Triparte I – Igor (G. Dorrenbach)

Triparte I – Igor  (G. Dorrenbach)

I.
Eventually he figured out that there was no way out of this
Particular situation. The car had wrapped around the tree
Top first and both the driver and passenger seats were completely
Crushed in half. His nine year old daughter had lost both arms
And suffered a punctured kidney and stomach. He was unscathed.

II.
When the cops get here, they’re gonna find out I’d been drinking.
It was only a couple of drinks at Jimmy’s house. Shelly has been on
My ass about taking therapy meetings, and now this. My God,
What have I done? My beautiful daughter is dying right before my eyes.
Her Life is over. MY Life is over. I must run. Father, forgive me.

III.
One Life dwindling, the other at the Twilight of its Extermination.
Run Igor, Run. Coming to awareness of the Condemnation of
Death is most fitting upon release from a State of Mind
Where Reality and Fiction become one in the same. Rationalizing the
Impossibility of Futility then becomes a Fruitless Endeavor.

~~ G. Dorrenbach  ©2014

 

Ordo ab Chao. (Noir)

Ordo ab Chao (Noir) 

                 I

Chaos.        From.         Nothingness.
Decisions.                Irrationality.
Made.           To.            Think
Led.             To.             Believe.
Incorrect.                   Assumptions.
Reprehensible.               Condemnations.
Catacombs.    Of.     The.      Untold.
Secrets.    Sealed.    In.     Sarcophagi.
Scarabs.         Over.          Lips.
Dipped.           In.              Gold.
Wrapped.                  Tightly.
Sealed.         With.           Curse.
Danger.                Danger.
              Warning.
To.         The.            Seekers.
Of.           These.         Mysteries.
               Beware.
Once.                   Revealed.
Cannot.                Reclaim.
Innocence.      Once.         Possessed.
Tainted.               Forever.
Skin.      Spoiled.        By.       Chyme.
Genetics.             Reversed.
Process.              Unstoppable.
Sunken.         Eyes.           Crystallized.

                     II

“Blade swing with the force of a cyclone,
Cut crystal and bone, pistol and chrome.”
Awaken from the Sunset with a
Third Eye in the Mind in sync with the
Sky. Dry heat, sixty-percent Hemp,
Pleated into Threes, overlaid over
Brittle Bones being mystically threaded with
Blood and Muscle. As fibers flex over fibers
In time-lapsed fashion, the Brain begins to
Develop.
               Consciousness.
                Chao ab Ordo.
Past. Present. Future.
Tense moments. Au Gravitas.
Testament of the Cosmos has Specifically Engineered the
Point of Entry to begin Extraction.
It is what he has come to do.
It is what he does best.
It is, the eventual Causality for all
Decisions made up until this exact moment.

And then….

Dispersar! 

 ~~ Noir  ©2014

La Mort par la Normalite (Death by Normalcy) (A. Frost)

La Mort par la Normalite (Death by Normalcy)  (A. Frost)

Smell of Death. Fear of Death.
All I see is Living Death.
Walking on two bony legs with a swollen, fat
Head. Pure animosity and their foul stench
Disgusts me. And yet I can’t get away.
Every corner, every room, even the Calypsian Air
Makes me swoon. A ticking time bomb is each one,
Tempered only until the point of Impending Doom
“Killed by Normalcy” the headlines would read,
Followed by stoic blurbs of mitigated text,
Coercing each reader that they should believe
Each and every circumstance they are Perceptively
Perceiving. Though it all goes unnoticed because
Inanimate objects are not Living. And if they’re not
Living, then they’re not Breathing. And if they’re not
Breathing, they they are Dead. Dead to me,
Dead to the World, Dead to Everything.
A Vacuum full of Pretentious Waste and Commonplace.
Quarantined in order to not spread such a Deadly
Disease. Now it is WE who must not give in to
Such mutilated feelings. To remember and to know that
All is not lost and Hope is risen anew each day.
Grieving what is only rightfully deceased is the
First step in initiating Old World decay. Laborious
Thoughts fade away to allow the fostering of new
Work, new Life to embed itself in the cracks and the
Crevices, moderately beveled edges, this is the
Transition towards Irregular salvation. These people
Live passionately for the unconscious forays of Mental
Regression, these who know not what they do. Self-
Expression is the Lesson learned through these Trials and Tests.
I digress, we can only hope for the best….

