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 Justin's Poems, stories, etc.

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Ard Righ

Posts : 438
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Join date : 2010-03-12
Age : 36
Location : WA

PostSubject: Justin's Poems, stories, etc.   Sat Mar 20, 2010 12:17 am

just a few today

-I'll say goodnight

I'll bleed a little

Bleed a little on the floor

Heart on my sleeve

Nailed to the door

I left my heart in San Francisco

Because I've never been there before

He walks among the shadows, a shadow himself he knows intimately their desires. To be, to be, or not to be, but most all of to. He sees a light, a light made of brass stars and broken glass chandeliers crystalline and sparkling rainbow gold all over the floor. It's the smell of cheese, old cheese, dead cheese, and pigs, dead pigs and living ones that causes him to vomit. A momentary weakness of limbs and spirit. He cannot spell for the life of him, and always leaves his eyes at home, where they belong, where they languish in a spell fast growing old, and the elderly die, all the time, die one after another, til young men grow old, and elderly, and die too. He cannot believe the sound, the sound of cats mewing in the dark, singing soulful songs like the angels only completely out of tune and black as dead carcasses by the side of the road, all covered in eons old blood. He laughs at this joke, this punchline that no one gets, no one gets but God. Hey, are you getting up to leave? To leave MY show? I'm the one talking here, out of turn, but at least I'm communicating my feelings of gloom and doom, broom, and chrome jets that vroom vroom. Maybe you didn't understand, this is not all there is, though that feeling probably calms your nerves about dying. He thinks it over, and philosophizes with a crooked tongue the true blue network of chains that laugh and cry all at the same time. Twisted metal of a forgotten father on the horizon. I bleed a little on the floor. Nail my heart to the door. And say goodnight, because I've never been here before.-

The Third Law (short story)

"I can prove to you God doesn't exist."
That's what he said to me one day as we sat drinking tea. Both of us were believers in a healthy diet, and a good cup of tea really hit the spot now and then.
As I looked across the table at him, he winked at me, his eyes then taking on a faraway look.
"After you've seen the things I've seen, you will believe."
I stared into my hands, thinking for a moment. It's not like I had been to church in a very long time, and me and God really weren't on speaking terms, but to entertain the thought of His nonexistence bothered me deeply.
"Fine...,"I finally replied. "Prove it."

We left his house, getting into his Chevy, and driving far off into the country. I was beginning to fear that he was playing some joke when we came upon an old factory. Driving into it's gates, my friend parked his car at the front of an old warehouse.
"You must promise you will never tell anyone what you see tonight."
I nodded in promise, and smiled reassuringly. The wrinkles in his forehead didn't lessen, as he looked around, almost as if he was worried about being watched.
"We shouldn't even be here..."
The night was cold, and a hint of snow was on the breeze. You can always tell when it's about to snow, the air just seems..icier.
"Follow me."
He led me towards the warehouse, and through a side door, into a vast and cavernous chamber. There was a hint of something in there with us, but with no lights I could not see much of it. Only that it was huge.
"A few years ago what everyone thought happened at Area 51 really happened. But it wasn't like we anticipated, they didn't come from outer space, they came from another dimension." He'd found the lights by now and switched them on before I could ask him any questions.
What I saw sitting there defied the imagination, not to mention physics. For it was a normal sized box, colored the drab silver of a elephant's hide, and bearing strange markings all over it. What defied everything I understood of science was that while it was normal sized, what my eyes wanted to tell me was that what I was looking at was the size of a house. A nice big two story house. Yet as I stared both and down at it, I knew it was as small as a present under the christmas tree. This is what my mind told me, even if my eyes argued with it.
"Uncanny isn't it?" He asked.
I nodded, my head beginning to ache as I tried to understand just what was going on.
"The first time I saw it, I began to cry," He said, laughing embarassedly to himself.
"Come," He said. "There's more."

We walked forward and as I passed under the shadow of what my mind told me was the walls of the vessel, we found ourselves somehow inside the box. I know this is strange, because it wasn't any bigger than a kleenex box, but now somehow my body had shrunk, or it had grown bigger, and we were inside it. I could see one hallway heading east for as far as my eye could see, and another heading west, just as far. The ones behind and before me stopped, and behind me it was only black, but before me I saw light. And the light seemed to be moving. In fact as we got closer the light disintegrated into smaller pieces, like a rain of tiny comets, and we were in middle of it. These lights, they turned out to have faces, and each one was smiling.
"Welcome to Elrythia, my friend," He said, and as I turned to reply he was not there. There was only the light, and then there was not even that...it was...something else.

