Odd.
In case you are wondering this is my weird shit page. It isn't a story. It's just shit i've cut and pasted from various places and stuck in no particular order in here. It might give you cause for concern. Hell it worries me. But some if it is just. Hmmm I don't know. Maybe it is dark or light or too unusual, but it's out. Hopefully what remains is a well adjusted and rounded member of society. ?
It's like a ballet, the two of us moving in syncronicity of greed.
Offer, tentative and slow, a sweep of the wrist,
spinning, gay and free, for a price
Maybe I've got them fooled,
Maybe I've got the whole world fooled,
they see what they wanna see,
not (me) the world for what it is
there's no one looking over my shoulder,
for there is nothing for you (them)_ too see.
The mystic is me
the whole (is me)
the new thing is nothing
the old for you (not_) to see
it goes round inside us
through externality (sexual) sumblimity
it's the laughter on the edge
why don't we all fall off it (deep gut)
I must write before time traps me, in its confines, narrow and infinite, a single flow towards the beginning for the circlular is infinte, and I am trapped within it
sadness, loss, the empty gut of sighs. it will be our undoing breathed out in lost waves
one day we will grow wings, we will fly on the divine wind, to rise above it all.
I think I'd like to have wings,
It's a spiritual desire,
To be able fly,
the need to be free.
I could fly amongst the lofty clouds,
Dance amonst the flocks of karrawongs,
Skip through the valleys of the pristine wilderness,
Land amongst the high alpine trees.
If I can see all this in my mind,
I must have wings.
Kenneth Ulna was a wasted man. Slovenly dressed in faded worn clothes which defied fashion sense, a weak and unshaven face with eyes all listless and wan, the terminally downtrodden lost cause. His whole life had culminated in an ethereal nothingness that none aspire too and only a few extremely untalented people can really acheive. As such he was quite repected by his cohorts, few of them quite willing to go the extra distance to become what society thought they were.
Their cruel and furtive comments had a religious awe about them. Here was the messiah that carried all of their sins and would absolve them of their own shortcomings by becoming the yardstick which they could measure themselves against. Few were found wanting when compared to this waste of space.
Kenneth had not always been this hopeless. He had once had great aspirations, but life had dealt him a hard hand. Born to an affluent family, pampered throughout his youth, he had expected to live in the lap of luxury for his entire life. Unfortunately life never turns out as planned...
Kennth spent his days wandering the streets, the beaten path that so many followed, begging for change to get home, for coffee money, for forgiveness. Preying on societies greatest weakness, the desire of it's myriad members to be left alone in their numbing coccon of anonymity, he eked out an existance which kept him happy. Not in the lap of luxury but the more enfoldting lips of a bottle, he was in bliss, a rapture that obscured his senses enough for him to ignore the void he had become.
There were times he lamented though. That he had not sold out, had not bought the whole thing, the nice cars, the beautiful body, the family, the 2.4 children, the socially acceptable job, the house, the mortgage, the commitments, the social climbing, monogamy, apliances, all the things that truly ballanced and happy people possessed. So what if he slelpt in the gutter and had abusive conversations with himself, he knew who he was and where he had come from and there was a certainty that he was going somewhere. He had done his very best to allow the entropy of the universe to flow through him and in the end he was closer to the eventual goal of his body than anyone else he knew. The point of life was nihistic, to die. His parents had killed him in one feircely passionate and intense coupling 9 months prior to his birth and he had spent the rest of his life making amends for their mistake. His parents were murderers, they were ultimately to blame for his death. He just courted it closer than was reasonable.
Joshua looked down from the shadows of the night, absently running a finger along his blade. He paused in his probing, finding a nick in the smooth steele blade, a frown crossing his face in the darkness.
Darkness was his friend. It cloaked and protected him, allowed him to hunt his prey. The night was his only companion now, an intangible and vacuaus ally, but that suited him just fine. People were trouble, no matter which way you cut it. Attachments were something which he could not afford. Not in his proffesion.
The minutes passed slowly, but Joshua was patient. Patience was the key to his proffession after all. Patience and knowing when to act.
A tall figure walked down the uneven cobbles, his footsteps sounding loud and out of place in the deep quiet of the night. Joahuas eyes narrowed imperceptibly, the only outward sign that he had even noticed the man. The waiting was at an end, now it was time to act.
Pulling out a thin cord with a grapple at the end, Joshua swung it onto an over hang. There was only the slightest noise as the grapple wound around the protrusion. Tha tall man looked up at the noise, backpeddling as Joshua swung down to the ground. Looking left and right, the tall man gripped the hilt of his sword, fearful that there might be more people. There weren't.
Richard stepped from the train, pulling his stetson down to sheild his eyes from the wind. He hefted his travel bag in his hand. Time to go visit the house. Fond memories of the past asaulted him as he thought of the place he had spent much of his youth. Memories of the fantastic adventures which he and his friends had conconcted together, the imagination of childhood having felt so real.
