Re-Ascend

(Photo Credit: CC, http://www.tikkun.org/tikkundaily/2014/03/26/an-alternative-to-the-neocon-response-to-putin-modernize-and-democratize-nato-send-love-to-russian-people/)

Forget not what I have said

That all the torturous foibles we’re given

We bequeath to them

Our sacrifices were left ineffectual

Though none may assume our mettle

As hectic heretical men

Shout and say

What does this now represent

Well surely you can accept

That the time is now

There’s no need to repent

You’ve said what you've come to say

And what it was you meant

Don’t fracture your will

With ill gotten sentiments

Some may call to you

Those self proclaimed friends

But hear me now

And you will not regret

The false hoods of men

Who know not their report

Their value will not be placed in gold and silver

But fought over with gunpowder and steel

Though these men may sacrifice as is their fate

For a partial fee in gold far less than their weight

So would you heed the call

Of unrighteous men

Who refuse to believe

The plea of weaker survivors

Who rather than struggle against

What we can plainly see is impotent at best

They join the fighting

Of our enemies cause

Foolish and undisciplined

Those genuflected fallow gentlemen

Vignette - Darcy

(Photo Credit: CC, http://bewareitbites.deviantart.com/art/SCREAM-349114230)

     There was a bustling, a rustle, a sharp movement and then a scream. An earsplitting scream, the kind that sends a shiver running through your veins.

  Darcy shifted her eyes, scanning for the noise beyond all of the hustle and bustle of the crowd. Pushing her way through the mass of sweaty, smelly bodies; shifting her weight and occasionally elbowing someone in the gut or stepping on a foot as she rushed forward. Forcing each step as her heartbeat quickened, feeling each thump as a hammer against her insides.

The light of the sky retreated behind the jealous clouds, and echoed the feelings of dread which had already begun to rise up within her. The importance of time weighed down on her with increasing intensity.

Looking around catching glimpses of small packs separated from the larger group. Shifting through the open spaces between the out-liers; her feet began to match the speed of her racing heart. Then she heard it again, just as she reached an open expanse past the ignorant people, that terrible scream. Passing the red bricks of the desolate town, she jammed the soles of her feet down, down, down.

First the right, then the left in ever increasing rapid movements, passing alley-ways and store-fronts alike. The immovable concrete below her felt like an urging hand carrying her to the destination, which until only a moment ago, she didn't know existed. When finally, out of the corner of her eye she discovered the horror which matched that horrible noise.

"Ahhhhh, can you believe it? They chose me! I never thought it would happen, but I always hoped it would. Oh, Darcy, " Veronica said in false sympathy, "They picked me, I thought for sure it would have been you, you always were the favorite, I mean obviously I could never have hoped to live up to your example, but they picked me, couldn't you just die of shock?"

"Yes." was all Darcy could say before falling down, never to get up again.

Lullaby

(Photo Credit: CCL, https://iamachild.wordpress.com/2011/07/26/asako-eguchi-1952-japanese/)

Written on: 10/12/12

I just want to sleep
And dream the dream of kings
Where my name is known among the stars
Like lullaby's from worlds so far
To feel the rest with weariness all gone
As if but all those living almost lost
Had to have but one wish
And that is that those memories could slip
And fall like comets across the horizon
So that each passing moment passes without requirement
For if in the waking world unseen
To see our lives as if but a dream
Then keep our precious perfect purpose
So preposterous that we could hope for this
But I just want to sleep
Such restful sleep as I have ever known
And would never know again
For if I dream I wish never to leave
And live there in that world of pleasantries
Don't take me back to the waking
Keep my mind from breaking
And tearing down those walls so high
So much so that I want to believe the lie
That those bells could ring
And let them ring
Let my ears soften with each passing
And count them like sheep
As I fall into that sleep
And wake no more
I want to dream
And dream of those things which sustain
And don't crash into my brain so abusively
Like tornadoes lifting my home
I want to rest , and feel the rest
All gone, all left, all buried without recompense
Don't take me down into that hollow ground
And bury me with your words
Don't tear at my mind one syllable at a time
So that you can feel superior
I want to sleep so I can escape
And feel secure within the interior
Like Alice lost beyond the mirror
Don't fret to me like some killer bee
And break me in my solace
Don't shake me in my bed
I don't want to wake
And wield it any more
I can't wear this shroud any longer
I seem lost like some greedy imposter
No home for me ever seemed
No where I could sleep
But now I have and have it I shall
For if not for you I would have long ago drown
But you wake me and curse me
With every breath
Like a tear-stained handkerchief
Why take me away from this peace of mind
Like a burdened over-worn horse gone on its last ride
And you want to ride me still
And bury me on that hill
Why not burn me while I'm alive
It'd be better that way
In the end
Instead of hearing those bells ring
But you should let them ring
And ring they shall
Like some hollow wish put up for sell
But I will have my dream
And sleep the sleep of kings
You can't stop me then
When I'm in my head
And carried across the wind
For in that dream
I will walk among the stars
Singin lullaby's from worlds so far

