Bridges

I looked across the bridge.
You smiled from either side.
Jeering, with taunts to fall.
I stayed on my barren edge.
Lonely and waiting...for what?
A tongue can only sting if I let it.
Past specters only affect me as I see them.
So I paint a place in my mind, across the bridge.
I am is the art I make myself to be.
It is the breath before the step,
a leap into faith.
I am rich,with color and life.
I have abundance, you, my past
have melted away.
Left to nash your teeth and snarl,
at the lot you have given yourself.
Alone on the bridge.
With not but my pity.

A couple short poems.

Grounded in Loneliness, I walk under a tree.
That tree once proud and all seeing,
stands with it's brunches cut, not reaching.
Dieing it turns grey.
Yet from the dieing tree,
a bud grows from what was once a branch.
Delicate and fresh it grows from the past
reaching out, fighting for life.
As foot prints circle, the branch follows in my path
wrapping around it's lifeless trunk.
If I break this growing twisting branch,
Will it set me free from this circle in the ground?
Or will I lose the life I've taken for granted?




The king of the heap,
Looks down onto the junkyard,
That is his kingdom.
Nobility of refuge,
Emperor of rubbish.
His frame thinning on four hooves
starving for life...
Or is it to live?
Below him is his kingdom of rot,
a void.
King of the heap.
ruler of nothing.

For her Majesty the Queen. Part Four, The odd case.

Walking down the cold grey streets of the Southern Prefecture is like finding a silver dollar at the bottom of a scum ridden, stagnant puddle. Even when you reach out to grasp the forgotten wealth you get your hands dirty. The feeling of smog so thick like oily silk presses down on me making each day feel like a weight pushing down on my shoulders. I fill my heart with contempt as I walk up to the doors of my office. This building is old, made on the blueprints found from a time in the ancients past were gangsters and something called "jazz" ruled the streets. I'm sure at one time this building held a good lot, but as the gap of time between the days of the monarchy and "Democracy" stretched the occupants of office building 405c changed. The lawyers and eye doctors who once ran honest practices gave way to Bookies and second rate back ally surgans. Opening the door to my office, the smell of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke fills the air like a round of tear gas during that Buzz ball riot last summer. Damn crazed fans nearly burned down the Northern prefecture. Laura, my secretary was sitting on the reception desk painting her nails as usual. Slick silvery wings and a young thorax makes her a tight squeeze but a lousy secretary. Reaching out I grab Laura's cigarette, snuffing it out and crack open a window. "Dammit Laura what did I say about smoking in the office, you trying to give this old be a heart attack, and what have you been doing all day painting your nails? Be useful for once and give me the next case file." The look of shock on her face was more than satisfying enough until she had to open her gap. "You know Mr.O'buzzly it would do you good to me nice to me once in awhile, and for your information your next case file is waiting in person in your office. It's a hornet by the name of Olov Belah. Damn, "A Hornet? Bloody hell. I hate Hornets" Walking past Laura's desk I ignore the sound of her lighting another cig, opening the door to my office a Large figure stands up from one of the chairs at my desk. Lanky and strong the Hornet wore a woolen trench coat with a scarf and large conical hat that was made of somethings fur. "You know those chairs are meant for clients right?" Unsettled by the Hornets lack of expression at my obvious lack of tact I move to the chair behind my desk, ignoring his outstretched hand and taking a seat, lifting my feet up and pushing back on the chair behind my desk curiosity takes hold of my tongue. "So tell me Hornet, what brings you to my office? I'll give you five minutes before I send you flying through my window." Again the unnerving lack of emotion and cold smile. "Mr. O'buzzly, It is how you say a pleasure, please allow me to introduce myzelf. My name is Olov Belah, I am emissary to king of the Hornet Empire. I've been to the police but they don't want to touch interracial matters, to say the least they are how you say, racizzzst."

For her Majesty the Queen. Part Three, Narrowing it down to one.

