PEANUTS

SALTED

Here are a few DANG good soundtracks that everyone should listen to!
Now someone save my sanity and tell me I am not turning into Erik...

I will say for a fact that right now I don't know what I am going to do with my life. I don't know if I'm going to end up going to college. Or what. Maybe. Does God want me to? I dunno. However, I do know what I want to do. I want to help save children and sex slaves in Uganda and India and wherever else life takes me. I want to help, instead of doing anything for myself. In fact, I can't think of anything better than spending my life for others. Even dying for them. Being martyred would be awesome. Like that one Russian guy said...if a lark were threatened with death for singing, it would continue to sing. So it must be with us and Jesus. How can we stop living Him if we are Him? That's what supposed to happen. Don't stop. Ever. 'Till death.


Also my house originates many strange quotes.

Tonight.

Tonight I will not do my history homework. Because tonight it does not need to be done. It needed to be done on Sunday night, so I can rest well and know that I am not missing anything for tomorrow today. Also, I just needed to write. I haven't in a long time, and that just isn't good. It's liberating to write your thoughts, you know. Quite liberating indeed. Which brings me, not directly, but because I want it to, to a sad fact.
I miss my friends. While this fact on its own may not be sad, it makes me feel sad. I have not seen my friends since Sunday. That is only two days. Yet I miss them quite a lot. Also I miss the Belleques. I have not seen them for much longer than two days. It has been weeks, in fact. And that is just too long to have not seen your best friends of the same gender. Hmm. I must arrange a trip to see those ones.
So I have decided to be nicer. Because a lot of the time, I'm a jerk. Not because I actually have mean thoughts...I generally don't. I'm just a butthead sometimes. I don't know why. Also swearing is a bad habit, and a combination of orange, lemon, and pear juice is an explosion that everyone should try at least once before they die. I like to listen to music. Music of all sorts. And I am excited for the Family Force 5 concert on the 3rd of October. I want to go to it. And I am going to it. I am just excited for it.
If ever there was anything I wanted right now, it was to talk to one of three people in person and at length. It doesn't really matter which one. I just want to have a serious or somewhat deepish conversation with someone. I dunno why, but I feel like I'm carrying something heavy around. I can't think of what it is though. Maybe it's just a thought. Hmm. We'll see.

The Ship Back Home-work in progress!

It is cold. So very cold. Silence fills the frigid air, and I can see my breath turn to crystals. With a gloved hand, I hold the hilt of my sword. The sad, quiet congregation of men and women around the boat murmurs, stamping their feet against the frozen ground. Soon, all of the fighting men will board the ship, leaving our loved ones behind. I glance at the small figure beside me, her warm hand entangling mine. Our leader, Mulcrag, calls us to board. He is our leader, for the sole reason that he has the most experience. He isn't the best fighter, and his beard is greying. We are all fierce warriors, and Mulcrag would let anyone take his place if there was a good reason for it. He is a good man.

They are all good men.

With a final squeeze of her hand, I take my leave. I walk fourth in line, slowly up the rough, wooden gangplank. Our warband is forty strong, we call ourselves the Sabres. We're somewhat infamous among our enemies for small, devastating hit-and-run missions. We were pushed out of our homeland in the South by invading dwarves, and forced to flee by land by the dark corsairs that roam the sea. We have no wood to make a ship, we little that was available to us here was used making our homes, and the wall that surrounds our settlement. This ship was once a corsair vessel, we captured it a few weeks back. I remember...

The clamour of battle all around me, the clash of my enemy's weapon upon mine. His two-handed broadsword lashes through the cold air; I duck the blow. The outsized, heavy weapon is better suited to open areas on land, and is no match for my long knives in close combat like this. I dart in, quickly, under his guard, and draw two bloody lines across his chest. He goes down clutching the ragged scratches and screaming. Another pirate takes his place. This one is obviously wiser, wielding a short sword and a hatchet. We circle each other, occasionally lashing out, trying to find a flaw, a weakness of any sort in the other's defense. I take another step, and my foot comes down on the head of a fallen warrior. My ankle turns, I stumble. That is when my enemy strikes. His blade whips down, swift and sure. I fall,
barely raising my knife against him. The blow jars my arm and reverberates in my ears. Looking up, I see his face inches from mine. Weary, dangerous eyes squint out from browned, weathered skin accustomed to high winds, bright sunlight, and sea spray. I can see his yellowed teeth, full of gaps and scurvy as he leers at me. His warm, moist, rancid breath upon my face makes me shudder in disgust. Suddenly, his hatchet flips, snaring my dirk by the crossguard and flinging it into the bright, clear air. It twirls a last, lazy arc, glittering in the cold morning sun, before coming down and burying itself a half inch into the ship's deck. The corsair's blade rises once more. Before he can bring the cold weight of death down upon me, I roll away and plunge my dagger to the hilt in his thigh. As he screams in pain, I wrench another blade from its place on my leg, and yank it across his throat. Hot blood sprays across the deck, covering me in a fine, red mist. I reclaim my weapons and clamber to a higher position, looking for more blood to spill.
That was five weeks ago, when the foolish corsair captain sailed too close to shore. We swarmed the ship, captured it, and we are now going to try claim another. The corsairs use slaves to turn the oars, we have only ourselves. Only six of us are seafaring men, they will direct the rest of us. We are all willing to learn. We dubbed the ship Reclaimer, for with it, we shall reclaim our home. It's a magnificent vessel, with the long oars sticking out, ten from each side, and a large square sail. There are also four ballistae mounted on each side; we have javelins to fire from them, and pine resin to light them, if need be.

As I board the ship, I glance back at the women and children on the shore. Many are weeping. A clear, eerie voice rings out across the cold air. She is singing.

Some men will die
When they sought to live more
These eyes still cry
When you bow out the door
But take the helm
And sail the foam
We'll overwhelm
Our ship to home!
And in the keep
Our hearts are kept
The blood will seep
From memories wept
But turn your sails
End my pain
Through tightest tales
And crimson stain.

