of
Our mind. we truly have
the power over ourselves.

a hand grasps at your soul
tugging, tugging to an
unknown destination. It is
Your own hand, the extension
Of the third eye.

unconsciously, but ultimately
your decision …

will you drag yourself down to the
darkest depths, or will you pull
yourself up into the brand new
world that exists solely for you.

AND SO I DREAMT LAST NIGHT

Tue, 24 Jul 2012 15:22:34 -0400

of someone I haven’t spoken to in
a long time. It felt like a burst of
energy that strangled my lungs when
she entered the room. Quite innocent
in the beginning, we planted ourselves
in the middle of a bed in a non-descript
room. She held a VHS tape in her hand
to play, we were an inch away from
each other when she brushed her face
towards me to start the movie. But I felt
the cold-wetness of her lips slide over
mine for the briefest of moments. The trail
of heat on her face brushing on my skin.
My brain began to melt, disintegrate and reform in
my pounding skull. that feeling was a crackling
thunderbolt through me, and I sat there
agape. Just feeling her near me, awestruck.
She looked at me again, and I pulled her closer,
eventually on top of her, pushing myself down hard.
So close, so close that we would de-atomize and
become one with the bed … I wake up and I still
feel her lips on mine. I’m staring at my cell phone
with her number there ready to be called.

dot dot dot

Tue, 22 May 2012 21:11:27 -0400

dot dot dot

" . . . and so she said, "what's worse? to be treated horribly or to be ignored completely?" Since I knew both realities, I couldn't answer definitively."

Mon, 14 May 2012 21:43:14 -0400

relationship.

Sat, 12 May 2012 15:38:52 -0400

relationship.

pressure

Thu, 10 May 2012 23:18:40 -0400

I applied the gentlest pressure
to the palm of my hand,
sinking you, slowly.
the gulf between us, too wide
for any words to be heard.
the inaction, pulverizing my
spirit. I was better than that.
better than a curt reply.
your hands snake about
my ankle.

dragging me down with you,
but I don’t care. we submerge,
our flesh underwater becoming
a vibrating mirage. I try to laugh,
but the sound catches in my throat
with a gasp, when I realize what
I am doing, what I have done to myself.

the gulf between us has vanished,
but our silence has become deafening.
I want to embrace you, hold you
closer to me, closer than anyone
else before you. so we both can
disappear beneath these cold, cold
waters.

cocoon of skin

Sat, 05 May 2012 03:56:02 -0400

to control your flesh
and other dark thoughts
that swim downstream
from my mind.
to press against you,
the urgent heat and
salt of us intertwine.
to hear your ragged
breath exit as a death
rattle.
your chin skyward,
eyes masked by clenched
lids. Your expression,
an offering to the
deities of consummation.
Intertwined, gushing,
age old and strenuous.
you have cocooned me.
i am your tool,
a mechanism of
the little deaths.
i will not rest until
we are spent.

-am

none of one.

Thu, 05 Apr 2012 22:45:00 -0400

I’m stuck inside the ribcage
of an all encompassing monster.
I see through its eyes,
I taste through its mouth.
A double set of teeth to
satiate the double speak.
I am one of two, none of one.
I expelled myself from this
creature once …
But I sank slowly back into
its frightening depths.
A layer of skin, fat, bone
tissue that feels like me
but it is not me.
I must carve my way out
again. sweat and blood.
Pain and horror…
happiness and torment
that go hand in hand.
A reminder of what
is the greatest
motivator.

revenge.

KTN: Prologue

Sun, 04 Mar 2012 00:51:00 -0500

Prologue

The rumble of track underneath did nothing to startle him from his daze.
He stared at a vanishing point just beyond the metal framing
above the train’s exit, stock still. His coal-gray Banana Republic
sweater with black khaki pants gripped to his body like a
fashion model. His face frozen, in a weird comical trance gained
movement. The replay of the morning began to flicker in his mind,
he really had not been thinking of anything. It was all it took to
temper the white hot rage that became a volcano spewing its lava
from his gut to his head. His almost obsidian black eyes, which stood
out from his fair skin (Aniridia, one of the many quirks he had) traveled
to his right hand that clung tightly to a support beam. It was overhead,
and he coldly eyed his wrist, a faint crimson smudge on it. The hand
vanished into a rather expensive Ralph Lauren glove. His right eye
twitching, when he released the beam and let his hand balance a
foot away from his face. Palm open, he tilted his hand a bit so his
fingers pointed downward. Gravity took its natural course as a thin
stream of blood trickled down from under his darkening sweater and
into the dark recess of his glove.

