Memoirs of a Deadman

I wake up wondering what time it is...
Looking out the window, it's twilight. The sun looks like it's setting, or perhaps it's rising. I have totally no more recall of time, space and date.
I've had a heavy trip. I can still feel the taste of puke in my mouth. The worst part of tripping is the reaction of the body to the atrocity that it has to endure. Sometimes, it doesn't take kindly to what it's been given.
The stomach churns like a whirlpool and the head splits. Everything is too loud. Sometimes, I can't bear to open my eyes. The vision always returns like an oil painting awashed in solvent. It starts coming back in whirls of technicolor. More often than not, it just encourages the body to react as violently as possible.

Can't seem to get up and walk. The best I can muster is a pathetic crawl to the washroom.

I stare into the mirror now. Somehow I don't recognize myself. I can't remember myself being so withered. My eyes are bloodshot. I look bruised and battered. I wonder where did I manage to get that cut lip? Must've been an accident. Things like that happen when you're tripping. I've had worse falls, sometimes, face first on to the concrete floor.
I turn on the tap and wet my palms. I need to wash my face. The wetness stings my cut lips. I flinch a little, and then, I continue washing. Feeling the pain is better than the emptiness.
A smell comes to my nose. The pungence is suddenly so striking, it almost gives my stomach another reason to purge itself. I must've been sleeping in my own bile and urine for the whole of my trip. Then I realise the stink is not of the overnight bile and piss. I just shat myself. Somehow, I've not yet retain the fine motor functions that control my bowels.

This is so pathetic. So very fucking pathetic. I feel like waste and I know I look far worse.

I slowly strip myself, taking care not to agitate my already broken body. I turn on the tap and let the ice cold water wash my body. I feel suddenly pierced by icy fingers that jolts me into consciousness. Suddenly I am aware of my wasted frame.
My body is shattered. Blisters and scabs from the frequent hits cover my arms. Most of them are not even healed yet. Some of them are slowly rotting away at the skin. All of them, didn't hurt anymore. I let myself wash in the water and tears.

The cacophony of pain envelopes me.

Why am I fucked up this way?

I heave a sigh.

I dress up and lay on the mat. I really don't feel like doing anything at all. I curl up, holding my knees close to my chest. I cannot control myself.
It started with a sob. The volume of sadness amplifies louder. It ends in tears running unabated. I cannot help myself. I cry hard, shuddering,choking on my tears.

My throat feels parched, my lips are cracked and dried. I reach around and took hold of the nearest liquid. Per chance, it happens to be a glass orange juice. The glass is chipped. I take a sip of the orange juice and cut my lip even more on the chip. The blood flows on.
The juice tastes funny. Probably its fermented. Probably its just how orange juice tastes like when mixed with blood.
It didn't matter. I doubt anything much that I consume will actually kill me now.

I am mostly dead anyway.

I spit a wriggling maggot out of my mouth.

I feel the urge coming again. The withdrawal. The all too familiar cold sweat that breaks from my brow. The shivers coming all at once. I need a hit. I need to feel alive again. I rummage around. Good, there is still enough here for one more hit. One very heavy hit. Very very heavy hit. Maybe my last ever hit.

Like a ritual, I even out the grains expertly, prop the contents on to the crude aluminium foil and set the candle alight. Slowly, I rim the foil containing my life over the candle flame. I stare at the dancing flames as if in hypnosis.

I remember someone calling this shit "Angeldust". How ironic.

Slowly, I watch the powder melt in the crucible. The beautiful white now settles over the foil in the form of a rich dirty brown liquid ooze. It is slightly charred black at the sides, but it does not matter.
I grasp a spent syringe from my side. Greedily, it sucks and slurps the rich liquid as I draw it in like a pump. I inspected the needle point. It is slightly blunted, but still usable. It might just hurt a bit more, that's all. I pump the syringe a little bit. A fine thin stream of liquid sprays out of the needle point. I smile, satisfied that the passage in the syringe is unblocked.

I look at my arms, searching for a spot not stained by scab or wound. Found one. Right there on my right arm. I strap my arm up with a belt to stop the blood flow a bit, so I that can see my veins where the beautiful sharpness will impale in a while more. The shivering is getting worse. Mucus starts to drip from my nose. I need to get this over with fast.

I smack myself a little bit. Smacking works like antiseptic. It lessens the hurt a little. I flex my right arm a bit and smack myself a little bit more. The skin over my arm starts to redden. Good, that should do.