The song stirs something inside me, makes me think of home. It brings a strong longing, and with it, a lust for blood. We will seek out these desecrators, amass our forces, and take back our home.
The ropes holding the ship to shore are cut, and we are at last afloat. With a final glance back, I see the shore taken by the early morning mist. I take my turn at the oars. A mighty heave, and we are sailing towards that endless horizon. With the men who know the sea leading us, we soon catch on to the rhythm of the oars. We row to the beat of the drums. I begin to sing in a low voice, and the others beside me soon take up the cry.

We will fight back to the homeland,
we will fight, from the sea!
We'll leave the corpses in the sand,
wallowing in filth and misery!

We will tear the land asunder,
killing like plague and wild beast!
We will fight like wind and thunder,
a gale force blowing, from the east!

Ever we fight for lands that shine,
killing the cows and drinking the ale!
Now the poor bastards curse and whine,
at last we return unto sunrise pale.

Our traditional marching song heartens the men, and soon we are farther along than we expected to be. Mulcrag calls us to a halt, and the ocean current is safe enough for us to drift tonight. We spend the evening drinking mead and ale, and telling stories. The night is cold. I pull my furs tight around my shoulders, and think of her. I want nothing more than to be able to take her home. Again, I feel a longing in my soul for the warm sunshine and green grass of the south. I am shaken out of my innermost thoughts by Mulcrag, who slaps my back and sits down beside me.

"All righ' there, Cráne?" he asks.

"Yes, just thinking, Captain," I reply. "Thinking of home."

"Well, when we're all said an' done our mission, we'll all be able t' pack up, let y' take that pretty lass o' yers, an' go home, eh? Before any o' that, though, I want ye t' know, Ah'm appointen' ye Sergeant. Ye'll be leadin' 'bout 'alf the men, when it comes time fer fightin'."

"But, Mulcrag...why me? I'm not the best fighter among us, and certainly not the best strategist, surely-“

"Ye may not be the best warrior on this boat, but ye're damn close, Cráne. An' ye've got summin' else besides, summin' the other don't have. Ye've got spirit, Cráne. Ye fight fer summin' else, summin' more. Ye've made this a personal vendetta, an' that's dangerous to yer enemies. All th' lads've seen ye fight, there's no doubt, an' when ye do, there ain't no stoppin' ye. Ye fight like ten men with those knives o' yers, fer God's sake!"

"All right, I get the point, Mulcrag. Who will I be leading?"

"Ahm...let's see...Fennscar an' 'is men, that's sixteen there. Then ye kin take Eli an' Rapclaw, fer archers, an' then Kerstix an' Maw with their bloody 'ammers, in case ye need a bit o' 'eavy work done."

Fennscar's men fight with spear and sword, they're useful in all situations. Eli and Rapclaw are two of our best marksmen, they can hit a target the size of a gold coin from a hundred metres away. We're all handy with any weapon, but Kerstix and Maw wield their hammers with a crazed fury beyond us all. It seems Mulcrag has given me a better warband than I could have asked for.

We pass away the hours of the night with idle banter, and I take my leave. I stretch out my thin bedroll belowdecks, and try to sleep. I can hear the timbers creaking beneath me, and the rigging groans above. Every minuscule movement of the vessel upon the waves is felt, and I can hear the waves vainly lapping upon the barnacle-encrusted hull of the ship. It is cold.

Suddenly, I hear a shout from above. It's Eli, from the crow's nest.

"I see a ship! Douse the lights!" he quietly shouts down. I rush above, pinching out candles and lanterns as I do. Specks of light cut through the velvety blackness, outlining a ship. Mulcrag quickly makes a decision.

"Men, oars! Quickly, quietly bring us closer. Cráne, take yer three stealthiest lads, and' get 'em up 'ere, now."

Ten minutes later, Eli, two of Fennscar's boys named Carn and Zek, and I are clinging to the anchor rope of the enemy corsair's ship. We are shivering, clad in naught but thin shorts. Mulcrag's plan was for us to quietly swim from the Reclaimer to the corsair ship, slip aboard, and silently kill as many of the pirates as we can without being detected. The water is freezing, but so far we haven't been seen. I begin to scale the rope. I haul myself hand over hand up the clammy hemp, and soon enough, I reach the top and clamber aboard, with all the grace of a drunken frost lion. I reach down with one hand to pull up Eli, and with the other, take the long knife from my teeth. Eli, Carn, and Zek are all armed similarly. I signal to them when they're all up, and we spread out across the ship deck, slowly moving forward, from shadow to shadow, like ghosts on the wind. I see a corsair standing about five metres ahead of me, holding a torch. His back is turned. As silently as a panther stalking its prey, I sneak up behind him and slip my knife between his ribs. He falls into my arms with a soft sigh. His hot blood pours out over my hand, burning in contrast to the cold air and water outside. The rest of my body doesn't feel cold anymore, and I vaguely wonder if I have warmed up, or if I'm dying. Has the frost finally taken me? It doesn't matter. We clear the rest of the upper deck, and move down the stairs at the back of the ship.

We reach belowdecks, where the slaves are kept manacled to the oars. I put my finger to my lips, warning the others to be silent. Slowly, I peek my head around the stack of crates. Then all hell breaks loose.

There are at least ten corsairs wandering through the mass of sleeping bodies, and one spots me. His loud shout raises the others, slaves and corsairs alike. The slave men can do nothing but sit and watch the unfolding events. Our enemy's numbers double with the rapid influx of waking corsairs. We are sorely outnumbered, and still only armed with our knives; Eli has a sword that he pilfered from a slain corsair. I step around the corner of and fling my dagger at an enemy; he goes down with it buried in his eye. I grab Eli's knife and prepare to sell my life dearly. The pirates charge.

The corsairs on three sides of us, a wall at our backs. A corsair with a four-foot spear decides to take me on. I'm so tired...the day of rowing has finally begun to take its toll. He jabs at me. I sidestep the polearm to the right, grab the haft of the weapon, and bring my blade down, hard, on the arms holding it, again, and again. With a howl, the man releases the spear. I smash him in the face with the end of it, crushing his nose. There is a satisfying crunch, and red blood gushes out. I flip the spear around, and ram it into his gut. Pulling the lance from the corpse, I face my next enemy. That took a lot out of me, I can't keep it up much longer...my limbs are burning, my head buzzing. A corsair faces me, holding a mace ready to take my head from my shoulders. Before he can do so, I quickly thrust my spear into his throat thrice in quick succession. The flow of crimson drenches the deck, soaking into the dry, thirsty planks. As he falls, his lifeless carcass twists, wrenching the spear out of my hand.

