Hollywood party boy claimed sole conservator and guardian over Jenner girls!
Brody Jenner.
Bruce's pride and joy.
And son with wife Linda Thompson.
He was well known and reveled by the paparazzi, long before the Kardashians took the spotlight.
He co-starred in series like the Hills.
And was guilty of capturing a few starlets hearts.
Nothing could have prepared him for fatherhood.
Brody should have gotten the entire city of Los Angeles pregnant, long before a conservatorship was assigned to him.
But Bruce had always had high hopes for his son.
Bruce had lived the lifestyles of the rich and famous, seventies and eighties.
The only thing learned was that cocaine and steroids don't mix.
He wanted more for his glory boy.
There was nothing worse than a scandalous career as an heir.
Bruce watched as the press had gotten less forgiving over the years.
Seeing Brody in the Hills was one thing, since it was scripted.
But the tabloids was another.
Bruce knew he wouldn't be around forever.
And had high expectations.
Once Kylie Kardashian was born, Bruce made the erratic decision to file legal papers making Brody the legal guardian and sole conservatorship over Kendall and Kylie.
If ever there was trouble.
This was, of course, information he kept secret from the rest of his family.
He hadn't worried about wife, Kris, since she had signed the paper work during one of her infamous red wine and Valium stupors.
Like most night, she had forgotten the entire engagement.
The day after the Riddler murder/kidnapping took place, the Kardashians mighty estate lawyer was summoned.
He wasn't much of a superhero, but was all the family had.
He alerted the clan of the Jenner girls new father.
Brody.
Brody had hoped the older sisters would take on the responsibility.
And for a while they did.
Kylie and Kendall were shuttled from Khloe's, to Kim's, to Kourtney's.
But the girls began to fear Kourtney's mental instability and called in the others for reinforcement.
Brody wasn't prepared for real life.
Not long ago, he was piss drunk at Kims nuptials.
Now he was held responsible for the well being of his half sisters, that he barely knew.
The only thing he had cared about, was whether Bruce was alive.
After Kourtney's death, the family hardships continued.
Kendall began acting out, citing the emotionally damaging environment changes as her reason.
This infuriated Khloe, who was busy fighting the LAPD on a daily basis on his behalf.
Rob was lost in a drug fueled frenzy.
While Kim unsuccessfully picked up the pieces of the families foundation.
Brody fled Los Angeles, and spent many months at his families private villa in Cabo San Lucas.
There, he partied.
Drank.
And fucked.
But soon he grew tired of it.
Nothing seemed to lift his spirits.
His overall mood had become black.
He learned to calm part of the ferocity with surfing.
The ocean reminded him of Bruce, who taught him how to shred.
His favorite memories flooded his mind.
He often thought of the day he watched the sun set with Bruce while they floated on their boards.
Bruce lectured Brody, spitting some inspirational verbiage.
What haunted Brody was Bruce's razor sharp tone confiding him to Take Pride In Something.
One night, during a drunken surf, Brody lost his balance and hit his head on a rock.
His body was tousled in the ocean, in hopes to swallow him whole, but he managed to break free.
He floated back to the surface and lie on the beach, mending the crack in his head.
Whether it was the rock, or Bruce's guilt, Brody wasn't sure.
But finally he had broke.
The entire night was dedicated to his lost feelings and hidden tears.
He cried, like no man had ever dared, hoping the pain would heal.
In the morning, everything was clear.
He returned to Los Angeles and moved Kendall and Kylie into his West Hollywood condo.
It took a while for Kylie to adjust to her new lifestyle at Brody's.
His condo was in no shape for two young girls.
And they were used to Bruce.
Kendall on the other hand, had made herself right at home.
Due to space limitations the girls shared a bedroom, which did not sit well with Kendall.
Brody tried cleaning up his bad boy past, by working full time in MTV's development department.
Since the girls were at a respectable age, his role as conservatorship was fairly simple.
He played an active role in the girls personal lives.
He drove them to school every morning.
He attended Kendall's football games where she cheered.
Kylie was involved in her schools drama department, which Brody fully supported, despite his disgust with Hollywood.
One night, after feeding the girls, an exhausted Brody fell in to bed.
A movement startled him.
Under his sheets was Kendall, who had hoped to surprise him.
She held his bedsheets over her body, but he could tell there was little underneath.
He distanced himself from her, demanding she get dressed, but she dropped the blankets anyway.
She explained that she was too old to share a bedroom with her younger sister.
That it was time he treated her like the woman she was.
Brody found it hard, both literal, and figuratively, as she was his half sister.
But Kendall hadn't cared.
She slithered toward Brody, seducing her prey.
Is suddenly dawned on Brody how forward she had become over the last few months.
He recalled her sexy routine performed at a pep rally.
Her eyes focused purely on him.
Or when they were at MTV premieres.
The way she would hold his hand while they walked the red carpet.
Cornered, Brody tried talking Kendall down, but she would have no part in his excuses.
A kiss, was all she asked for, but he knew it was wrong.
His libido palpated in sync with his heart.
He tried thinking of anything except sex, but since his full time dad stint he hadn't bed a single starlet.
He became too exhausted.
And didn't even masturbate.
Kendall kissed Brody, dipping her tongue in and out of his tightly pressed lips.
When he opened his eyes, she was gone.
Horrified, he left the condo for a drink at Teddy's.
As he arrived, the paparazzi were waiting.
It had been nearly a year since his last drunken stint and he vowed not to relapse.
Instead, he raced toward Kim's Beverly Hills mansion, in hopes of pawning off Kendall.
Nervously fidgeting with the radio, he drove, unaware of the figure in his back seat.
With lightning speed, the mysterious person covered his mouth with a liquid soaked cloth.
The chemicals made Brody delirious, as he swerved his car off the road.
It eventually slowed to a stop.
Brody's body had become numb.
The figure from the backseat rolled his body into the passenger seat, and resumed driving.
Barely conscious, he got a good look at his captor.
Of all people he didn't expect it to be her.
But it was.
Smiling, with her little Bambi eyes.
Kylie Jenner blew him a kiss, before putting the car in drive.
And peeling out.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Kardashians Vs. The Riddler Part VI: Daddy's Little Girl
Kendall Jenner's sheets swished and swayed, until they were kicked to the floor by a pair of mans legs.
She had become very good at getting what she wanted.
And since mom, Kris Jenner's death, she acquired everything she dreamed of.
Everything, except revenge.
While her older sisters, Kourtney, Kim, and Khloe gathered media attention, Kendall was forced to play with baby Kylie in the sandbox.
Over the years they learned to survive, and play "house" with the others while the cameras rolled.
Often times the Jenner girls were forgotten at red carpet premieres, or lavish parties.
Bruce became a full time nanny, while the Kardashian empire was built.
Kendall always took pity on the old fool.
She saw his love for the entire family.
She also saw through his facade.
Behind his disfigured scars was a man crying to get out.
A man who ached to be the great Olympic figure he once was.
To be respected.
And reclaim the empire as his own.
As Kendall got older, she saw this dream die a slow and painful death.
The fire behind Bruce's eyes was almost non existent.
While Bruce ran on embers, Kendall sparked a flare.
She had developed a particular blood lust at an early age.
While most kids held magnifying glasses over ants, Kendall preferred torturing stray cats.
It was easy.
The cats were naturally drawn to her.
Who wouldn't be?
The Jenner-Kardashians own Venus fly trap.
She would smize the cats toward her, bewitching them.
As soon as they were in her grasp she would smother them with a pillow, or drown them in the pool.
No one expected foul play, because she was just a child.
The older she got the more intense her boredom grew.
Cats had stopped crossing the Kardashian property.
Perhaps they had wised up.
None the less., Kendall needed to feel something again.
All that time, killing cats or wild animals that crossed her, she had begun to feel something.
It was an animalistic instinct, similar to sex, but with an easier pay off.
She lost her virginity when she was thirteen to a boy from Sierra Canyon, the private school she attended in Chatsworth.
She was at a bonfire in Malibu with a group of older and richer students.
Just your typical senior party.
Bottles of Patron.
Vintage scotch.
Coke ridden mirrors.
And free passing joints.
Kendall refused to partake in the festivities.
Mostly because she had decided to go all the way.
She even knew with who.
Dave Price.
A random face in the popular crowd.
He was particularly quiet.
And hadn't garnished a reputation, like most of the other boys.
She knew he'd be pure.
Something she expected from her victims.
The party began to wind down.
The students started coupling up, drunkenly returning to their SUV's.
Kendall, played Dave for all he was worth.
She gave him the longest eye fuck of his life, before he finally got the hint.
He followed her down the beach.
Alone, she forced him to strip, and watch her seductively take her clothes off.
Something about the delay made her feel powerful.
Unlike other girls, her age, Kendall showed no fear.
Her femininity took over, until she stood in front of him, bare.
She had hoped he would make a move.
But she knew from her mother, that a Kardashian, or in this case, a Jenner, holds all the power.
Kendall thought of Bruce's sad eyes while Dave had his way with her.
She had hoped to enjoy it.
Instead it was painful, and degrading .
Fortunately, it didn't take long.
Instead of climaxing, Dave passed out.
The fire she had missed began to twist her heart into knots.
She dragged his body into the ocean and held his head under the tide.
The current pulled them in, but Kendall refused to let go.
Half concious, Dave squirmed, unaware of the situation.
Kendall dug her fingernails into the flesh of his neck, screaming in pleasure.
Dave wiggled like a fish on a hook, longer than he had when he was inside her.
It wasn't long before his body stopped convulsing.
Dave was cast into the ocean.
Kendall returned to the shore, trembling.
Unsure if it was the ice cold water.
Or the fresh death in her hands.
A smile warmed inside her.
She giggled, returning home.
No one seemed to care where she had been.
No one asked why she was soaking wet.
The only concern from the family was her five minute shoot for the new episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians tomorrow.
On her vanity was the 2010 Christmas card framed, featuring the entire Kardashian clan.
Kendall administered a pair of scissors to the photo, placing it back in its frame.
In her hand she held her mothers face.
She lit a cigarette and took a puff before stubbing the butt out on Kris's cut out.
The fire Bruce had carefully hidden had suddenly erupted inside Kendall.
And hell hath no fury like a Kardashian sister, unless you're a Jenner.
She had become very good at getting what she wanted.
And since mom, Kris Jenner's death, she acquired everything she dreamed of.
Everything, except revenge.
While her older sisters, Kourtney, Kim, and Khloe gathered media attention, Kendall was forced to play with baby Kylie in the sandbox.
Over the years they learned to survive, and play "house" with the others while the cameras rolled.
Often times the Jenner girls were forgotten at red carpet premieres, or lavish parties.
Bruce became a full time nanny, while the Kardashian empire was built.
Kendall always took pity on the old fool.
She saw his love for the entire family.
She also saw through his facade.
Behind his disfigured scars was a man crying to get out.
A man who ached to be the great Olympic figure he once was.
To be respected.
And reclaim the empire as his own.
As Kendall got older, she saw this dream die a slow and painful death.
The fire behind Bruce's eyes was almost non existent.
While Bruce ran on embers, Kendall sparked a flare.
She had developed a particular blood lust at an early age.
While most kids held magnifying glasses over ants, Kendall preferred torturing stray cats.
It was easy.
The cats were naturally drawn to her.
Who wouldn't be?
The Jenner-Kardashians own Venus fly trap.
She would smize the cats toward her, bewitching them.
As soon as they were in her grasp she would smother them with a pillow, or drown them in the pool.
No one expected foul play, because she was just a child.
The older she got the more intense her boredom grew.
Cats had stopped crossing the Kardashian property.
Perhaps they had wised up.
None the less., Kendall needed to feel something again.