Every story needs a protagonist, along with supporting characters and a plot line. It just so happens that the best plot lines are twisted, organised and simple. Hmm kind of like a beehive, in any case this particular story begins some one hundred or so years after the death of Queen Elizzzabeth, during a new revolution of further individualism, brewing in the underbelly of the beast known as the southern prefecture in the massive hive of the Cutter clan. The streets of the Southern prefecture Flicker with the dim light of street lamps, a grey smog from the factories near by hanging like fog. Private Detective Gritty O`buzzly stepped out of a greasy spoon, built under the 108 freeway, whenever a Fly craft zoomed above the florescent sign reading "Buzzies" flickered violently...

Sorry I'm going to have to halt the third person perspective here. It's great in it's own right but as you can probably tell this story is taking more of a gritty turn than Superhero movies. So imagine a rewind button backing up to the point just before our main bee steps out of the diner.

After I finished eating the gruel Buzzy like to call food, I paid the man and headed for the damned streets of Southern Prefecture. This hive is diseased, crime is a constant companion a late night hussy with a nice Thorax and cheap rates. Easy to get hooked on but stings you in the face for the combs in your pocket at the end. Sometimes I wonder why I fight the good fight, making chump change on cheating wives and lying husband; Ha if you can call that a good fight. Looking into a puddle I huff out one last drag of my smoke and distort the ugly fedora barring face looking back at me.

For her Majesty the Queen. Part Two, Were Evolution fits in.

Assuming our lives end tomorrow,the Earth kicks us out of her apartment, and begins to rebuild without our burden how will these cutter bees adapt. Over a few thousand years the bees grow, their brains evolve as they become upright, two legs, two arms, learning to build with tools and fight without the fatal blow of their sting. Eventually the bee becomes a humanoid insect, about four feet in hight. Amongst a hive their is still only one Queen, one female to mate with only the strongest and most hansom of her subjects. Time and the need of survival has given the hive plenty of females, in the beginning these females were killed at birth until a new Queen was needed, but time and the trend of following a lifestyle of the ancients demanded that such barbarous traditions be re evaluated. Living apart from each other the only female who enters a males half of the hive is made Queen, every Queen can recall the bees entire past, a web mind of information is past down through the orb to each Queen in the form of images and sounds. The most primitive being the days of enslavement, the dark times filed with smoke and confusion before the reckoning of the ancients. Some say it was this recollection of the memories of a race that drove Queen Elizzzabeth to madness. Others believe it was the betrayal of her mates and the plague called revolution. In any case, the evolution of the bee has brought them to a place of the ancient Romans of our past, striving to live like the Greeks while grasping to be out of the fatal hold of diseased and maddened rulers.

For her Majesty the Queen. Part One, understanding the bee

Pretend for the moment or at least the length of this story that the our existence has ended, societies gone, human kind has eradicated itself like a mould drying in the sun after the cool rock it was hiding under is upturned by the tide. For hundreds of years the earth has mended itself, creating new mountain peaks from the cement and rebar foundation of Mans plague. While your imagination is grinding its rusty gears lets place a creature at the top of the food chain. No not a lion escaped from the zoo or the chimpanzee that’s just mundane, boring unoriginal poppy cock. Instead Imagine the bee and it's infamous yellow and black jacket. The bee is distinguished by it's amazing ability to baffle theoretical physicists, and somehow associated with birds though it's not quite clear since the fall of man, besides during the avian war bees eradicated the last feather flying meat sack and further strengthened there hold on the sky's. A society amongst themselves efficient and never changing, un harmed by a human need for morality. Now that our issue with the bee is taken care of lets narrow it down to a single hive, the colony of the Cutter clan who's ancestors were once slaves to human masters. A kingdom, prosperous in its own right this hive thrived in its early years the hives Queens were majestic, magnificent leaders who ruled over their domain with cruel justice and benign wisdom. As the wheel turns all things end and unfortunately it was with the maddened Queen Elizzzabeth, who upon her death bed destroyed the orb that summoned a new Queen to the thrown and dooming her people to individualism. Quite frankly it turned into an unorganized mess without any real solutions, guilds were formed social classes decided by the official board of social separation, and what once was a community at whole turned into a capitalist cluster fuck known by the ancient human race as "democracy."