Exhaustion begins to slow my movements, dull my senses. Snarling, I grab a corsair by the throat and draw him in. I drive my dirk hard, creating a new entrance to his skull, cracking bone and spilling blood. It is all I can do to lift my arm again, and my bare feet slip upon a deck slick with gore. I stumble to my knees, the pirate's body collapsing heavily upon me.

I hear a thunderous crash. Heaving the body off me, I struggle to my feet and glance towards the noise. The crates blocking the other entrance to the room have been bodily thrown across the chamber. Storming through to doorway are Mulcrag, Kerstix, and ten other men. Overcome with relief, I collapse again. The last thing I see is Mulcrag staving in a man's skull with his axe, and the rest of the men overwhelming the remaining corsairs. Everything fades to black...

I wake later, lying on the bunk of the one cabin of the ship. My head is throbbing hard, and my tongue feels swollen and dry. I sit up, but it only makes my head throb more. Mulcrag is standing beside me.

“Thanks for the rescue, Captain. What the hell happened back there?” I ask, rubbing my aching head.

“Ah, well, after we sent ye an’ yer lads in, we didn’ ‘ear anythin’ fer a good while, then we ‘eard fightin’. Ah figured ye could use some ‘elp, seein’ as there was only four o’ ye. Good thing I came, too. After the fight, we freed all o’ the slaves. Good news ‘bout that, by the way. They’re gonna ‘elp us row the other ship, try get another one before we ‘ead back up North. Ah’m sendin’ ye and ten men over there, so tha’ ye kin direct affairs off yonder.” Mulcrag says, gesturing out the open door. “We din’t lose anyone over there, either.”

I thank him again, and leave to gather my weapons and effects. I walk slowly, trying to clear my head. It’s still pounding. One of the Sabres, his name is Famas, walks up to me. He’s one of the few men who had been on a ship before this mission. He hands me a strange lump of some kind of slimy green plant, and tells me to chew it. I put the goopy vegetable into my mouth, and chew. It tastes vile, extremely bitter. I almost spit it out, but as the juices run down my throat, the terrible ache in my head is subdued.

“Mmph. Thanks, Famas,” I say, slurring the words. “What is this stuff?”

“Don’t mention it, Cráne. And you really, really don’t want to know what’s in that.” I press the matter, and regret the answer. “All right, all right. It’s your funeral. It’s a certain type of seaweed, with fish oil and ground up snow lion dung.”

I grimace terribly. I cannot believe I ingested that.

“Thanks anyway, Famas,” I say, removing the thoroughly chewed green mass from between my lips. I throw it over the side. Spitting as I go, I head down towards the oars. My pack is there, along with my sword, my clothes, and my bedroll. I shove the clothes into my pack; it is too hot to be fully clad. I gather up all my items and transfer them to the other ship. Mulcrag shouts the order to get ready to depart, we’ll be heading a little farther South before we go back North. I give the command, and the drums begin to beat. The ship creaks, the sail stretches. The wind is with us today, and we move swiftly. A crew member sidles up next to me. We call him Hawkeye, he’s our best lookout. Me and him often go ahead of the group to scout, as I am the stealthiest among us, and can kill silently.

“Hey Sarge, me an’ the men have been thinkin’. This tub needs a name.”

“A name?”

“Aye, a name. We don’ have any suggestions, we figured we’d leave it up to you.”

“Alright, Hawkeye. How about the Soulreaver?” I ask, because this ship has a large steel blade mounted on the front of it, for ramming other vessels and sinking them to the depths of the sea.

“Sounds fine to me, Sarge,” he replies, and saunters off to oversee the rowing.

The day passes slowly, but we move like gazelles on the run. With the wind at our backs, and motivated rowers, we make good time. By nightfall, we are nearly halfway down the shoreline of the continent, where we will eventually be when we attack the dwarven settlements on land. This time we anchor the boat, the current is choppy. Tonight everyone settles down early, tomorrow we will be heading back by noon if we can’t find another ship. I make sure double lookouts are posted, looking to all sides.

Morning comes quickly. Much too quickly. It’s already warm, I feel warmer than I have in a long time. Still clad in just a pair of shorts, I wake the rest of the men, and prepare to set out. Breakfast is hard biscuits and salted meat, and the remaining water is rationed carefully, we want enough to make it back. Hours pass. No ships are in sight one the beautiful, calm, blue water. Mulcrag calls a halt, and we bring the ships as close together as we dare.

“It’s time to head back, I don’t think there are any more corsairs in these parts,” he shouts across. Suddenly, I hear a loud tearing sound. A large javelin flies through the sail and pierces the deck nearly upon me, and I instinctively take cover. I roll behind the mast as five other harpoons thud into the deck. The last two are flaming.

“Get bucket lines on those, NOW!” I shout, scanning the seas for who attacked us. Three more javelins sail out of nowhere, with uncanny accuracy, snapping rigging, going straight into the captain’s quarters, and knocking the lookout straight from the crow’s nest.

“Damn it! Where are they?” I scream, looking harder all around. I see what looks like a shimmering heat wave on the water. It’s isolated, though; I decide to see what it is.

“Eli! ELI!” I yell, my voice beginning to hurt. “Eli!” He runs up, ducking and weaving across the deck.

“Yes, sir?” he asks.

“Gather everyone who isn’t on fire duty who knows how to shoot a bow, and get them up here, now!”

“Sir!” He runs off, still bobbing everywhere. A javelin comes dangerously close to pinning him to the deck. As the Soulreaver continues to take a beating, he runs below. Less than two minutes later, he returns with eleven other men.

“Lads, I want you to aim as best you can, and shoot at that shimmering bit of air. Throw as many arrows there as necessary.” The men murmur amongst themselves, they probably think I’ve gone mad.

“Just do it, and do it now!” I yell again, tearing my throat raw.

The men stand in a line, take aim together, and fire. The arrows fall uselessly into the ocean, just before they strike the wavering air. On the third volley, the shimmer flickers for a moment, and a small, quick-looking vessel can be seen. Almost instantly, it disappears again.

