Friday, April 12, 2013

I'm having regrets of things past, and unmendable. My heart is turning to sand, the pieces so small. Love was my heart, and my soul. Now I am nothing more than Mind and Magic with my Imagination.
Such sweet words I speak these days, as a poet I have become.

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Hi

Hey folks. It's been a while since i been (redneck talk) on my blog. I don't know how many of you still look at yours, but if you do, please respond to this blog and I'll go check it out. ttyl.

Friday, May 25, 2012

Fact is truth,
Truth is misleading,
Time is a metaphorical truth.
If this truth were written upon a blackboard,
And someone handed you,
An eraser and the chalk,
What would you do?

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Do you ever wonder about death? I believe you may find it interesting to know that Edgar Allan Poe was far more than just a poet. He was, on nights of the proper type, a Lacerta (latin for lizard). The way these creatures work is something like that of the way a werewolf works. The difference here is that instead of changing on the full moon, they change when the moon phase in the sky is the same as it was the night the individual was attacked. When Poe was only about three, his family was attacked by a Lacerta from Brazil that came here as a young man, looking for a better life. Anyway, he attacked his family around four o’clock in the morning. His mother was attacked and killed by the beast (for they usually kill by feasting upon a being’s memories. During this process the lungs fill up with liquid, which is why people suspect that she died of pneumonia). Poe’s father was attacked by the creature with brutal force (for unknown reasons. Some say that the beast could not consume his memories), and was cut by the creature along his back. Poe’s father then killed the creature to save his family, but not before it sliced little poe’s left cheek (only the top layer of skin was sliced, otherwise it would have scarred). Poe’s father died a couple of days later due to infection from the cut.
But that is not what this story is all about, for that was only the beginning of Edgar’s terrible life. Poe grew up as a confused little child. Every night, he saw the event (described above) recurring in his mind while he slept. And every time the moon shone just right, Poe turned. He was different than most Lacertas’ though, for (like werewolves) they cannot control their actions. Poe however, could. Every night on the same moon phase as that of which his family was attacked, he would lock himself in his room, and listen to the thousands of tiny voices (the voices of generations of Lacertas, whose lives have passed and ended) that were now in his head, telling him to go and hunt... But he couldn’t. He knew that if he did, he would be able to destroy the entire town that he lived in, for when Edgar turned, even as a small boy, he was the size half the entire room, that he slept in. It is still a wonder in my mind how the floor beneath him held his weight. So he sat there upon those night, and listened.
He went his entire life, living like this. Hiding in the shadows, holding back the urge to kill. For although it may be thought otherwise, Poe never killed a living creature. Until one day, he set a goal to destroy the beast that killed his family. Here is how it started.
It was that night again. He went upstairs to lock himself in his room, when he heard a dog begin to bark. He couldn’t help it any longer. He ran down the stairs, and out the door. There the dog sat, rolling around in the muddy street.  Edgar stopped. He thought this rather odd for a dog to be doing at ten o’clock at night, especially considering the fact that it was 13 degrees fahrenheit.
    Suddenly, the dog stops squirming. It stopped, and lay still. Edgar slowly started moving forward toward the small creature. He finally stood leaning over it, to realize that it had the long cuts down its side. He sniffed, and didn’t like what he smelled. The scent he caught, was that of another lacerta. He looked back down at the creature just in time to see the cuts close up. Poe instantly knew what this meant. He turned and began to run back to the house, but he stumbled and fell, for he had forgotten to walk on all fours. He rolled over to see that the dog had gotten back up. It was larger now. The entire time, the creature just kept getting bigger and bigger. The transformation finally stopped.
The creature now stood six and a half feet tall (which was still quite short, for edgar was a cumbersome eleven feet tall). It had a long, spiny tail, with what appeared to be a trident head on the end. It had sprouted deep black scales, that of which were long, slender, and about two inches thick. It’s ears had each turned into a single, razor sharp scale upon each side of its head, pointing straight up at the moon.
Edgar stood, and the beast sat. Edgar gave a low growl, and the beast lay down. He said “up”, and the creature stood. Edgar then turned, and began walking away. The dog followed. Edgar then realised that he could use this to his advantage. He decided then, that he would keep this dog with him, and use it to help him find, and destroy the beast that killed his family. So from then on, every night that the moon shone just right, Edgar took his dog and went out to hunt.
One night, when edgar and his minion had gone out, the skies began to stir. They changed. Clouds came in and filled the sky and moon with darkness. Yet edgar and his dog remained. They heard a deep growl coming from a nearby ally. From the way the growl came out, it sounded almost as though the creature was in disbelief. Then, something began crawling out of the ally.
“Edgar?”
The voice grumbled. Edgar looked at the creature to see that it was another Lacerta. But there was something else. 
To be continued

Friday, May 4, 2012

The Life of the (Very Unhappy) Mad Hatter
From Beginning to (Very Unhappy) End

Hello. It is me. I am The Mad Hatter. This is the story of my life from beginning, to its very unhappy end. You might ask how this is possible. How can I write a story about my life from beginning to end? Well the answer to this is really quite simple (and quite clever as well). For you see, it is really my good friend the cheshire cat that is writing this story. Although I am gone, he can still hear me, and see me. And so it is that he writes this story for me, word for word. 
To read more, contact blog owner.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

We are five,
We are one,
We are the trusted ones,
We were once thirteen,
Master decided who he trusted,
We are those he did,
They are those he didn’t,
They are locked up,
At least for now,
The keys are being edged closer,
And closer,
Day by day,
We cannot stop it,
It cannot be helped,
With each wrong move we make,
They draw ever nearer to escape.

Thursday, March 15, 2012

The main character in this story is Edgar Allan Poe, And he is having serious issues getting along with a roommate in college.
Yep. That’s right. Messie had done it again; left her plate of spaghetti  in the fridge. She did the same thing every day, and we were all getting sick of it. So I decided that I was going to stay out of this. I decided that instead of complaining to Messie, that I would just start leaving my leftover food on the plate in the kitchen. I tried this method for two whole months, and it didn’t work. What was I to do? So then i decide to try a new idea. I got all the others together to vote and deliver the news to Messie that if she didn't stop leaving a mess, we would throw all her food out every day. She just shrugged her shoulders and said,
“Okay.”
Suddenly I exploded. I started yelling at her, asking her to explain why she can’t see the dirty dish and food wrappers on the counter and unwrapped plate in the refrigerator as a mess, while the rest of us do. She looked up and simply said,
“I do Edgar. I just don’t want to clean it up.”
That’s when I flew off my rocker. I jumped up, grabbed messy by the arm, dragged her down the hall, and locked her in the coat closet with a magpie that my dog brought in from outside. I haven’t heard from her since.