Breaking up with Mother Earth.

Have you ever heard of the stages in a relationship? Strangers, The chase, honeymoon, comfortable, tolerating, the downhill ending in the breakup. In the beginning,We were strangers. The Earth was this mysterious babe we saw walk into the pub, hitting it off by plucking the fruit of conversation and sowing a seed, the promise to call tomorrow. That night Humankind perved Mother Earths facebook, wanting to know everything. Her friends, her quirks. We got together with Earth and had our first date, lighting a fire under a moon filled with stars. Earth breathed on our neck rustling our hair with her touch, in the romance of that cool summers eve we popped the question. "Will you be my girlfriend?" In response the Earth screamed with joy and rained tears of happiness. For the first few thousand years we prospered together, grew with each other. Walked hand in hand along fields of tall grain and rivers of crystal waters. Mother Earth knew what we needed and we knew to give back what we borrowed. Than as passions were sated The mother and man fell into complacency. "What do you wanna do" she would ask, ever so slightly leaning on Mankind more and more as we relied on her less and less. "I dunno nothing I guess." In a relationship comfort isn't necessarily a bad thing we start to show exactly who we are and can grow or slip apart, unfortunately after the Earth told us her deepest secrets we used them digging deep into her heart to remove what can not be replaced. The earth fought back sending wind and tears in our face, erupting into ground shaking tantrums, all we did was push back not saying sorry...Why didn't we say sorry. The moon set on Mankind and in the Twilight looking up at the once start struck sky Mother Earth cried she held her mutilated body and stared red eyed into our own smog filled blindness and sobbed. "I can't do this anymore." Nodding understanding and ashamed we attempted to call her. Go back to what seemed normal. "Mankind don't you get it I'm breaking up with you" The phone clicks on our existence and Mother Earth is left to heal her wounds.

See the cherry blossom.

The sound of silence is glorious, peace of mind can only come when you truly just lay in silence. It's that moment before bed when genius is born, that five-ten minutes before we drift off to sleep after we sigh and roll over, slide the pillow to that sweet spot and yawn like a beckoning for seven hours of oblivion. In that short amount of time ideas are born, the seed for change in one self is planted. If we could cultivate that seed water it with research and fertilize it with knowledge a tree could grow. From that tree branches would form reaching out to the skies to learn more stretch and climb until beautiful cherry blossoms fill our lives with radiance. Unfortunately weeds choke out the seed before it roots itself in our mind. Flashing lights, buzzing streets, fast connections, loading times, downloads, interface and communicate going faster louder smaller. More portable our lives are a social network, like, comment, flag, post. We run by walking, driving, fresh air filled with poison out for a smoke a drag one for the road. Faster, faster our lives kill that small seed with bitter doubt. "No thats just stupid, to much before bed, I'll feel better in the morning". The time has past like it always does. Didn't do it now so later will never come. The power of silence before rest is a beautiful thing, like a cherry blossom floating in the wind silently dancing across a sea of air sweetened by it's scent.

Molested by Darwin and Christians.

The truth is I'm on the fence when it comes to religion. I see the bible as an over edited bibliography, like all religious texts bits are missing, the Catholic church got together and decided what was worth keeping and what wasn't Christian "relevant or proper." Not to mention a umpteenth billion versions that have been published and republished. Same goes with the Koran, hell it actually says in the Koran that before it was put into words some of the best speakers of the Koran were killed off and their recitations forgotten. I'm not just questioning religion, like I said I'm on the fence here. Look at the monster that is Darwinism, it's a religion onto itself, at least Christians can say God was always their to create something. Even in high school I had problems wrapping my head around the theory (yes it's actually just a theory people not fact) that we are the result of the universe breaking it's condom. You cannot have a complex organism from nuking some chemicals. Sure Scientists have recreated amino acids but I can do that after leaving fruit in the fridge to long. In fact there may be a metropolis inside a tupawear filled with what once was spaghetti sauce. If a cell as Darwin knew it was a fire cracker a cell today would be a freaking ballistic missile.