“Keep firing until you’re out of arrows!” I command, running off to find men to man the ballistae. The firing teams are already there, javelins loaded. I light them, and tell the men to aim at what the archers are shooting for. As one, four ballistae turn and fire. The flaming spears draw dark, smoky trails across the clear, blue sky, and then strike their target. One of them falls uselessly into the water, but the other three make it through. The shimmering apparition disappears, and the ship can finally be seen. It is on fire, and the men on board are struggling to put it out. A lone man clad in robes stands on the highest point of the deck, with his arms spread wide, as if to embrace the skies. I pull my sword belt over my shoulders, so I can easily grab my weapon from over my arm. My four daggers go in their sheaths, on my thighs.

“Oars! Bring us closer!” The Soulreaver slowly begins to move forward. Soon, we pull alongside the smaller ship. Most of their fires are out, and the corsairs abandon what is left to help defend the vessel and their lives. My boys ready grappling hooks, ropes from the rigging, swords and hatchets. Suddenly, we are upon them. We swing across to the other ship, feet first. At the apex of my swing, I let go of my rope and fly through the air. I land atop a pirate, somehow avoiding his flailing sword. As his head hits the deck, I hear a crack, his neck is broken. Crouched atop the corpse like a vulture on carrion, I smoothly pull two knives from their place on my thighs, and swing around. Most of the men are engaged in combat already, trying to hack their way through the defenders. I see two men, Kerstix and Ramglore, in a ferocious battle with five pirates. I run their way, attacking from behind. My first blow fells a man, but my second is parried. The odds a little more even now, we pair off, Kerstix instantly dispatches a distracted enemy with a blow to the head. My daggers weave a complex pattern in the air, blocking every blow. The corsair overcommits, and leaves an opening. I step inside of his guard, and draw him closer by his throat. I murmur in his ear.

“Go to sleep now, you little fool.” My blade whispers silently into his chest. The man falls, and his blood pools out across the ship deck. Without warning, a green fireball blows past me, singeing my face. It hits one of my men in the chest, and he bursts into coloured flames. I violently whip my head around, my hair flying in the wind. The upper deck. I take off, my face contorted with indescribable rage. My normally blue eyes are ablaze with wrath, and my mouth is set in a furious, animalistic snarl. I leap for the upper railing, grabbing ahold with my right hand. My body collides heavily with the wall; I feel no pain. I only know the hate, the rage, the lust of battle.

I swing myself up and over the rail, landing on my feet. The robed man is standing not five metres in front of me, still throwing his devilish green fire. As I watch, the flames erupt from his fingertips, narrowly missing the fighting men below. The man is bald, his head shines with perspiration. His face is screwed into a grimace of concentration, but his eyes are still closed.

I rush the man, but as I near him, there is a blinding flash of light, and a deafening BANG! I am hurled backwards through the air, landing hard on my back. The wind is knocked out of me. Gripping the rail, I pull myself to my feet. Slowly, I circle him, wary now of other tricks. He just stands there, throwing fire at my men. I slide a dagger from its sheath, take careful aim, and launch it. The blow should pierce the man's neck, severing his spine. Instead, it is thrown back as I was, and lost to the clamour below.

I frantically look around for some means of getting near enough to kill the man; I can't let him kill any more of my lads. A gull, hit by a stray arrow, plummets to the deck, nearly hitting the mage. I glance up at the mast and rigging. Perhaps...

Shortly thereafter, I am scaling the rigging like a scalded monkey. I crawl directly over the wizard, who still has not moved. If the bird reached him from above, maybe I can, too. I don't think his mystic protection extends over his head. Trusting my luck to the devil, I let go. The impact of landing jars my whole body, causing my knees to give out. A sharp pain lances through my ankles, but I am right behind the mage. Without any hesitation, I pull a knife from its scabbard, and shove it into the man's stomach. Finally, he moves. His whole body jerks, and he gasps. A look of pain and terror, confusion and hate, flickers across his face. I rake the blade upward, spilling his guts across the deck. The wizard grabs my right forearm with a grip as iron. His hand burns, scorching my flesh. I let out a cry of pain and rage, but it is lost to the sounds of fighting.

I prise his dead hand off of me. Thin tendrils of smoke curl from my skin, rising to mingle with the sickly-sweet scent of burnt flesh. I look back to the battle below. The tide seems to have turned with the death of the wizard, the corsairs are quickly capitulating. Some throw down their weapons, begging for mercy.

We give no quarter.

Later, I walk among the bodies of the slain, wrapping my scorched arm in a greasy rag. Blood everywhere, gore congealing on the deck and wall. The smell is rancid, and some of the newer recruits lose their stomachs over the side. I order four men to dispose of the still-warm corpses.

There is a faint, weak moan behind me. I turn, a fallen corsair is feebly moving. I laugh cruelly, placing my foot on his chest.

"It's over, pirate. The world is ours," I quietly say to him. I press hard, and hear ribs crack. The corsair’s chest caves in, and blood trickles from the corner of his mouth.

Note that this is unfinished!

It's been a month. And a half. And nobody's noticed! That's fantastic. Because nobody reads this. Which makes it pointless, which makes it another point for me ahead of Junior in the title of who's more pointless. So HA! Anyway...sometimes I think about killing somebody just to see if I could get away with it. Usually a person has a motive and that's how they catch them...

I wish I could write songs like Iron Maiden. Like, no joke, they're genius. So good!

There is good in the bad. And sometimes, there is bad in the good.

I like rain, but I miss the sunshine.

Routine, again, yeah I'm back
just sittin' here on the train tracks.
Nothing changes, it's all the same,
we're all stuck in the same old game.

Just yesterday I had a purpose,
the meaning of life, fresh and focused.
Today it's gone, snatched away in a flash
what I wanted most, vanished with a crash.

A bottle, cradled in one hand,
the other a .44
Two more shots and it's over,
gone forever, out the door.

Maybe it's all an illusion,
and I'm here in mental seclusion.
I don't think I can feel real again,
surrounded by bulls in a savage bullpen.

Someone shoved the world in my mouth,
so I ground my teeth and bit.
Today I gagged and spat it out,
I'm tired and done with this fake shit.