He hailed a bus from out front of the station. So much had changed, but the essence of the area remained even after all the development He sat moodily contemplating a broken marriage as he waited for the bus to arrive at the house. He almost missed his stop, stuck as he was in the dark brooding and wondering "what if?"
Walking slowly to the house, he paused. It had seemed so much bigger when he was young. Now it was only a shadow of the memory, run down, a wasted sham. Richard looked to the wood out back. (?)
He entered, glanced around the interior then moved around the bar to check whether if he was the first one here. It was unlikely that the others had arrived as he was early and it was hard to find a park in this area. He waved hesitantly to a waiter, pointed at the table nearest him and indicated that he was going to take it. The waiter nodded an O.K.
Taking the closest seat he sat down and fiddled with the menus, staring out the window. It took a few moments for him to realise that the wall nearest was a mirror and that he could conveniently use this to monitor the street for his expected friends.
He craned his head around to unobtrusively examine the other customers, check out the talent and try and figure out which were the straight and gay couples. A waiter came up and asked if he could help. "Cappacino and a glass of water, please," was the breif reply. He wished that he knew the waiters at this place as well as Ted and Jill, whom he expected to be here soon. He just could never seem to remember names and faces that well.
He then took stock of the table he had selected. Not ideal. Room for four people, although potential for expansion, with two other small tables near by. It was in the middle of the room, which he belatedly realised would not have been the choice of the other two people. A table by the wall, preferably a secluded alcove where some serious speculation and comments could be made about the patrons, waiters and passers-by would have been preferable. He had grabbed one of the better seats which gave him a good veiw of the Sunday night traffic up and down Fitroy street. A least he would not get the 'dregs', quick glances at the passing parade. Not much chance of changing tables though, oh well, stiff shit.
He then proceded to stare vacantly out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of a car that he knew, or better still, a person. The waiter placed a glass of water on the table as he waited.
Then a familiar figure walked past, ciggarette in hand. Ted.
Ted walked up to the door, congratulating himself on finding a good park, even if he had to pay for it, then darkly remembered the fuckwit who had stolen the first park he found. He politely waited as a couple entered before him and were directed to a table, courtesy is important he remided himself. He scanned the restaurant, not expecting to see Jerry or Jill as they would probably be late.
He spotted Jerry, gesturing at him from a nearby table. Jesus, as though I would not see you, he thought but was too tired to express the senitment and merely nodded in recognition. He sat down, decided that the table was a fair choice, barely, then got up again to get an ashtray as Jerry said his hello's and asked how hockey was.
He ashed his ciggarete as he sat, tossed a book on the table, then casually stated "The table might not be big enough. Karen is coming and Ike might be coming as well."
Jerry shrugged his shoulders as if too say, 'Oh well we shall deal with that problem when it arises' then scanned the book and where it had landed on the table "Be careful there is some spillage on the table." He picked it up to see if it was wet, then realised what it was. A book of one liners titled "the Girls Handy Guide Book" which Ted had been so impressed with he had felt compelled to buy it and give it to Jill. "Is that Jills?" Jerry asked.
"No I got it for Karen." Karen was a girl that Ted had liked for some time.
The waiter arrived with the cappicino and took Teds order. Ted and Jerry exchanged chit chat, filled each other in about the weekends goings ons and then an itermittent silence started as they strove for conversation, Ted was tired and hungry, not in the mood for inane banter, Jerry just stuck for relevant conversation. Then suddenly Jill arrived.
"That's the last time I pay for parking around here. It took me forever to find a park. Where did you park Ted? I saw where Jerry parked, lucky park huh?" She nodded to Jerry, then turned to Ted as she seated herself. "God I'm tired!" She gushed, "I've played hockey all afternoon. Larry is away for two, perhaps three weeks, so I don't know when he'll be back, but its great. I've got the house to myself. Tim spat it again - he'll be living with dad for the rest of the year," she rolled her eyes to emphasise what she was saying, "mum will still have him on her weekends though." Jill led such a helter skelter existance, it was hard for these two to understand all the things that she had to deal with and had been through, but she tried to enlighten them.
"What is that youv'e got there Ted? Oh that book. It's great isn't it. I think it is absolutely marvelous. I love this one here." Jill proceded to flip through the book, quoting various parts.
"I got this copy for Karen." Ted stated.
"Oh she'll love that. It's so clever, don't you think? How are you Ted? How are you Jerry, your'e awfully quiet tonight."
"Yeah, I guess so. How are you Jill?" Jerry asked, in a mildly fascitious tone.
"Oh I'm good." She paused gathering her thoughts, wondering if Jerry was being a smart arse again or if he was just being vague again ... better just ignore him and start proiritising the conversation. Always deal with the basics first. "This table might not be big enough, Karen is bringing some freinds. They're going to Hellfire after."
"Is Ike coming?" Jerry enquired.
"No he's busy tonight, he couldn't make it, he's got work to do." Jill economically replied.