Reclaimed

(Photo Credit: Creative Commons, https://www.pinterest.com/elianefidalgo/flower-fields/)

Written on 1/12/2010

The deep crevices and cracks of the earth
Dry and emaciated the fields they were barren
The heat of the day scorched the parched soil
As it begged for some release
An escape from the harsh plowing of the farmer’s trowel
The constant and relentless stamping and stomping
No rest for the weary as the earth is surely
And from below its pain does not quell
No streams beneath the dirt that could rise above
And no rain felled from the heavens
Like mighty titans or ancient angels turned devils
No respite save the vanished past
Or recourse save some patience
Memories of before the man
He came and placed the soles of his shoes
Deep as the foundations of his home
He labored on the hillside tearing down the foliage
Grown from saplings and raised by the earth herself
Her sweet children who dug their way deep into her heart
So easily were they slain
Simple strokes of sweat and steel
Their timber was the first of what he stole
Soon he forged down and deeper
Destroying all of her bountiful home
He tore up the ground and sown new seeds
But these too he stole
He left nothing to feed the ground
And the earth she began to starve
Still he labored and plowed the fields
And tore on through the years
But through each passing hour of every turned down day
Slowly she began to fade
What came from the earth was not returned
All things must eventually expire
What she could give began the coming of its last days
She was too barren to produce any fruit
There was no more that she could give
But the old farmer he had died a long the way
And his children and theirs too soon began to wane
Eventually they were gone
With their filth their torment and their stench
Slowly she could feed her children again
She too was fed
For no rain could come for the starving earth
No downpour in which she could escape
But now as the land rediscovered its origin
The water too was reclaimed
The deep crevices were filled with that drink they so craved
As men left her fields
Life returned again

One and the Same

(Photo Credit: Creative Commons)

(http://stockarch.com/images/objects/young-boy-unlocking-door-7249)

Written on 02/15/13

In that place so dark

Surrounded by water and stone

And bellows puffed so low that the coals barely stay warm

And swarms of smoke and ash

Burning the sight of no known soul

Where once men were alive now they foster those shores

Lore once said to place coins upon their eyes

To be spied by ferryman whence the crow flies

Now to casket and depths of a watery grave

Save the immortal cries whilst the brave stay unpaid

Lain and slain for worries not their own

Sown and reaped like a harvest gone to mold

Crowned so loudly that the deaf hear those tones

"Here ye, here ye!" the chorus once spoke

To listen as a burden to the fathoms of a ghost

And toast to all the courage for those who pass beyond

Long heard the stories even after the last line is lost

And tossed aside and asunder

Thunder like fire burns under the rubble

So terrible a sound as one has ever heard

Absurd as the mourning widow whose husband laughs with girth

And birth of a dying man who has seen all before

Seven scores when only once since they've been to the seashore

Yet beckoned still by the seafloor to sever

And yet never fill the hole in their soul

Cold as a winter night when icy grip strips flesh to the floor

And you call that bravery simplified into stupidity

Lucidity of a mind which is riddled with irrationality

So crass this idea of a mask worn by the dead

Upon their head as if to cover the naked truth of decay

So to say that even now as we stand upon the door

Cordially approached and even then only ever reached the threshold

Untold countless have bathed in blood to stand there

And here you wait patiently to twist the knob

Thump and throb beats the cavity in your chest

Yet even then you still pretend

And tend to a notion so superfluous

Is it patience that impedes you or just the desire to torture us

Those fools each one so doomed

Each and every one succumbed

And breathed the cold air in hopes of truth

Regretfully misled like a mosquito to its death

With tales of riches and lavish gifts

Lifted the pale face each one is blessed with

And sifting each speck of sand through the tides

And ride upon a beast whose purpose in never alive

To tell the tale of a memory sorely kept

To be leapt upon by some ancient curse

Loosed upon the weary and unsuspecting both

Loath to show what is never to be known

Sown into the memory of a huntsman's crossbow

So low is the intention guided by pretension

Such apprehension as one has ever felt

Nelt to the altar like some forsworn sovereign

So common as the madness which is their knowledge

Like the hedge to the garden where curiosity is harbored

Labored by the masses who each take a pass at this

Contemptuous amassed with every failure

Lured to the door which you refuse to open

Like a token commiserating where you hung your choice

And loiter about as if by some unshaken remorse

Glowering in derision which consumes your voice

Moist as a soft kiss once lost forever missed

One among the long list of lost moments of bliss

Remiss if left unsaid don't outweigh the memories betrayed

And flayed open to leave what remains displayed

So tell me now is it reminiscence or deliverance

Which hesitation presents as patience or fear

A smear of life lingering here on the floor

More or less just one part of the core

Toward which it is less of a jest

Pressed to the mold so it could be either one life or the next

Its all just pretense, no more, no less

Introverted Mobility

     

(Photo Credit: Unknown Photographer Creative Commons stock photo)

(Note: I would like to dedicate this to a certain individual who pushed me to write this, as it is now, Tucker McCallahan as well as all of those who...)