A bottle, cradled in one hand,
the other, a .44
Two more shots and it's over,
gone forever, out the door.

Imagine...

A giant sandwich fistfighting a blimp. Who wins?

Hmmm...

I wrote this a good long time ago. I think I might hate it.

A lone man runs beneath blazing lights
in a world filled with fear.
His legs should burn but there is no pain;
everything is disconnected.

A fire burns deep in his eyes, always hot
never smokeless.
He runs for love, he runs for hate, he runs
for fear of something worse.

The dark streets beckon, come to me,
gashes in the black.
An iron horse rides smoothly by, looking
for a glimpse of his face.

Into the cavern, dark and dim alone,
encouraged to meet his fate.
The dragon sits, always waiting, live
and let die.

He longs again for the salt, the spice,
the gun against his head.
'To hell with the devil!' a joker cries,
but he is only joking.

Blue death awaits him, a phone not ringing,
watching, fearless.
The pain, the joy, exuberance of being,
everything is connected.

Something?

What is it?

Call me up just to bring me down,
make me smile just to see me frown.
America, nothin' better to do?
Start a war, say you're through!
Innocent children dead in the street,
soon they'll be killing for something to eat.

Liberate the people,
liberate the pack.
Once we get started,
there ain't no goin' back!
I'm just doing this 'cause I see
that nobody else can be me.

America, drunk on power,
some day will come the hour,
you're too drunk to stand.
Everyone hates you,
you don't care. America,
the elite.

I like it!

I was listening to this song and decided I like the lyrics a lot. It's called Faust, Midas, and Myself, by Switchfoot.


This one's about a dream
I had last night
How an old man tracked me home
And stepped inside
Put his foot inside the door
And gave a crooked smile
Something in his eyes
Something in his laugh
Something in his voice
That made my skin crawl off

Said I've seen you here before
I know your name
How you could have your pick
Of pretty things
You could have it all
Everything at once
Everything you've seen
Everything you'll need
Everything you've ever had in fantasies

You've one life
You've one life
You've one life left to lead

You have one life
You have one life
You've life left to lead

I woke up from my dream
As a golden man
With a girl I've never seen
With Golden skin
I jumped up to my feet
She asked me what was wrong
I began to scream
I don't think this is me
Is this just a dream
Or really happening?

You've one life
You've one life
You've one life left to lead

You've one life
You've one life
One life left to lead

What direction?
What direction?
I'm splitting up
I'm splitting up
This is my personal disaffection!

What direction?
What direction?
What direction now?

I looked outside the glass
At golden shores
Golden ships and masts
With golden cords
As my reflection passed
I hated what I saw
The Golden eyes were dead
A thought passed through my head
A heart that's made of gold can't really beat at all

I wanted to wake up again
I wanted to wake up again
Without a touch of gold
Without a touch of gold

What direction?
What direction?
What direction?
What direction?
What direction?
What direction?
What direction?
Life begins at the intersection
What direction?
What direction?
What direction now?

I woke up as before
But the gold was gone
My wife was at the door
With a night robe on
My heart beat once or twice
And life flooded my veins
Everything had changed
My lungs had found their voice
And what was once routine
Was now the perfect joy

You've one life
You've one life
One life left to lead

You've one life
You've one life
One life left to lead

Today

I have had some good ideas. Soon I will start writing the second chapter of Fragments. I have a lot of good ideas! I might even try and use them all, and I think I can. It's going to be a lot different, though!

At last!

The sweet taste of freedom. Let's see how long it lasts.

Also, on the topic of At Last!:
my love has come along,
my lonely days are over,
and life is like a song!!

Thank you, Etta.

A song I wrote

I don't know what it's called yet.


My broken hands, my broken feet,
the love and tears I want to keep.
But I can't run away,
there's still blood left to pay.

Standing here at heaven's door,
my lungs gasp, but I want more.
Surrounded by bees in a killer beehive,
lucky if I get out of life alive.

Introduced to the Devil today,
tried to leave, still hell to pay.
Getting out of Satan's grasp,
he's just a man in a scary mask.
Made a mistake, second-guessed revenge.

Should've seen it coming, been prepared,
still stuck here in the Devil's snare.
Golden blood spreads across the ground,
from a man's head that once was round.

Just once again, it happened today,
couldn't take it, I ran away.
Got my leg caught in a trap,
jaws snapped shut, nearly cut me in half.

Introduced to the Devil today,
tried to leave, still hell to pay.
Getting out of Satan's grasp,
he's just a man in a scary mask.
Made a mistake, second-guessed revenge.

Introduced to the Devil today,
tried to leave, still hell to pay.
Getting out of Satan's grasp,
he's just a man in a scary mask.
Made a mistake, second-guessed revenge.

A poem I wrote

and I usually don't write poems.

Why must we fight
again and again?
Why can't we just learn
to love instead?

Feeling abandoned,
wanting more,
still we fight;
love walks out the door.

With explosive force
that tears up the night
never we stop,
always we fight.

Bullets will tear,
men will lay dying.
But still we won't stop,
even as mothers are crying.

Still the same,
we always need more.
No matter what,
to war, to war!

The old men choose
when the young men will die.
Never come home,
always love flies.

Pulverized bones,
lungs gasping for air,
they once were loved,
but where, o where?

A blood-soaked field,
the sky turns to ash.
The warm times we kept
are moments long passed.

Have we lost
the right, and the wrong?
Is hate all we fell,
again, to arms!

A shattered wasteland
where love has wept.
The warm blood seeps
over memories kept.

Love has vanished,
there is no trace.
When I look up,
I see Death's grinning face.

His sunken eyes,
black cloak of dread,
closer he glides,
he wants my head.

I glance in the reflection
of a world I once knew.
Down swings the scythe,
wait! I found you!

Wide open arms,
a warm smiling face.
I pull myself back
to Love's warm embrace.

I have decided

That I get better looking every day. That is all.

