Skip to main content

Splinter Conversations: A Poem

Amid all the other noises, there are words that drift on the wind:

Do you have advent calendars?”
Hang on, I'll call grocery. Chocolate or heroin?”
Um. Heroin.”
...an extra twenty cents for lettuce?”

I could send you to prison for that, you know.”
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing, nothing. Nothing.”
“Nothing. Nothing.”
Pomegranates. Bah!”
Sir?”
BAH!”
...they took my wife...”
And so that's the love of JESUS, you know...”
“Oh, yes, and the seven days of fire. You know, it's like in Bible camp...”
“Molten ash and belching flames. Say, what are you bringing to the picnic next week?”
It just makes sense. Five dimes, four pennies, and two quarters makes $1.50. You see? It just makes sense. Five dimes is fifty cents. Four pennies is five cents. Two quarters are 95 sense. Sense. You see? Two quarters are 45 apiece. You see? It just makes cents.”
No, no, give it to me, give it to me NOW for a lower price...a lower price...a lower price...MAN, I NEED IT. Oh please, no, it's unfair, give me a discount. Please, I'll even do you dirty, man, I'll do you dirty right out back to get the discount...”
Ludd was right. Place is evil. Ludd was right.”
Nothing nothing nothing nothing. Nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing NOTHING—”
It's a certain nom de guerre.”
A what?”
NOM DE GUERRE. IT MEANS 'NAME OF WAR.'”
Oh, sorry, haha. I didn't catch the noun.”
NOM DE GUERRE IS NOT A NOUN. IT'S AN EXPRESSION.”
Oh, yes, it's lovely. I just bleach my gut about eight times a week. The layers come out and I know I'm clean...”
Gotta watch those chemicals. Those chemicals. Those CHEMICALS. Those CHEMICALS in your food like WORMS IN BREAD—”
Is it a chip? Is it a chip? NOTHING NOTHING.”
“NOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHINGJOINUSNOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHINGNOTH—”
Listen man. Discount. Please. Discount?”
I-I like to lick...I like to lick the—the. The young ladies...”
NOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHING.”
Please. Please.”
Please. Please. Please.”
Please.”
...”
...”
...”

Every so often it is perfectly still and silent, and when those moments happen they are all staring at you with one shark's gaze.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Krissy's Second Visit

Youthful footsteps echoed throughout the store's frozen section. It is not often a challenge to determine one's age from footsteps. The slow, stumbling walk of an old man, and the tap of his walker or cane, gives him away immediately. A hop and a skip might reveal that one is a child. But in the ages between 12 and 60, there is a singular type of step, one which is not easily linked to age due to the variance in height and weight of the teenage and adult population. In the cold of the frozen section, this uniformity was slimmed even further, because nothing leeches strength from the heart and legs like cold. But in the footsteps of the confident young girl who wore a Sun Valley uniform, one could sense her youthfulness. The cold didn't touch her and she wasn't afraid of it or hateful of it. And so perhaps it was the youthfulness of her step that revealed to the mysterious figure known as the Blue Phantom who it was who came to visit him, in his hidden lair behin...

Memories

When our childhoods come back, the natural problems of memory distort the image to make it wrong . Think of how many nostalgic memories you have that you know, deep down, didn't happen the way you remember. Maybe it's one lie you told yourself. Maybe three or four. Maybe the whole thing is made up. I don't blame you. I had a good childhood but if all that people have of your own is a fantasy then all I can offer is a hope that your abuser, whether they're a person or a system, dies and burns in Hell. I have lived my life so focused on nostalgia that my day-to-day living has become full of holes in the present, just as there are holes all throughout my past. The future, that sea of infinite possible timelines, is probably nothing more than a Sea of Holes. And here we have the first personal node— Yellow Submarine was the movie I watched the most growing up. I had an LSD-soaked childhood and it braced me for a similar adulthood. The hippies who were the firs...

The Liberator #1 - Terror of the Traumoids

Wherever there is pain, there are invisible tendrils of force that can't be battled. They are protected by equally-invisible barriers, projected by sentient beings who carry hate with them. Hate breeds pain—they are the twinbirth monsters. Their invisible roots grow all around us, where we let them grow. These animal-vegetable-spirit limbs, writhing without heads or bodies need and deserve only thing: a rigorous gardener. The Liberator was deep in her Pulse Chamber, floating in the combination of serums that kept her vital. The machinery of the Heart twitched in their orbits. The teleport circuit in particular, with the clairvoyance circuit prodding it, was eagerly fretting over events minutes on the horizon. Distantly, the Liberator already knew what was ahead of her, but she'd only be able to parse out the thought in human terms later. For now, she was the machine—a giant Heart, taking in all the world through circles of metallic flesh. The veins and arteries of the ...