The waiter arrived with Teds order and Jill pondered what she would have. "Can I have a cappicino please - oh no on second thought, do you have raspberry lemonade?"
The waiter replied in the affirmative.
"I'll have one of those instead, I need the extra energy, so I won't have a cappicino O.K.?" She told the waiter. It was always so important to explain the little details that others might miss, after all she was tired and these guys were slow, they might not have noticed the first time she mentioned it when she came in. She noted that she would also have to leave first to reinforce the tired imppression she was trying to give them.
Karen arrived shortly after, accompanied by two friends. Greetings were exchanged along with names. Malinda and Raff. "I've bought your dresses Jill," Karen stated as she passed a bag to Jill.
"Thanks." Jill breifly replied. "Well lets change tables if you're waiting for more people to arrive." She took the brief walk to size up the new arrivals. Karen was wearing bad taste clothes. If she had wanted to get into that S & M stuff those clothes were already causing Jill some mild pain just looking at them. The leather jacket was alright but that blue tie died cling top was disquieting when matched with those fake mettallic blue nails. I'm not going to Hellfire with these guys, she reminded herself.
Malinda seemed cool. She was quiet and a bit haughty.
Raff was already in her bad books though. He had this ridiculous shit eating grin on his face, like he had all the angles figured out already and was trying to tell the world that he was one step ahead of everyone else. Probably on drugs - she hoped he was anyway - it would be a waste to look like that all the time.
Seats were taken, Ted next to Karen ... promising thought Jill as she sat down, then realised that
Raff was sitting next to her. Fuck! Oh well maybe he isn't that bad. First impressions can be wrong.
Ted flicked his ciggarette case and - I lost the plot. I'm sorry, this stuff is best to write when it's fresh in your mind. Well, we'll see how it turns out. Real life is much more exciting.
One of the things which I've noticed is that the more I write, the more I have to tweak the earlier stuff to maintain consistency. This means that what I submit may be subject to change. If I come back and update it, I hope you don't mind.
Accompanying bit or writers ramble: Read or destroy at your leisure.
I originally started with the concept in the first two chapters, but those damn loose ends always beg to be tied up.
Then I could not decide how to end things up. I wanted a full circle theme and then things just kept going.
It seems that the sixth (unfinished) and higher chapters are tending more towards the violent action stuff or the perspective stuff (I'm not sure if it reads well) but usually in a rewrite I add lots of other stuff.
I tend more to run off with the story then return and fill things in so I never really know how things will end up. The sex scenes are often an after thought, rather than the goal of the piece and they usually come in massive lumps, plot permitting.
The trend to get over wordy in editing and making passages incomprehensible is something I'm trying to avoid but I'm loathe to remove anything I've written - so editing is not great, but it does prevent word misusage and allows me to order things in a more comprehensible manner. I try to keep things unpredictable, but I'm not sure if I am.
.
If I claimed understanding, it would be a lie.
We seperated, and I still can't understand it,
Analysis is useless, my mood swings make that clear.
What we had, what went wrong, how, when.
When did it happen?
We talk and it feels the same,
Except for a thin clear membrane that seperates us.
Would it really matter, do i want to puncture the bubble,
would that be regressing?
It's true I still feel for us,
I don't know where those feelings end and start.
The decision is something which I did not make so i cannot take it back.
You don't want to, i think, so that is the crux.
I'll not drag my emotions over razor blades, so I think I'll live with it
Or maybe I should eat it whole.
go on.
Paranoia
These edges spilled over and through him, cutting his awareness of existence into a dissected and hastily rearranged consciousness, a monstrosity of form. A frosty, coldly feverish blanket of stars masking the furnace of his seething emotions.
How far from the closeness, the glow of human friendship, endearments, belonging, the step outside oneself and ones circle of friends.
Where does it fit?
This is like floating on music, but the coriollas effect of my mind seems to want to tear me away from you, maybe it wi
And the Rest...
Biblical, a savior will come, torn from the cloth of our evil, darkness purging itself from within, outwards into the light, a boil lancing itself from inside, the pressure and weight of the darkness flowing into something which can stand in the light unbrightened but a part of it. The shadow of salvation. A torn and weeping bundle which will stand upright.
Spectator sport. 21/9/95 11:45 pm bored as a motherfucker and avoiding my thesis.
Bleak? Don't take this to heart.
It really is a whimsical world.
There are many layers to everything.
Unhappiness is easy to quanify.
But the moment when you fall in love?
The split second where the clouds part and sun pours over the wilderness,
The times when you are having fun with your friends,
Or just enjoying watching the world,
The body rush when you are exhilerated by sport,
and when you have pushed past your limits and excelled,
There are many things to hold your head high about.
Do we really notice these moments?
I do
but I don't write about them, I'm too busy enjoying myself
When I write like this I'm coping with bad stuff, or just passing the time.
Getting inside other peoples heads
But how much have I written? Not much.
And it all starts to sound the same after a while - for all it's grimness.
Read it again. It's recycled - it's all the same words over and over.