Fragments: Part One

I feel like hell.
Inhale. Exhale.
My breath rises from between my lips and thickens the cold air in the small, empty room. The older I get…every day counts now, every since I first tasted It. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. My body seems to be failing me every step of the way. Unless. Unless I have it.
Inhale. Exhale.
Alone. So alone. I struggle to turn my head through the heavy, leaden air. A dead, grey woman lies behind me, slumped into the corner as if piled there by an uncaring machine. Who did that? I wonder. I blink and she is gone.
Inhale. Exhale.
Creeeeak.
The heavy door opens on squealing, rusted hinges. He walks through the door. Yes, him. I remember.

Max Kennet. At least that’s what he told me. Tall and pale, his greasy, black hair grudgingly accompanies him. He has dark, sunken eyes. He looks like a Demon. He is my Demon. My Demon of Truth.
My Demon shakes his head, “No.”
“You said you would have it, Demon.” I think Demon, but I say Max. I stand up. There is the grey lady again. Always haunting me…
Inhale. Exhale.
Gone.
The Demon shakes his head once more. I raise my heavy fists.
Thwack!
My knuckles split across his teeth. The pain. Feels good. The quick exhilaration of the cut flesh and the warmth of hot blood trickling down my arm fuel me. At last, I again feel alive, if only for a while.
Thwack!
Crunch!
His nose breaks. Blood spurts. I feel the cartilage and bone give way satisfyingly beneath my relentless assault.
I do not stop until the Demon is cowering on the ground. Everything is grey, everything but the unchecked crimson flowing from his nose and mouth, a river of scarlet.
“You lied to me, Demon.” This time I utter the word. “Do not lie to me.” I step over his crumpled body and walk out the door, eaten away by rust.
Like me.
Three minutes later, my arms ache like hell. I don’t know who I’m kidding. I’m just walking dead now. The grey concrete of the sidewalk seems to want to swallow me up.
I want to let it.
There are grey people walking all around me now, smiling. Laughing. Life is good. I used to be like them. Happy. Living in a dream world. Until I got a taste of It. Everything came crashing down around me, and all I could feel was the need for more. I hate it. This addiction.
It’s all that keeps me going.
The dead grey lady is across the street this time, walking parallel to me. I walk faster, but she is gone.
May as well head to the bar. Drown my sorrows.
Heh. Like that’ll work. It’s been tried before.
I open the heavy oak door to the bar, stained by the weather, back before it was controlled, pockmarked with dart and knife holes, from back before knives were outlawed by the Ascendancy. Smells like piss and liquor inside. Raucous laughter tumbles through the air and out of the door, spinning as it bounces off of me. I glance casually around. Most everyone inside is the usual rabble, except a group at one of the table and a Demon in the corner. He is fat. Dressed well. Black hair, as usual. He has three women with him. They’re grey. Everyone’s probably drooling over them. Probably supermodels or something. I have seen him before. I do not know his name, but he is powerful. Powerful, and he has something I want.
They all do.
Them. The Demons. They’ve all got it. I’ve got a little. Most people don’t. Need more.
I guess I should explain how I can see them. The Demons. How I got ripped from my ignorant, peaceful, bullshit little world.
To start, I guess I really don’t know how they’re Demons. Or how I can see them. But they are, and they can.
I worked for one of the world’s largest software programming corporations. USP, Inc. United Software Programming, Incorporated. Creative, isn’t it?
I was working overtime one night, as I did frequently. I had to pay my mother’s medical bills. She’s dying. Might even be dead now. And I never got to say goodbye. Never got to tell her I was sorry for all the things I said. Thank her for all the wisdom she ever shared. She had cancer and epilepsy. None of the treatments worked. Only one real cure…the permanent one. Damn doctors probably used it, too. I wouldn’t know.
A few others were working late that night, too. Me an’ Susan Lanbrook had just finished our annual reports. No one was answering the phones upstairs. Understandable, it was late. The fax machine was in for repairs, too. Those reports had to be on the boss’ desk by morning, or it was our asses. So we figured we’d take the elevator. All the way up. As is forbidden.
Stupid idea.
From fifteen to seventy-four/ I hate skyscrapers. From outside, they look like a giant was sucked into the grey, concrete earth. Just his fingers are left, reaching for the sky. The sun. Reaching for a last chance at life. Inside, always seems like you’re ground level. It feels wrong.
Of course, back then, I love them. The pinnacle of modern human architecture. The skyscraper. So high, you can reach out, touch the stars, grab the fluffy white clouds. What would King Tut and his pyramids think of that?
When we hit the top, it seemed like the doors didn’t want to open. Like they were talking to me: “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
They were right.
Ding.
They opened, grudgingly, anyway. Looking back, I almost wish they wouldn’t have. If they hadn’t, I would still be living in my dream world. A normal guy with normal problems. Almost.
Ignorance is bliss. You’ve heard it before. It’s really true. Lies. So much easier than the Truth. More comfortable. Ten times more comfortable than the naked, bright, ugly Truth. But now I’m addicted.
The doors opened. To Star Wars. Black floors, silver walls, sliding doors. I half expected a goddamn stormtrooper to walk by.
There were two big doors ahead of us, doors that opened up and down. No, not doors. A mouth. Ready for us to walk straight in. Be willingly eaten. Walk right into that gaping maw, please remove all metal items, sir, as they may cause indigestion.
Endless hallways to the left and right. I had a bad feeling. Didn’t say anything, though. No sir. So what if the boss likes cold and sterile? Nothing to be afraid of…
We walked straight in. Straight through those hellish jaws. The jaws of the Beast.
That Beast ate it all. Everything I ever knew. Tried to eat me, too.
Soon as Susan walked into the mouth, BAM! She hit the ground with blood gurgling from her throat and mouth. Hot, scarlet, sticky blood. Like a bubble bath. I ran to her. Tried to put pressure on it. Course, I’m no medic. A few soft clinks slammed me back to reality. A little metal canister landed a few feet away from me. Two red eyes glaring hatefully at me. All of a sudden, they closed, those hideous eyes. The canister made a popping noise. Sprayed some kind of green gas all over the damn place. From what had happened to Susan, I guessed its purpose. Kill me. Leave me for the Beast to digest.
I got a little in my lungs, and a lot on my face. Only a little where it mattered, though. Doesn’t mean it didn’t burn like hell. After that, I held my breath and ran.
I threw up what little was left in my stomach in the elevator. Almost as soon as the doors closed on that hellish “office.” What had happened to Susan…those red eyes. I still have nightmares about those eyes. I can’t begin to describe how awful they were. Like real eyes, almost. Right out of some poor soul’s head. Just glaring. Not from this world. Some nights, they talk to me. I swear it.
Sitting there, watching the invisible stench of my sick float up to stain the ceiling as it had stained the floor, dropping back down to the “real” world, I thought about what I had seen in between when the canister had closed its grotesque, red eyes and spat in my face, and when I had hit the elevator, frantically scrabbling for the button.
After I ran from the room, through the open mandibles of the Beast, I wound up in another room. One I hadn’t been in before. Shouldn’t have been there. It was like a movie theatre. A movie theatre with only one seat. One seat, one screen, and a thousand doors.
One the screen. Carnage. A bloody hell. Men with limbs blasted clean off. Men covered in sweat and blood. Men destroying other men.
Men wearing the seal of the United Coalition of Western Nations.
There wasn’t supposed to be war. The news said all that had been over for nine years. World peace. No more fighting. Even old war movies were outlawed now. At last, after centuries of the human race tearing itself apart with everything from stones to lead to nuclear weapons, it was supposed to be over.
It wasn’t.
I threw up. A coloured blemish upon the cold, grey floor. Already everything was seeming to lose colour. Fading, slowly. All to grey.
The doors. I had to get out. They were all different. Sliding, hinged, iron, glass. All grey, even the glass seemed it.
All but one.
A wooden door on the left side of the room. Almost shining with the warm, golden glow. Beckoning me, it seemed. I ran for it. It opened to that Death Star hall again. The elevator was just across, seconds away.
After the office incident, I looked discreetly for more answers. For the next month, I went underground, living on the streets, searching for answers. I couldn’t go back to work, I knew that. My whole life, gone. Destroyed because The Man doesn’t want me to see the Truth.
Then I was contacted. By Max. The Demon. He told me to meet him, said he’d have answers. The Demon told me little of what I wanted to know. Just a little at a time, keeping me on a leash. For whatever reason, he didn’t want me to have it all at once. Maybe because the sheer suddenness of it all would have killed me. Maybe he just wanted to keep me wrapped around his finger.
And keep me he did. I was addicted. The only time I could shrug off the hurt and pain of the neurotoxin was when I received a new piece of the Truth.
He was supposed to give me something last time. I don’t know what, but it was supposed to completely open my eyes. He didn’t have it.
Damned Demons. So unreliable.
I honestly don’t know why he helped me in the first place. Most Demons are evil. Pure evil. Paragons of deception.
But he was different.
I also don’t know why I’m still alive. He could have torn me apart in that room. I can’t fight a Demon. To kill a Demon…Frank Castle might have been able to, back in the day. Or Cage. But they’re gone. Dead. If they ever really existed. Could be a lie, too.
Since the gas hit me, I black out sometimes. I just wake up without knowing what I’ve done for the past few hours. The most I’ve ever lost is two days. I guess the stuff did some damage, aside from making me feel old all the time. Tired. Weak. Can barely lift my head some days.
The bar. That’s right. I remember.
“…in celebration of two years of complete world peace…” the television says to me.
“Peace is a lie,” I murmur.
“…will be marking Wednesday as International World Harmony Day…”
“Peace is a lie,” I repeat, louder this time.
“…promises to be the biggest day of the year…”
“Peace is a lie!” I say. Almost shouting now. Nobody seems to notice.
“…an appearance on international television from all the world’s leaders, united…”
“Peace is a lie!” I scream. My throat feels like I swallowed a cheese grater. Nobody notices my outburst. Heh. I thought I screamed.
People hear what they want.
I slump heavily, defeated onto a tattered barstool.
“A pint, Vinnie?” I ask, my voice course and rough. Vinnie, the short, fat bartender with one tooth and a big, bushy beard, taps me a pint. I glance over my shoulder at the Demon in the corner. There is a fourth woman with him now.
Hello, Susan.


