Staying Alive V

Blinding, the light splashes into my eyes. A anomalous contorted shadow stands before it staring down at me. Tired and hungry I’m too weak to move or respond in any way. This could be the last thing I ever see.

It’s distorted voices calls out to me, “ahh huu ahhayyy.” I can’t make out a word. “ahh huu ahhayyy,” it repeats.

As my eyes adjust the figure gains more shape and definition. Arms. A head. A body.

“Are huu ahhayyy,” it repeats. “Ehooo!”

The deafening ringing in my ears starts to fade.

“Are you okay?”

Words start to…

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Two Faces of Humanity

Human nature is a monster of hate for creatures of a different face or to ideas that don't match their taste. Fake the stand on moral grounds but steal, pillage and destroy as we make our rounds limiting all others but refusing to be bound. The second the gun aims back humans make no sound. Deep breaths and reflection searching for a truth much more profound until the finger is no longer pointing then the fires get set to watch the forest burn down. Humans don't regret. They pretend. Human nature is drowned in malice with a smile masking it held proud.

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Demons and Swords

Full of excuses, got myself thinkin’ I’m useless
Distractions are ruthless, a nuisance
Inaction so fluid, can’t help but sink in to it
Titanic demons keep screamin’, they fiendin’, dreamin’
Monstrous titans wagin’ war, done this before
Deamed victors seepin’ through the cracks beneath the door
Came through the back whisperin’ “Jack we want more”
Like shadows slidin’ ridin’ gaps in light and hidin’ in the dead of night
They’re fightin’ tryin’ to stay alive inside…

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Talking To Myself

Dark place with the glock aimed
Ain’t a tame thought in the way
Faced lead shots, taste great

Sippin’ at the glass filled with 9s I feel I might blast
Trippin’ thinkin’ this moment is the last

Chill, it ain’t a crime to feel bad

But it’s like I’ve had more than enough time to go mad
A rough road and grip slippin’ on the cut rope
Stuck hope wishing, can’t cope
If I go missin’ no one’ll know, the Earth won’t stop its roll

This ain’t a new feelin’
You’re just dealing with repressed demons
They’re creepin’, keep seepin’ through the crack peekin’
Speakin’ to the your inner thoughts and your dreams that they haunt
Intentions to freak you out when from the shadows they scream and shout
Drought of the good days, dark thoughts replay
They’ve plotted out what they’ll say and anticipate how you’ll behave
It’s rouse, the truth is that good news lies at the end of the tunnel
The struggle leads through a path of rubble
A mountain and a climb, fighting evil the whole time
Harpies and vultures, from time to time a poacher

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God Is Lost

Although I’ve never dealt with writers block, I do occasionally feel uninterested in what I create or creating in general. Creators depression if you will. When each word to land on the page feels empty and foreign. As if it fails to convey the intended message or emotion. Like trying to read a page through fog. Clarity is missing.

It’s times like these where thoughts feel hazy. When it’s least obvious what’s missing from the work is when it’s the most frustrating. The satisfaction of finding a hundred problems each sentence comes with the knowledge that you can jump in and fix it all. This is more like trying to…

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The Office

Tragic the monotone hum, every five minutes like clockwork.

Distant souls roam going about their moments in the world below. Detached window view of time passing.

Loose tie and suit jacket off. Corner office. Total and complete success. I’ve succeeded my way right into a box. Removed from the social sphere and begging god to fling an asteroid my way and not warn me.

Five minute mark, the scanner hums and I’m ticking away at the keys. Clicking and scrolling and typing and scanning.

Ambient chit chat somewhere off in the pit of the building keeps the atmosphere just above silent.

Working but nowhere near present. Dreaming at the florescent bulbs more powerful than the sunlight that beams through the window. Trees and birds, likely not much farther than the ones directly outside. Reality is only revisited when looking to see what number the little hand points at.

Making green to let strangers more clever than I hoard it in a private bank to avoid it getting stolen by anyone other than the owner of the bank. I pay for that individual to have the exclusive rights to use my money how they want while I wait for 5pm. Pay for their vacations and their hookers while I sift through spread sheets. Twelve hour work days to assure someone will have zero hour work weeks.

At least my watch is more expensive than the entire common household annual income. Nothing but the freedom to stare at my wrist and realize I’ve only begun the day.

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Patience is Key

Understanding could only be achieved if we decide to hear one another

If we learn to tolerate in order to listen and comprehend

To label one another without getting to know one another is the road to divisiveness

We’re more similar than we are different

Still we choose to discuss only how “they” are not like “us”

As arbitrary and trivial as these ideas are they seem to rule our daily interactions

We force people to hide their differences and then hide in fear from those we don’t know

But because everyone hides their true selves out of fear of being judged, we know no one

Thus, we fear everyone

A self fulfilling prophecy that perpetuates hate and could only be stopped by its creators

We preach unity but practice division

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Total lack of excitement. Routine. Tame repetition. Mundane. Boring. Cyclical and maddening. A total lack of adrenaline faces the savage animal when caged. A stick static stillness which loops back onto itself settles in as is paces along the inner walls of its prison. Aimless it hungers for a chase. Whether hunter or prey. For some change or alternation. For the new and the original.

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Uninspired Excuses

Been struggling. Distracted. Making up excuses as to why a book isn’t being read or why words aren’t being written. It’s all internal. Self-sabotage. Lack of discipline and control. All the goals posted up, followed by a lack of strive to reach any of them.

