art yay

goodbye milk and honey

“Goodbye Milk And Honey.” “How’s Carla?” the solider had been away from home for about a year now. Tamarack looked at the R.A.F uniform that fit like a glove on Spider, and became intimidated. He was always the ‘stronger’ brother; and he was the brains. So it goes. They were sitting in his apartment, drinking tea. The rickety table had been their mother’s. Coffee and cigarette stains were still visible, and Spider smiled down at them, still waiting for an answer. “Tim-tam, how’s Carla?” You’ve been away for fourteen months and you ask that. You could have asked anything but- “Well, how is she?” That. Tamarack took a sip of his tea, stirring in the sugar with a spoon. The clanging metal against china seemed to bounce of walls, and go on forever. He noticed Spider didn’t put anything in his tea anymore. I remember when we were kids. You used to beg Mum for more milk and honey. Then she’d laugh and say ‘Spider, you keep doing that and you’ll be as sweet as milk and honey by the time you’re grown.” Tea’s black. “Are you gonna’ answer me?” I wish I didn’t have to. “She’s dead, Spider.” Spider then laughed, and his gold tooth shined. “Stop fooling around. She’s not dead unless my new boy killed her.” And he laughed again. “No. She is dead. And you never had a son…” “Oh so the little girl killed her then.” I want to laugh with you. Laugh at you for how stupid your laugh sounds. Tamarack placed his tea cup on the table. It landed with a serious ‘thump’. “I’ll just go by the flat and see her then, since you- wait. I got it. You two are planning a surprise party for me and you’re support to keep me here! Gotcha good.” “There is no party. There is no baby, and goddamn it Spider there is no more Carla!” That was the loudest Tamarack ever spoke. Spider looked at him in astonishment, his ebony face, looked coffee colored. Spider grabbed the tea cup, and through it against the wall, and walked out the door. Leaving behind a puddle of darkness, and broken things. And there was no more milk and honey.

Colors

And when colors fade where will that leave you?
 When you are left alone in grays and darker hues,
 Who will you call out to?

 Our love light is fading,
The colors are dying,
 I swore I held you high once,
 Queen of my heart,
 My caverns and crevasses of bone.

Your crown once glittered wholesome gold,
 Now is left, gray and rusted,
 And quickly growing old.

Your army and I,
The captain of the guard,
We were once shining brass and covered,
 In a rainbow of stars.

And when colors fade where will that leave you?
When you are left alone in grays and darker hues,
Who will you call out to?