White light. Damn, that hurts. I clamp my eyes back shut. Who am I? Where am I?
I am Allan Christianson. I am thirty-seven years old. I live in Chicago.
I cautiously open my eyes again. A bed. A desk. A lamp. Nothing on the walls but a calendar. Where am I?
The calendar. January eighth, 2097.
Last I remember it was November. Two months? I’ve never lost near that amount before. Never. What the hell is going on? What am I doing?
There’s something else written on the calendar. Max, eleven AM. I recognize my own unruly handwriting. There’s a clock on the desk. Nine AM, it tells me.
Wherever I am, I’m alone, tired, and dirty. I need a shower.
The showerhead vomits too-hot water down my back. I barely feel it. Two months? Such a long time…at least the Ascendancy hasn’t caught me yet. But what have I been doing?
I turn to let the water pour on my face. It fills my mouth, covers me.
It turns to blood. My heart nearly stops, I scream like a little girl. I back up against the far wall, as far away as I can get from the gruesome blood fountain. Mumbling incoherently, I hurriedly step from the shower. It is still spraying blood. The once-pure bathmat is stained deep red, the tiled floor showered with ruby drops. Susan’s blood. My mother’s blood. The blood of those soldiers, dying alone on a field more blood than earth, coated in the gore of fallen men.
The shower curtain reaches out and grabs my leg. I cry out and fall. Water splashes across my face. Glorious water. I lie naked on the ground, panting, crying, begging God to make me pay like the devil I am. “Kill me,” I cry. “End this madness.”
As I pull my clothes on, I feel dirtier than before.
AAAARRGH!
It all comes out in an instant. Hate, pain, confusion, sorrow, love, anguish. Fear. My knuckles. Bleeding bad. There is a decent sized hole in the sheetrock near the bathroom door. My pulse spikes. Adrenaline. Feels good.
There’s nothing to do but go see him now. My Demon. My last hope. Perhaps he has them, at last. The answers. The Truth.
My head is spinning as I walk the streets. I know how to get where I’m going. Thousands of them. Thoughts racing through my mind. Memories. I can’t process any of them. They fly by much to quickly.
Soon enough I’m there. I glance around. Mot too many people out, and none looking at me. I duck into the alley and jog down the stairs.
Again, I am in the room. There are two doors leading from it now. She lies in the corner. Susan.
Ten fifty-seven. The door in front of me bursts open with a bang, bouncing off the wall. There he is. Not panting, but a slight sheen of sweat covers his pallid, waxy brow, which means he’s probably been running. Fast. Demon fast.
“Get out! Take the other door behind you and go! There’s not time to explain. They are coming. Go!” the Demon tells me.
“Demon! What’s going on? I need answers!”
“Allan, there’s not time! I’ll try to buy you enough time to get out. I’ll contact you later, as soon as I can. They’ll be here in seconds. Get out!”
“Who’s com-” I begin to shout. I am cut off by thundering footsteps on the stairs, and four of the faceless Ascendancy piling through the doorway. From their gear and the way they move, I can tell they’re Demon Hunters, a covert squad specially trained to destroy any superhuman threat to the perfection and benevolence of the Ascendancy.
“Get down!”
“Hands on your head!”
“On your knees!” they shout. I bolt for the back door. The sound of a gun being fired shatters the charged stillness of the air. Miraculously, they miss me. I slam the door and run. Maybe they’ll catch me. Maybe Max can give me the final answers someday. I don’t know.
My name is Allan Christianson. I am thirty-seven years old.
And I am losing the Truth.