 ~~ A. Frost ©2014

Mourning Sickness (V. Kfaak)

Mourning Sickness (V. Kfaak)

                           I

“Head Shot, Won’t Stop, Can I get a Red Dot?
Bang, Bang ya Bumbaclaat, the Smokin Chamber’s
Red Hot.”

Local Anesthetic to Deaden my Senses to the World
My God, I have this Headache that Infects every
Crevice of my Soul.
Or maybe it’s a Bullet Wound. Damn my n***a,
Gone way too soon. Maybe I should just lay here,
Take a nap. Dirtnap. Nappy-headed n***a.
Nappy-headed, rappin-ass, trappin ass n**a.
Roll and smoke wit the best of ’em, flashy-ass
N***a. Stuntin is a Habit, Pussy-Paper Cunted,
Finna get Blunted….
In the back of the Dome….
By the Illustrious 5….0….

Maybe I’ll just lay here and take a nap. I should,
Blend in with the Blacktop with my, crisp-cut,
Eighty’s styled, seven-and-a-half inch Afro flat-top.
Ambiguous is what they make me out to be, even though
It’s not true, the allegations of this,
Hideous Discrepancy.

One shot, two shot, three shot, Four.
Left clavicle, two inches above the heart,
In the right bicep, back out the tricep,
Entry in the upper abdomen, Exit, out the
Lower.
Body drops, knees fall,
Head hits the floor.

                              II

Mom….IT’S NOT REAL….I played my part
As a Victim in this dangerous game. This,
Exchange of Names, that we call each other,
Pig. Nigger. Nigga. Fascist. Blacklist.
It leaves the pit of my stomach feeling
Stone Sour. At the Depths of my Ineptitude,
My only choice is to cower. Heavy footsteps grow
Louder, as it’s evident that I’ve been followed in my
Transition to the Dark Side. WHAT ARE YOU
FOLLOWING ME FOR? No answer. The Hunter has
Found its Prey.
I would like to tell you Mom, “MOM, I’M GOING TO
COLLEGE.” That I’ve, started on my way. But,
This is not the case. Instead, this looming figure
Treads my way, and I say, “I DON’T HAVE A GUN.
STOP SHOOTING.” Eject, empty, reload, point,
Shoot. YOU SHOT ME. YOU SHOT ME! In his mind,
“Approach with Caution.” He thinks, You, don’t even
Know the Law, Son.
Eject.     Empty.    Reload.    Point.
                  Shoot.
“WHY DID YOU SHOOT ME?”
“Why won’t you die?!”
Point.Shoot.Shoot.Shoot.Shoot.Shoot.Shoot.Shoot.
Mama, PLEASE DON’T LET ME DIE. I CAN’T BREATHE, but
I can see Everything, my Death in 30 seconds, the
Empty Autopsy Room, the Evil in my Perpetrator’s Soul, and
My Essence leaving my Body. I CAN’T BREATHE. But
I don’t need lungs to see that my Destiny is already
Laid out for Me. In Heavenly Glee, I Beseech thee,
“Did you really think….you could Kill Me?….”

 ~~  V. Kfaak  ©2014

A Cultured Haiku. (A. Frost)

A Cultured Haiku. (A. Frost)

A-Cultured Envy.
DisSemenate Propaganda.
Bang, Click, Bang….You’re Dead.

~~ A. Frost  ©2014

Shoot. Shoot Me. And Shoot Me Again.

Shoot. Shoot Me. And Shoot Me Again.

Bodies, Black in the Streets,
Men in Uniforms play for Keeps.
Closed Books, Claustrophobic Walls,
Scent of Old Blood along the Halls.
Living Lost and Forever Damned,
Within a Consummate System, Excelsior Hands.
Poison to the Elite, Allergic Reactions,
‘Knock, Knock’ in their Dreams,
Answers the door, “Capitalist Fascism.”

Gotcha.

‘Et tu, Brute?’

Reparations on Repeat.
On Repeat.
On Repeat.
On Repeat.
Died as a Sinner,
Vilified as a Heathen.
Crucified by a Demon,
Secretly Whoreding its Prisoner’s Semen.
Jealously, No.
Envy, Yes.
Strict Control.
Bondage, S&….

They want to Know that He Knows They Want Him To Know.
Envy over Everything, but Don’t Show, Don’t Show….
Tractored Bodies, Ground up into Fertilizer.
More where that came from,
Song and Dance, Pop, Lock, and Drop behind Her.
Time is Eminent, Too Many Casualties in the Process,
‘Mayday! Mayday! An Epidemic is upon Us!’

