Saturday, November 14, 2009

panic.


My head feels akin to a cacophony of sound, a concert in a construction site, a million little nagging sensations out of sync. I feel as though I could shred to bits, splinter into uncountable fragments of my former self, pieces to a puzzle with no definitive solution.



Am I falling apart, or is the world around me falling together? The answer could prove to be my salvation, my destruction, or the purgatory of my very soul.

Friday, November 6, 2009

Moses

This post is effectively a stream of consciousness writing exercise. Unlike most of my work, I'm writing this in the first person. It's been a couple of years since I've used this perspective, but it was fun the last time I did.


The subject matter is something that has been floating in my head for months and months, now. I am very, very likely to continue with this later.







April 4th, 1968. A day I'll most surely remember until the day I die, whenever that may finally befall me. To most, it's a rather obvious date. Martin Luther King, Jr. died that day whilst quite minding his own business, standing on a motel balcony. Took a bullet to the jaw for his good cause, and most probably would have taken offense to all the riots his death did stir.
I remember that day a little different, myself. Not because I didn't care or anything. I'm a black man myself, and a gay one at that, so all the talk that man did about peace and equality was profoundly important to me. But I hadn't the foggiest idea the good doctor had perished until well after it'd happened. Four days later, in fact. Truth of the matter was, I was a bit preoccupied with my own problems. And while it may sound a tad presumptuous to rate them up there with poor Mr. King's problems, in all reality, they were just as bad.
You see, I died that day, too. Not in an emotional, my-life-in-pieces sort of way, mind--the news was a real shame, a real downer, but at the time I had a hard time giving half a rat's disease-ridden derriere. No, I had died, in the very same sense that that Mr. King himself had. Well, mostly the same. He was still dead. Still is, matter of fact, despite what the computer might tell you about the Chinese government or Russian relations with Plutonian invaders.
I, on the other hand, had awoken naked, about a foot underground. Just one foot, mind, and for that I am, quite literally it seems, eternally grateful. Since then, I've wracked up countless insults to good moral character--drugs, alcohol, sex, violence, and worst of all, bad music--had a brief stint as the most ridiculous of vengeful crusader, and enjoyed a good couple dozen more deaths. And now, thirty-seven years later, I'm going to tell you all about it.










Bill and Jimmy

This story, like most, fell into my mind from pretty much nowhere whilst listening to music.

It's entirely incomplete. I'm posting what I've done thus far with the intent to add more later. Be advised that it, like most of my work, may contain strong language or violence.