Jeremy

well as all of those who...)

     Maybe it was the glossed over expression in the eyes, or the unnatural twitch emanating from the corners of his mouth, but whatever the cause, the look on Jeremy's face was disturbing beyond anything I had ever witnessed. His skin was waxy, as if he'd been splashed with cooking oil. His eyes were wide, jaundiced, and protruding slightly from the sockets. His mouth was stuck in the form of a smile through clenched teeth, as if he'd been frozen in the pose for an awkward family photo, but was unable to change the expression. Though a cursory glance would have suggested happiness, but because you couldn't help but stare for longer, even after a few seconds the terror screamed from within him.

     He was sitting in his chair, arms stuck down and along the length, back straightened, and hands in the midst of a death grip. His clothes; a flannel shirt and blue jeans, were drenched in sweat.

     "Jeremy, wake up!" I said; slapping him hard a cross the face. He didn't budge.” This ain't funny man; snap out of it, Jeremy. Jeremy!"

     I grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to shake him, push him backwards, and pull him towards me. He didn't budge. I grabbed his arm and tugged as hard as I could, he was planted like a street lamp in concrete. I tried to slide him out of the chair by pulling on his feet, but as I was pulling with all my might and throwing all my weight into the effort I fell backwards, I lost my grip. Nothing, no effect at all, he hadn't moved and inch; his chair hadn't moved an inch. I sat there on the ground, could this really be happening? What was going on inside him I couldn't say, I'd never seen anything like this, and I don't know if anyone had.

     Grabbing his phone from the little table I started going through the contacts list, wondering; had he gone through fits like this before? I hit end and dialed nine, one, and one, and then hung up before it even rang once. Did I need an ambulance? What would they do? I thought about it for a second and realized that I needed to do something. Whatever was going on with Jeremy wasn't normal, and I definitely needed help, and I was afraid for his life. So I reached for the phone once more, put the receiver to my ear and pressed my sweaty fingers on the call button and hit send.

     "Akron nine-one-one, what is the nature of your emergency?" The monotone woman's voice rang from the other side.

     "It's my friend Jeremy, He won't move, and I can't get him up, it's like...”

     "Sir, was there some kind of accident?"

     "No I just went to the restroom and when I came out he was sitting there, smiling, and he won't move."

     "Does your friend have any medical conditions?"

     "No, not that I know of, but he..."

     "Did he ingest anything, take any substances?"

     "No, not that I know of, I mean we...” I paused, I knew I should mention the joint but I was fine, so I thought better of it. "We were just hanging out, he had some soda, and we ate some pizza, but I had the same stuff and I'm fine."

     "Okay sir; tell me exactly what happened, and what’s going on."

     "Well, everything was fine, we were watching a movie, had some pizza delivered, I went to the restroom, and when I came out he was stuck in his chair and now I can't move him."

     "Is he breathing? Is his pulse erratic? What can you tell me about his condition? I can relay the information to the E.M.T.'s."

     "He's breathing, I think, yeah he's breathing." I said after holding my hand under his nose. I put my hand on his neck, like they do on movies and T.V., "I'm pretty sure he's got a pulse, I mean, he's breathing."

     "Do you see any outside trauma? Is he bleeding from anywhere?"

     "No, but he's sweating an awful lot."

     "Sir you're telling me that your friend is breathing, his pulse is stable, he's showing no outward signs of trauma, but he won't move and he's smiling? I think your friend is just messing with you. This is an emergency line, for people who are in life and death situations, unless your friend stops breathing, his heart stops, or he's loosing blood there isn't any immediate concern. I recommend you take him to his primary care physician. Calling nine-one-one for non emergencies is a crime; you really should only call here if a life is in imminent danger." Then she hung up.

     "What now! Uhgg!" My frustration was growing.

     I knew he wasn't playing a prank, but unless I could convince her she wasn't going to do anything about it. What could they do about it? I couldn't even budge him. Maybe his parents knew something. I scrolled through the contacts again until I found 'Dad'.

     "Hello."

     "Mr. Krembury,”

     "Rodney?"

     "Yes, listen, it's Jeremy, he's sort of in some kind of trance or something,"

     "Did you hit him to knock him out of it; you know that boy has some problems."

     "Yes, I slapped him,"

     "Let me guess you gave him a little pussy slap, you gotta hit him boy."

     "No it wasn't a pussy slap,"

     "Well what did you call me for?"

     "I don't know, but I think you and Mrs. Krembury should come over."

     "Alright, I'll get him to snap out of it. We’ll be there in about an hour, this better not be some joke or trick, if I get over there and he's fine he won’t be the only one to worry."

     "Okay, it's not so I'll see you then."

     He hung up. I scrolled through his contacts again; Alex C., no good he's not even in Ohio, and he's still pissed about the Jean thing. Oh, Jean, yeah she'll know what to do. I tap on the image of her face, lucky unlucky bastard.