I woke as in a daze, unsure of how I had even fallen asleep, and in the back of my mind I remembered parts of what had happened after I passed into the light, but for the most part it had all escaped. His laugh made me turn towards a hole in the wall, and I realized I was lying on a slab of stone. It was a strange place, this box, for I had still not decided to call it a spaceship. It was no spaceship, like my friend had said, this came from another dimension.
What I had first taken for a door was not exactly a door, it was more like a rift in reality. For on my slab of stone I could see into the hole and what I saw was the hallway heading back towards the shadow, and outside...to my world.
But where I was, was something else entirely, and it turned out I knew it had to be the curtain of light that had brought me here, somehow the little beings, almost like fairies had transported me from one dimension to another.
"So, you called this place Elrythia?"
"That is what they call it, or at least the closest understanding I have to how they say it. They don't speak out loud you see, they speak in your brain, and it's in the same voice as that little guy in your head that speaks anyways."
I understood what he meant, but my brain was still hurting.
"Why is the only thing I see here this slab of stone."
"Well, in truth they stuck that stone there to give you some bearing...here is not like our dimension where things make sense, where solid is solid and liquid is liquid and such, here it is more like the bottom of the ocean, only no pressure, and the black is more of a presence than a state.
"He was right, other than the rift in reality, and the stone slab, all I could see...feel?...was nothingness.

Even as I write these words I struggle to describe what came next, for it was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Not that what had come before was either. But in truth this was just child's play.
I felt a road open beneath me, the slab of rock disappearing and suddenly I was standing on the road. It was not so much that I could see the road, as I knew in my mind it was there.
My friend was beside me too, even if I couldn't see him either.
"What happens now?" I asked.
"I never really know, they tend to do this differently every...."
His voice was cut off as I felt an invisible force propel me forward, or the presence around me backwards, I was never really sure...but one moment I was standing in the void, and now I was standing in a large white room.
I call it a room because there were walls, though it was more like standing in the center of a room and the walls are under, above and to both sides of you. I felt I was floating and yet the road beneath my feet felt as solid as ever.
In one corner, side, above me and below me of the room a face formed. It was the same face I had seen on all the little points of light that had transported me to this place.
-Welcome- my voice said in my head.
-WE and I, are not beings of your universe, though we built it to suit our needs.-
"Built it?" I asked aloud, but my friend shushed me.
-Yes, we built it to provide for us a laboratory. You see, in a million years from now, when we have enough data recorded to prove our hypotheses, we will begin to build a universe that will last. There will be no entropy, or evolution, there will only be the universe, and our continual monitoring of it.-
"I don't understand."
-Your universe, as you call it, is a staging ground, a ship in a way, like our "box", it holds all the thoughts and desires of our species that can never come true for us. In a way, it is our prayer to what you call God.-
"But my friend here said he'd prove God doesn't exist by bringing me here."
-He is right, God does not exist, and that is why we have built your universe, because we believe that God will exist when there is a need for Him.-
"You mean you don't need God here?"
-No, unfortunately we are so advanced that we have reached a state of perfection that God is not needed, and yet, when we reached this place we felt empty, alone, and lost. It is strange but there is nothing we can do about it. Nothing I can do. We once believed in God as you do, but we kept on waiting, wanting, growing and advancing. We came to realize that it was flaw that made God exist. Not perfection. So we sought to build a flawed universe. So that God could exist.-
"So why has our...your...universe not fulfilled enough that we don't have to be scrapped."
I asked these questions even as the better half of my brain screamed at me that I had lost my mind. There was no up or down here, right or wrong, black or white. Everything was a lie. And everything was the truth.
-Humanity proved to be more difficult to maintain than we thought, for while you are very flawed, you are also just as desirous of perfection and completion as we are. We are afraid that if you continue in your continual progression forward in science and in philosophy that you will come to outlive the need for God as well. We cannot allow this to happen, so we hope that a new hypothesis will come true. That is that a universe without humans still needs God.-
The utter harshness of it floored me, that we were simply an experiment, a flawed experiment that in a million years time would be scrapped for a better one. Still, a million years was a long time. Perhaps I could...
-You will not remember any of this. We can tell you will not keep your promise like your friend here does to keep all this silent. So we will draw your memories out now. Thank you for visiting us.-

The second time I woke up, I began feverishly writing all this, trying to remember the dream, for it probably was just a dream, I mean how could it be true. When I later asked my friend about it he looked at me like I was speaking about pigs flying or something, laughed and clapped me on the back.
"You have quite the imagination." He said goodnaturedly.
I swallowed, and held my notebook close, deciding then and there that somehow, someday I would tell what happened to me.
Still, to this day I have never revealed that truth, and now, as I write this, garnered from a dream in which all is hazy, and everything I've put together seems disjointed and out of place, I hope it will make sense to you.
What if there is no God? No Devil? No angels and no reality.
What if what we stand on is not solid at all, but it's all just in our heads.
I sound like a raving madman.
Of course there is a God.
There has to be.
I hope.
I hope it was all just a dream.