What the...? by Kismet.

I had this hit, some scumbag I had to nail. Before you ask the question- yes I'm a hitman. Well was. The person in question was a real lowlife. Drugs, pimping, the rackets... you name it he was into it, past his neck.

I had to kill him. It was my obligation to humanity and my bank account.

So let me set the scene. Imagine black and white. This is the late thirties before colour. I'm a big guy. Rough as leather and sharp as nails. I'm wearing a big trench coat. I'm chewing a toothepick. I have style. This is important. Hitman don't have much to endear them to normal poeple such as yourselves, so what I do have I'm going to hammer home to you.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, black and white. White incandessant neon. Glassy black bitumen from rain. Old cars going past on the street. Me chewing ma toothe pick as I stroll towards the Black Cat. It's a classy joint. I step through the steam coming out of a vent in the pavement. As I come out the other side, the doorman sees me. He sees my face. Deeply lined, bitter with determination, eyes that say I'm here to kill. He looks down and sees I've drawn my guns. Two little semi automatic beauties.

The doorman ain't paid enough for this shit. He taps his hat and steps aside, all the way down the street and around the corner. One big long step. I put my twin girls away. No need to to tip my hand just yet.

I push into the place and look around. The Black Cat is nice. It has great decor. Modest, simple and understated. I almost feel sorry I have to cap the owner. Almost.

There are people talking, eating and drinking. My quary isn't here. I know he's sitting in a private room. Him and two to six of his men. He knows someone is gunning for him, but only an idiot would try the front door like me...

It takes a moment for the room to notice me, but notice they do. There's a small silence, kinda like the calm before the storm. I smirk, a real small smile at the corners of my mouth. It doesn't even touch my eyes. This is where things start to get messy and I earn my due.

I walk towards the service area. Some smart joe of a waiter decides to intervene.

"Excuse me sir, do you have a reservation?"

Witty comebacks just sound contrived so I keep silent. Silence is really good. Think of all the scary people you know, and guarenteed the quiet ones are always the most intimidating. Never underestimate the effect of a long pause or ignoring a question. It places you in a position of power. Talking just destroy's the effect.

Fixing the waiter with a deathly stare, I shake my head then rabbit punch him in the solar plexes. He suddenly loses the urge to carry on our conversation. I walk past him as he struggles to breathe, time becoming an important factor.