All that time, killing cats or wild animals that crossed her, she had begun to feel something.
It was an animalistic instinct, similar to sex, but with an easier pay off.
She lost her virginity when she was thirteen to a boy from Sierra Canyon, the private school she attended in Chatsworth.
She was at a bonfire in Malibu with a group of older and richer students.
Just your typical senior party.
Bottles of Patron.
Vintage scotch.
Coke ridden mirrors.
And free passing joints.
Kendall refused to partake in the festivities.
Mostly because she had decided to go all the way.
She even knew with who.
Dave Price.
A random face in the popular crowd.
He was particularly quiet.
And hadn't garnished a reputation, like most of the other boys.
She knew he'd be pure.
Something she expected from her victims.
The party began to wind down.
The students started coupling up, drunkenly returning to their SUV's.
Kendall, played Dave for all he was worth.
She gave him the longest eye fuck of his life, before he finally got the hint.
He followed her down the beach.
Alone, she forced him to strip, and watch her seductively take her clothes off.
Something about the delay made her feel powerful.
Unlike other girls, her age, Kendall showed no fear.
Her femininity took over, until she stood in front of him, bare.
She had hoped he would make a move.
But she knew from her mother, that a Kardashian, or in this case, a Jenner, holds all the power.
Kendall thought of Bruce's sad eyes while Dave had his way with her.
She had hoped to enjoy it.
Instead it was painful, and degrading .
Fortunately, it didn't take long.
Instead of climaxing, Dave passed out.
The fire she had missed began to twist her heart into knots.
She dragged his body into the ocean and held his head under the tide.
The current pulled them in, but Kendall refused to let go.
Half concious, Dave squirmed, unaware of the situation.
Kendall dug her fingernails into the flesh of his neck, screaming in pleasure.
Dave wiggled like a fish on a hook, longer than he had when he was inside her.
It wasn't long before his body stopped convulsing.
Dave was cast into the ocean.
Kendall returned to the shore, trembling.
Unsure if it was the ice cold water.
Or the fresh death in her hands.
A smile warmed inside her.
She giggled, returning home.
No one seemed to care where she had been.
No one asked why she was soaking wet.
The only concern from the family was her five minute shoot for the new episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians tomorrow.
On her vanity was the 2010 Christmas card framed, featuring the entire Kardashian clan.
Kendall administered a pair of scissors to the photo, placing it back in its frame.
In her hand she held her mothers face.
She lit a cigarette and took a puff before stubbing the butt out on Kris's cut out.
The fire Bruce had carefully hidden had suddenly erupted inside Kendall.
And hell hath no fury like a Kardashian sister, unless you're a Jenner.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Kardashians Vs. The Riddler Part V: Khloe's Klaws
Bruce Jenner was no where to be found, and no one seemed to question it.
Except Khloe.
While the rest of the family exploited themselves for the camera, became drug takers or ex-communicated themselves from the Kardashian name, Khloe remained persistent.
Even though Bruce wasn't her biological father, he was the closest thing to it since her father, Robert, died.
She already lost her mother.
She wouldn't lose another father.
The LAPD knew her on a first name basis.
Or better know as K.K.
The Kardashian Kunt.
The city grew tired of her constant nagging, and barrage of questions.
Police headquarters became a weekly sitcom featuring K.K. and the LAPD.
She would burst into the building in a frantic tizzy, while cops rolled their eyes and turned the other way.
A back and forth between the police chief and K.K would take place, while a laugh track played over the uncomfortable shouting and silent answers.
In Khloe's eyes, the police weren't doing much to solve the Riddlers Puzzle case.
The FBI briefly investigated the crime, and took the family into questioning after Kris's death, but the case remained an unsolved mystery.
A year and a half of dead end clues and no lead, the case was dropped and shuffled back to LAPD.
Soon after, Kourtney had killed herself separating the family more than ever.
Sister Kim tried staying strong and running the empire, but her attempts were useless.
Khloe's father was missing, her mother was dead, and her best friend and sister selfishly took her own life.
Rob had become a junkie, and Kendall and Kylie wanted nothing to do with the family.
Lamar, Khloe's husband tried being as supportive as he could.
The press berated him with questions regarding the reality family.
He was publicized for his violent outbursts toward photogs and paparazzi.
The negative publicity began affecting his performance.
He was ultimately dropped from the Lakers and black listed from most NBA teams.
Avoiding more bad press, Khloe distanced herself from Lamar, hoping to separate briefly.
Khloe moved in with Kim, who was equally unsatisfied with her marriage.
They became each others support system.
Khloe was dependent on Kim.
And vice versa.
One night, Khloe made an impromptu visit to her her home with Lamar to talk about their marriage.
The Beverly Hills mansion was packed with party goers.
Hip hop echoed through the yard.
Khloe, was appalled at the video ho's and random strippers working the party.
Lamar was obnoxiously drunk, while two girls drank champagne and straddled him.
Never the wall flower, Khloe slid her 9-karat diamond engagement ring to the inside of her palm.
The champagne twins were the first to go down.
Each received a shiny hello from Khloe before knocking them out cold.
Her phone rang.
It was Kim.
Now was not the time for a chat.
Lamar, jumped on the defensive and became shouting racial slurs at her.
Whether it was the aggression toward the LAPD, or the pain from the past year and half, wasn't clear.
What was evident, was that nobody fucked with a Kardashian.
Especially Khloe.
Lamar continued to belittle her, shouting obscenities, while party go-ers helped the champagne ho's off the ground.
Khloe responded by kissing her diamond ring, and round housing Lamar in the head.
She finished off her new move with an uppercut, sliding her diamond across his chin.
A path opened up from the by standers, as Khloe exited the house.
Clearly her mixed martial arts classes were paying off.
And reaped more benefits than her hour of yoga.
She returned to her temporary home at Kims, feeling invigorated.
Her key entered the front doors lock.
The door was already open.
Khloe entered, feeling a horrific case of deja vu.
The apartment had been ransacked.
Her gut told her to run.
Her heart told her to fight.
She readied her 9-karat ring and removed a baseball bat from the coat closet.
Khloe wanted to call out to Kim, but was too afraid of the silence.
She scoured the home, finding an open box with the words BEWARE THE RIDDLER written on the bottom.
Her rage erupted.
Khloe began smashing anything in her path in order to call out the captor.
Glass sculptures.
Lamps.
Art work.
Nothing was saved.
She wouldn't become a victim.
A scurry in the back bedroom, shocked her senses.
Khloe rushed to the room, ready for combat.
Glass from a broken window littered the floor.
Bloody footprints had danced through it.
Something was outside the window.
Khloe followed the noise.
A woman was shimming down a drain pipe that lined against the building.
Khloe wasn't going down without a fight.
She thrust the bat at the woman's head.
She missed by an inch, but got her attention.
The woman below was covered in blood and filth.
She wore a tattered silk dress, and ran barefoot.
The woman appeared savage and foreign, until Khloe locked eyes with the creature.
They locked eyes, before she ran off.
Her breath escaped her body.
She wheezed, having a panic attack, for the woman below was no stranger.
In fact the dress the woman wore belonged to her sister.
And eyes belonged to her best friend.
It was Kourtney.
Except Khloe.
While the rest of the family exploited themselves for the camera, became drug takers or ex-communicated themselves from the Kardashian name, Khloe remained persistent.
Even though Bruce wasn't her biological father, he was the closest thing to it since her father, Robert, died.
She already lost her mother.
She wouldn't lose another father.
The LAPD knew her on a first name basis.
Or better know as K.K.
The Kardashian Kunt.
The city grew tired of her constant nagging, and barrage of questions.
Police headquarters became a weekly sitcom featuring K.K. and the LAPD.
She would burst into the building in a frantic tizzy, while cops rolled their eyes and turned the other way.
A back and forth between the police chief and K.K would take place, while a laugh track played over the uncomfortable shouting and silent answers.
In Khloe's eyes, the police weren't doing much to solve the Riddlers Puzzle case.
The FBI briefly investigated the crime, and took the family into questioning after Kris's death, but the case remained an unsolved mystery.
A year and a half of dead end clues and no lead, the case was dropped and shuffled back to LAPD.
Soon after, Kourtney had killed herself separating the family more than ever.
Sister Kim tried staying strong and running the empire, but her attempts were useless.
Khloe's father was missing, her mother was dead, and her best friend and sister selfishly took her own life.
Rob had become a junkie, and Kendall and Kylie wanted nothing to do with the family.
Lamar, Khloe's husband tried being as supportive as he could.
The press berated him with questions regarding the reality family.
He was publicized for his violent outbursts toward photogs and paparazzi.
The negative publicity began affecting his performance.
He was ultimately dropped from the Lakers and black listed from most NBA teams.
Avoiding more bad press, Khloe distanced herself from Lamar, hoping to separate briefly.
Khloe moved in with Kim, who was equally unsatisfied with her marriage.
They became each others support system.
Khloe was dependent on Kim.
And vice versa.
One night, Khloe made an impromptu visit to her her home with Lamar to talk about their marriage.
The Beverly Hills mansion was packed with party goers.
Hip hop echoed through the yard.
Khloe, was appalled at the video ho's and random strippers working the party.
Lamar was obnoxiously drunk, while two girls drank champagne and straddled him.
Never the wall flower, Khloe slid her 9-karat diamond engagement ring to the inside of her palm.
The champagne twins were the first to go down.
Each received a shiny hello from Khloe before knocking them out cold.
Her phone rang.
It was Kim.
Now was not the time for a chat.
Lamar, jumped on the defensive and became shouting racial slurs at her.
Whether it was the aggression toward the LAPD, or the pain from the past year and half, wasn't clear.
What was evident, was that nobody fucked with a Kardashian.
Especially Khloe.
Lamar continued to belittle her, shouting obscenities, while party go-ers helped the champagne ho's off the ground.
Khloe responded by kissing her diamond ring, and round housing Lamar in the head.
She finished off her new move with an uppercut, sliding her diamond across his chin.
A path opened up from the by standers, as Khloe exited the house.
Clearly her mixed martial arts classes were paying off.
And reaped more benefits than her hour of yoga.
She returned to her temporary home at Kims, feeling invigorated.
Her key entered the front doors lock.
The door was already open.
Khloe entered, feeling a horrific case of deja vu.
The apartment had been ransacked.
Her gut told her to run.
Her heart told her to fight.
She readied her 9-karat ring and removed a baseball bat from the coat closet.
Khloe wanted to call out to Kim, but was too afraid of the silence.
She scoured the home, finding an open box with the words BEWARE THE RIDDLER written on the bottom.
Her rage erupted.
Khloe began smashing anything in her path in order to call out the captor.
Glass sculptures.
Lamps.
Art work.
Nothing was saved.
She wouldn't become a victim.
A scurry in the back bedroom, shocked her senses.
Khloe rushed to the room, ready for combat.
Glass from a broken window littered the floor.
Bloody footprints had danced through it.
Something was outside the window.
Khloe followed the noise.
A woman was shimming down a drain pipe that lined against the building.
Khloe wasn't going down without a fight.
She thrust the bat at the woman's head.
She missed by an inch, but got her attention.
The woman below was covered in blood and filth.
She wore a tattered silk dress, and ran barefoot.
The woman appeared savage and foreign, until Khloe locked eyes with the creature.
They locked eyes, before she ran off.
Her breath escaped her body.
She wheezed, having a panic attack, for the woman below was no stranger.
In fact the dress the woman wore belonged to her sister.
And eyes belonged to her best friend.
It was Kourtney.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Kardashians Vs. The Riddler Part IV: Riddlers Ritalin
Sex and drugs.
Two things that go hand in hand.
Unless you're Rob Kardashian.