He stands over the fire with the words written in his hands, written in belief that the dream had been true, and he must admit, even now he still believes it was. But he is believing less and less, for he knows things, things experienced in waking and not sleep, things seen with eyes and not just felt with the mind, things oriented and with foundation. The light here is not disintegrated, and the voice that speaks to him is not his own.
God does exist, he tells himself. It was all just a dream, and even if it wasn't...I still believe God exists.
Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
And he threw the writings in the fire, never to be seen again, burning as in the flames of Hell.


"The truth is you're the weak. And I'm the tyranny of evil men. But I'm tryin', Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard to be the shepherd. " Jules from Pulp Fiction
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PostSubject: Re: Justin's Poems, stories, etc.   Sun Mar 21, 2010 3:51 pm

I love that poem at the start. The others are good, too, but i do remember reading them before. That poem really sticks out to me.
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PostSubject: Re: Justin's Poems, stories, etc.   Thu Apr 08, 2010 9:24 pm

That third one was creepy. Not in the description...I've read worse, but the ideas behind it. Very well done.
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living sacrifice


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PostSubject: Re: Justin's Poems, stories, etc.   Fri Apr 09, 2010 6:33 am

To tell you the truth I decided to ponder on that last one before posting, and then I forgot to post. But its very interesting. I remember way back when trying to figure out how you would write a story about someone who found out for sure that there was no God and couldn't get it, so with that in mind i say well done. It's made me thing about faith.
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Ard Righ

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PostSubject: Re: Justin's Poems, stories, etc.   Thu Jun 03, 2010 3:05 am

How Much I Love You
For Zoe-

The day starts out like that Ives song, The Unanswered Question, a question unanswered because he doesn't want to answer it.

Where are you going?


He does not say away from you, but he of course thinks it

horn blow, violin answer, nothing makes sense in the vernacular of their otherworldly conversation, broken sentences running on and on into other broken sentences that had no relation to the sentence before, but make sense if you really think about it.

He doesn't want to think about it. He only wants to go get drunk.

He drives away, a splash of red light covering his windshield for a second as he runs a red light, or was it blood? He hopes he didn't hit anyone. No, no blood, just light, just a light screaming stop.

Can you hear me now, she calls him on the phone, he doesn't answer. He can't hear her now. Or any time really, lately. He reaches the bar, it's blinking neon sigh beckoning to lost souls and found alike that there is nothing better than drowning sorrows or joys in a mug of fine golden colored beer.

It's all the same anyways, he heard that once, in a movie, that sorrow is just worn out old joy. It is. Isn't it? He remembers the first day of their marriage and the way she looked so beautiful in her flowing white dress. How she grumbled about the train, cussed like a sailor at the DJ who forgot to play the right song during their dance. He loved when she cussed like a sailor. Everyone had loved her that day. Even his parents, who were strict Fundamentalist Baptists had found alot to love about her. She was just genuine, so real, so honest about her opinions.

Funny that what he loved then he hated now.

Your gettin fat babe, you need to work out. Hey, Mary's husband has such a nice haircut, why can't you get your hair cut like that. Damnit, James, I'm so sick and tired of your shit. So sick and tired. Sick and tired.

Tired. That was his word, not hers. He owned it. He'd bought it with blood, and sweat, even tears though he'd never admit it. He had worked 60 hours a week day in and out, going from line man, to operator, to supervisor, to manager. Now he sat in an office, that's where he'd gotten fat. He drank another swig, the golden juice burning to his soul, burning away all the words of that self righteous bitch back home.

His parents would have yelled at him for cussing so much, even if it was in his mind, even if it was her voice at times. Cussing wasn't the only way to express his anger, but at least it didn't draw blood, or cause pain.

He took another drink, and another. The night was becoming fuzzy. Why had he come here again?

"Hey bud, I'm gonna have to stop your tab, you're drinkin too much and I ain't gonna have a car wreck on my conscience."

