The Hoods

I received an anonymous package today.

Inside was a letter.

It was from a witches counsel, telling me that my works of fictions have been all wrong. That all my careless and so called "research" on Covens couldn't be further from the truth and if I wanted the full experience, that I would meet at the disclosed location tonight at midnight.

I was to tell no one of my research, or wear abouts.  I couldn't record, document or video any of its results, and above all things, I was to come alone.

In bold beneath this description were the words DO NOT FORGET TO WEAR THE ROBE.

Inside the package was a musty old black robe, with strange etchings woven into the fabric. It smelled of sandalwood and licorice roots.

The letter wasn't signed, but their had been a wax notary seal on the envelope before I opened it. The indentation was the same as the etchings on the robe.

I tried the robe on and stared at myself in the mirror for a couple of seconds.  It was your traditional long black garment made with a thick black velvet material. The fabric felt harsh against my skin, and a tad warm.  It had a hood attached, that when worn stood up in a sharp point.

I called around to see if anyone had seen the deliverer, but all leads ran cold.

The post office didn't seem to have any packages documented for delivery for me, so I had to assume it was delivered by hand.

For all I knew it could have been the workings of a delirious fan.

Was this a cruel prank, or some sick way of luring me out of my home?

As promised, I hadn't discussed the contents with anyone, other than the mention of a surprise package.

I didn't have enough time to scout out the venue, because it was on the other side of town.

If I truly intended on going, I would have to take two trains and walk a few miles through town.

This wasn't a good week for my car to be in the shop.

I secured the robe in a back pack and decided to catch some dinner in town.

If I had a late dinner and met some friends for drinks, I could decide then and there whether it was worth the lead.

I would be halfway there and at that time of night, the second half of my journey would fly by.

I met Alexia and Lidia at our favorite Italian restaurant.

Like most nights, we shared many courses of fresh pastas, a cigarette or two and many bottles of wine.

The wine appeared to give me some liquid courage and diarrhea of the mouth.

Most people would fear the unusual, but these two reveled in it.

I shared all my theories and we toiled with the ridiculous notion of it being a real modern day Coven.

Alexia pleaded to come with me, but I showed them the letter insisting that I come alone.

Being the good friends they are, they respected my wishes and stayed mute.

Time had gotten away from me as I stumbled to my feet.

I knew I could get to the location on time, but it would be close.

We air kissed before saying "buona notte" and parted ways.

On the second train, I gripped my pack, wondering if I was crazy.

No one in their right mind would follow such a mystery, without taking precaution.

The train became emptier and emptier, before I arrived at the last station.

The platform was riddled with fog.

The street lamps eerily shined a path exiting the station toward the brick road.

I listened as the heel of my shoe clicked and clacked along the road.

No time like the present, I removed the thick robe and dressed myself, nearing my destination.

I put the hood up, in order to hide my face and stopped outside a large rusty gate.

The entrance was ajar, so I slipped inside.

I followed a long gravel driveway, toward a blaring bonfire.

Dance music and laughter filled the air.

As I drew nearer, I saw other hooded figures, mingling about a crowd.

A mix of tourists, locals and farm handlers were partaking in drunken debauchery.

Some were entangled in an open orgy, while others drank and swayed to the music.

None of the hooded figures faces were visible.

I looked at my watch and noticed that it was two minutes to midnight.

I wasn't quite sure what I was witnessing, but thought it best to stay quiet and in the shadows, a ways away from the party.

The hooded figures began assembling around the party scene as the clock struck midnight.

One of them tolled a bell, while the party goers screamed in ecstasy.

I crack of lighting danced across the sky, before clouds started to roll in.

They covered up the bright orange moon, something I hadn't noticed upon arriving.

The music started to skip, ending the dancing.

The volume rose to uncomfortable level, before it started playing backwards.

The vocals had now sounded demonic as my cloaked friends reached their hands toward the sky.

I decided to distance myself even more, but couldn't turn away.

Violence and blood shed had rained down on these poor people.

Screams were muffled by the musical chanting.

People were fleeing for their lives, but none escaped.