Since his mothers death, and sisters suicide, Rob had chose to numb himself with a variety of illegal, or prescription drugs.
You name it, he'd done it.
He wasn't particularly fond of needles, or something you have to smoke, but if it could go up your nose, he was your man.
Most people he knew that experimented with drugs had wound up dead or in a downward spiral.
Rob had aceepted either.
Every morning after a black out bender he would wake, and ask himself why he was still alive.
His sisters tried to turn the other cheek to his wild and innapropriate behavior, but it had only worsened since Kourtney's death.
Kim devised an intervention, but the family had long gone their sepearate ways.
Kylie and Kendall sent him their best wishes via twitter, while Khloe nearly bust down the door to his condo in an attempt to kick his ass straight to rehab.
Money was dwindeling with his new drug fueled hunger, and fame had deduced to page eight of the National Enquirer, reporting:
Reality Prince falls hard, after drunken night with Lindsay Lohan.
At least the Kardashian name was back in the papers.
Rob had developed a more than platonic relationship with Lindsay, mostly because she could score the best drugs.
The more he hung around her, the better he felt about his own life.
She often spit sage advice while they snorted her famous drug salad she concocted.
During his euphoric highs, he wandered Venice Beach blending in with the local art freaks and homeless junkies.
Occasionally a tourist would recognize him and ask for a picture.
This usually set him off on a tirad.
Which further developed into a law suit.
And a broken camera.
Rob was sick of Hollywood.
Sick of the bullshit.
And sick of snorting his dreams away.
Waking from a mad hang over, Rob noticed he was surrounded by two topless junkies under a palm tree.
The beach was unfamiliar.
He wandered the foreign board walk, hoping to spot Lohan's place.
He was lost.
He wandered for what felt like days, before stopping outside a local freak show.
A voice beckoned for people to enter, for a mere dollar, but no tourist took the bait.
Rob thumbed his temples hoping the splitting detox, would stop.
The voice to the freak show revealed himself to Rob.
He was a tall, thin man, dressed in bright green latex.
His face was covered with a cheap translucent mask.
His head was shaved.
A giant question mark was tattooed on it.
He continued shouting to passing tourists, while Rob became entranced.
The Riddler, flashed a smile and stuck out his tongue.
On the tip was a green pill with a question mark on it.
He motioned for Rob to come inside.
With nothing to lose, he followed the latex freak inside.
Passing through a red velvet curtain, the sound of carnival music haunted the room.
The lighting was dim.
The floor sticky.
The Riddler hadn't spoken a word.
He led Rob through it's gimmicky attractions.
They passed by glass cases featuring a mix of live actors and taxidermy creatures.
At the end of the attraction was a green door with a question mark.
The Riddler turned to Rob and smiled.
He opened his palm, revealing the infamous green pill.
Rob asked what it was.
The Riddler smiled, and told him it was his famous Ritalin.
That all of the answers to questions untold were behind the green door.
That if he took the pill, he'd become omnipotent, and fall down the rabbit hole .
Robs cell phone rang.
A call from Kourtney's cell.
This jolted him back to reality.
He wanted to answer, but was too afraid of its caller.
The Riddler placed the small pill in Robs hand.
Rob contimplated the severity of his situation for all of one minute before popping the pill and giving in to the Riddlers Ritalin.
The Riddler laughed manically, opening the green door.
From Robs perspective, there was nothing but blackness in front of him.
That is, until he got closer and saw his identical twin with green glowing eyes.
Robs body shook maliciously.
Green acid dripped from all orifices.
He fell to the floor, shriveling into a pile of thick green goo.
His doppelganger stepped out from the black void, avoiding Robs decomposition.
The Riddler careslessly mopped Robs remains across the green doors threshold, slamming it shut.
Two things that go hand in hand.
Unless you're Rob Kardashian.
Since his mothers death, and sisters suicide, Rob had chose to numb himself with a variety of illegal, or prescription drugs.
You name it, he'd done it.
He wasn't particularly fond of needles, or something you have to smoke, but if it could go up your nose, he was your man.
Most people he knew that experimented with drugs had wound up dead or in a downward spiral.
Rob had aceepted either.
Every morning after a black out bender he would wake, and ask himself why he was still alive.
His sisters tried to turn the other cheek to his wild and innapropriate behavior, but it had only worsened since Kourtney's death.
Kim devised an intervention, but the family had long gone their sepearate ways.
Kylie and Kendall sent him their best wishes via twitter, while Khloe nearly bust down the door to his condo in an attempt to kick his ass straight to rehab.
Money was dwindeling with his new drug fueled hunger, and fame had deduced to page eight of the National Enquirer, reporting:
Reality Prince falls hard, after drunken night with Lindsay Lohan.
At least the Kardashian name was back in the papers.
Rob had developed a more than platonic relationship with Lindsay, mostly because she could score the best drugs.
The more he hung around her, the better he felt about his own life.
She often spit sage advice while they snorted her famous drug salad she concocted.
During his euphoric highs, he wandered Venice Beach blending in with the local art freaks and homeless junkies.
Occasionally a tourist would recognize him and ask for a picture.
This usually set him off on a tirad.
Which further developed into a law suit.
And a broken camera.
Rob was sick of Hollywood.
Sick of the bullshit.
And sick of snorting his dreams away.
Waking from a mad hang over, Rob noticed he was surrounded by two topless junkies under a palm tree.
The beach was unfamiliar.
He wandered the foreign board walk, hoping to spot Lohan's place.
He was lost.
He wandered for what felt like days, before stopping outside a local freak show.
A voice beckoned for people to enter, for a mere dollar, but no tourist took the bait.
Rob thumbed his temples hoping the splitting detox, would stop.
The voice to the freak show revealed himself to Rob.
He was a tall, thin man, dressed in bright green latex.
His face was covered with a cheap translucent mask.
His head was shaved.
A giant question mark was tattooed on it.
He continued shouting to passing tourists, while Rob became entranced.
The Riddler, flashed a smile and stuck out his tongue.
On the tip was a green pill with a question mark on it.
He motioned for Rob to come inside.
With nothing to lose, he followed the latex freak inside.
Passing through a red velvet curtain, the sound of carnival music haunted the room.
The lighting was dim.
The floor sticky.
The Riddler hadn't spoken a word.
He led Rob through it's gimmicky attractions.
They passed by glass cases featuring a mix of live actors and taxidermy creatures.
At the end of the attraction was a green door with a question mark.
The Riddler turned to Rob and smiled.
He opened his palm, revealing the infamous green pill.
Rob asked what it was.
The Riddler smiled, and told him it was his famous Ritalin.
That all of the answers to questions untold were behind the green door.
That if he took the pill, he'd become omnipotent, and fall down the rabbit hole .
Robs cell phone rang.
A call from Kourtney's cell.
This jolted him back to reality.
He wanted to answer, but was too afraid of its caller.
The Riddler placed the small pill in Robs hand.
Rob contimplated the severity of his situation for all of one minute before popping the pill and giving in to the Riddlers Ritalin.
The Riddler laughed manically, opening the green door.
From Robs perspective, there was nothing but blackness in front of him.
That is, until he got closer and saw his identical twin with green glowing eyes.
Robs body shook maliciously.
Green acid dripped from all orifices.
He fell to the floor, shriveling into a pile of thick green goo.
His doppelganger stepped out from the black void, avoiding Robs decomposition.
The Riddler careslessly mopped Robs remains across the green doors threshold, slamming it shut.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Kardashians vs. The Riddler Part III: Honey Bee
Eldedst Kardashian found dead after traumatic year for the family. We are told camera's will be present to record the remaining clans painful good bye's to their sister. The funeral will be held on a private beach in Malibu, per Scott Disicks request. Kourtney's body will be cremated. When asked about the decision to cremate over a burial, the family refused to comment. They released a brief statement via twitter stating"The Kardashians are fighters, yet we need time to reflect and re cooperate. Please respect our privacy during this horrible tragedy."
Kim always loved the press.
The media always loved her.
She never expected fame would drown her, like it had in the past year.
Guilt resided inside her for leaving the country on an exotic honeymoon, days before her mothers death.
Mostly because of the pain she felt in her families hearts.
Kim knew she had to be the new Queen of the household.
While new husband Kris Humphries was always away training, or endorsing a new product for basketball, she became lost in the Kardashian empire.
Taking over the business wasn't as easy as it appeared and she wondered how her mother managed her children's lives and the upkeep of a household.
Kims sisters insisted she hire a new manager or at least an assistant to help with the heavy work load, but she refused.
There was a certain amount of pride associated with the Kardashian crest.
Kim refused to give up.
She saw it as a personal debt owed to the late Kris Jenner Kardashian.
To topple the world as a professional business woman with no help, but her own.
Unfortunately, she wasn't ready for the pitfalls.
With the demise of sister Kourtney's sanity, and their publicity fading after her mothers funeral, Kim struggled to keep the family relevant.
She endorsed their name to any brand that would have them, but became entangled in bad business contracts and shady dealers.
The Kardashian name became smeared with the suicide of her sister, and no one wanted anything to do with them.
The family had become a reality curse, dropped from Ryan Seacrest, and once again over shadowed by the rise of the Hilton family.
Khloe had separated from Lamar, while brother Rob experimented with drugs.
Sisters Kylie and Kendall were now in the emotional teenage phase and placed in guardianship of brother in law and party boy Brodie Jenner.
Everyone had seemed to go their separate ways, while Kim struggled to hold an interest in husband Kris.
The beautiful, star player she once met, had grown many undignified mannerism after they married.
The man she loved was now a giant neanderthal addicted to steroids and lithium laced protein shakes.
She was waiting for the right moment to divorce him, with the potential of thrusting the Kardashian empire back into the spotlight, but there was no way of getting around the bad publicity from Kourtney.
Six months after her sisters death, a strange package arrived at Mrs. Kimberly Kardashian Humphries, Beverly Hills mansion.
It was wrapped in bright green paper with a lime green ribbon tied in the shape of a question mark.
Hesitant to open, she called her sister Khloe.
No answer.
Kris was out with some friends, a strip club no less, so she started to slip the bow off.
She carefully unwrapped the package, careful not the detonate anything, and slipped the colorful paper off.
A green box sat on her lap, while she thought about the possibilities inside.
The phone rang, startling her for a moment before she realized it was from Kourtney's cell.
She answered, at first hearing nothing.
Then, frantic screams and heavy breathing scowled into her ear.
Kim hung up and slid the phone across the floor.
She decided to postpone the big reveal, and open a bottle of 1945 Mouton Rothschild to calm her nerves.
It was an odd experience for Kim, being alone.
No cameras.
No bodyguards.
No husband.
Just her and her thoughts.
After a generous guzzle from her wine glass she returned to her phone, calling Kourtney's cell back.
It went straight to voicemail.
Hearing her voice brought tears to her eyes, and a heart ache she thought she had mended.
No one sees a Kardashian cry, was her mothers motto, but she couldn't help but feel lost and scared without her mother around.
Kim swallowed her pride, and a few more sips of wine, before reaching for the box.
Inside she found a variety of colorful tissue paper, but nothing inside.
The bottom of the box was a message : BEWARE THE RIDDLER
Suddenly, she felt a sting on her neck and pulled a green bee away from it.
She watched as the insect flailed itself in her palm, eventually dying.
Her neck began to itch, suddenly puffing, as if the stinger had infected her skin.
She ran to a mirror, but felt light headed.
She wondered if it was the wine.
Unlike any buzz she had before, Kims legs gave out.
She was paralyzed.
Her eyes rolled in the back of her head.
Everything was black.
When she awoke, she felt drowsy, and unable to move.
The sound of wasps surrounded her.
The occasional stinging reminded her she was alive.
Her vision cleared revealing her location.
An abandoned warehouse.