He could have told the man to shut up, but then he'd be shut out, kicked out, and nowhere to go. He could go to Harry's, but it was Harry who'd started all this. That one remark on the golf field and suddenly James was a cyclone of anger leashed for way too many years. Suddenly everything made sense. Why he hated his job, his wife, himself. Why he hated God, and everything else. It was all her fault.

You don't really believe that.

Hello voice, he said aloud. Or he thought he did. He wasn't sure anymore when he spoke aloud and just in his mind.

"You know, it's like that classical song by Charles Ives, the Unanswered Question...those horns and violins playing back and forth at each other but never able to understand, still the stupid damn horn keeps on asking and the violins can't answer, but it just keeps on asking."

They liked to think they were cultured. Somewhere along the way, him and Harry had decided that the only way to make yourself better than the people you worked with was to become more cultured. So they'd listen to classical music, and read classic novels.

"And the horns, they just keep getting louder and louder, more insistent, angrier."

There is no answer to the unanswered question, babe, I don't know where I'm going, I haven't for such a long time. All I know is I'm going nowhere, fast.

Why can't you tell her that? The voice asks.

It makes me weak.

So you'd rather appear strong than communicate with your wife?

She wouldn't listen anyways.

You don't know that.

I'm scared.

"I know." He said aloud. The bartender looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Almost closing time, better get on home."

It was a ongoing inside joke but the bar would begin playing that old Semisonic song as it was closing up, and the words "I know who I want to take me home..." played like a strange siren sound in James' ears.

You do know, don't you? The voice said.

He got up, wobbled his way to the door, he felt like crap. He stumbled on his way out and fell flat on his face. Suddenly without preamble he began to cry, and the streetlight above him reflected on the puddle his eyes were now staring at. Blur.

A cop car drove by, but didn't stop. Still, he knew the cop was watching him. He wasn't about to drive home.

Who ya gonna call?

Well I certainly can't call any Ghostbusters, they couldn't save the dead man I've become anyways, I am a ghost, they'd only bust me.

Or maybe you're just a myth, a legend, a forgotten folk tale told long ago and never heard again.

This was a voice he recognized more, it was her voice, but his words. He knew that, he knew that he beat himself up with her voice. It made it easier to blame her, and not the one who should be blamed.

I'm sorry...

Tell her then, tell her before it's too late.

It was six miles to his house, and he was very out of shape. He began to walk and the night was very cold, and it was pouring rain all the sudden.

Shoulda worn a coat, her voice said.

"Sorry," he said, dejected.

I let myself get away from me, from you, from everything. I let taking care of you become more important than loving you. I let the days get old and the nights get long, and my heart get tired and my eyes get droopy, and my stomach get fat. I left you years ago, before you started leaving me, I loved you once, I think I could love you again, I know I could.

Save all that, the voice said, could write a romantic movie with that...save it, she'll wanna hear it.

He kept repeating it to himself, and long after his legs ached like a fire was slowly creeping up them he continued reciting to himself those lines. He said them through tears, and through blisters popping and bleeding into his shoes. He was saying them as he half crawled up the two steps onto his porch and walked through the door.

He could hear Anne Murray singing in the living room.

His wife looked up at him, her face and eyes neutral.

"I started cleaning," she said. "Found this old record player and some of your parent's old records in the attic. I always liked Anne Murray."

She started into a new song

-The other night dear as I lay sleeping I dreamed I held you in my arms-

"I'm sorry..." He said. He started to say the lines, but realized he'd just forgotten them.

-When I awoke dear, I was mistaken, so I hung my head and cried-

And he did cry, and as he stood there, water soaking the floor she walked across to him, looking up into his eyes

-my only sunshine-

"I'm sorry too." She said. And they hugged.

-when skies are grey-

"I love you." They both said at once

-how much I love you-

The record started skipping, and for a second she turned around to go fix it. He stopped her.

"No, it's perfect." He said, and he didn't want to hear the next part, he was too scared of losing her.

"I'm scared of losing you."

She laughed and he smiled a little sheepishly.

-how much I love you...how much I love you....how much I love you-

"Just don't change the record," He looked into her eyes. "It's perfect."

She nodded not completely understanding, and though he knew sometimes it was like violins and horns going at each other trying to answer unanswered questions, he realized she was still the only one he wanted to take him home, or go home to.

"It's perfect," he said again, and this time he wasn't referring to the record.

-how much I love you....how much I love you....how much I love you-


"The truth is you're the weak. And I'm the tyranny of evil men. But I'm tryin', Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard to be the shepherd. " Jules from Pulp Fiction
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