Have you ever gotten a popcorn kernel caught in your mouth? No matter how hard you try to tongue it out of your gums it just goes deeper until you jam it with a tooth pick making your gums bleed. I feel I need to do that about being told I have to have faith in (names your deity). I will not judge you for what you believe to the core of your being to be true. Just don't try telling me I'm wrong for wanting to find my own beliefs. Awhile ago I was accosted for being tolerant, having the term "new age" thrown at you like a title, like that one phrase describes anyone who is on the fence and looking for themselves like me. Well good job by ramming your god down my throat I now see the light, your god gave us the freedom of choice but there is no way we get it good after life by being good people a gay man may feed the starving, may help educate people in the third world, hell he could even save little jimmy from the well and not ask for an ounce of recognition but he's not going to heaven if he doesn't choose your god and pretend to be someone he's not or deny himself the love he deserves. A drunk may go to AA for years turn his or her life around and benefit society with his presence but nope not getting jack if he doesn't say "Jesus is the man." I'm starting to sound a lot like an atheist, but they are just as bad, and I'll get their theories and ideals shoved down my throat to if I think their petri dish with the beginning of life on it smells like a moldy rolled up sock in an athlete's duffel bag. I do believe intelligent design has credit, I think that yes we as humans today have evolved from lesser humanity, but I don't believe in the "epic oops". We have souls, we are more than well evolved animals because we have culture, art. We learn and reason, improve ourselves with technology and discovery. How can something as complex as the human mind be an oops? So please remember Atheists and Christians that I am on the fence, whether I choose to fall over into primordial goop and descend into hell or land into God's embrace and be a hapless fool is my choice so stop pulling on my arms.

Martini snobs and James Bonds

Martini's, when ever I get asked to make one by douche canoes trying to be sophisticated I cringe at the shoddy Shawn Connery accent "Shaken not stirred", and more often than not the Martini is brought back because I made it wrong a.k.a with gin instead of vodka. So I've adopted a name to those who have never actually tried a Martini, but think it would be cool because of 007, simply calling them James Bond. Now to make a proper Martini there are a few things one should know. Originally Martini's were made with Gin. It wasn't until after world war 2 and the boom of Vodka that Martini's started to be made differently, nor was the Martini originally shaken, no Cocktail is shaken unless a mixer is added to it, for the simple reason that shaking breaks up the ice putting shards into the drink, or "Bruising" the martini. When your tongue touches the ice it numbs the pallet killing off all the important flavors of the Gin and Vermouth. On the other end of the annoying spectrum is the Martini snob. The new age trendy jack ass that knows better than the bartender, no matter how silly it can get this is how they want it and you will make it like that. The arrogant smirk as you look at them aw struck and the scoff when you twitch your head sideways like a confused dog. "I would like a dirty Martini, dry, And a olive with stuffed smoked blue cheese." "Say huh?" this is were bruising the Martini comes in. If you wanna see someone faint start shaking their premium brand booze, than watch an artery in their head burst. At the end of the day as the Martini sob sips on his drink and pretends to like what he ordered you just want to look the tool bag in the face, right between his over sized lensless glasses and say. "Why didn't you just get a beer."

The victims without a face.

What are we without creativity,
if the world had no culture no art.
If evolution was the only truth,
because blind faith wasn't there to question it.
Imagine a place were Fuck had no meaning.
The curse would fly unheard,
without the hunger to fornicate,
the need to partition a Drunken impediment,
or pound a point into the ground.
Fuck would curl up in a shadowed dusty shelf with his perverse beloved brothers,
neglected and forgotten.
Shall the people of this world, the victims without faces,
find themselves voiceless, unable to speak out.
No songs with emotion, works of art that inspire the soul to weep and smile.
without creativity,
we the victims without faces would doom ourselves to consequence.