She tried to move, but realized she was stuck.
Her body rested against a giant honey comb while millions of green bees flew in and around her.
Kim screamed, but the bees flew inside her mouth like suicide pilots.
They consumed her one by one, violating her body as if it were a flower.
Stingers began leaving their marks.
She no longer felt pain.
For a moment she envisioned Kourtney before her, until the little green bees took over her pupils, and swallowed her whole.
Kim always loved the press.
The media always loved her.
She never expected fame would drown her, like it had in the past year.
Guilt resided inside her for leaving the country on an exotic honeymoon, days before her mothers death.
Mostly because of the pain she felt in her families hearts.
Kim knew she had to be the new Queen of the household.
While new husband Kris Humphries was always away training, or endorsing a new product for basketball, she became lost in the Kardashian empire.
Taking over the business wasn't as easy as it appeared and she wondered how her mother managed her children's lives and the upkeep of a household.
Kims sisters insisted she hire a new manager or at least an assistant to help with the heavy work load, but she refused.
There was a certain amount of pride associated with the Kardashian crest.
Kim refused to give up.
She saw it as a personal debt owed to the late Kris Jenner Kardashian.
To topple the world as a professional business woman with no help, but her own.
Unfortunately, she wasn't ready for the pitfalls.
With the demise of sister Kourtney's sanity, and their publicity fading after her mothers funeral, Kim struggled to keep the family relevant.
She endorsed their name to any brand that would have them, but became entangled in bad business contracts and shady dealers.
The Kardashian name became smeared with the suicide of her sister, and no one wanted anything to do with them.
The family had become a reality curse, dropped from Ryan Seacrest, and once again over shadowed by the rise of the Hilton family.
Khloe had separated from Lamar, while brother Rob experimented with drugs.
Sisters Kylie and Kendall were now in the emotional teenage phase and placed in guardianship of brother in law and party boy Brodie Jenner.
Everyone had seemed to go their separate ways, while Kim struggled to hold an interest in husband Kris.
The beautiful, star player she once met, had grown many undignified mannerism after they married.
The man she loved was now a giant neanderthal addicted to steroids and lithium laced protein shakes.
She was waiting for the right moment to divorce him, with the potential of thrusting the Kardashian empire back into the spotlight, but there was no way of getting around the bad publicity from Kourtney.
Six months after her sisters death, a strange package arrived at Mrs. Kimberly Kardashian Humphries, Beverly Hills mansion.
It was wrapped in bright green paper with a lime green ribbon tied in the shape of a question mark.
Hesitant to open, she called her sister Khloe.
No answer.
Kris was out with some friends, a strip club no less, so she started to slip the bow off.
She carefully unwrapped the package, careful not the detonate anything, and slipped the colorful paper off.
A green box sat on her lap, while she thought about the possibilities inside.
The phone rang, startling her for a moment before she realized it was from Kourtney's cell.
She answered, at first hearing nothing.
Then, frantic screams and heavy breathing scowled into her ear.
Kim hung up and slid the phone across the floor.
She decided to postpone the big reveal, and open a bottle of 1945 Mouton Rothschild to calm her nerves.
It was an odd experience for Kim, being alone.
No cameras.
No bodyguards.
No husband.
Just her and her thoughts.
After a generous guzzle from her wine glass she returned to her phone, calling Kourtney's cell back.
It went straight to voicemail.
Hearing her voice brought tears to her eyes, and a heart ache she thought she had mended.
No one sees a Kardashian cry, was her mothers motto, but she couldn't help but feel lost and scared without her mother around.
Kim swallowed her pride, and a few more sips of wine, before reaching for the box.
Inside she found a variety of colorful tissue paper, but nothing inside.
The bottom of the box was a message : BEWARE THE RIDDLER
Suddenly, she felt a sting on her neck and pulled a green bee away from it.
She watched as the insect flailed itself in her palm, eventually dying.
Her neck began to itch, suddenly puffing, as if the stinger had infected her skin.
She ran to a mirror, but felt light headed.
She wondered if it was the wine.
Unlike any buzz she had before, Kims legs gave out.
She was paralyzed.
Her eyes rolled in the back of her head.
Everything was black.
When she awoke, she felt drowsy, and unable to move.
The sound of wasps surrounded her.
The occasional stinging reminded her she was alive.
Her vision cleared revealing her location.
An abandoned warehouse.
She tried to move, but realized she was stuck.
Her body rested against a giant honey comb while millions of green bees flew in and around her.
Kim screamed, but the bees flew inside her mouth like suicide pilots.
They consumed her one by one, violating her body as if it were a flower.
Stingers began leaving their marks.
She no longer felt pain.
For a moment she envisioned Kourtney before her, until the little green bees took over her pupils, and swallowed her whole.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Kardashians vs. The Riddler Part II: Suicide
One year.
The time that passed since Kourtney Kardashian has been living in fear since her only child Mason was taken, and her last living parent was murdered.
While the life styles of the rich and famous in Hollywood had partied on, the family had seemed to fall into social purgatory.
During the aftermath of her mothers murder, the Kardashians had been launched into the media frenzy of the century. The family had always been thrust into the spotlight for the antics on television but this event changed everything.
The FBI, was hired to located the clans missing step father Bruce and Mason but the where abouts and myster of the Riddler remained to be solved.
Kris was the glue holding the reality royalty together and with her death, came the dissolve of the power house family.
Kourtney especially.
Her baby's disappearance consumed her every day.
On certain days she imagined her little boy playing in the other room.
Scott tried his best to comfort her but she had grown cold and emotionally frigid.
Kourtney was an automatic weapon, teetering across the safety button and aiming her aggressions toward the world.
There were reports Kourtney was pregnant again, to make up for the loss of her son, but these proved to be false.
In fact Kourtney did indeed become pregnant, after a pity fuck from Scott to cheer her up.
The day she learned she was with child, she drank heavily and scored some Ecstasy from a friend of Robs.
During her Utopian stupor, she miscarried and sat in a puddle of her own blood crying.
Taken to a private hospital, her family attempted an intervention, but it drove her further away.
She was placed in isolation by her request to rid herself of any memories of a previous life.
During this time she blankly stared out a window, doing her best not the think of anyone or thing.
The night was her favorite part of the day becuase she could count on the rest of the world resting, giving her ample time to wander about the hospital alone.
On a night like every other, she had decided to watch the sun rise.
She left her hospital bed and snuck away to the hospital roof.
There she waited for the suns arrival, but the sky remained cloudy, and full of smog.
A tear rolled down her cheek as she stepped on the ledge of the hospital roof top.
In the alley below, she saw her mother waiting for her with arms extended.
She couldn't help, but smile.
In a flash she fell to her mothers ghost, listening to her bones crack before the light from her eyes extinguished.
Stray cats, swarmed the body, feasting on its remains.
Blood replaced the tear on her cheek.
Finally, a smile.
The time that passed since Kourtney Kardashian has been living in fear since her only child Mason was taken, and her last living parent was murdered.
While the life styles of the rich and famous in Hollywood had partied on, the family had seemed to fall into social purgatory.
During the aftermath of her mothers murder, the Kardashians had been launched into the media frenzy of the century. The family had always been thrust into the spotlight for the antics on television but this event changed everything.
The FBI, was hired to located the clans missing step father Bruce and Mason but the where abouts and myster of the Riddler remained to be solved.
Kris was the glue holding the reality royalty together and with her death, came the dissolve of the power house family.
Kourtney especially.
Her baby's disappearance consumed her every day.
On certain days she imagined her little boy playing in the other room.
Scott tried his best to comfort her but she had grown cold and emotionally frigid.
Kourtney was an automatic weapon, teetering across the safety button and aiming her aggressions toward the world.
There were reports Kourtney was pregnant again, to make up for the loss of her son, but these proved to be false.
In fact Kourtney did indeed become pregnant, after a pity fuck from Scott to cheer her up.
The day she learned she was with child, she drank heavily and scored some Ecstasy from a friend of Robs.
During her Utopian stupor, she miscarried and sat in a puddle of her own blood crying.
Taken to a private hospital, her family attempted an intervention, but it drove her further away.
She was placed in isolation by her request to rid herself of any memories of a previous life.
During this time she blankly stared out a window, doing her best not the think of anyone or thing.
The night was her favorite part of the day becuase she could count on the rest of the world resting, giving her ample time to wander about the hospital alone.
On a night like every other, she had decided to watch the sun rise.
She left her hospital bed and snuck away to the hospital roof.
There she waited for the suns arrival, but the sky remained cloudy, and full of smog.
A tear rolled down her cheek as she stepped on the ledge of the hospital roof top.
In the alley below, she saw her mother waiting for her with arms extended.
She couldn't help, but smile.
In a flash she fell to her mothers ghost, listening to her bones crack before the light from her eyes extinguished.
Stray cats, swarmed the body, feasting on its remains.
Blood replaced the tear on her cheek.
Finally, a smile.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Kardashians vs. The Riddler Part I
Everything was hunky dory in Kardashian land.
The family just wrapped Kim's big wedding special, which carted her out of the country with new beau Kris Humphries.
Rob was in NYC for a release party, while Kendall and Kylie were flown out on a private jet to Palm Springs to enjoy a day of pampering.
Kourtney and Khloe carpooled over to the Calabasas home of mother Kris, and father in law Bruce Jenner.
Among them was baby Mason minus two significant others, Lamar (who was lazy) and Scott (who was careless.)
The girls arrived at the gate that awarded them entrance into the community of Calabasas but something was awry.
No security guard.
The girls, didn't think to panic but were slightly annoyed when they had to figure out how to manually open the automatic gate.
After a few tries they finally did it.
Khloe suggested this be in their next season of Keeping Up With The Kardashians.
Inside the Jenner house, all was quiet.
Kourtney and Khloe were so caught up in one anothers thoughts, they forgot about baby Mason still strapped to his baby chair.
The front door was unlocked, which Khloe assumed was a publicity stunt and waited for the camera's to arrive and Ashton Kutcher to leap from the bushes, but there was nothing.
Not even a paparazzi, were present.
Inside the house, things were thrown about. Items were smashed and question marks were graffitied on every wall.
The girls gasped at the vandalism, then laughed calling for mother Kris.
It was Khloe who found the dead body, cold and petrified on the floor next to the bed with a white silk scarf tied around its neck. The body was positioned as if it were attacked in bed and fell to the floor.
Kourtney arrived second to which she laughed and hoped the jig was up, but realized the body belonged to her mother who lied lifeless.
A green question mark stained the front of Kris's silky nightgown.
No sign of Bruce.
Both girls shook her in disbelief and screamed from the icy touch of Kris's skin.
It dawned on Kourtney that she had left baby Mason in the hot car.
She rushed back to him but the doors to Khloe's Escalade were all wide open and baby Mason was gone.
In his place, a green envelope with a question mark on it.
Falling to her knees, Kourtney wept, which lured Khloe from the house.
Astonished, she reached for the envelope and opened it. Inside a Mardi Gras of little green question marks decorated thick stock paper that read: WHO IS THE RIDDLER?
The family just wrapped Kim's big wedding special, which carted her out of the country with new beau Kris Humphries.
Rob was in NYC for a release party, while Kendall and Kylie were flown out on a private jet to Palm Springs to enjoy a day of pampering.
Kourtney and Khloe carpooled over to the Calabasas home of mother Kris, and father in law Bruce Jenner.
Among them was baby Mason minus two significant others, Lamar (who was lazy) and Scott (who was careless.)
The girls arrived at the gate that awarded them entrance into the community of Calabasas but something was awry.
No security guard.
The girls, didn't think to panic but were slightly annoyed when they had to figure out how to manually open the automatic gate.
After a few tries they finally did it.