     "Hello Jean?

     "Yes? Who's this, Rodney?"

     "Yes this Is Rodney, I'm over here at Jeremy's place."

     "Yeah, and what else is new, Why do you think I'm never there?"

      "Yes well, the thing is, is that Jeremy has had some kind of fit, and he can't... Jean? Are you there Jean?"

     She hung up. Damn, I thought that maybe I should avoid people who actively wish painful acts upon him. I started to search for people who didn't want Jeremy dead; aunt Tina, AutoZone, babe, Becca, bill, Bradley, Brandon, Brian, Chris, Chris lost, Chris 3, Christopher, cousin, I kept scrolling down the list and started to realize how little like a contacts list this was and how it began to resemble a list of suspects in the future death of my friend, well acquaintance, I just really had no where else I had to be most of the time and Jeremy lived next door. That's when I saw that beautiful name, a name that belonged to someone I had almost forgotten existed, who definitely didn't have an angry bone in her body.

     "Meg, hey do you remember me, Rodney?

     "That goofy guy always over at Jeremy's place? What do you want?"

     "Yeah the goofy guy that Jeremy knows, well that's the thing really, it's Jeremy, he sort of, well he had something happen to him."

     "Let me guess you two assholes tried something you shouldn't have and now he's fucked up and so you called me to see if I can get you out of it? What was it? Moon-pods? Don't tell me you two dumb asses tried those bath salts they've been going around."

     "No nothing like that, you just have to see it, he's immobile and I can't move him at all, it's freaky.

     "This is too good, I'll be over. Hey Jen you wanna see Jeremy all fucked up on something?" 

     "You don't have to be so excited."

     She hung up.

     Then I called the news station.

     "WVNB Channel 5, where can I direct your call?" A sweet sounding voice sang.

     "Yes I have something to report? Who do I talk to?

     "Why yes, one moment."

     "Junior analyst Jenkins, what've you got?"

     "It's my neighbor, he's, uh...” quick, think quick.”... always been kind-of, you know, out of it." Shit, what now, oh yeah I think I got it. " I keep seeing him go to the window, he's wearing nothing but his underwear and uh, I think he's got a gun, I can't really make it out but there's definitely something in his hand, oh wait he's at the window again, yup that's definitely a gun. Oh shit, I think he's got someone in there with him."

     "Okay where's this at, numbers man, address, quickly."

     "653 Pengrove circle; in Highland Square."

     He hung up, no goodbye no thank you, nothing.

I kept poking my head out of the window, waiting. Someone had to show, anybody, and I needed help, I couldn't handle this on my own. Then the cars started arriving. A little blue nineteen-seventy bug pulled up, Jeremy's dad rolled out, looking pissed. He walked up the path to the door, which I already had opened for him.

     "Where is he, I'm going to kill that boy if he's playing another one of his pranks."

     "Right over here." I showed him to Jeremy, his condition unchanged.

 Mr. Krembury walked over to his son.

     "Boy, get the fuck up! Your mother is in a state; she couldn't even come because she thought you were hurt, now get up and give her a call. I'm not going to tell you again." Then he struck him, hard, real hard, right across the face, fist closed. Mr. Krembury pulled back; Jeremy hadn't flinched, moved, or otherwise been aware that he'd been hit. Just the terrified expression in his eyes; his sweaty skin, there was no change from earlier. Mr. Krembury's hand was red, like he'd punched a steel wall, rubbing his knuckles, he looked at me and for the first time since I ever met him, and he looked scarred.

     "He didn't even budge." his voice was a little shaky.

 He went to the back of the chair and tried to tip it down, but the chair wouldn't move.

     "I tried that already, that chair won't move no matter what you do."

     "You just weren't trying hard enough."

     "Weren't trying hard enough to do what?" Jen, Meg's friend, and my ex said from behind us.

 I turned around and caught a glimpse of her and Meg standing in the entry way, staring at me and Mr. Krembury. Meg had a huge grin on her face, and Jen was scowling at me.

     "What'd you bring her for?"

     "Like I was going to make her miss this. You two getting into trouble again. Classic."

     "Hey, we didn't do anything, I just came over we were watching some stuff, I went to the bathroom, and when I came out I found him like this."

     "You mean you came over, the two of you were getting high, and at some point you noticed he wasn't moving?"

     "What'd you give my boy?" Mr. K grabbed hold of me.

     "Nothing! Like you ever cared what he did before anyway."

 He let go.

     Meg walked into Jeremy's little kitchen, a pitiful place, dirty dishes stacked high in the sink, pizza boxes on the table, pieces torn off of them to use as plates after the real ones were too dirty to use. Flies were zipping around, floating past those disgusting fly paper traps he'd hung from the ceiling. She grabbed a rag and sifted through the sink, searching, moving dishes over from side to side until she found what she was looking for; a very nasty looking fork.

     "A-ha, this'll do nicely."