I hoped to cover my eyes, but couldn't help but watch.

I felt a pull toward them.

My body was pulsing and burning up.

I wanted to rid myself of this feverish cloth, but hadn't dared.

The robes were beckoning me.

I had tried staying hidden, but they knew I was there all along.

My feet hadn't moved, but suddenly I drew closer to them.

A naked man screamed for his life, but they pinned him down.

I don't remember arming myself, but suddenly a knife was in my hand.

His throat was slashed and I reveled at the blood that dripped from my weapon.

A devious smile formed on the others faces as the fire burned higher.



I awoke dressed in sweat.

It felt like I had gone swimming.

I discarded my bed sheets and stumbled toward the bathroom.

I ran a little water and let it wash down my throat.

I tried catching my breath and slowed my heart beat.

It was only a dream.

It was only a dream.

Behind me the black hood  rest on a hook.

I rubbed my eyes and exited the bathroom.

I returned to get a closer look at my cuticles.

Blood.

It was blood.

Death, Dying, Not Greiving

That surge of electricity flows through my finger tips, as I lie dying on my death bed.

I wonder about all the wasted opportunities.

The "what ifs" and "why nots."

It's hard to live in a world of regrets, when these decisions are constantly being shown up by new afflictions.

We can't have it both ways, but we can choose to live at our best potentials.

I for one can't wait to exit this shell and prove to others I am right about life after death.

Whether you guess right, is up to you.

Dreaming is half the fun.

It's an optimism that keeps life light.

There are too many pit falls that curse ones enjoyment.

Get out there.

Show your true colors.

Do not let age, sex, or identity define you.

Do You?

All the cupcakes,
and red wines of the world,
couldn't let me loose.

I try and stumble throughout this dark bar,
but my friends keep pulling me back to the sticky,wet, table.

Why, oh why, can't we move about so freely,
like I did when I was a little child.

No, there's got to be more to life than cheap beer,
and free thinking college aged kids,
peeling the labels from the bottle.

There's a whole wide world out there,
waiting for us to change it,
not in a political way,
but an artistic one.

Who's to say where we should live,
how to dress,
or who to love?

I can't seem to get these monolithic melodies out of my head,
as the jukebox screams out Nina with her soulful, emotions,
not even Jesus Christ on the cross could have understood.

Buddha barbecues with Allah,
while Jesus plays guitar, serenading Marilyn Monroe and Osiris.

Aphrodite dirty dances with James Dean,
while Sammy Davis Junior, plays a game of dice with Zeus.

These classic, fairy tale, religious dieties can have my soul.

I lost it long ago in Las Vegas to a man named Ateo

Two shots of bourbon and a line of coke, did me in.

I woke up alone and naked, but self aware and care free.

I never regretted it, nor wanted it to be special.

Now I was special, because I had life experience and a good story to tell over others pity parties.

To answer your question,
yes, girl, you move the fuck out of me.

You Will Burn

I can feel them.

Just when I quit their dastardly deeds,
they have begun to rebuild their army inside me.

Minions of the demons who torture, twist and deceive the truth.

Yes, I am about to go out of my head,
drifting on the sea of anxiety and guilt,
while letting their anger take hold.

No, I will not.

I must stay strong and fight off the temptations inside.

It's easier said than done.

When I close my eyes and steady my breathing, I see it.

That old bitch that lives up the block.

Crushing her eyeballs with my finger tips, while feasting on her merciless soul, as she begs for her worthless fucking life.

The useless, hobos that occupy half our land.

Running my car through their tents while the tread of my tires burns across their skulls.

No! I cannot.

I will not.

Others have been overtaken by the darkness and were immediately set free afterwards,
but how long after their crimes did they suffer from the consequences?

I shalt not take any names in vain and let it wash over me.

Some have suggested prayer.

My method has always been effective.

Cutting...deep.

Tracing the Latin phrase ignosce et obliviscere into my tender, weak skin, until the blood strains this terrible disease, making me clean once again.

Safe,
of one mind,
until they fight to get out again.

When they do,
I might not make it out alive.