Khloe suggested this be in their next season of Keeping Up With The Kardashians.
Inside the Jenner house, all was quiet.
Kourtney and Khloe were so caught up in one anothers thoughts, they forgot about baby Mason still strapped to his baby chair.
The front door was unlocked, which Khloe assumed was a publicity stunt and waited for the camera's to arrive and Ashton Kutcher to leap from the bushes, but there was nothing.
Not even a paparazzi, were present.
Inside the house, things were thrown about. Items were smashed and question marks were graffitied on every wall.
The girls gasped at the vandalism, then laughed calling for mother Kris.
It was Khloe who found the dead body, cold and petrified on the floor next to the bed with a white silk scarf tied around its neck. The body was positioned as if it were attacked in bed and fell to the floor.
Kourtney arrived second to which she laughed and hoped the jig was up, but realized the body belonged to her mother who lied lifeless.
A green question mark stained the front of Kris's silky nightgown.
No sign of Bruce.
Both girls shook her in disbelief and screamed from the icy touch of Kris's skin.
It dawned on Kourtney that she had left baby Mason in the hot car.
She rushed back to him but the doors to Khloe's Escalade were all wide open and baby Mason was gone.
In his place, a green envelope with a question mark on it.
Falling to her knees, Kourtney wept, which lured Khloe from the house.
Astonished, she reached for the envelope and opened it. Inside a Mardi Gras of little green question marks decorated thick stock paper that read: WHO IS THE RIDDLER?
Monday, August 22, 2011
Affair
While in this married affair,
I find myself tempted to engage.
The wife should be so discreet,
while her husband creeps.
Not with another woman,
but a man.
The two sparked romance,
as soon as they touched hands.
A firm hand squeeze,
and introduction of eyes.
The two foreign strangers,
invented their lies.
A trip to Paris for work,
a mere cover up,
a facade,
while lovers entangled in city streets.
The lights,
the music,
a night of debauchery.
It's back to real life,
where soon to be widows wait.
The kids rush to their fathers side,
while gifts are presented.
Husbands kiss their wives,
tasting a faintly unfamiliar kiss.
No signs of crimes committed,
but all roads lead to hell.
This small little love affair,
will most certainly end in great tragedy.
I find myself tempted to engage.
The wife should be so discreet,
while her husband creeps.
Not with another woman,
but a man.
The two sparked romance,
as soon as they touched hands.
A firm hand squeeze,
and introduction of eyes.
The two foreign strangers,
invented their lies.
A trip to Paris for work,
a mere cover up,
a facade,
while lovers entangled in city streets.
The lights,
the music,
a night of debauchery.
It's back to real life,
where soon to be widows wait.
The kids rush to their fathers side,
while gifts are presented.
Husbands kiss their wives,
tasting a faintly unfamiliar kiss.
No signs of crimes committed,
but all roads lead to hell.
This small little love affair,
will most certainly end in great tragedy.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Oblivion
The tide rises high,
but my spirits lie in wake.
The mourning of a beloved friend,
whose soul should never have been take.
This little light of mine,
flickers out right.
I can't see straight anymore.
The sleepless nights,
and bubble hearts,
are nothing compared to the love lost.
I sit and wait for the return,
but my bones begin to rattle and shake.
To a world which used to be so great,
housing the mecca of old fashioned love.
Today we'd be lucky to receive eye contact,
but it's likely to be a quick fuck,
before it cheapens your ideas.
There's no business like show business,
until you've been beaten and bruised like a Las Vegas showgirl.
Even then, the ice slowly melts in a lo ball glass,
a cigarette burns in between greedy fingers.
The rug is red and sun damaged,
the drapes hang by a thread.
Night is time to work,
yet no one's ready to play.
but my spirits lie in wake.
The mourning of a beloved friend,
whose soul should never have been take.
This little light of mine,
flickers out right.
I can't see straight anymore.
The sleepless nights,
and bubble hearts,
are nothing compared to the love lost.
I sit and wait for the return,
but my bones begin to rattle and shake.
To a world which used to be so great,
housing the mecca of old fashioned love.
Today we'd be lucky to receive eye contact,
but it's likely to be a quick fuck,
before it cheapens your ideas.
There's no business like show business,
until you've been beaten and bruised like a Las Vegas showgirl.
Even then, the ice slowly melts in a lo ball glass,
a cigarette burns in between greedy fingers.
The rug is red and sun damaged,
the drapes hang by a thread.
Night is time to work,
yet no one's ready to play.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Love Sick Melody
Behind closed doors,
the creeper peaks.
The skunks stripe,
begins to streak.
A fowl minded man,
declares peace.
It is within these boundaries that justification flourishes.
People fly.
Animals meet.
The dye is sweet and brittle,
but the touch is slightly fragile.
A brown, cow, turns upside down.
A black, bat, evokes heart attack.
This melancholy frown,
the sweetest touch,
a pear gone rotten,
is only the beginning.
If you temp it,
we will eat.
If you taunt it,
we will sleep.
As soon as you turn your back from dreamers cowl,
the moonbeams swallow your memories and feast on your smile.
Today will not belong to the night,
but instead be dedicated to the darkness inside everyone.
The fear,
lust,
combust,
of a troublesome loves first bite.
the creeper peaks.
The skunks stripe,
begins to streak.
A fowl minded man,
declares peace.
It is within these boundaries that justification flourishes.
People fly.
Animals meet.
The dye is sweet and brittle,
but the touch is slightly fragile.
A brown, cow, turns upside down.
A black, bat, evokes heart attack.
This melancholy frown,
the sweetest touch,
a pear gone rotten,
is only the beginning.
If you temp it,
we will eat.
If you taunt it,
we will sleep.
As soon as you turn your back from dreamers cowl,
the moonbeams swallow your memories and feast on your smile.
Today will not belong to the night,
but instead be dedicated to the darkness inside everyone.
The fear,
lust,
combust,
of a troublesome loves first bite.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
13th Hour
The hours in a day seem to flash past me without even a hiccup or a slow moving speed.
Most would say the opposite.
I am not most people.
I live in fear.
Fear from the arrival of the 13th hour.
Nobody seems to remember it.
I first experienced it, on my thirteenth birthday.
I was helping my mother set up the back yard in anticipation for my big party.
She had gone inside to get more lawn chairs, but had never came back.
I waited for a couple minutes before following her inside.
I had noticed the kitchen clock stopped ticking.
My mother, was standing over the kitchen sink, staring.
The water from the tap ran backwards, while she spoke gibberish.
She flashed me an evil grin, laughed and shut the water off.
She then began walking backwards into the next room.
The entire time she moved she continued talking in backwards sentences while smiling at me.
I followed her to the living room where Dad was knocking his head against the wall.
He screamed while snapping his fingers.
Confused, I tried pulling him off the wall, but he continued knocking harder until his forehead put a hole in the wall.
My only idea was to call 9-11.
I picked up the telephone and reached to dial, but a conversation was already in progress. It was my own voice in mid conversation.
Myself was explaining the current situation, while my parents began screaming in the background.
The line suddenly disconnects.
I hang up, only to be startled by my parents screaming in unison, while clapping their hands.
They surround me.
I rush to my room and lock the door.
At one point I hear my father knocking against my door.
I hide under the bed, covering my ears.
I manage to fall asleep.
When I wake, I hear guests arrive downstairs.
I look out my bedroom window.
In the backyard are all my friends and family, celebrating my birthday.
They are surrounded around me, blowing out the candles to my cake.
I rush to them.
The minute my foot hits the back step, the lawn explodes shooting me back into my house.
I stop breathing for a quick minute then open my eyes.
I am back where this all started.
My mom goes inside the house to retrieve a lawn chair.
I beg her not too, but she brushes me off.
I follow her inside.
The kitchen clock is fine.
For me, a whole hour has gone by, but to everyone else it's all the same.
I wonder if it was all a dream.
Or a strong hallucinogenic.
This curiosity dies, because tomorrow a similiar scene takes place.
Every day it comes.
The clocks stop ticking.
The rest of the world dissapears.
And I finally figure out.
Their is something evil within the 13th hour.
And it has only gotten worse, the older I get.
Most would say the opposite.
I am not most people.
I live in fear.
Fear from the arrival of the 13th hour.
Nobody seems to remember it.
I first experienced it, on my thirteenth birthday.
I was helping my mother set up the back yard in anticipation for my big party.
She had gone inside to get more lawn chairs, but had never came back.
I waited for a couple minutes before following her inside.
I had noticed the kitchen clock stopped ticking.
My mother, was standing over the kitchen sink, staring.
The water from the tap ran backwards, while she spoke gibberish.
She flashed me an evil grin, laughed and shut the water off.
She then began walking backwards into the next room.
The entire time she moved she continued talking in backwards sentences while smiling at me.
I followed her to the living room where Dad was knocking his head against the wall.
He screamed while snapping his fingers.
Confused, I tried pulling him off the wall, but he continued knocking harder until his forehead put a hole in the wall.
My only idea was to call 9-11.
I picked up the telephone and reached to dial, but a conversation was already in progress. It was my own voice in mid conversation.
Myself was explaining the current situation, while my parents began screaming in the background.
The line suddenly disconnects.
I hang up, only to be startled by my parents screaming in unison, while clapping their hands.
They surround me.
I rush to my room and lock the door.
At one point I hear my father knocking against my door.
I hide under the bed, covering my ears.
I manage to fall asleep.
When I wake, I hear guests arrive downstairs.
I look out my bedroom window.
In the backyard are all my friends and family, celebrating my birthday.
They are surrounded around me, blowing out the candles to my cake.
I rush to them.
The minute my foot hits the back step, the lawn explodes shooting me back into my house.
I stop breathing for a quick minute then open my eyes.
I am back where this all started.
My mom goes inside the house to retrieve a lawn chair.
I beg her not too, but she brushes me off.
I follow her inside.
The kitchen clock is fine.
For me, a whole hour has gone by, but to everyone else it's all the same.
I wonder if it was all a dream.
Or a strong hallucinogenic.
This curiosity dies, because tomorrow a similiar scene takes place.
Every day it comes.
The clocks stop ticking.
The rest of the world dissapears.
And I finally figure out.
Their is something evil within the 13th hour.
And it has only gotten worse, the older I get.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
The Early Bird Gets The Worm
The fun,
frazzled,
fag,
found,
favorable
fancy things,
while Miss Mary Maple,
was mum on the topic.
It's a big,
brass,
day,
but somehow they manage to speak.
Not just to the meek,
and under appreciative,
but to the one's who strive
and strain.
The one's who hold the power.
The people that told them they'd never amount to much.
The evil beings who hide under smiling masks.
So the sun sets.
The moon dies.
All is quiet,
except the avalanche of emotions,
pouring from Miss Mary Maple's heart.
frazzled,
fag,
found,
favorable
fancy things,
while Miss Mary Maple,
was mum on the topic.
It's a big,
brass,
day,
but somehow they manage to speak.
Not just to the meek,
and under appreciative,
but to the one's who strive
and strain.
The one's who hold the power.
The people that told them they'd never amount to much.
The evil beings who hide under smiling masks.
So the sun sets.
The moon dies.
All is quiet,
except the avalanche of emotions,
pouring from Miss Mary Maple's heart.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Pumpkinhead
Maybe it's the lack of caffeine, or the alcohol withdraw that causes my brain to mush obscure ideas together, but last night I was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread.
Per usual, I am surrounded by people I have never met, but house sitting at my Aunt and Uncles in my hometown.
I know it's their house because I have many fond memories of visiting that house over the years.
The people I am with leave with my brother.
I am alone.
I hear a weird noise and visit the basement.
The basement is not their remodeled downstairs. Instead, it is a small dark room with a red tint. There may even be red light bulbs in the muted ceiling lights.