And what shall be done when the Enemy’s Cold War
Has Thawed’n?

Blast N***a, Blast,
Live Every Day like it’s your Last.

 ~~ A. Frost  ©2014

The Denial of St. Davey

The Denial of St. Davey

Rainy evenings like this make me reminisce on the times
When our younger cousin became pure entertainment for the
Few of us. I was nine at the time, the oldest of the
Bunch, Sara was eight, Markus was seven-and-a
Half, and Davey, the topic of discussion was five.
Davey, for some peculiar reason, had always hated water.
Since he’d been born, every time his parents tried to
Bathe him, Davey, without fail, would always put up the
Most phenomenal fuss, screaming at the top of his lungs,
Flailing his arms about as if resisting arrest, and kicking and
Biting their arms at any attempt to get near. Eventually it
Got to the point where they would let him go days without
Bathing, and trust me when I say that even at the tender
Age of 6, I can still remember the slightly foul stench of
His mangy self every time he was invited over my parent’s
House. Much worse than water, however, were the thunderstorms
That caused little Davey particular anguish. At the first
Sign of thunder, like a homing beacon, he would immediately
Seek out the most isolated corner of a room, crouch, back
To the wall, cover his face with his shirt, and flagellate his
Chest with a clenched fist, repeatedly, methodically, and
With precision until the storm passed. The first time he did
It in our presence, we looked up in confusion, not quite sure
If we should attempt to console him, or let him remain in
His isolation. We eventually acclimated to his behavior and
Ignored their occurrences. One time, Sara tried to offer him
An apple during one of his episodes. Probably out of frustration of
Davey’s non-responsiveness, she kicked him in the head, making
Him topple over, unconscious for several minutes with a small bloody
Wound at the point of impact. His parents didn’t seem to notice, nor
Care, when they picked him up that day as he chewed his left hand
Fingers bloody and sore. To this day, we have never spoken on the incident.

 — V. Fkaak  ©2014

Construct Reverie #1

Construct Reverie #1

After class, brimming with questions in search for their
Companion answers, the young Kennedy (No relation to the
U.S. Political family) decided to ask his Economics professor
A question. Hi, Professor Radkins? i was wondering if I
could ask you a few questions about today’s lecture.
Sure Kennedy, what’s on your mind? Well lets say that
the Elite, the top wealthy 1%, 5%, or whatever,
actually manage to kill off a sizable amount of the World
Population, but the economy structures remain the same. in
keeping with the Capitalist system the United States is
currently setup with, how much of the U.S. population
would they need to keep the economy afloat? i mean,
think about it; think about all of the different industries
that comprise all of the various needs for citizens on a
daily basis. we know that some of the wealthy like
to splurge on various things, but we also know that
there’s a good many that are very frugal in their ways and
methods. but even between these two variances, there is
still no possible way for them to do what must be done by a
large and varied population, namely, buy every product
necessary that such a population would use on an indefinite,
sustainable basis, which obviously, is sheer impossibility. this
makes me wonder that should the Elite want to carry out such
a plan, Capitalism would no longer become a functional socioeconomic
structure. they would be forced to operate under a system of
dominance. so in a way the freedom of Choice is eliminated, not
by force, but by supplantation of Demand. all hypothetical,
but what do you think Professor? Professor Radkins looks off into
the distance past Kennedy for a few seconds, and says, ….I’m
late for my next class son. see you tomorrow, ok?

~~ Noir ©2014

Abstrakt Musings #20

Abstrakt Musings #20

Load my own Mortar with my own Shells
To be launched at Myself at a Specific
Time by a Specific group of Individuals
Located at a very Special Place. My
“X”-Marks-the-Spot has been waiting for me, a
Long lost Sister welcoming me back home into the
Fold. Everything is gonna be okay……sway,
To the Left…..two steps forward…..leaning….
Three steps back…..Broken foot….Blood in my
Eye…..Ringing in my Ears……
Distortion. Disorientation. Biomorphic
Hallucinations and a Pierced Artery wont keep me
Standing long.     I see my friend turn 360 degrees and
Extend his arm to help me….but so much noise…..
So far he is…..he’s screaming at me….so much noise….
I can’t understand….Come closer…..His hand….
Cold as steel…..

 ~~ Noir ©2014