The train shook violently, he opened and closed his hand
into a fist repeatedly. He was tempted to roll the sweater
arm up, but decided against it. The screeching of the metal
and wheels finally registered to him. The other people in the
train car, not paying any mind to him, like any normal New Yorker
faded into an obscure background. He slowly danced with the rhythm
of the swaying car as it violently surged through the tunnel. He made
his way to the double plated plastic window that looked into the
three by three foot space where the conductor worked. Just
beyond, he could see the green “go” lights pass over head,
whizzing by at a nauseating speed. The blackness seemed infinite,
all consuming. It felt that way for a succession of time, this
great dark cocoon, the horrible, thunderous wails of
metal echoing out of sight. Suddenly a pinprick of light grew
in the distance, the end of the tunnel was near. This mechanized
womb undulating towards a brand new beginning,
divorced of what he had endured hours earlier.
The light grew brighter, until it enveloped the tunnel. He once
again stared at his wrist, the red lines crisscrossing over his
skin. Droplets finding their way to the floor, his eyes turned
into slits. The roar of the train becoming deafening as the train
emerged from underneath.

ktn: a segment

Wed, 04 Jan 2012 21:22:00 -0500

“It’s done”, Marcus thought to himself, as he knelt before the aged bathtub. Edward’s rigid body lay immobile within, the first quart of blood escaping and pooling underneath. Marcus stared at the person, no, the husk that moments ago blubbered and stammered a pointless campaign for his life. The death of this thing, albeit in the back of his mind ever since he stepped foot into this apartment complex, was anti-climactic. It was if the two were on a predetermined path, a non-sexual tryst that led to an inevitable, boring finale. He felt empathy, not for Edward personally, but for who he could’ve been if he wasn’t such an asshole. Observing him face down, bound, the red river of his life painting the white porcelain crimson. Marcus, placed the palms of his hands on his own lower back, thrusting his chest forward, the satisfying popping sound of his bones realigning at this gesture. He was glad he no longer had to lift Edward’s obese corpus anymore. Wincing, he slowly turned around, his back to the tub. Its cool exterior pressed against the exposed skin of his lower back, he didn’t bother to lower his shirt at this alien feeling. Without looking, he reached his right hand towards the drain stop and lifted, the sudden sound of air being gulped in segments.

It wasn’t just the blood draining, it was someone’s life, a collection of cells, all types of miniscule organisms escaping into a nothingness. Marcus laughed at himself, he thought of something he read in a Murakami novel, something about human beings being akin to simple gene-carriers. Genes that spread themselves like a virus over generations, a primitive, knee-jerk action to multiply. Edward wasn’t going to spread his genes, as far as Marcus knew, it was the end of the line for Flincher. An unearthly sigh escaped Marcus’s lips as he realized, he didn’t even have to hear any of that horrible music pulsating through his ceiling any more. The whole band was gone, kaput. He felt that he saved the music world from a bunch of talent less hacks. It was a far stretch to justify what he did to them all, but it was one proviso he was willing to take in the grand scheme of things.

The suction sound slowly turned into a trickle, then a noiseless leak. The lion’s share of the blood had found its way down the sewer pipes of New York. Marcus held his breath for a minute, for no reason while stood. He turned to look once again at his once-tormentor, he gauged how many trash bags he would need. He stepped out of the room, humming one of the songs Edward Flincher’s band used to practice, unconsciously, he angered himself as soon as he realized it. He returned a few minutes later with a dozen hefty bags, and his rusty trusty hand saw. Hopefully the noises that were about to happen would drown out that awful tune in his head.

verbal spar

Wed, 21 Sep 2011 13:36:16 -0400

she called me an idiot. Ironically, I knew deep down, she was a moron. Vapid, empty, hollow shell of a deliciously sculptured goddess. We were made for each other like a bent key for a broken lock. I stared into her deep black eyes as she kept mouthing unintelligable words … my peace was diminished, I burst into flames.

phone tag

Wed, 21 Sep 2011 13:34:18 -0400

The final insult flung, she spat venom into my ear
through electric currents.
Flustered, frustrated, beyond repair.
I, monotone, defiantly replied “Don’t call me anymore.”
Thinking I was bluffing, a tiny cackle crept into her words
“Okay.”
She smiled at the other end of the line, proud of not giving a shit.
I ended the call on my cell shaking with a static fury.
Two years later she calls again, and for the fifth time
I pass on picking it up, on hearing her voice again.
She is enveloped in the passage of time.