Fake cobwebs and blood splatters decorate the walls while two strobe lights flicker in separate corners of the room.
Cluttered through out the room are old pinball machines and arcade games with a horror motif. They overwhelm the room with noise and start to bother me.
It isnt' until I am fully in the room that I spot a new game called "Pumpkinhead" in the middle.
It is a large, box like, arcade game with a tiny door as high as my knee. Above the little door is a bubble glass window that displays a pair of lanky, scaley arms with long boney fingers. Its nails are like razors. I move closer to the game to investigate. I try and locate what's in the machine, but I can't seem to figure out what the arms are connected to. There's something inside.
A giant red button reading "PUSH ME" flashes.
Intrigued, I do so, causing the machine to wiggle and gyrate. It makes a loud screeching noise until the arms melt into a thick purple goo, and splatter against the inside of the bubble glass.
This scares me.
I run upstairs.
The people are back, and find out why I'm scared.
They ignore my warnings and rush downstairs.
I return to the basement to make sure every one's all right.
Some kids are playing the other machines, but mostly there is a crowd around "Pumpkinhead."
Anytime someone gets near the machine, strands of streamers, and punches of air pop out the front of the machine, scaring, and delighting the crowd.
I notice the tiny door open and a kid crawl out, laughing.
He tells everyone that they have to try the game to which another jumps inside and closes the door.
The crowd dispenses.
Uneasy, I keep my eye on the machine before following them upstairs.
Minutes later, we hear a horrific scream from the basement and the sound of someone being ripped apart.
Utter and complete fear paralyzes my body until I realize...
It's almost time to get up and go to work.
Per usual, I am surrounded by people I have never met, but house sitting at my Aunt and Uncles in my hometown.
I know it's their house because I have many fond memories of visiting that house over the years.
The people I am with leave with my brother.
I am alone.
I hear a weird noise and visit the basement.
The basement is not their remodeled downstairs. Instead, it is a small dark room with a red tint. There may even be red light bulbs in the muted ceiling lights.
Fake cobwebs and blood splatters decorate the walls while two strobe lights flicker in separate corners of the room.
Cluttered through out the room are old pinball machines and arcade games with a horror motif. They overwhelm the room with noise and start to bother me.
It isnt' until I am fully in the room that I spot a new game called "Pumpkinhead" in the middle.
It is a large, box like, arcade game with a tiny door as high as my knee. Above the little door is a bubble glass window that displays a pair of lanky, scaley arms with long boney fingers. Its nails are like razors. I move closer to the game to investigate. I try and locate what's in the machine, but I can't seem to figure out what the arms are connected to. There's something inside.
A giant red button reading "PUSH ME" flashes.
Intrigued, I do so, causing the machine to wiggle and gyrate. It makes a loud screeching noise until the arms melt into a thick purple goo, and splatter against the inside of the bubble glass.
This scares me.
I run upstairs.
The people are back, and find out why I'm scared.
They ignore my warnings and rush downstairs.
I return to the basement to make sure every one's all right.
Some kids are playing the other machines, but mostly there is a crowd around "Pumpkinhead."
Anytime someone gets near the machine, strands of streamers, and punches of air pop out the front of the machine, scaring, and delighting the crowd.
I notice the tiny door open and a kid crawl out, laughing.
He tells everyone that they have to try the game to which another jumps inside and closes the door.
The crowd dispenses.
Uneasy, I keep my eye on the machine before following them upstairs.
Minutes later, we hear a horrific scream from the basement and the sound of someone being ripped apart.
Utter and complete fear paralyzes my body until I realize...
It's almost time to get up and go to work.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Control
One of life's many tempting offers is to flee the scene when a better one comes. The truth of the matter at hand is that if you spend your whole life running you'll miss out on the old familiar that plants its memories into the roots of your brain.
You'll suddenly look in the mirror and see those grey specks, you'll wonder when the wrinkles formed, and you'll hope to God you die a fast and painless death.
I often contemplate death.
In fact, you could easily note that I obsess about death.
The fact that nobody really knows what happens, because there is no physical proof.
My mind is a constant rotation of different people or memories that wither.
I fast forward to my dog lying in my arms dying, or to the day when I stand in front of my mothers casket bleeding my eyes out with hate.
It's not morbid, it's a growing curiosity that will hopefully build endurance to take the edge off the day these events takes place.
We never know, that's the truth.
DANDELION:
The dying dandelion hung by the nape of its neck.
It watched as the sun beat down on its fellow friends and took their lives before it.
Blades from a lawnmower attempted to behead, but the brave little dandelion was victorious.
Dry, without water, the sun tried even harder to kill the delicate weed, but its life continued to flourish.
Alone in a sea of green, the dandelion missed its friends and dwelled on days past, until a little boy plucked it from the garden and flipped its top off with his thumb chanting, "Mama had a baby and its head popped off!"
You'll suddenly look in the mirror and see those grey specks, you'll wonder when the wrinkles formed, and you'll hope to God you die a fast and painless death.
I often contemplate death.
In fact, you could easily note that I obsess about death.
The fact that nobody really knows what happens, because there is no physical proof.
My mind is a constant rotation of different people or memories that wither.
I fast forward to my dog lying in my arms dying, or to the day when I stand in front of my mothers casket bleeding my eyes out with hate.
It's not morbid, it's a growing curiosity that will hopefully build endurance to take the edge off the day these events takes place.
We never know, that's the truth.
DANDELION:
The dying dandelion hung by the nape of its neck.
It watched as the sun beat down on its fellow friends and took their lives before it.
Blades from a lawnmower attempted to behead, but the brave little dandelion was victorious.
Dry, without water, the sun tried even harder to kill the delicate weed, but its life continued to flourish.
Alone in a sea of green, the dandelion missed its friends and dwelled on days past, until a little boy plucked it from the garden and flipped its top off with his thumb chanting, "Mama had a baby and its head popped off!"
Thursday, August 11, 2011
The Way Of Love
Sweaty palms, and cheap cologne,
two hearts that skip a beat.
The anxiety paces,
while I spit in the street.
I light a cigarette,
catching a glimpse into one eye.
The pupils flicker a greenish tint,
while the rest is a hazelnut mocha.
I hail a cab,
thinking he is gone,
but when I glance his way, I notice him approach.
I drop my lighter,
it bounces in a rain puddle.
He coughs a familiar hack,
while I struggle to bounce back.
On my feet, I wait for his line,
but he bypasses me altogether, to hug a familiar face.
In my head I imagine our bodies meet.
A single touch,
his lips taste like heat.
The stubble against my shaven face,
the pompadour slickly gelled in place.
Dressed to the nine's in a pea coat, collar up.
I watch, my dream lover
wishing,
hoping,
for once,
lovers lies would erupt.
two hearts that skip a beat.
The anxiety paces,
while I spit in the street.
I light a cigarette,
catching a glimpse into one eye.
The pupils flicker a greenish tint,
while the rest is a hazelnut mocha.
I hail a cab,
thinking he is gone,
but when I glance his way, I notice him approach.
I drop my lighter,
it bounces in a rain puddle.
He coughs a familiar hack,
while I struggle to bounce back.
On my feet, I wait for his line,
but he bypasses me altogether, to hug a familiar face.
In my head I imagine our bodies meet.
A single touch,
his lips taste like heat.
The stubble against my shaven face,
the pompadour slickly gelled in place.
Dressed to the nine's in a pea coat, collar up.
I watch, my dream lover
wishing,
hoping,
for once,
lovers lies would erupt.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
The Club
Dreams are a weird thing. To fully understand them one would have to hallucinate.
Instead I stick to the tiny figures trotting across my brain.
Like fleas to a dog, Nano-Nats eat away at my memories.
The last coherent thing I remember was being at a club. It was new, located in an abandoned factory exactly in the middle of nowhere.
An aerial view shows green fields surround a cube shaped building that is run down, yet refurbished to look hip and trendy.
There is a line out the door, red ropes, red carpet and fashionista's galore. Except, it's 90's-esque futuristic garb that mimics the club kids from New York in the 80's.
Never costumey, but full of flair, a mix of straights, gays, and drag queens litter the supermarket type parking lot.
Everyone is either smoking or cat walking, until they get inside.
The inside is a club I've seen before, mixed with the warehouse from the film Hostel.
Drugged out of my mind, I follow a pack of drag queens who are invited to the V.I.P rooftop party. Except we are lead to the basement.
A few spiraling staircases and underground tunnels later, we arrive to the rooftop. The only problem is that the rooftops base is a batch of old tree trunks and the ground we stand on is a shifty, flat boardwalk.
We are miles from the club, which we see flash in neon across the fields.
Screams bellow, as I watch my fellow drag queens disappear and become manhandled outside the club.
The drugs in my body weigh me down as I watch them get thrown in an individual coffin and get buried alive.
Hundreds of club workers furiously dig at inhumane speed until the queens are buried.
It dawns on me that this club promotes equality, against Tranny's, and its deadly secret is luring these drag queens to the club so they can bury their remains and rid the world of transsexuals.
I snap too as I hear them coming for me but I retreat to the tunnels and engage in a high speed chase on foot.
I return to the club, only to get lost inside. Each room leads me further into a labyrinth of underground tunnels that eventually close in on me until I can't breath.
I close my eyes.
Once they open, I realize I am buried underground.
I am surrounded by the muffled screams of other queens, buried around me.
Instead I stick to the tiny figures trotting across my brain.
Like fleas to a dog, Nano-Nats eat away at my memories.
The last coherent thing I remember was being at a club. It was new, located in an abandoned factory exactly in the middle of nowhere.
An aerial view shows green fields surround a cube shaped building that is run down, yet refurbished to look hip and trendy.
There is a line out the door, red ropes, red carpet and fashionista's galore. Except, it's 90's-esque futuristic garb that mimics the club kids from New York in the 80's.
Never costumey, but full of flair, a mix of straights, gays, and drag queens litter the supermarket type parking lot.
Everyone is either smoking or cat walking, until they get inside.
The inside is a club I've seen before, mixed with the warehouse from the film Hostel.
Drugged out of my mind, I follow a pack of drag queens who are invited to the V.I.P rooftop party. Except we are lead to the basement.
A few spiraling staircases and underground tunnels later, we arrive to the rooftop. The only problem is that the rooftops base is a batch of old tree trunks and the ground we stand on is a shifty, flat boardwalk.
We are miles from the club, which we see flash in neon across the fields.
Screams bellow, as I watch my fellow drag queens disappear and become manhandled outside the club.
The drugs in my body weigh me down as I watch them get thrown in an individual coffin and get buried alive.
Hundreds of club workers furiously dig at inhumane speed until the queens are buried.
It dawns on me that this club promotes equality, against Tranny's, and its deadly secret is luring these drag queens to the club so they can bury their remains and rid the world of transsexuals.
I snap too as I hear them coming for me but I retreat to the tunnels and engage in a high speed chase on foot.
I return to the club, only to get lost inside. Each room leads me further into a labyrinth of underground tunnels that eventually close in on me until I can't breath.
I close my eyes.
Once they open, I realize I am buried underground.
I am surrounded by the muffled screams of other queens, buried around me.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Transfixed
Gazing out the window, I completely ignore the grunting, lisp of my teacher as he enthusiastically preaches philosophy.
I am completely transfixed on an old oak tree outside my classroom window. The leaves are a dried burnt brownish green that crackles when the wind blows. Somehow the bark has transformed into the face of an old homeless man that swivels, smiles, and lies to me.
This is interrupted when my professor decides to view a movie. The blinds automatically lower and the old mans bark winks before he is shut out.
On the screen plays a documentary about baboons. They're peaceful community is watched over by scientists who observe their behavior and even try gaining trust within the civilization.