I walk through the service area, past the dish pigs and chefs, pulling out one gun, holding it high for them all to see. They get the message and rapidly vacate the kitchen like rats from a sinking ship. I pause and look around. There's something in the room. I've felt it before. It's more than anticipation.

The other gun comes out and I wait. Sure enough I'm right. A thug jumps out from behind a shelf, a shot gun in his hand. I drop to the ground as he fires. I can feel the waves of sound hammer my head. Fortunately the guy is a lousy shot. Lieing down I shoot. Through a stainless steel waiters trolley the bullets tamp out nicely, hitting the guy in the chest.

I should point out a major consideration in a gunfight. Unless you're a dead to balls accurate shot, shoot outs can get messy. At the moment my bullets are hitting him, probably mortally, but Mr. Shotgun is still a long distance from dead.

I roll away and he shoots at where he thinks I am. The waiters trolley flies across the room, its little wheels screaching like the guy just shot some yappie lap dog. The hood ain't seeing straight which gives me the time to make my next shot count. I fire. Dead to balls.

Climbing to my feet I confirm my handiwork. Head shots, forget 'em. Bullets can ricochet of the skull. Go for the jugular is my advice. Generally the sudden pressure to the artery knocks a person out. Then they bleed to death real quick.

I drag the dead shotgun guy so his feet stick out part way into the corridor, then I grab some ketchup.

Well the element of surprise is gone. I'll just have to use brute force and cunning. Up till now I've been low key. Time to stop tiptoeing around. My target lies at the end of a narrow corridor. I walk to the end, dropping sauce on the ground. It's a shit gimmick, but most people can't smell the tomato over cordite and they rarely take the time to look.

I step up to the door and stand beside it, knocking once politely. Did I mention that nobody is polite nowadays? Hmmf.

Instead of opening it, the people decide to shoot it. Hey, I don't care. It ain't my door.

Whilst I wait for the ruckess to die down, I'm not idle. I press my legs into the wall on the other side and start shimieing up the wall, kindoff like a rock climer in a narrow chute. I also shoot out the globes in the corridor. By the time they've stopped shooting I'm high up in the dark and I've got both guns out.

I hear talking. Boss man is ordering one of his goons to check the corridor. A thug pops his head out and looks around. Brave fella. Me, I woulda popped my guns out and filled the corridor with lead before looking around, but not this guy.

He sees the ketchup, the dead bodies feet and salvation. Just to be sure he shoots the dead body. Yep the guy's dead. Smart fellow. This goon thinks he ain't going to die tonight. I love proving people wrong.

"It's clear, we got him. Boss we have to go. The cops will be here soon!" he says. Always double check your details. Assumption is the leading cause of death, not cancer. Trust me I know!

It takes them a moment to get their gear together, then five more goons come out followed soon after by the boss. They're all armed with either pistols, rifles or shot guns. I wait a second to make sure that's all. Then I start firing. The goons get it first.

I'm not particularly neat. I'm not accurate. But hey I don't have to be. It's like shooting fish in a bowl. Three are down before the remaining three even know where I am. Another guy is dead before he can get a bead on me. That leaves two and the boss. I drop to the ground moments before one guy with a shotgun shoots. He ruins the ceiling but misses me. I land awkardly and have the presence of mind to shoot at the boss. I hit him in the leg.

Then I push into the room the hoods just vacated, and not a moment too soon. The hall where I had lain is now riddled with bullets. Man I wish I had family in the refitting bussiness. I could get them some great jobs.

"I'm gonna get that prick, you get the boss to safety," I hear one of the hoods say.

Yeah right.

I stand up, shoot the light and move towards the door, crouching in the entrance. The goon with a death wish steps into the threshold and starts blasting away. This is like amateur hour. This guy is happily filling the room with lead, oblivious to the fact that I'm crouching in front of him inches away. I shake my head then shoot him. God why are people like that put on this earth?

Then I shoot my gun around the corner and hear a grunt off pain. See I told you it pays to shoot first and look second. I look around and see the last hood face down in the ketchup. I cap him in the head just to be sure. Just a note. Rules are meant to broken.

Then I step out and make my way into the kitchen. I see the Boss. He's struggling to get away, but his wound isn't helping.

I shoot him.

Then I make my way carefully out of the restaurant.

As I'm congratulating myself, I get foolish. I'm hit by a big lorry as I'm crossing the road.

So I died. Stupid huh?