No one else Can detect that Maddening sound But you, and even then, It is only within your Interior; obscured away From all others.
That sound, that Continuous collision Of bone against wood…
For the first time In your brief span Upon this dying world, You are presented with What it is like to Be truly, and utterly Alone.
There it is, Fear and trembling.
Part of you Vainly clings to the Notion of facing that old Cloaked reaper with a stoic dignity.
But who would you impress?
Certainly not it, for Greater men have Withered in its presence.
Your eyes dart around, And the knocking keeps Reminding you that there’s No one else.
So, you give in To the inevitable loss Of you, yourself, Deciding that, Since the void, eternity, Is staring so intensely at you With two vacant eyes, It’d be best to give in to the inevitable chaos, A most intense negation and madness.
It is proclaimed that I have more in common with the one who’s ethnic lineage is identical to my own. That we, due to some sort of mystical force in our genes, are bound together, and thus, are inseparable. After all, a race is just like an extended family.
But there’s a good chance I have little in common with my family, my so-called siblings.
And why is it that I am damned to be welded to these others? Who probably reject me? Who do not think like me, or look like me? Who have no regard for what I hold in high regard, and highly regard what I would find to be worth disregarding? Why should it be that my fate is bound up with theirs? Forget them, I say. Blood may be thicker than water, but that doesn’t mean it’s somehow more worthy of my devotion and admiration.
Furthermore, why do the concerns of the blood, which I wholly ignore, demand that I have a hatred for those who’s blood is “different” (but how different is it, truly…it is still the same color, the same texture, and still possesses the same foul smell of copper, iron, and the ills that plague humanity)? What if I share more with them, than I ever could with one of “my own” (not my words, but theirs)? What if we bond at a deeper level than I could ever manage to with the ones I am supposed to unwaveringly stand by? Oh, but that would be forbidden, because the intermingling would dilute and destroy.
As a result, I am kicked out of the family. Disowned. What for? I couldn’t say, and I doubt you could either. It’s so absurd, so strange. Met with so much rage, because I dared venture beyond the narrow vision of the family, its stunted horizon, where all goes to die and wither into dust.
Purity, purity. All this talk of purity. What of it? I see purity, alright. Pure hate, pure hostility, pure devastation, pure power, pure greed, pure anguish, pure death. Pure Hell. In other words, that which is purely…human. All too human. And it sickens me. Makes my stomach churn and twist, the sight of my own species. The way it masquerades as better, when in all actuality, it is often worse. So, so much worse. A fate worse than dead, I think, would be being human. How demented and deranged it is, in actions and otherwise, o’, how I am repulsed by it. Doesn’t matter who’s fulfilling the impulse and instincts of this thing called mankind.
My dear, why should I regard one sect of it with any higher amount of regard? Groups are never better than each other. Individuals, now that is where the true shining beacons can be found. But this, this does not allow for individuals, does it? No, it excludes the very idea. Shuns it, scorns it, loathes it. Wants to destroy individuality and difference. Only swallow all into some meaningless, arbitrary, homogenous vortex. I am not allowed to forge and found my own little cavalcade, my own little union. No, instead, I am forced into one, based on inane and idiotic standards that unimaginative dullards dreamed up, hallucinating that they were, in fact, real. That they were not mere figments of their minds.
You fetishists of the blood want no freedom, no. You want chains for both you and I. While you will gladly clamp them onto yourself, proclaiming yourself liberated, I shall shirk them off and cast them aside. Yet it is you that finds me to be enslaved. I do not understand why. Because I refuse the limitations you impose upon me? You do not seek freedom for “your own” (as if you can speak for them), or anyone else. I spit upon your blood fetish. I abide by no rules of the blood.
What of this petty struggle? What does it solve? What does it bring about that nothing else could? The answer is…nothing. Absolutely nothing. It serves futile, short-sighted, ultimately worthless and laughable interests that, in the end, affect nothing. Not even able to bring an ounce of satisfaction, for struggle founded upon this concept is far too shallow, far too stunted. It will not go far. You think yourself a rebel; you’re a dogmatic fool, a blind zealot, a sad excuse for a human.
It would appear to me that this supposed “natural law”, this “innate” enmity, is fostered by silver-tongued devils. Only a concoction by slimy manipulators taking advantage of the easily swayed, who are bound to be preyed upon by those who know how to exploit their simple whims and desires, their fears and excitements. Nothing more. They have intentions of a conniving, sinister, Machiavellian nature, utilizing whatever they can to become little more than a populist wielding an iron fist.
Grabs for control, that is all this really is.
I see through the tricks.
I am not blind.
