The Abstract Art Gallery
Broken, confused writer Jack Thomas puts the images in his mind on display in this "Blog." He dives into personal experience and his observations of the world to share his take on morality, childhood trauma, creativity, relationships, sex, politics, religion, violence, reality and more. Using countless formats from narrative driven short stories, to poetry, to song lyrics and philosophical explanations.
The Raged Cattle
It Casts a Hate Shadow
Inside the Cage, Rattled
Awaits a Great Battle
Piercing eyes forced
Through blackened hearts torn
Twisting steel Born
With angered horns
Real, their shiny sharpened tips
Slicing, poking, making rips
Blind by red the blood lust drips
Freed, this slave just waits and sits
The great war begins and for those unaware of what’s really going on, it’s not more than confusing chaos and unexplained horrors left and right.
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Black leafless trees as far as the eye can see. Like a forest fire ravaged existence itself. Red skies plague a dark aura over all that is left. Dark daylight is as bright as a moment gets. The dirt beneath my boots crumbles like glass crackling under my weight. The great war merely strolled through here. In less than a week the entire state fell. The bunker managed to keep us safe in the meantime. There’s nothing but the aching screams echoing through the air left lingering. Entire buildings up and vanished into the chaos.
My grandmother always said the rapture would arrive without warning. It would just be here one day. And it seems that’s what took place.
One moment I’m at my first day at the office unpacking my things and getting settled in to the desk of a tragedy passed. The next moment my window view witnesses what I can only described as giant winged people attacking a tiny record store across the street. Within seconds their numbers are in the hundreds, then thousands. They’re popping…
Read MoreWe all have demons we struggle with. Fear of them taking control. And sometimes they do. And sometimes it feels good after we’re done with our fear.
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Pained finger. Cracks and snaps. Deep breaths to get over it. Get it over with. Nausea at the pit of my stomach. Monstrous transformation I’ve undergone. Malice I begun with. Could use a gun, but the pop would make it too real. I don’t want to run. Craving the numbness.
Tight grip, I squeeze. Thought bubbles surface. Words in silence. Boiling water hides the violence. Struggles to keep inside. Hopes to hide. Hopes to die. Tears roll down red eyes. Lingering moments that don’t go by. Branded images. Back of the mind. Persistent twists of liquid mist obscuring things. Rage filled. Caged and ill. Killed will power. Standing still, towers, tall build. Showers of blood ripple. Screaming “enough.” Chilled spine. Raised hairs. Tunnel vision. Blinded sight. Regrets but no want to fight. Sensations that feel right to relieve the pint up aggression. Repression released in the middle of…
He pulls the trigger to take his life. He lives a lifetime waiting to die.
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Curious, the thought lingers in the back of his mind. “What will it feel like on the other side?” His tongue massages the steel barrel. Tastes of lead. “I’m over this end. Time for something new.”
Trigger pulled, he feels himself fall to the side at a pace so slow it might not even be happening. Fractions of seconds stretch to feel like hours. 100 million thoughts run through his mind as his eyes crawl the wall to the ceiling.
It seems that days go by watching the bulb on the ceiling dim down.
Lucy, the wife walks into view getting ever slower. Finally fully in sight, the terror trapped in her eyes is visible. Horror. Holding little Suzie, too young to know what’s going on.
Lucy paces her way up to a scream. She’s nearly no more than a silhouette. Swallowed by the dark the remaining specs of light blink away. The everlasting fade goes on for infinities. “Bye,” is his last thought as nothing is left behind.
And his eyes are fixed on a new spot of light left dancing off in the distance.
It’s a million miles away but getting bigger. Coming closer. Blinding it gets. And it overtakes the darkness leaving no trace. White floods the ambience. A perpetual ring in the ears. Muffled voices in an unfamiliar language.
Giant creatures like nothing seen before. Yet there is no recollection of seeing anything before this moment. There is no memory of this mysterious, confusing, terrifying place…
Read MoreDeath to a Perspectivist can take many forms. This is what it looks like for Jack.
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Many mourn with tears upon death, focusing on the absence of the individual life-force.
I consider death no more than the end of a book I’m part of. They’ve moved out of this three dimensional plain and are off to bigger and better things elsewhere in transcendent reality. In seeing it this way I forget about the absence. It’s like a friend moving away too far to communicate with in any feasible way. They’re just somewhere I can’t reach is all. Thus I remember the good times spent with the individual. It’s all there is left to do. The tears won’t bring anyone back or fix any personal problems I might be having. But I can enjoy what was and consider the death a completion of a unique book. I get to revisit the pages as often as I’d like.
Read MoreFlash Fiction written in under ten minutes as an exercise. Jack dives into the first person perspective of the last living moments of a kid trying to impress a girl having gone wrong.
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This isn’t how it was supposed to go. There is no way to turn back now and it’s all a waste. Hindsight is 20/20. We only realize our mistakes could have easily been avoided had we given them just a little more thought. But there is no turning back now. There’s no way to save the moment.
All of this for a girl. Who would have imagined the lights would be cut off this way? To prove a point. To show off. Faster than a speeding bullet, yet even the Flash knew when to take a breather. When to take an extra second to think.
Now that it’s going this way, I’m not even sure I get what I was trying to accomplish. How could any of this have played out well?
As if time slowed down, nearly to a halt, this moment goes on forever. I see a second by second breakdown of the last plays of the game and…
In this explanation, Jack breaks down his understanding and beliefs on the topic of stigmatized suicide and the three groups of suicidal people.
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We currently live in a world where discussions on suicide are so viciously stigmatic that they’re nearly unheard of. Sometimes the discussion is enough to help an individual, but the risk of getting institutionalized is too great to attempt the dialogue at all. We’re underdeveloped in the area as a result. Most with suicidal thoughts aren’t even planning to act on them, they’re no more than thoughts. But the inability to discuss these thoughts lead to the held energy manifesting in other ways. Many times it turns into action because there is no other way to process the information.
We should be capable, as a society, nation and planet, to discuss things without another person deciding what it is you mean by it.
In this short explanation I offer perspective on the matter by walking you through the three forms in which acting on suicide can manifest.
Let us begin…
Read MoreWe don't often consider death and how it fits into the bigger experience we call Existence.
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Death is an eerie thing. It’s quiet and gloomy. Dark in how it vibes.
The most solitary and lonely experience of someone’s life.
I didn’t mess up in using the word life, by the way. I believe death is a part of life. Not the end of it, rather, just some other stage in a transition...
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