     She walked over to Jeremy, nudging Mr. K aside; she crouched down and looked right into his eyes, holding the fork up, the crusty food debris of some unknown origin stuck to its surface.

     "Okay Jeremy, if you can hear me you better listen carefully. I'm going to take this fork and stab you in the leg with it; if you don't get up I'm going to stab you again. You know I'll do this; I've wanted to do this for a long time, so if you don't want to get stabbed by this disgusting fork, get up now. Okay, three...two...one..." With no hesitation she grabbed the handle of the fork and brought its teeth down on his leg. The teeth didn't bite into his flesh, instead they bent, her hand slipped down the handle and she stabbed herself in the side of her palm. Meg screamed, and started to bleed. Jeremy didn't budge, he didn't move.

     "Fuck!"

     "Go grab a rag or something." Jen screamed at me, "Now!" I rushed away as Jen started to pull the fork free.

     Mr. K came up to me and tried to help find a clean rag.

     "Hurry up!" Meg yelled

     "What's going on?" Mr. K said

     "I don't know." I whispered back.

     We found a rag, it wasn't clean, but it'd have to do. We rushed back over to Meg and pressed the rag onto her hand.

     And that's when Sean showed up.

     "What the fuck is going on here?" He said

     "Jeremy's, well....you try to move him and you'll see." I said holding a rag against Meg's hand as it started to sop up her blood, changing from yellowish white to red.

     Sean was trying to lift the chair, he tried to grab Jeremy's hair, but he couldn't even get his fingers to go through his locks let alone do anything to them.

     "What the fuck!"

     "See?" I said.

     "When Jean said something was up with Jeremy she didn't say shit about this. What the fuck is going on?"

     "We don't know he's been like that for a few hours now." I explained.

     "So nothing can move him?"

     "Or the chair, yeah."

     "Did you call for an ambulance?"

     "That's the first thing I did when I realized I couldn't move him, then I called around."

     "So what're we gonna do?"

     "I don't know I was hoping maybe you all would have some ideas."

     "I've got one." Jen said. "I'll be right back." Jen disappeared, and then returned a few minutes later holding a little red gas can in one hand and a newspaper in the other. "Go open a window."

     "No, no, no. Don't even think about it."

     "Why not, Meg tried to jam a fork in his leg, no one said anything about that, and it didn't do any thing. This probably won’t even work."

     "Yeah, maybe. But you could catch the whole house on fire, and I'm not trying to die. Or have Jeremy killed in the process. Besides we have no clue what’s going on, what if whatever's keeping him this way does stop, do you really want to kill Jeremy?"

     "No, but I don't think if I catch this paper on fire and put it in his lap that it'll catch the house on fire either, I just want to see if maybe heat will have any effect on him. We can get a bucket of water to put the fire out too."

     "Just don't use the gas, and don't just set it on him, maybe by his leg or something. Water doesn't put out gas it'll only make it spread and I'm not trying to deal with a gas fire, plus he's breathing, what if he chokes from the smoke? It's not like we can give him CPR, does anyone here even know how to do CPR?"

     "I do, but let’s just get a fan or something to blow the smoke away. Or better yet, why don't we just boil some water? Wouldn't that just eliminate the need for fire and smoke and still see if heat would work on him?"

     "You are all out of your minds. You're all talking about burning my son, aren't you suppose to be his friends?"

     "He's your son and you punched him and bruised your hand. Don't tell me you're concerned about hurting him now?"

     "A punch isn't going to permanently scar my son; you're talking about doing stuff to maim him. Back off!" he shouted as Meg was going for the kitchen. "Don't you dare, you already tried to stab my boy, and I won't let you burn him."

     "Well what do you suggest Mr. K?"

     "Jean, when'd you get here?" Sean asked.

     "Right after Jen came in with the gas. So Jeremy won't move huh?"

     "Yeah, he's...stuck, see." I motioned to Jeremy.” Nothing seems to do anything."

     "Well, have you all tried maybe getting a rope or something, why don't we all work together and try to pull him out?"

     "Do you have a rope? Because I don't."

     "Go grab his bed sheets and blankets, we can make a rope, then we'll all pull together."

 Mr. K and Meg went to Jeremy's bedroom, grabbing his bedding, which he never washes. Jen walked into the kitchen. When Mr.K and Meg returned Sean, Jean, and I started to grab the sheets, we began to cut them with a knife, and stretch them out, knotting them together and pulling at them to test their durability. After we were satisfied we wrapped them around him a few times and tied one end securely around Jeremy. Pulling hard against the impromptu rope, sure of its strength, we all lined up, Mr. K right in front, followed by Jean, Sean, Meg, Me, and finally Jen. Just as we were about to pull;

     "What’s going on?"

     "Fuck George, scarred the shit out of me." I confessed.

     "Well?"

     "Jeremy's stuck, we can’t move him so we're going to try and pull him out of the chair, get over here, grab the rope and help."

     "Have you tried...?”

     "Yes, whatever you're about to say yes, we've tried it all, that's why we're trying this."

     "Okay, well fuck it, let’s do this."