Love? You seek to destroy love, not foster it. What of those from these “opposing camps”, as you like to name them, who become friends, good friends? Or perhaps more than friends, falling into the depths of intimacy? Fostering families that shatter your delicate, fragile worldview? You hate love, loathe it. “Love” is nowhere to be found in your insidious doctrine of idiocy and deceit. Do not preach to me of love, snarling jackass. You would kill those who do not love their “real” family. Slaughter them en masse. You have before, you will again. Scum, you are. Lying scum.
These wars and battles against others…and all for what? Because you were ordained by virtue of mere pigmentation to do so? What additives did thee indulge in to come to such inane and worrying conclusions? Yet I am the so-called “deranged” one. A betrayer, a charlatan. Predictable. Those who are the worst of the worst will denigrate those who are not as the thing that they happen to be themselves, as a distraction method.
Play in this game of blood, I shall not. Others can, but I will forever find them idiotic for doing so.
Root out their tongue So swiftly from Their stench-filled Mouth, that it Causes them to choke On their own Wicked blood, Forcing them to taste the Decadence in what Gives them life, Solidifying the rottenness Preached from their blackened hearts.
Silence, silence Them all, Under no circumstances Will words leave their Accursed lips, Lest they Beckon you forth Via a foul seduction.
What could one Desire more than This, glorious splendor?
Vast, ever stretching, without end, A man could travel for hours, and Still, would the grand much of it Be unexplored. Beacons everywhere Call out, promising new adventures, Surely not to be ignored.
Tranquility, one wants? Here, tranquility, one hast.
Step forth, savoring soul.
Ocular organs peering into lush corridors, head turning About to survey all that makes itself known to you.
So soft, is the ground underneath.
Palpable under your bare heel and toes, calloused Due to all of the rewilding they Have had to endure.
Moist, damp, fresh.
Peculiar scents meet your nostrils, Undoubtedly rising up from the soil, Concocting pleasant vapors that Filled your lungs.
Molding, it seemed, to your feet, Not unlike a shoe, or a glove, but It felt…better. Realer. Purer.
A shiver runs up your spine as The cooler moisture nestles Betwixt thy toes, coating All around. It would seem, If one could imagine it, That the Earth itself Were applying gentle kisses Upon your trotters. A gentle greeting Amidst a new morning, as if to say, “Welcome back, love”.
Verdurous growth mischievously Tickles the skin underneath, Dainty growths of floral life Encompassing the appendage. One could Be inclined to think it were…dragging You deeper into its fold. And yes, It, too, is pleasantly full of Wetness. Tempting, isn’t it? To Simply…join it, on the forest bed, Relax into its hold. An enticing prospect, to be sure.
Yes, it had rained the previous night. You Heard the drops pitter-patter Against the walls and roof Of your home. Lulling you into Slumber with their comforting, Yet disjointed, rhythm.
Light breezes blow by, Caressing your skin So delicately and tenderly, Much akin to the arms Of a doting mother Pulling her child lovingly Into her warm embrace on A frigid night, Blowing faint whispers Laced with the promises You’ve come to expect Out of this sanctuary. Promises kept, a Word that never is given Deceptively. Lies, She tells not. For that is Not of her way.
Drink in the sights, Sounds, touches, scents, tastes, As well as all other profound, delectable delights.
Warmth surges through gatherings of leaves, Bathing you in a glow of Golden glory, the eye of Life gazing Upon thee, offering a contrast to the Chill of the playful wind. Not harsh, Not biting, at is sometimes wont to Do. Nay, merely teasing, Occasionally raising goosebumps as the Body is tricked into believing it is colder than is true.
Speaking of both the canopy and undergrowth of Emerald coloration sprouting forth From the outstretched arms, Both large and small soaking In the radiant beams emanating Eternally from high on, you are Surrounded. Engulfed in immense beauty. All rooted deep Within the ground, tendrils Buried into the dirt, drinking Happily. Up and out, is its way. A myriad of shapes Greets your curious gaze, Pupils tracing along every curve. No Artists of the species homo sapiens Could ever hope to Replicate something like them. It’d be An impossible undertaking. Those who Are arrogant enough to proclaim Themselves worthy, are foolish. Laugh at them, Laugh in their faces.
Oh, those sounds. You can hear them, Can’t you? Clear as day. They cannot Be missed, not for a moment.
Seems that thou are not alone here.
Older, wiser, tougher, stranger Emanations from Being, shaped Through its essence, descended Down from the immaterial (as all that lives is), Nestling and settling into Its new home, through which it Reaches out, expressing the Nature of that acausal mysteriousness, Keeping it safe, sheltering it, invigorating it, that which it is animated by, A mysteriousness they are intimately connected with, And you still are trying every day To understand more and more.
Songs and sentences passing from Magical throats, Enchanting And unknowable Words Filling thy ears.