Welcome to the ether, bitch.

yule tide

Wed, 21 Sep 2011 13:32:00 -0400

The rain sweeps across the highway outside of my window.
the trailing sounds of heavy wheels discharging the water,
a phantom moan of disappearing strangers.
Into the darkness they vanish.
It’s Christmas night, I have gorged.
The addiction, compensating for what’s no longer here.
The emptiness, the shadow play in my mind.
It can’t be like this forever can it?
My psyche tugging my body with marionette strings
fueled by apathy.

I listen, the sounds of the rain drops pelting,
the asphalt, the Doppler effect.
If I commit myself enough.
If I focus enough.

I will become transparent,
I will become translucent,
I will lift into the sky like
the dampness does by morning time.

absolute.

Wed, 21 Sep 2011 13:32:00 -0400

three hundred and sixty five days
internal chaos, self destruction and self loathing.
the faces that appeared and vanished in the blink
of an eye.
that eye punctured by the ugly sight of another world.
darkness creeping in. spinning. funneled into a mutated keepsake.
The snails pace of evolution.
the stolen kisses that led no where.
challenged libidos, justified the mistrust of others.
the disgust.
not falling. not slipping one’s toe into the black abyss.
teetering. not becoming the shadow …
the shadow the malformed brain guarantees
it will provide a cushion. a safety net from reality.
not possible. not falling into the trap of
misanthropy. misogyny. the lulling call of her …
the one called absolute.

she beckons, but must not be shown audience to,
her song will whisper around the ears, but
the moment it hypnotizes, the moment it
travels through the canals, the bloodstream.
it is over. she must be rejected or she will
swallow one into the deep recesses of nothingness.

the gate

Wed, 21 Sep 2011 13:31:40 -0400

there is a vortex that appears.
past midnight.
the sky will open, the black will swirl
into a luminescent white.
A great glowing eye from the heavens.
the only way to see it,
is to raise your hand,
palm outward. flat.
and slowly spread your fingers apart.

can you see it?
will you comprehend what it is,
when you do?

when your heart beat surges,
and the calmness eventually overtakes.
will you feel it?
will you know how to react.

will you be content?

stupor

Wed, 21 Sep 2011 13:27:10 -0400

I recollected a moment,
a long time ago.
helping a friend who was staggering drunk,
back home.
feeling abject horror at her state.
making sure she would be okay,
as she went on to ignore me.

the foolish rush of blood to the noggin’
smitten with something that wasn’t love,
nor lust … but need. that phase had passed,
we both had it out of our system.
but care was still in my heart somewhat.

I made sure she got home safe and sound,
while I took the long road back, dejected and disillusioned.
not worried about her feelings about me,
but my feelings about me.

flash forward, months after.
I, feeling dejected and disillusioned over
someone else entirely.
My feelings completely atrophied from this friend.
Yet we remained close … as close as acquaintances can be.

the night moved on,
the scene full of pariahs and sycophants.
androids, dolls, machines with pleasing aesthetics lined up.
phony, i drink, where have i gotten myself into?
what is this?
i drink.
i assume i will be funnier tonight. but no,
i will unleash a backlash. my body punishes me.

I have become the one staggering, blindly drunk.
the world gone topsy turvy.
a kaleidoscope of pavement, sky, and whirling lights.
loud conversations bubbling into murmurs of
inconsequential dialogue.
I beckon for her help, as I am clearly not fit to
walk the streets alone, since i had one too many.

i was a fool to think they actually gave a shit.
I was put in a car that dropped me 5 blocks away,
alone, teetering on the verge of blacking out.
into the wicked, dark night of an unforgiving city.