Slowly I insert the point into my flesh. It stings a little at first, and then it was alright. I pulled the trigger and pumped it slowly into my blood. I can feel the gush. It feels so good. I pull the needle out.

After that, I just pick my spot and lie there. All the pain, sorrow and sadness is slowly disappearing.

I see flowers. I see her. She just stands there. She wilts, petal by petal. She looks at me. She beckons me. Everything feels alive now. Everything is beautiful. This is my world where no hurt will ever touch me again. I see the distant light. It feels so warm.

I drift and drift away.

Delirium de Infinium

It has always just been me,
Facing the night that goes on and on,
The heart of frost, an eternal winter,
Wall of silence left unpierced.

In my mind I fall inwards,
Drifting inside further away,
Spiralling, twisting vertigo,
Reality torn asunder.

I have lost the hold on me,
Going under the surreal waters,
An ocean of sorrow, a lake of tears,
Drowning in this sea of despair.

I fathom those that are real,
I fathom those that are not,
This is my invitation to me,
Into my delirium,
Into my dementia,
I shall be be swept with my friend of misery.

I've Changed A Lil Bit More

Well, how shall I start this off?
The past few days have been a real test of character. Sudden realization strikes me that I changed a little bit more. Strange, how people never realize the change in themselves until they are given a test of character.
I have to admit, I used to be a pretty brash person when it comes to relationships. Relationships as the boy and girl kind. I used to just jump into relationships, head first. I dive into a relationship without weighing too much about circumstance, potential and the long run. I've always stuck to the belief that 'If it feels so right, it can't be wrong'.
Always believed in playing by the ear. Working things out as it goes along. Tolerate a little, compromise a little out of love and everything will be dandy.
The last few days opened my eyes, to what I have become.
I've actually tried to start a relationship with a 'potential chick'. Knew her for a long long time. In fact, it was an ex-girlfriend. She used to be quite messed up, until I met her again recently. She seems quite changed. Setting off on a bright career, ambitious and certainly more in control of her life. Perhaps I was relishing to get to know her all over again. To fall in love again with a girl from a whole new different perspective.
All was dandy, until she confessed that she was embroiled in another relationship that she wanted to walk away from. Apparently walking away wasn't easy for her. It's not so much that she's torn between choices, but more of like ending up stuck with a bad choice of boyfriend. She got stuck with this mentally instable guy that is giving her hell if she left him. The kind of hell on offer is as bad as far as the stretches your imagination can take you.
I heard her distress call and sometime inside me snapped.

Something seriously snapped.

Was it disappointment that the facade of her cleaned up life fell through?
Was it the emotional baggage that she is going to carry into this new relationship with me?
Was it my selfishness that I really do not have the heart or time for this sh*t?
Was it that I felt disturbed as I am helpless to do anything about what she is going through?

Maybe it was a mixture of all those reasons. One thing I do know for sure, is that I do not need all this right now, and the fact that if this relationship started, its all going off on the wrong foot.
I promptly offered the option to stay friends.
Looking back, I suddenly became conscious of how pragmatic I have become. I am very convinced that my choice is a right one. I also knew, if this was me back a couple of years, I would've just went ahead with this relationship anyways with all the usual gusto and gung-ho.

Cold realisation.

How times have fly on by. How times chip me away and shape me.

How I change with each passing minute, even if only by a little...

I am afraid of...

Cockroaches.
I am irrationally spooked silly by them itty, dirty, ugly looking creatures that scurries (and sometimes fly) around making my life miserable whenever we are in the same room.
When I think about it, cockroaches are exceptionally good at making the most out of my phobia. Don't it seem weird where they just start scurrying around you or flap and fly around you while you are frantically trying to get it to go away? The more you are spooked by them, the more they seem to want to irritate the hell out of you.

"He fears me. He FEARS ME!! Heh, this should be fun. Lemme try to make skin contact."

The flying ones irk me the most. They always go flying at you like some sort of kamikaze operation. Whats more infuriating is the fact when I start waving my hands around trying to drive it away and accidentally smack it dead. Along with the corpse of a crushed roach comes that the dreaded smell...

I hate the smell of roaches when I whack em dead. You know that mushy smell. It also never seems to die with any elegance. The crunching sound when I crush a roach never fails to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The worst of it all is the damp bits thats probably the entrails, squeezed out of its frame when its squashed. The bit of white intestines and liquidy substance mangled in the black carcass. Disgusting.