Public Reading Idea

The whole world seemed drenched in midnight. He was on the edge of the city. The once packed bars became skeletons in the midst of a winter’s night. He had been walking for several hours. The souls of his pointy boots were grey with years, but he was not an old man. This city did absolutely nothing for him. Streetlights flickered and a wind blew, swirling the fog, making shapes or suggestions. Viktor licked his dry lips. A place to sleep was needed. And a plane ticket, but that would come later. Right now, he needed a ride. Viktor stuck his thumb out, walking along, half heartedly, as if he knew the gesture wouldn’t do any good. There were hardly any cars on the road anyway and it was late and… A car roared up from behind. The lights blinded him for a moment and he saw through the fog to see the world for what it really was; a hellhole. The car kept on going. He stood, dumbfounded, realizing he had seen that car before. “Hey! You!” his accent was thick as his boots scuffed on pavement. The car, slowed, as if the car was a person and this person was vaguely interested in turning around. Viktor caught up with the car, which had stopped, out of mere boredom and curiosity. “I saw you, just outside… the bar, awhile ago, ja?” he stood a good distance away from the car, which was a red convertible. It looked like it had just been washed. The driver turned to look at him. He wore a black hat with a large brim, with reminded Viktor of a painting by Rembrandt he had seen some time ago, of a doctor doing an autopsy. And aviators in the dead of night, driving gloves on the black steering wheel. His man looked like he was meant to be driving a Hurst, rather than a flashy Hollywood car. “I…uh… do you mind giving me a ride out of town? To find somewhere to sleep? The hotels they are too much an-“ The driver opened the door. Viktor zipped up his jacket and slide in. The door shut softly. The interior of the car was a darker red, or so he thought. It was hard to tell. Neither of them, passenger or driver, wore a seatbelt. He smelt rain on the air. The car left the graveyard of skeletal bars, down a hill out towards the country. “Danke.” “Nichts zu danken.” You’re welcome. Viktor almost screamed with delight. A speaker of his native tongue was hard to find in these parts. “You speak German?” he asked, in English, just to be safe. The lights were getting more scarce, and the fog was too thick to see clearly. He wondered why the strange driver of his was wearing sunglasses at night, especially in this fog. He thought to ask, but this man didn’t seem like much of a conversationalist. The driver said nothing, just looking straight ahead; cool, calm, and collected. Viktor’s skin prickled. What exactly had he done? He could have found a nice old lady or something of the like to pick him up and drive him to a motel but he had to pick the man in the flashing warning light red car. He turned around and noticed a sword cane in the back seat of the car, on the driver’s side. The top of the cane had a serpent's head. The head stared back at Viktor, as cool and collected as the driver. For a moment, he thought he could see the snake lick its silver tongue. “You’re being foolish. Stop it.” He turned back around to face the road ahead. The two men drove in darkness and fog in silence for what seemed like an eternity. The only lights now, were the vague hopes of a town’s lights far away. Viktor decided to break the silence. “Are you hungry?” “Yes.” The driver said. He was English. “Find a place, and I will pay for you. You’ve been kind.” The driver smiled. It looked unnatural on him, as if he was always meant to be glaring into the distance. Viktor tried not to gasp at how frightening and overwhelming the situation had become. He was scaring himself. But still he couldn’t help wondering why the lines of rational thought always blurred on late night, rainy drives. Viktor tired to focus on what they might eat. He was getting hungry himself. And as if the driver heard the thought of his hunger, he turned off the main road. “What is this place like, eh?” “Oh...” his voice was low, baritone. “it’s a quiet little place, and near a place for you to rest. That is what you need, isn’t it? A place to sleep?” His voice rattled Viktor’s bones. He pushed back his golden hair from his , now, moon-white face. He was sure this man could feel his terror. “Ye-yeah.” Viktor’s voice was higher than normal. He looked around ,franicatly searching for some sort of building, some sort of safety. But their whole world was the darkness. No lights, save for the moon herself, shone. The car stopped, with a moan of the breaks. into a country road. Viktor gave a nervous barking dog of a laugh. “You must be joking. There are no buildings here, ja?” “You said you were buying me dinner, did you not? You said find a place to eat this so happens to be a place to eat.” He tried to hold back a low moan . His heart beat clamored in his ears as low and as sinister as his voice. Viktor didn’t see the driver reach for his cane; he was too busy staring into the glasses, looking for humanity. “W-we-well, where’s the food?” He croaked. The cane craked hard down upon his head, and crimison rushed forward from Viktor’s brow, like a river in a mountain path. He cried out. and slummped over in the passenger seat. “You’re the food.” he drew the sword from the serpent's head and chuckled. “Please...” “ I give you a ride. You offered to buy me dinner, I accepted. “ He grinned. “I have been rude...” he growled. “I haven’t introduced myself. “ Viktor’s whole world was spinning and his blood was starting to dry. The driver flashed a smile. “They call me The Corinthian. And it just so happens that you offered me my favorite meal.” Images of all the horror movies Viktor had seen flashed through his mind. Did he want the heart, or the lungs? The brain or the kidneys? As if the Corinthian had heard his thoughts again, he placed a gloved hand behind Viktor’s head, lifting it up closer to his face. The sword slid into the eye socket like butter. “The trick,” he said over his curdling screams “is to cut around the eye.” The Corinthian said this so nonchalantly, as if he was talking about the weather or a particular boring piece of mail. And through it all Viktor wept. He was going to die. “Why won’t you just kill me!?” he howled, as the sword slipped into his other eye like Cinderella’s glass slipper. His vision was going. The world around him was fading. “Because,” The Corthian licked his lips, laughed, and took off his glasses. The eyes in the sockets were rotted, and old, but they smiled. Tiny teeth in the socket, the cages, for the rotten jewels finished his sentence. “I am a visionary.”

Hello

Been awhile. Miss me? Yes? No? Maybe so? Probably not. Can't believe its August. I go back to school soon. I got my classes. They all look oaky. Going to volenteer at the hospital eventually. Maybe I'll work in morge.

I'm Sorry

I thought about you for a long, long time. And I listened to Ceremony, And I cried again. Your voice rising and falling like waves of sound or stars out in deep space, Echoing off into unknown heights, bodies, and oceans. Ian I’m really sorry I cried again, I just get lonely without you.

Goodnight, Mr. Bradbury.
Goodnight,
Goodnight,
Goodnight.