     We all got ready once again and started to pull, and pull. The rope made of sheets started to rip, and as we were putting all of our weight into it the fabric gave way; we all fell on our collective asses, each person groaning as the person in front of them landed in their lap. George got the worst of it, but that's what he got for being the last to arrive.

     "Shit, get off me!"

     "What the fuck!"

     "Are you kidding me?"

     "This is fucking ridiculous, seriously!"

     "Ugh!"

     The collective groans, moans, and expletive remarks all flew, seemingly, at the same time. We couldn't believe it.

     "I don't believe this!" Meg said

     Jeremy hadn't moved an inch, nothing about him changed at all, and all of us were nearly out of ideas. As we were all getting to our feet I noticed Jen coming out of the kitchen; the steam off of the pot in her hand made it obvious what she was carrying, but I wasn't quick enough to get to her, or brave enough to tangle with my ex when she had a pot full of boiling water in her hand. She poured the water on his lap. The water seemed to run off of him, onto the ground, his clothes were left completely dry; pointless.

     "You little bitch! I told you to stay away from my son."

     "Fuck you old man, it didn't matter anyway.

     Knock, knock, and knock. That's when I heard it, the rapping on the screen door. I peeked out the window and saw the news van, the decal; WVNB Channel 5 Action News.

     I darted to the door, a man, dressed in a blue blazer, salmon colored tie, and khaki pants. His hair was combed back and he was mildly balding. His slightly chubby features made his face more full, and would have made him appear more happy, but his eyes were cold, and his narrowed eyes forced his face into an almost perpetual scowl, even as he was smiling when he said,

     "Hello, I am Roger Fullers, reporter for WVNB, am I in the right place? My analyst told me that there was a situation here, did I get the wrong address, or am I arriving late to the party?"

     "No, you're right on time. I'm Rodney. Come on in." I said, holding the door open for him.  

     He turned and motioned for his camera man to come forward, and walked in to the scene of Jeremy's dilapidated house, clothes and dirty plates, furniture covered in blankets, and the five other people removing the rope from around Jeremy who was sitting in his chair. The same expression on his face that he wore all day, terror masked with a smile.

     "This is Jeremy; the nine-one-one operator wouldn't send an ambulance, so I called you guys."

     "What's going on here?"

     "Well my friend has been stuck like this all day, nothing we do can affect or move him in any way. Go on, give it a try."

      I motioned to the chair, I hadn't realized it but I was starting to hate that chair. Roger walked on over to Jeremy and gave him a small push, when he didn't even seem to have any effect, he pushed again, this time harder. Still nothing. Roger looked back to me a little smile on his face. He took off his blazer, rolled up the sleeves on his shirt, crouched down and grabbed the bottom of the chair, he started to try and lift with all of his might. Jeremy wasn't very large, in fact he was pretty slender, and most people thought he could put on a few pounds, Roger expected, I think, that he would be able to flip the chair with ease. When he strained until his legs and back began to hurt he stopped, stood up again and the grin on his face got even larger.

     "This is for real."

     "Yup, watch this. Meg, go for it." I said holding out my arm towards Jeremy.

     Meg walked over to the door pushed it closed and came over to Jeremy holding an aluminum bat that he kept behind his door for protection.

     "Hold on!" Roger and Mr. K said at the same time.

     "Mr. Krembury, you know it won’t matter. Roger, just watch. Go on Meg."

     And she did, she planted her feet, adjusted her grip, measured her swing, right to his face, and swung the bat as hard as she could. The bat made a loud crack, she dropped it. Roger picked up the bat and his grin couldn't get any wider, there was a dent in it.

     "Can we do that on film?"

     "Sure, as long as someone sees this and maybe they know what we can do. I'm all out of ideas man."

     "We'll be set up in about ten minutes. Henry set up here in the living room. I'm going to call the network. They’re going to want to see this. Can you folks make some room over here; maybe push that couch out of the way?"

     He walked back towards the door and pulled out his phone. George helped me pick up the couch and move it to the back hall way. Henry began setting up his tripod, and started adjusting his lens, going back and forth between the curtains and his camera. Mr. K went outside; he sat on the front porch with his head in his hands. Meg and Jen stood in the corner, talking quietly with one another. Sean and Jean went into the back room, and George went to the kitchen, pulled a beer from the fridge and sat on the only stool in there.

     "Is there anything I can help with?"

     "No, I'll be done here in a minute."

     Roger came back in.

     "We're on. You all set Henry?"

     "Just about."

     Roger walked right over to Jeremy, his sleeves still rolled up, crouching down he looked him right in the eyes. I couldn't help but think of Meg from earlier.

     "Alright Jeremy, you're on the precipice of your life here, this is your Everest moment, you're about to be famous."

     The only thing he didn't add was 'whether you like it or not', because in reality, he really didn't have a choice. As Roger got up he grabbed the bat, walked over to me and put the bat in my hands.

     "Get ready, when I say, give him another swing."