Roaches are big enough for you to notice em when they scurry across the surface of your skin. Big, black and silent bastards. The fleeting sensation of them gliding across my skin, only for me to notice that its a roach never fails to send me jumping (and cursing and flailing my limbs and involuntary wriggling in spasms to get rid of it).

Unfortunately, the survival and reproduction ability of the roach is mythical in proportion. If there is one thing that will survive a nuclear holocaust, you can bet your dollar that its a cockroach.

Tough luck for me.

Erotica (Almost)

Right, this is a story about sex.
It will unashamedly describe the erotic escapades of two people, a male and a female.
This story will contain explicit material not suitable for those under 18. (or 21, whatever your law says)
Yes, this story will describe in extremely vivid detail the activities of two people that's (probably) under the blanket and (including but not limited to) on the bed.
The aforementioned individuals in this story will eventually end up nude and naked. (notwithstanding lingerie thats possibly not fully discarded for added erotic effect)
This story will involve the two characters ending up physically entwined.
It is only right to state, that the story will narrate extensively on both the male and female anatomy.
The story will also be peppered with euphisms and sexual innuendos just to spice up the narrative of the bodily functions, description of anatomy, positions and activities.
The story should also be liberally scattered with cliches that are familiar with the erotica reading crowd.
This story might include a standard opening, narrating drunkedness whereby is the starting point of this entire story. (I will decide later when I actually start telling the story)
It is also fair warning, that this story may contain explicit and downright 'dirty' languages (that come across as more corny than actually offensive), just to add to the realism of the story in part.
Wrangling of hair, gnashing of teeth, battle of lips (with tongue) and raking of nails are totally optional.
There will be however be sweat, bodily fluids and arousing moans (with the occasional grunt)
As a responsible writer, condoms will be used in the story.
This story will end in a climax that is only achievable in fantasy and fiction. (and maybe porn)
Above all, this is a story about sex. This is an erotica that is attempted to be portrayed with as much taste and seduction possible. Rest assured, this story will be filled with raucous sex.

Here goes...

Damn, I think I just took all the fun out of writing this. I think I'll just leave it to your imagination for now.
Ah well. It was a good attempt anyway.

Proseac: Yeah, so bite me!

Broken China Doll

Lovely little china doll,
Sitting pretty,
Oh so sweet, oh so delicate.
With your wide eyed innocence and piggy tails,
Perfect smile, unblemished.

Lovely little china doll,
Perched atop the shelf,
Plucked off your seat now,
Plunged into terror.

Little toy made of china clay,
Here he plays with you,
On the ground he flings you,
In those dreaded hands, he bends you.

Your pretty little dress,
With a blade, he rends it to shreds,
On the ground he perverses you,
There he tramples you,
There he breaks you, there he grinds you.

Perfect pretty little thing,
Now you douse in mud,
Now you rinse in his filth,
Now you suffer the beatings,
Now you are tortured in pain.

His mocking laugh,
His putrid breath,
His tombstone teeth,
His jagged sneer,
His slimy tongue,
His defiling fingers,
Manhood. Depravity.

Now you are a broken plaything,
You wished that you could cry,
Your voice scream in silence,
Your eyes bore no tears.
Flung against the wall,
Crushed and pretty no more.

Can we mend you with some glue?
It will never be the same.
The scars you will bear for life,
Endure the lasting shame.

Bruised, used, confused....

Trauma,
You dare not to play anymore,
You will trust to love nevermore.
Your world will be in hurt, shame and hate.
For the shadow of him, that monster,
Who have left you this fate.

Proseac: My little piece on child sexual abuse.