The scientists consist of a husband/wife duo who at one time were either malled or severely beaten as an initiation into the beasts community.
You can tell this is their whole life.
Pathetic.
I start to fall asleep, when I hear a whisper.
Eyes open, everything remains the same.
Teacher, gay fully watches as students vie for his attention to become student of the month.
The oldest student, Clem, a sixty one year old black grandma, who I swore was homeless in the beginning of the semester, rocks back and forth laughing. Her social commentary goes unnoticed by other students causing me to knock my head against the desk to make sure I am awake.
It throbs, which leads me to believe I am awake, and not just hallucinating her dementia that wafts through the room.
Is anyone alive? Are they mindless robots completely engulfed by the subject of the film? It's baboons for Christ's sake.
I stand up, straighten my shirt out, and wait for a reaction.
Nothing.
I sit, then stand.
Nothing.
I clap my hands which prompts a "shhhhh."
Clem continues her commentary while I begin to pack my bags and leave the room.
The film ends, just as I reach the door.
The lights come up.
Everyone stares at the pink elephant.
I point to the corner of the room, but they look on in confusion.
"Can't you see?" I ask.
The teacher tells me to sit.
I return to my desk and unload my pack.
Clem continues to howl but nobody gives a shit.
The teacher cracks open his copy of "Guns, Germs and Steel," followed suit by the class.
I forgot mine, so I pretend to follow along.
Above me, Clem scurries like a beetle. Her laughing is maniacal.
The oak tree is visible again.
It smiles, while lifting its roots out from the ground.
Clem opens the window and leaps into the trees mouth.
Everyone in class continues talking about the fucking baboons.
I rub my eyes and bang my head on the desk once more.
The teacher stops lecturing.
The class turns to me.
Teacher comes to the window.
I wait for a reaction, but he closes it discreetly and continues with his lesson.
I am completely transfixed on an old oak tree outside my classroom window. The leaves are a dried burnt brownish green that crackles when the wind blows. Somehow the bark has transformed into the face of an old homeless man that swivels, smiles, and lies to me.
This is interrupted when my professor decides to view a movie. The blinds automatically lower and the old mans bark winks before he is shut out.
On the screen plays a documentary about baboons. They're peaceful community is watched over by scientists who observe their behavior and even try gaining trust within the civilization.
The scientists consist of a husband/wife duo who at one time were either malled or severely beaten as an initiation into the beasts community.
You can tell this is their whole life.
Pathetic.
I start to fall asleep, when I hear a whisper.
Eyes open, everything remains the same.
Teacher, gay fully watches as students vie for his attention to become student of the month.
The oldest student, Clem, a sixty one year old black grandma, who I swore was homeless in the beginning of the semester, rocks back and forth laughing. Her social commentary goes unnoticed by other students causing me to knock my head against the desk to make sure I am awake.
It throbs, which leads me to believe I am awake, and not just hallucinating her dementia that wafts through the room.
Is anyone alive? Are they mindless robots completely engulfed by the subject of the film? It's baboons for Christ's sake.
I stand up, straighten my shirt out, and wait for a reaction.
Nothing.
I sit, then stand.
Nothing.
I clap my hands which prompts a "shhhhh."
Clem continues her commentary while I begin to pack my bags and leave the room.
The film ends, just as I reach the door.
The lights come up.
Everyone stares at the pink elephant.
I point to the corner of the room, but they look on in confusion.
"Can't you see?" I ask.
The teacher tells me to sit.
I return to my desk and unload my pack.
Clem continues to howl but nobody gives a shit.
The teacher cracks open his copy of "Guns, Germs and Steel," followed suit by the class.
I forgot mine, so I pretend to follow along.
Above me, Clem scurries like a beetle. Her laughing is maniacal.
The oak tree is visible again.
It smiles, while lifting its roots out from the ground.
Clem opens the window and leaps into the trees mouth.
Everyone in class continues talking about the fucking baboons.
I rub my eyes and bang my head on the desk once more.
The teacher stops lecturing.
The class turns to me.
Teacher comes to the window.
I wait for a reaction, but he closes it discreetly and continues with his lesson.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Raise It
Behind the red curtain is a mythical face
some won't return,
others are replaced.
If you enter this void,
there's no turning back,
limbs hang from the walls,
people hijacked.
The only things that are certain,
are the secrets behind the red curtain.
The Letter
Mother,
I know I haven't written to you in a while, but this time I feel it's urgent. We've been captured by the Mexicans and caged within a small community called "Guajira."
Aside from our weapons they've allowed us one personal item from our packs. Most men tried smuggling a concealed weapon, but were instantly spotted and brutally murdered.
There were fifteen of us in the beginning. It has dwindled down to six...scratch that, five now.
I saved my leather bound journal you got me right before I shipped out to which I am writing in right now.
Maybe it's naive of me to write such personal thoughts addressed to you, in hopes it will reach you, but if there is a God I'm hoping he will deliver my last words to you.
I haven't eaten in four days and hardly have the strength to hold this pen up.
The water is polluted and made many men sick.
The only thing keeping me alive are my thoughts.
I had a dream last night, which I gather was a memory.
I was in one of those baby chairs that roam around the house. I followed you into the bedroom and watched as you put your makeup on at your vanity.
You noticed me watching and couldn't help but pick me up from the chair and kiss me on the cheek. With googly eyes, I smiled and laughed the cutest baby laugh you would ever imagine before you told me you loved me.
I can still smell the perfume you sprayed before you kissed me once more, leaving waxy red lip stains on my cheek.
I want you to know that I will miss you, and everything I've done over the years has always been for you.
The Mexicans are looking shifty. I better hide my thoughts before they decide to take them away.
Remember, whenever a tear shall form, I will be there within a--
R.I.P.
1982-2011
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Kimber Me
Love once lost to the rivers that ran red. I bled until the blood ran clear, I cried the hurt away until Jack Daniels and Jameson, an Irish man became my two best friends.
What followed these months was a downward spiral of hate, blame and hiding in the shadows.
Kimber, was all I could think about.
No job, no way to pay rent, I considered becoming an escort or scouring the streets as a costumed freak from Hollywood Boulevard.
It was through divine intervention from a complete and loving stranger I learned to pick myself up again and rely on myself and not man made objects.
To this day I am still not a spiritual man, so don't for one second feel it was God that helped me.
For a while my addictions turned to sex, fucking anything I could to feel love again, but that emptiness quickly turned to dullness.
My personal demons became the best of me, until one early morning during a walk of shame I was beaten senseless and robbed.
I lied in a pool of my own blood smiling at the sun that was peaking through a few smoggy clouds and shining directly on to me.
My neighbors stared concerned, but didn't have the courage or care to help me. It was then that I realized I was on my own. That I am my own keeper.
The blood stains on the pavement still remind me of that day as I pass the spot on my way to work.
Since then I have practiced a sort of celibacy, not to prove anything, but because I needed it.
A boring, routinely life has never made me more satisfied.
Next to being beaten, life without Kimber is the best thing that could have happened.
Love is a blind distraction for experiencing life. You can either remove the blindfold and experience utopia, or shack up and attempt to make your own.
"The eyes of the beholder are a forced to be reckoned with. Once allowed in you will either experience extreme pleasure or agonizing pain. Filter these violations"
What followed these months was a downward spiral of hate, blame and hiding in the shadows.
Kimber, was all I could think about.
No job, no way to pay rent, I considered becoming an escort or scouring the streets as a costumed freak from Hollywood Boulevard.
It was through divine intervention from a complete and loving stranger I learned to pick myself up again and rely on myself and not man made objects.
To this day I am still not a spiritual man, so don't for one second feel it was God that helped me.
For a while my addictions turned to sex, fucking anything I could to feel love again, but that emptiness quickly turned to dullness.
My personal demons became the best of me, until one early morning during a walk of shame I was beaten senseless and robbed.
I lied in a pool of my own blood smiling at the sun that was peaking through a few smoggy clouds and shining directly on to me.
My neighbors stared concerned, but didn't have the courage or care to help me. It was then that I realized I was on my own. That I am my own keeper.
The blood stains on the pavement still remind me of that day as I pass the spot on my way to work.
Since then I have practiced a sort of celibacy, not to prove anything, but because I needed it.
A boring, routinely life has never made me more satisfied.
Next to being beaten, life without Kimber is the best thing that could have happened.
Love is a blind distraction for experiencing life. You can either remove the blindfold and experience utopia, or shack up and attempt to make your own.
"The eyes of the beholder are a forced to be reckoned with. Once allowed in you will either experience extreme pleasure or agonizing pain. Filter these violations"
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Receptionist
Have you ever felt the compulsion to turn around, and wrap your hands around someones neck?
I've literally daydreamed about it.
While I type in my cubical, the sad sack receptionist chomps on her lunch consisting of cut up pears and a Yoplait yogurt. During said lunch I am overtaken with the sound of her agonizing voice as she spits and chews maliciously while talking on her cell phone with her boyfriend.
The smacking of her lips as the food is regurgitated, smoothed out further, and officially swallowed is the only sound I hear.
For this reason I have lost my appetite, developing a new taste, for carnage.
I'd love to start slow as if I were tapping my fingers across the desktop, getting a good grip around the throat. It's like holding a baseball bat and standing at home plate. You have to get a good feel for your grip before you can swing.
After I've firmly grabbed hold of her neck, I'd become repulsed by the residue left from her caked on theater makeup which I've seen rub off onto the company's telephone too many times to tell.
To cure this, I would take a pad of sandpaper and drag it across her bumpy and pitiful mask to smooth out any of the slickness. It no doubt would become irritated and turn red but woudn't bleed unless I add more pressure.
Once the heavy foundation was removed I'd regain my Vulcan grip.
I'd press firmly, feeling the veins in her neck swivel between my thumbs, watching the blood drain to her already cherry red face. Veins would convulse and make themselves known across her forehead while I squeeze and shake her marshmellowed body.
It wouldn't take long until she would finally die adding an extra two hundred pounds to the weight I'm already holding.
I'd use an industrial paper cutter from the office to hack off the limps and dispose of the body in a paper shredding bag.
I imagine her insides bleeding thick strawberry jam where there should be blood.
While dreamers daze, wishful thinkers do.
Not everything in life comes true, until she begins choking on a pear slice. I contemplate watching her die, but decide to do the most humane thing, so I leave the room for her to die in peace.
I've literally daydreamed about it.
While I type in my cubical, the sad sack receptionist chomps on her lunch consisting of cut up pears and a Yoplait yogurt. During said lunch I am overtaken with the sound of her agonizing voice as she spits and chews maliciously while talking on her cell phone with her boyfriend.
The smacking of her lips as the food is regurgitated, smoothed out further, and officially swallowed is the only sound I hear.
For this reason I have lost my appetite, developing a new taste, for carnage.
I'd love to start slow as if I were tapping my fingers across the desktop, getting a good grip around the throat. It's like holding a baseball bat and standing at home plate. You have to get a good feel for your grip before you can swing.
After I've firmly grabbed hold of her neck, I'd become repulsed by the residue left from her caked on theater makeup which I've seen rub off onto the company's telephone too many times to tell.
To cure this, I would take a pad of sandpaper and drag it across her bumpy and pitiful mask to smooth out any of the slickness. It no doubt would become irritated and turn red but woudn't bleed unless I add more pressure.
Once the heavy foundation was removed I'd regain my Vulcan grip.
I'd press firmly, feeling the veins in her neck swivel between my thumbs, watching the blood drain to her already cherry red face. Veins would convulse and make themselves known across her forehead while I squeeze and shake her marshmellowed body.
It wouldn't take long until she would finally die adding an extra two hundred pounds to the weight I'm already holding.