     He walked over to Henry and whispered in his ear, then grabbed his mic and checked himself in the small mirror Henry had attached to the end of the camera. He adjusted his tie, brushed his hair back with his hands, and checked his teeth. As he positioned himself, and Henry gave him the thumbs up, he put the mic to his face and began,

     "This is Roger Fullers here, Channel five action news, reporting from Highland Square. Behind me is Jeremy Krembury, an Akron local who a local nine-one-one operator wouldn't send an ambulance to help. Jeremy has been in a, well, you won't believe me unless you see it for yourself. I didn't. What you're about to see is very graphic, parents may want to send children out of the room, Rodney if you would."

     He moved to the side to show the stark image of Jeremy, sitting in the chair behind him, I came into the view of the camera and swung the bat right at Jeremy's head, the bat made another loud crack, I hit him with the bat at the same place Meg did, the bat bent. Roger came over and grabbed the bat from me taking it up to the camera.

     "This is an aluminum bat, and as you can see, it's clearly been bent."

     Henry grabbed the camera from the tripod as Roger motioned him forward and brought it right in front of Jeremy's face. The stark expression on Jeremy's face, highlighted by the light from the camera, was more than enough to detail the severity of the situation.

     "As you can see there isn't a mark on him, not a scratch, scrape, cut, burn, or bruise. And these folks have tried everything to move him. Rodney Mercer, Jeremy's best friend was the one who found him. Tell us Rodney, what events led up to this catatonic state you found him in?"

     "Ah, well, I came over earlier, and Jeremy was just watching some television. Just a normal day you know", damn these lights are bright, I couldn't help but think as the sweat began to pour from my brow. "I came over, we started to play some video games, Warfield five just came out the other day, so we were doing some multi player, we ordered some pizza, now Jeremy usually has a larger appetite, but he barely ate any of the food, then later as I went to the restroom, when I came out he was stuck like this. Nothing to be done, tried knocking him over, pushing him, shaking, couldn't lift the chair or nothing. After some of our friends arrived they'd each tried different things, nothing seems to have any effect on him, and I'm, you know, worried. What if he doesn't snap out of it? Is Jeremy gonna be stuck like this? Does any one out there know what’s going on? Have you seen this before?"

     "Thank you Rodney." Roger motioned me away with a pat on my shoulder and a gentle, but forceful shove. "This is Roger Fullers here, and I will be here to keep the public informed of events as this local family's crisis unfolds. Cut it, wrap that up, Henry, get that reel ready for air and send it via satellite to the station. We've got more work to do, now get going."

     "Thanks.”

     "Don't mention it. Once the public sees that I'm sure they'll be clamoring for the police or city officials to do something, Jeremy will be fine, I'm sure of it." Roger was full of it.

     After a moment, which Roger spent pacing in awkward silence; he reached for the door, and ventured outside making a bee line for the van. So much for staying with the family the whole time. You could hear Sean and Jean in the bedroom, not particularly loud, but being in the quiet that defined quiet every sound became magnified. At some point I didn't notice Meg and Jen had left. Whether they just stepped outside or if they just went into another room I wasn't sure. I remember feeling like I was missing something, as if there was something that I should be remembering. What was it? Damn that was going to bug the shit out of me. George started to walk in from the kitchen. Why can’t I remember what it was, the single idea, which is by this point constantly running through my mind, as if I am completely consumed with the notion of a misplaced memory. George walked over to Jeremy then. If only I could remember what it was I was forgetting then maybe I would be able to think about something else. Ah wait! Yes I remember now, it had something to do with George, but what? I looked over at Jeremy, George standing over him with his arm raised. Fuck, I remembered now, how could I have been so stupid?

     "Fuck you, you piece of shit!" George screamed into Jeremy's face, before his finger tugged on the trigger of the gun he held in his right hand.

     Jeremy had once slept with George's fiancée, on the night of their wedding, and they got walked in on my George's mom, and that is why George vowed to kill Jeremy the next time he saw him.

     Mr. K darted through the door, began to rush full speed into George, taking him to the ground in one swift, violent, move. The gun fell from his hand but not before going off one more time, right through the back wall.

     "Fuck!" You could hear from the back room.

     I rushed into the back hallway, and before I could take another step I saw Sean collapsed on top of Jean, the red splattered walls  at the head of the bed, and the silent scream that was stuck on Jean's face told me all that I needed to know. That fucking idiot.

     I walked back into the other room where I found Mr. K holding the upturned George, his chest soaked in his own blood, the pale face of a man at rest; stupid bastard caught the ricochet from Jeremy. What a fucking day.

     "I knew that wasn't going to take long." Mr. Krembury stated flatly.

     "Yup."

     The police showed up about twenty minutes later.

     "There've been reports of gun fire in the area."

     "Yes officer, come on in, they’re over here."