All of us.

I've noticed lately that there are a lot of people who aren't grateful for what they have. They always want more, more, more.
I am one of them.
I think we all are. I try not to be. I try to look at what I do have, how blessed I am, rather than what I don't have and what I want, but it's hard. I have lived most of my life wanting more and not seeing what really matters.
What I really want is to be closer to God. I don't want to admit it, but I've been ignoring Him a little bit lately. I haven't been listening, and last night I realized that. I need to become closer to Him, and learn to love and be thankful, rather than hate and want more.
I think we all should. I think if people ever had a choice between saving their own life and saving the life of a complete stranger, they should pick the stranger. I think we need to learn to put others before ourselves. Nearly nobody does it. We need to. We need to love other more than ourselves.
People have fallen so far. Sometimes I wish God would flood the earth again, but He said He won't. If everyone learned to help each other, there would be no need for money or power-hungry governments. There are so many people out there who need helping, and so many just don't want to help, or don't care.
I want to help. I want to spend my life bettering others'.
Just some thoughts I had as I couldn't sleep.

Just some stale thoughts

I've been thinking (scary, right?). Thinking about lots of things. Here are a few.
Plums are really delicious. The world is a tortured place, it's really screwed up. If I had my way, there wouldn't be school unless you wanted to go, and you could hang out with whoever you wanted whenever you wanted. Camp would be year round, even in the snow. Everyone would be carefree, why would you need to be stressed? What matters in life are the people you meet and interact with, not what you do or things you have. Friends and family are the most important things, possesions don't matter. I really don't know how anyone could see even the simplest things, such as the ocean, without believing in God. Who else could create something so beautiful, yet so dangerous? It is so massive you can hardly wrap your mind around it. It's so amazing. People care too much about things that don't matter, like money and work. Trust in God, and everything will work out in the end. The things to care about are people. People are all that matter. Spend time with the people you love, and if you can't because they live far away, write them, call them, email them, interact. I like music. It's a good way for people to express themselves. I like writing and poetry too. People pour out their souls into it, and yet so few people appreciate it. They would rather play video games and watch trashy TV shows than read a good book or write something. If you're ever bored, write. I think it's a good productive use of time. I'm not saying games and TV are bad, just too much of them is. Kind of like carrots, eating too many carrots makes your skin orange and then you throw up. It happened to my aunt when she was a kid. I like Canada. Vancouver is a beautiful place. I would like to go there again soon sometime, and take a few friends with me. It would be a fun trip. Maybe when I get a car I'll drive up there with some people at the end of summer. I miss everyone at camp a lot. It's really boring and sometimes tough to go on without you guys. You always encouraged me in tough times. Back on the subject of God, people who don't believe are stupid. Scratch that, not stupid, but misled. Just cause you're in a world of sin doesn't mean you should conform. Be transformed by the renewing of your mind. That's from the Bible. It's a good book. In fact, it's the good book. Jesus is the greatest friend you could ever have. Who else do you know that would be tortured and die for you just so you wouldn't be in Hell? Hell is a nasty place. Lots of people are going there. It's really sad. I used to think it was a little strange that there was some huge presence all around that created everything. Now I find it is strange that some people can believe there isn't. How many parts are in the human body? Lots. How many people do you know that think they are all put in the right places to work together like they do by accident? It's absurd. I mean, what are the chances of that? They were put there by someone, right? Who put them there? Oh yeah, there's that God thing again. He did create us and He is watching out for us, always. He is the only one who will never leave nor forsake you. He is the beginning and end, the Lion and the Lamb. A personal relationship with Jesus Christ the best thing that could ever happen to a person. Got troubles? Ask Him. Everything will be ok, just wait and listen. Things happen. I really don't want to go back to school, but I will so I can get through till next summer when I can see all those people I love and miss again. I've changed a lot over the summer. I think I have rather a lot more wisdom than I did before. I think deeper now, about things that matter. God will change you, and for the better. Everything seems so much more in tune now, more vivid and colourful. Maybe it's because I couldn't see before, but God has changed that. He works in the most amazing ways through the most amazing people you will ever meet. I learned to care more about people than anything this summer. God worked through my friends, old and new (especially new). I met so many amazing people while serving the Lord. My life seems boring at home now that you guys aren't here to make things happen, fun things and sometimes bad things. Even bad things can be good things. It doesn't matter what the moment is, it's still worth having. It's part of your life, and it helps make you who you are. Climb things just to be in a higher place. Swimming is always good, no matter what time it is. You can always laugh at something, in any situation. The forest doesn't have to be scary in the dark. If your stomach hurts, throw up. These are all things that I apparently taught someone this summer, but I think I just helped them realize it for themselves. Maybe it's the same thing once you cut down to it. I dunno. All I know is that termites taste like butter and God's word is truth. Other than that, it all can shift. Maybe you understood what I wrote, and maybe you think it's the babbling of a crazy man. Whatever it is, I hope you took something from it. I know someone will understand.