I'd use an industrial paper cutter from the office to hack off the limps and dispose of the body in a paper shredding bag.
I imagine her insides bleeding thick strawberry jam where there should be blood.
While dreamers daze, wishful thinkers do.
Not everything in life comes true, until she begins choking on a pear slice. I contemplate watching her die, but decide to do the most humane thing, so I leave the room for her to die in peace.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
The Sleeping Beauty
"The bones of men have better things to find than a gold stained cap or bejeweled finger. There is no love underground, only sadness as you wait for that Revelation prophecy."
Like the fair daughter of the sea, this next young princess was cursed at birth and unwilling to fully see.
During mid-evil times came stories of romance. Kings and queens shacked up in castles while their minions fought to upkeep the kingdom. While there was extreme wealth there was also inexcusable famine and debt.
The kings men royally abused and ruthlessly murdered those who refused to pay a tax.
The government became more corrupt as the higher ups spent the money, turning a blind eye to the decline of the common townsfolk.
Tensions were especially high as the kingdom anticipated their rulers first born child.
The townspeople, already debt ridden, were forced to participate in a donation that contributed toward a gift for the king and queens new baby.
Those who refused were executed.
A family of mystics were approached but were flat broke, left with their last shackle to feed the family of six. The father was mercilessly slaughtered while the mother was brutally raped. The children were forced to watch, while their newborn brother was used for dagger throwing practice.
Left in a puddle of her own blood, the mother held on to her children's hands and had asked them to recite a powerful chant with her while she die. As they did, the mother became possessed and cursed the kingdom in different tongues before her life force was cast out of her body and left cold surrounding her children.
That same night, the queen awoke from her comfortable bed in terrible pain. She noticed the bed sheets between her legs soaked in blood. In a matter of minutes her daughter was born.
They named her Merciful, Mercy for short, and announced her arrival all through town.
Fifteen years later...
The girl had grown to be a beautifully fair young lady. Her father, the king, had withered over the years and was near death, while her mother remained headstrong and cold, in preparation for taking over the kingdom.
Mercy was arranged to be married to her fathers enemy in order to establish peace between the kingdoms.
It was almost time for her sixteenth birthday which would be spent traveling to her new home and finally come face to face with her husband, but something didn't feel right to her.
Mercy, the always beautiful, was plagued with nightmarish visions of her youth and beauty fading. In her mirror she saw a decrepit and wrinkled shell of herself and smashed the mirror to bits.
She hid herself from her servants and wandered the dungeons to be amongst other monsters.
To the outsider, Mercy was still beautiful but she had not seen herself like this. She knew that her insides were treacherous, so she poisoned herself to escape the cruel and punishing visions engraved in her mind.
The shock of her suicide weakened the kings heart sending him to an early grave. The queen mourned for thirty days, cremating her shrunken husband and showcasing her only daughter in a shrine like display that quickly became an other worldly masterpiece of flowers and candles within the castle walls.
The kings sworn enemy came to pay his respects and held his once blushing brides hand, kissing her out of respect. His kiss drew blood that seeped into Mercy's lips filling her face with life. He kissed her again, once more drawing blood.
Mercy's eyes fluttered open.
Appalled, the suitor pulled away from the sleeping beauty.
Mercy had tasted blood and craved more.
Viciously she sunk her teeth into him and drained his blood, continuing the process with all innocent bystanders.
Mercy's appetite had diminished with each victim which left her time to play with her food.
The queen, Mercy's mother, was left for last.
The ultimate punishment to the royal family for their oblivious lifestyle.
Like the fair daughter of the sea, this next young princess was cursed at birth and unwilling to fully see.
During mid-evil times came stories of romance. Kings and queens shacked up in castles while their minions fought to upkeep the kingdom. While there was extreme wealth there was also inexcusable famine and debt.
The kings men royally abused and ruthlessly murdered those who refused to pay a tax.
The government became more corrupt as the higher ups spent the money, turning a blind eye to the decline of the common townsfolk.
Tensions were especially high as the kingdom anticipated their rulers first born child.
The townspeople, already debt ridden, were forced to participate in a donation that contributed toward a gift for the king and queens new baby.
Those who refused were executed.
A family of mystics were approached but were flat broke, left with their last shackle to feed the family of six. The father was mercilessly slaughtered while the mother was brutally raped. The children were forced to watch, while their newborn brother was used for dagger throwing practice.
Left in a puddle of her own blood, the mother held on to her children's hands and had asked them to recite a powerful chant with her while she die. As they did, the mother became possessed and cursed the kingdom in different tongues before her life force was cast out of her body and left cold surrounding her children.
That same night, the queen awoke from her comfortable bed in terrible pain. She noticed the bed sheets between her legs soaked in blood. In a matter of minutes her daughter was born.
They named her Merciful, Mercy for short, and announced her arrival all through town.
Fifteen years later...
The girl had grown to be a beautifully fair young lady. Her father, the king, had withered over the years and was near death, while her mother remained headstrong and cold, in preparation for taking over the kingdom.
Mercy was arranged to be married to her fathers enemy in order to establish peace between the kingdoms.
It was almost time for her sixteenth birthday which would be spent traveling to her new home and finally come face to face with her husband, but something didn't feel right to her.
Mercy, the always beautiful, was plagued with nightmarish visions of her youth and beauty fading. In her mirror she saw a decrepit and wrinkled shell of herself and smashed the mirror to bits.
She hid herself from her servants and wandered the dungeons to be amongst other monsters.
To the outsider, Mercy was still beautiful but she had not seen herself like this. She knew that her insides were treacherous, so she poisoned herself to escape the cruel and punishing visions engraved in her mind.
The shock of her suicide weakened the kings heart sending him to an early grave. The queen mourned for thirty days, cremating her shrunken husband and showcasing her only daughter in a shrine like display that quickly became an other worldly masterpiece of flowers and candles within the castle walls.
The kings sworn enemy came to pay his respects and held his once blushing brides hand, kissing her out of respect. His kiss drew blood that seeped into Mercy's lips filling her face with life. He kissed her again, once more drawing blood.
Mercy's eyes fluttered open.
Appalled, the suitor pulled away from the sleeping beauty.
Mercy had tasted blood and craved more.
Viciously she sunk her teeth into him and drained his blood, continuing the process with all innocent bystanders.
Mercy's appetite had diminished with each victim which left her time to play with her food.
The queen, Mercy's mother, was left for last.
The ultimate punishment to the royal family for their oblivious lifestyle.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Brewing
"Bricks and bones twirl and bubble but it isn't until this fair dim lit night that I fear there is trouble. While goblins gack, and witches ooze, the zombies hack their neighbors coos. "
All Hallows Eve is for amateurs, while the real satanists play within the fire of their own hell. These manipulating creatures are quite a sight, as they chant and pray to the dark beings. Little do they know that their souls are a delight, the tastiest treats forged from their ignorance.
While adults drink and play, and children eat sweets, I'll tell you the real story of those so called princess's completely dissected by Disney;
The first young girl was princess of the sea. Her father a real Merman who raped and killed any foreign being to wander into his realm. He pillaged and spawned at least a thousand woman caring not for a single one of them, only destruction.
It was his youngest he eventually took notice of. The only girl to have red hair and black eyes. His girls were known to lure sailors to their death and feast on their belongings, but it was the red head who became bored and tore her fins in half which evolved into a pair of legs.
Released from the sea she learned the ways of the humans by walking, talking and dressing like the rest of them.
One day while shaving her legs she cut her skin deep which revealed Gil's growing under the skin. Repulsed and terrified, she visited a witch who lived on the outskirts of town.
The woman conjured up a potion that delayed her transformation back to a mermaid but it was not permanent. To fully stop her transformation she would have to give herself to a young man in order to win true loves heart.
This deemed to be no challenge because this daughter of the sea was a great beauty. Men were immediately attracted to her and she took on many suitors but her mermaidism was not slowing.
She returned to the old witch demanding her head, but the old woman had already vacated with a pack of traveling gypsies.
With nothing left to do, the mermaid gave herself to every sailor or beggar that would have her only worsening her condition. She developed earthly diseases and sores. Her legs began welding together creating a disgusting, deformed cripple.
Almost transformed, to her former self a young prince took notice of her. At first to scoff at.
Behind her hideous transformation he noticed a particular beauty. For the first time she had decided to be honest with this man and reveal her dark secret with him while his servants fed and bathed her. Intrigued by the idea of having sex with a mermaid the prince excused his staff and began molesting the daughter of the sea but she refused his advances.
Again he forced himself upon her, but she refused and expelled his heart from his chest. The carnage awoken something within her as she devoured his juicy organ.
At once, she noticed a significant change in her appearance. The sores had disappeared and her legs were stuck together no more. She continued to feast on the prince, reviving her beautiful skin and Gil-less body.
Finishing with the head, the mermaid was a mermaid no longer and was completely rejuvenated.
From then on she had realized the old woman was truthful and had not cheated her. The potion reversed the side effects but did not come without a price. She was to give herself to young lovers and feast on their remains afterwards.
The king of the sea cared nothing about his kin until he learned of his daughters terrors on land.
This warmed his heart which attracted other young mermaid's like a pack of starving hyena's to their injured prey.
All Hallows Eve is for amateurs, while the real satanists play within the fire of their own hell. These manipulating creatures are quite a sight, as they chant and pray to the dark beings. Little do they know that their souls are a delight, the tastiest treats forged from their ignorance.
While adults drink and play, and children eat sweets, I'll tell you the real story of those so called princess's completely dissected by Disney;
The first young girl was princess of the sea. Her father a real Merman who raped and killed any foreign being to wander into his realm. He pillaged and spawned at least a thousand woman caring not for a single one of them, only destruction.
It was his youngest he eventually took notice of. The only girl to have red hair and black eyes. His girls were known to lure sailors to their death and feast on their belongings, but it was the red head who became bored and tore her fins in half which evolved into a pair of legs.
Released from the sea she learned the ways of the humans by walking, talking and dressing like the rest of them.
One day while shaving her legs she cut her skin deep which revealed Gil's growing under the skin. Repulsed and terrified, she visited a witch who lived on the outskirts of town.
The woman conjured up a potion that delayed her transformation back to a mermaid but it was not permanent. To fully stop her transformation she would have to give herself to a young man in order to win true loves heart.
This deemed to be no challenge because this daughter of the sea was a great beauty. Men were immediately attracted to her and she took on many suitors but her mermaidism was not slowing.
She returned to the old witch demanding her head, but the old woman had already vacated with a pack of traveling gypsies.
With nothing left to do, the mermaid gave herself to every sailor or beggar that would have her only worsening her condition. She developed earthly diseases and sores. Her legs began welding together creating a disgusting, deformed cripple.
Almost transformed, to her former self a young prince took notice of her. At first to scoff at.
Behind her hideous transformation he noticed a particular beauty. For the first time she had decided to be honest with this man and reveal her dark secret with him while his servants fed and bathed her. Intrigued by the idea of having sex with a mermaid the prince excused his staff and began molesting the daughter of the sea but she refused his advances.
Again he forced himself upon her, but she refused and expelled his heart from his chest. The carnage awoken something within her as she devoured his juicy organ.
At once, she noticed a significant change in her appearance. The sores had disappeared and her legs were stuck together no more. She continued to feast on the prince, reviving her beautiful skin and Gil-less body.
Finishing with the head, the mermaid was a mermaid no longer and was completely rejuvenated.
From then on she had realized the old woman was truthful and had not cheated her. The potion reversed the side effects but did not come without a price. She was to give herself to young lovers and feast on their remains afterwards.
The king of the sea cared nothing about his kin until he learned of his daughters terrors on land.
This warmed his heart which attracted other young mermaid's like a pack of starving hyena's to their injured prey.
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