     I led them over to the living area, Jeremy on his untouched chair, sweat and fear rolling off of him like some exotic perfume, but still unable to move. George lay dead on the ground, his blood covering a large section of the shag carpet, or at least what little carpet you could see. The hole in the wall behind them was obvious; the police officer stepped back around the blood, careful not to step in any of it. He found the gun on the other side of the chair, holding his gun on Jeremy the whole time. He motioned to his partner to head in the next room, as more cops came inside, one directing us all out of the house. I wasn't even allowed to grab anything.

     "All of us were quarantined, in a small tent set up on the side of the road, an ambulance was called, and the E.M.T.'s went right inside, and that was the last time I saw them. That was the last time I saw any of them really. What went on inside your house, over the next few months, I never found out. I don't think anyone who wasn't there will ever rightly know. What I do know is that after three months of complete quarantine the police, CDC, and other government types in suits, all eventually had learned all they were going to be able to learn. Regardless of what they did in there when I was able to return you were still untouched. Still, just as sweaty, waxy, and terrified. You didn't really smell anymore, the house was immaculate when I got back, everything was clean, and everything was in its rightful place. For a time I visited every day. Then I would only stop by once a week or so, and then I was down to once a month. After the first year I only came on the anniversary of the event. I went through college, and graduate school, becoming a physician along the way. I tried to use my education to solve your case, but I've never been successful. I started a family some time back, a beautiful wife, you remember Meg right? Well we had three kids, two boys and a girl. My oldest son I named Jeremy, but now I'm eighty years old. My wife and friends are all dead, I lost two sons in the last war, my daughter has grandchildren now, my practice was sold years ago, and after all this time I am about to die myself my old friend. I haven't given up until now, but it's time I move on. I often wonder what it is that you're thinking in there. If you can think, or feel. I hope you're not aware of all this time that's passed. That would be horrifying. In a way I understand now better than I ever did before. The look you've worn for so many years, it isn't terror is it?"

     And Jeremy wanted to scream, but he gave up on all of that a long time ago, the only thing he felt, for as long as he can now remember was hopelessness.

     To this day we find Jeremy stuffed in his chair, not moving, with a look of terror perpetually on his face, hidden behind a smile. The last person to speak to him was his friend Rodney, and the last thing he ever said was

     "There's always hope."

Stoned Philosophical Rant

(Photo Credit: Unknown Photographer Creative Commons/gravityglue.com)

I feel an ebb of confusion welling up within me, echoing like a heartbeat that is growing in intensity. The source of the confusion isn't clear, it's as if a multitude of facets coordinated an attack on my subconscious; distracting me as they detract the attention of my focus. A parallel to my conventions is dissimilar to my self, hidden beneath the surface of my skin like a pebble below a pond; obscured by algae and scum, but visible only in the hues it represents.
I redouble my mental faculties in order to preserve the image, to understand and comprehend it's meaning, but the more my mind stresses the picture the more rips and tears it rends, distorting the image further. Not only are the enemies which assail me external but there exist internal foes which seem even more dangerous; more-so because they don't instigate events, only perpetuate the existence of those events. I find that I cannot dissuade my mind, nor can I articulate enough to disengage my clarity from these detractors. Eternally shall they be married and my perceptive goals lost to me.
I am my own worst enemy, unable to disentangle events cause externally from my internal struggles, and my struggles persist beyond my control. I am lost and losing still for I fight a battle I cannot win. I cannot win only because I fight, and realize only then that my fighting, my desire to fight is where I lose my focus, my clarity. So I remove the shackles of my desire, severing the chains which bind me. I focus not on the external conflicts, I resist my urges until they exist no more.
Now I'm free, I have escaped. I don't dwell on those battles which I had lost before I even began to fight, I don't dwell on those forces which exist beyond my self or are self centered in their existence. For my focus to be clear I must clear my focus, and see not what see's me. Only then am I free, disentangled from the cause of my torment, disillusioned to the cause of my pain, aggravation, and fears. Only through the mere schism of self from the world can I then focus on the world of self, and live in the harmony of being, to exist within the world which is free from all discomfort, for there is nothing which needs comfort in the world of self, and as such nothing can exist to detract from a comfort that does not exist.
My focus returned, but only for so long as I refuse my focus from the world, but as I do the world then refuses my focus. there can be no compromise; for one to exist completely, the other must completely not exist. The world of the middle would be preferable, but then the choice becomes the dangerous tangle of focus and the world, and the events which become enemies, and enemies which exist to perpetuate events.
The tormented becomes the tormentor, the cause the effect. And what tangible benefit can one reap from a tormented mind, one conscious of the fact that they will never completely possess the focus of virtue they seek, and the focus of a mind capable of seeking solace from that torment. The conundrum lies in that; to be free of the torment of the world, the world ,must be free of torment, but for torment to be nonexistent one must be detached from the world so that the complete potential of their focus can be applied; but in complete focus lies nothing worldly, so for one to focus on the world completely they will lose all focus, but in loosing all the world they have focus with nothing to apply it to. In a simple way one can focus on nothing or have nothing to focus on.



Thanks for reading. Get stoned and share a rant of your own in the comments.