Crossroads

It was probably a dream. Probably, as I don't rightly remember exactly where and when this had happened to me. Everything in my memory now is like looking at the world through a haze. It's a myriads of colors and shapes.
I suddenly found myself in the middle of nowhere. The landscape was dreadful. There was nothing around me, save the shapes of barren trees, morbid to behold. Twisted and writhed as if perpetually tortured and in pain. Thru the haze of my vision, they were like creatures of the night, a parody of life lost.
The sky was cast in a sick shade of purple. There were no clouds, only a strange form of a mist flowing. There was no sign of light but strangely, I found it possible to look beyond. Standing before me was a path, that seem to lead to the horizon. I seem to be standing in the middle of the path. It's as if that I must've walked here from somewhere. Did I trod down this way? I don't remember. Nothing seems to make sense, but somehow I felt compelled to walk and follow this strange pathway, wherever it would lead me. I took my first steps and began my journey with slow debilitating steps.
I plodded along very slowly, inspecting my alien surroundings as I moved. I noticed, that this place was devoid of life. The grass, or whatever it was that littered the sides of the pathway were in gray. It was all so deathly silent. The only sound I could hear was the moving air that surrounds me and that of my beating heart. Wherever I am now, it is a place that life itself has forsaken. Each gasp of air that I breathe, smells faintly of roses and decay. Each breath leaves a faint taste of ashes in my mouth.
Who knows how long I've walked, It must've been hours but it felt like days. Sudden fear grabs me as I wonder if I would ever find a way out of this place. It was at this precise moment that I saw a break in the the horizon, a divergence of paths. I felt a sudden relief. Variation must mean that this path is not a neverending one-way-street. The relief passes and confusion overtakes me. What does all of this mean? With renewed vigor I trudged on forward towards the coming horizon, determined to find out what all this is about.
Before I realized, I found the horizon dropping lower. This could only mean that I am finally reaching somewhere. Is this to be my destination? I truly did not know.
Maybe it was that I was too absorbed within my own thoughts that I didn't notice, because I found myself at a crossroad. I stood there bewildered. Which way should I head from here? I looked around, half-heartedly thinking that there might be a signboard somewhere that could give me a clue.
True enough, it was just what I had expected, there was only nothingness around me, or was it? I must not of have noticed before, because standing just a little bit away from me was this shadowy figure. The figure seems to of have been standing there for a long time. It seems like that it was waiting for something or someone, Strange that I could of have missed its presence.
The figure looked like it was standing in a slight hunch. It was dressed in a druids garb of sorts, with heavy cloaks shadowing its features from my eyes. The color of its robe was as black as night. It was made of the finest cloth, smooth and comforting. There was no adornment that it wore on it's garb. It was plain and somehow, it was haunting.
I wasn't sure what got me moving towards this looming figure, but I did it anyway. Slow, cautious steps I took towards it. I probably wasn't feeling very sane, but then again, I was literally caught in a land of nightmares. What worse could happen to me?
As I approached the figure, I realized that it wasn't the small and frail figure that I first thought it was. Somehow, as I move closer, it seems to grow in stature, or perhaps, it was me that was shrinking. This apparition that stood before me was easily seven feet tall. The oversized garb that it wore, gave it an illusion of frailness that disappeared upon closer inspection. Underneath the velvet robes, I sensed a strong frame that is filling the garb most admirably. The strange thing was, that even up this close, it's visage was still hidden within the shadows of it's hood. I just stood before this apparition, dumb and silent.
There were probably a thousand questions in my head, and somehow my gut feeling told me that this figure that stood before me has the answers to all of them. Yet, I couldn't speak, not a single word. I just stood mesmerized by the darkness of it's robe that seems to draw me into infinity.
A voice echoed in my ears. Or maybe, the voice was in my head as I could still hear the silence around me.
"You seek answers. You seek direction. You are given a choice...", the voice hissed to me, neither male nor female. "You are at the crossroads now, what choice would you make?"
Somehow I knew that this voice was from the figure that stood before me. I stood before it with knowing in my eyes as I stared. It just nodded in acknowledgement, as if it read my thoughts.
"I can tell you which path to choose. I can make smooth that path. I can surround that path as you walk with pleasures as you have never known..." the voice hissed. "Everything I give for a trade. Everything I give in exchange."
The offer seemed very enticing, maybe a little too good to be true. I wonder what exactly was it that I would have to exchange, not that I really had anything at all in this forsaken land.
As if reading my thoughts, the voice came again.
"You see my friend, everyone travels their own roads. They each walk their own path. Each carries on walking and walking until they can walk no more. Either they run out of will or the roads to tread," it explained.