Hear the pitter-patter Of killer and victim on The loose. An eternal Game of chase and be chased.
Fur and feathers of all Shapes, sizes, and colors Loom into sight. Somewhat Similar to witnessing Objects scurrying along A canvas.
So unlike you, they are, And yet, you feel connected To them, in a way Words cannot accurately describe.
A kind of knowing Of a most inherent variety, Not cultivated, not strived for, Simply there from the start. All that was Needed was to rediscover it.
Close by, the peering eye Of her, gazing from inside, Into the outside, seeing all Reflected in her vision. Her creations Lapping up what they need, Drinking her in, always carrying A part of her, wherever they go (although, They are already of her, and joined With her in harmony), always bowing their Heads in reverence when they approach.
Bouncing off of the surface of The clear orb of our Great Mother, able to gaze back Into her, as she is us, Above is seen below. Clear, Blue acres suspended, always Present, never gone. Undisturbed, Untouched, unmolested, it is allowed its Own recourse, left to its own devices.
Primordial, perennial, Everlasting, eternal.
Heaven sent you here, Guided you back home.
Of course, you came to find out…this was Heaven.
What could be a more perfect setting?
This place, it looks And even feels the Same is it did yesterday.
Alas, it also doesn’t.
Little changes, subtle rearrangements. Small to the Undiscerning eye, but to those who can Truly make use of their vision, they’re Unmistakable.
This is not your first encounter With this realm.
Nay, I think it not; rather, This be all that you now know. Yes, Intimately you know thy region of dwelling, Thoroughly intertwined with it, body and essence, Like the hands of two young lovers.
Daily, every cycle of Sun and moon Grazing along the protective cover Which allows us To peer into the depths, And become lost In the stars, you Find yourself Coming into contact with it, More and more immersed in its mysteries, Delving deep, always, Into the arms of the One.
This, this is your home now.
O, what of that Lesser home, you once Belonged to, so long ago?
Perish the thought.
Tis nothing else but Mere distant memories, Recollections from a time Now bygone, in your eyes.
Poorly reflecting on you, as you are now.
Despicable ways you have cast To the wayside, Shedding the superficialities of A world wrong and wretched.
Chains and shackles long since Ripped from your wrists, Left in the dust of your wake.
Soul no longer clouded, Overwhelmed with fog, Trapped in a daze, Confused and wandering, ever searching, Lost in an abyss.
Do you miss it?
Could you miss it?
Nay, you think it impossible.
After all, only a fool could.
Fools pine over the most detrimental of things.
Something stirs on the periphery of The otherwise serene, near silent setting
Nay, not a sound of here.
She didn’t give way to whatever this might be.
Again, there it is again. Sharp, grating, Distracting, unlike anything you’ve Heard in recent times, Ears unaccustomed to this racket.
The sound, the sound.
Your footsteps plod in the direction Of the offending crashing and banging, a Jackhammering pace Igniting within Thy chest.
Hypotheses and predictions born From an immense worry, Ideas of the worst hurtling Right into the forefront Of your mind.
It cannot be.
O Gods, do not let it be so…
Louder, and louder…
Clearer, and clearer…
Backing up, moving forth, Grinding of gears, Flapping of lips and tongues and throats, Whirring of engines, Valves opening and closing, Noxious breath bellowing from the belching lungs of the titans, Rushing veins pumping scalding hot, toxic blood, The feast of rape and murder, O, can you hear the screams? Aye, if only thy Ears were open, able to hear the screams…
Soil ruined for generations.
A floor trampled and torn asunder.
Flora and fauna crushed under metal teeth, digging greedily into Her breast.
O, the horror…
Something ignites deep within, a kind of Bursting forth, as if a bulkhead Within that wasteful, demonic Monument to modernity, now Plunged into the barren, aquatic desert, Hath broken from the immense pressure.
“Good morning, everyone. Today’s top story…a rather tragic one. Harrowing, shocking; the product of a deranged terrorist, perhaps? Goodness, what is our world coming to. A crew, part of a local logging company, who wish to remain nameless, was found viciously mutilated outside of town, in a historic piece of land that, after being declared to be under preservation and untouched for virtually decades, had been bought out. From what we could gather, it was supposed to be an extension of the town. A new plaza, a new strip mall, a highway, something along those lines. They kept everything tight-lipped, fearing an uproar, if the news were to get out…although, the town has expressed positive sentiments towards growing in size. Guess they wouldn’t want to upset the greens, eh? The company has been working with the local authorities, and vows to find whoever perpetrated this terrible, loathsome act…to justice. And they shall be punished to the fullest extent of the law. If you know anything, see anything, please…contact this number. We have a dangerous killer on our hands.”