Sluggishly it all gets done… eventually. It’s always eventually. No restraints holding back. No blockages in the way. Just laid out excuses. If the effort put into coming up with reason as to ‘why not’ were directed into reasons ‘why to’, just imagine what could be done. Some factor, piece, of being human creates this slow stride. Self defeat is the only way. Deciding to do it without external…

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Dying Philosophy

Over the last couple of decades the concept of philosophy has been reduced from what it was at its height, tools for critical thinking, down to trivia information about when certain philosophers were born and what they thought of certain concepts. Western society particularly doesn’t teach the ability to think critically. They focus on these trivialities rather than educating the individuals on how to formulate their own opinions and ideas with the tools of philosophy. We’ve successfully obstructed what philosophy really is, which is a way to acquire perspective. And now we’re faced with a western society incapable of processing complex information. It’s become common place to delegate opinion development to media and social medial platforms and sources. The development of philosophy has been left to politics…

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Barely a Kid

Been a while since the pen on paper made me smile
Until now, I’ve been a faker, couldn’t take it
Thoughts runnin’ wild, but I’ve been tired
Don’t get mistaken
Used to write a quarter mile, then the isle broke
That mild smoke left leaving change to cope
Rearranged the hope, a strange cloud to float
Lingering stench, couldn’t find a wrench to fix the mess
The kiss of death dismissed my breath
Gasping, no longer raspy, just gaps be that mask me
Hiding the face beneath
Sheathed the sharp tongue with which I speak
Write obscene, to run…

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Strange Place

Jack loves the drugs. The drugs love Jack. But Romeo and Juliet don’t belong together.


As if something is missing words echo existing madness. They’re always persisting. Lost self with bad habits. Identity ravaged by guilt which has managed to linger and damage the hopes meant to manage the goals I’ve established. The wind blows with a whisper. Crisp hands filled with blisters bleed black ink, sinister. Fear to blink for the monsters sing from the darkness. Ringing shrieks last the longest. Haunting freaks from the back of the mind, begging me to head for the shadows each time. Like felines ask to be pet and loved with hidden agendas to capture and mug. Iron bars, no free will. Screaming from inside of glass jars. Not a peep, air is still. To a crisis I speak, my intentions are weak, suicide is too bleak, but I shiver. Floor boards creak as the demons stalk me. I always escape. Is running my fate? Surviving is great, but what will it take to live? To choose what I give? To stand along with things I love and insist I’m not caught by the whiff of a flame? A rose by any other name. Why can’t I admire without sacrificing my brain? Am I…

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Echoes in the Walls

Still I sit at the center of the hall facing where I’d go if I moved. Time has become irrelevant in my world. Whether it’s been a few minutes or a hundred years isn’t discernible. There isn’t a day or night to tell. There isn’t anything. Nothing changes in this place.

The region I’m in is filled with empty pods. No sight of dead clones anywhere. Indents riddle the wall opposite the pods more frequently, visible from one another. Yet, no door. No exit. No escape. No anything. Never anything.

I’ve decided to sit and wait. My attempts to kill myself are fruitless. My attempts to starve fruitless.

Finding and end to this hallway. Fruitless.

Finding a living clone. Fruitless.

Deviation is nonexistent.

I’ve been consumed by madness many times over just to regain….

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Jack writes about his journey in stopping marijuana use.


I’ve been a pothead on and off since I was about 15 years old. Began with marijuana. Eventually landed on ecstasy. Even dabbled in psychedelics. The only one I kept returning to was marijuana. I easily let go of all the others. Returned to marijuana so often I’ve defined it as addictive behavior. And I put no blame on the cannabis itself for my constant return. I’m the one with the addictive tendencies after all. Theoretically, I could have gotten addicted to anything from alcohol to gambling or sex. It just so happen to be this because it was the first. It happen while I was the youngest.

I quit for many years. Since senior year in high school until the middle of my college years. When I got back to it I’d only use every couple of months. About a year in it was as frequent as every weekend. I felt creative using it and enjoyed the feeling. It gradually leaked into the rest of the week. Maybe something left over from the weekend would get used on Wednesday. It wasn’t long before anything left over was used the following Monday. As I got more used to doing it regularly it became such a part of the daily routine that I began looking forward to it. Eventually trying to stretch the same amount through the entire week. By this point I managed to get high each day micro-dosing. As my tolerance grew I was less affected and left wanting more each time. I began buying twice as much each week. That kept me stoned Sunday through Saturday. From then on it’s a tolerance building game.

And then I’m getting high to feel normal.

The days I don’t have it I feel anxious. Depressed. Desperate. Bored. I think the boredom is the worst part. It’s maddening. Whenever I try stopping, boredom turns me back around. It’s so easy to access marijuana and instantly make all things fun and exciting. The all natural boredom killer. For a low price have a blast. But I only think this is true. I don’t function sober because what I used to call sober is the state I’ve reached now while high. High when normal, normal when high. I’m paying to avoid boredom withdrawal. The cannabis does nothing but keep me stable. It’s the only way I…

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Travel Traders: Desert

At the tail end of their first journey together, the couple finds themselves starving and freezing in search of the desert kingdom to make their big sale and find shelter.


We’ve been out here for days. Six. Wandering. No sight of anything. No site or anything. This desert goes on and on. Our water supply is running low. Our stamina is burning off quicker each day.

Our tents have kept us warm during the sun’s intense rule of the sky. We’re on the move again at the start of the frozen nights, following the glow of each others lanterns. But even the lantern oil is drier with each night. With the dark comes harsher sandstorms trying to steal the air away. Yet, the goal has all but…

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