"At one point in their journey, everyone will come to a crossroad. Everyone will have to decide where else they would want to go from there," it paused. Then in a slightly sinister tone, "Sometimes, they will find me there, just as you have found me here, at the crossroad of your path."
I wonder where this was all leading. Whatever it has just said makes no sense to me, but at the same time, I found some sort of profound understanding in its words. Just then, it raised his hand to point at the pathways that divide at the crossroad. My vision followed to where it was pointing.
"What will your choice be? You pick a path, and you just carry on walking. Down these paths, it may lead you to glory. Down these paths, it may lead you to anguish and pain. Down these paths, you may arrive at success. Down these paths, you may arrive at nothing. You will be faced with harsh truths. You will beset painful lies. Such is the journey of life, that no destination is certain. The only certainty is the doubt that will fester in your mind. The only certainty is the tinge of regret. The only certainty, is that your mind wonders, what would it be if you took the other road?"
I could sense a certain mocking tone as it allowed that last sentence to trail off.
"We all need some direction. Direction that I would gladly offer. Direction that would lead you down the path of glory and success. Direction that would lead you down the path that fulfils all of your heart's desires. All that I ask, is an exchange," it said as it lowered it's hands and hide them once more within the folds of its cloak.
"My price is an easy one, yet it will be heavy nonetheless," it said. "I will offer my gifts, in exchange for your soul."
My mind cringed at the thought of the offer.
"Do not fear, my friend. Losing your soul is not as frightening as it seems. You will not even notice the difference with or without it. Instead, think of it as preparing yourself for a most wonderful journey."
I could sense a smile playing on its lips while it spoke.
"To enjoy the ride to its utmost, you will have to lose that burden of your soul. Lose it, and you will live life like you have never lived before, with no more constraints."
I stood there thinking about the offer. I thought about it for a long time. I was tempted to just let it all go. After all, we live but once, so why not make it a joyride?
I made up my mind. For the first time, in this strange surreal world, I looked at the figure, and smiled. I turned away from the figure, closed my eyes, and started trodding down a path at random.
The voice in my head came in a scathing and mocking tone.
"You are a fool! Do you think you can truly walk away from my influence? Even by refusing my offer, you will still trip and fall. I will always be around you. You will find yourself walking the long winding roads and still end up with me in the furnace that burns eternal!"
Somewhere I found the courage to reply the conversation in my head.
"Are you certain? Like what you've told me. Nothing is certain even as I walk now on my own. I may find redemption as I walk this path, or condemnation. At the very least, life, the uncertain journey is a whole lot more interesting that way. My life is mine, and mine alone."
The voice seem to of have ceased in my head. The sudden silence was overwhelming. I simply carried on walking. It wasn't long before the voice came in my head again.
"I like you. Trust me when I say this. I foresee that you will find yourself at many a crossroads in your journey. I will be waiting up ahead."
I smiled. I still carried on walking with my eyes closed. I really didn't care anymore. I just wanted to walk without knowing where I will be headed, and decide when I finally get there, or when my legs finally gave way, whichever came first.
The very next moment, I found myself in a room. The surroundings were familiar. It was in my bed that I was lying on. It was my clock that stared at me and told me that it was lunch time. It was my clothes that lie scattered across in the room.
Just then the phone rang. I picked it up, still feeling dazed and confused. It was Alan.
"Hey, so what's up today?"
I sat there, silent for a moment. Then with a smile I replied.
"Seriously, I don't know what's up... but hey, life is certainly more interesting when it's uncertain ain't it?"

Realistic Love?

This little subject has been hanging in my head for quite a while. This subject comes to me as quite a paradox. It comes to me as a juxtaposed contradiction that sticks out.
Realism or being realistic requires one to be objective, rational and evaluating the options for oneself. Putting everything through ones head, one then attempts to come up with the best option for oneself. Being realistic takes away the essence of idealism and dreams. Being realistic requires oneself to not be caught in the lower plateau. Being realistic means to choose the best situation in relation to oneself to further one's ends. Being realistic is about seeking proof to a faith.
Love on the other hand, is all about forebearance, tolerance, sacrifice, endurance, faith and belief. To love, one dares to seek the ideal, one dares to dream. To love, one believes that love comes full circle and fulfils it's own. Love manifests as passion burning like a neverending flame, a willing flame that burns oneself just to warm that which is beloved. Love is not about self but total unself. Love is sometimes to seek the lower plateau so as to elevate that which is beloved. Love is having faith without proof.
I do believe that love requires it to tempered with practicality. I also believe that a realistic mind requires a measure of counter balance with love.
Alas, we're always caught in between. In being human, we're a walking tug-of-war, between the head and heart.
Who else but a human, will ever understand something as contradicting as "realistic love"?