Watermelon War

This is the first foray into an episodic retelling of the history of the world. It is intended to entertain, provoke thoughts, and evoke emotion. Should it do so, please comment.

Also note that lacking feedback, these posts will likely disappear into the nothingness from whence they came.

stranded ship

The passengers have all disembarked.

They came to fulfill their rape fantasies and left with fistfuls of shiny things that would never get returned.

They crashed into us like the waves that brought them here, wrecked our souls as if they were without light.

They invaded our sanctity, created false gods for worship. But the truth is, they are the devils.

From high upon their horses, trampling all that grows beneath them, even though it grew there first.

Tavern

They were all drunk by now.

They harass us, threaten us, shouting over greetings and walking all over the welcome mats placed for them.

They refuse to abide by our norms, our beliefs, our traditions that existed well before they were conceived.

They wrote history to dispute the truth, then disseminated lies and propaganda while we were being erased.

Such noble warriors that rose to protect us, were slaughtered in the mocking face of uneven odds.

Their feeble detractors went to hide and write letters, claiming yet not denying the wrongs of men of action.

Our dissidents remained, joined the righteous in the hopeless battle that you know has not yet been won.

You see the effects, yet choose to ignore our plight. That makes you complicit, fully belonging to their evils.

And our brave warriors rose to fight against impossibility, since all that has happened cannot be overturned.

The acceptance of vengeance begins to taste more like the bitter poisons they left behind inside of us.

Our institutions protect them, set up protectorates with goals of compliance and subservience: their ideas.

So the rules were made up, and now those who are wrong are justified as right. The innocent are criminals.

railcar transport

Reinforcements arrive.

Their enforcers arrive. The scouts will be named saints in comparison to these machinations of oppression.

Bigger guns, the intimidation of a people already mourning the losses of the previously eradicated generation.

Aimed at retention of their gilded thrones, rust covered and seated with rotting souls. This is preservation.

dead gathered

The dead.

And despite the strength of our spirit and our souls, our lifeless bodies are just as weak as theirs.

Mother Nature Emotions

"Rerum Natura" (Mother Nature) surro...

“Rerum Natura” (Mother Nature) surrounded by grottesche decorations: Villa d’Este (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A sudden wrong move, and she will collapse.

If the wait doesn’t manage to crush you.

Maybe next time you’ll heed the warning signs.

Tremendous destruction, shakes and shivers.

Thousands of small disturbances each day.

She travels around the world. Sudden jolts.

When her tears begin to fall, you must swim.

When the feelings come, prepare to be done.

Covered in guilt and evidence of wrong.

When she brings her fury storm, knocks you down.

She’ll huff, and she’ll puff, tell you it’s over.

She’ll blow you away with tears and her snot.

Every single second, flashes of rage.

A short fuse, a missing circuit, she’s mad.

You will only burn once the shock is gone.

Dancing in circles, turning round and round.

Not so merry, you will fall to the ground.

Dizzy from confusion, spinning away.

She’s not tall, but she’ll rise up against.

Fierce opposition to anything said.

You won’t appease her. She’ll come tumbling down.

Once she spews, you’ll know the fire within.

You recant telling your friends she’s awesome.

Uncontrollable, fueled by what you say.

She’ll burn all the bridges, never come back.

Free Little ‘Birds

“Every little thing’s gonna be all right.”

That’s what you told us, but it can’t be true.

I’m not calling it lies, but look around.

“Don’t worry ‘bout a thing.” Quite a statement.

So nobody needs to pick up the flag?

Return it to the top of the mountain?

Rise up this morning, and bring the rest down?

Complacent, subservient, no longer?

Arrests for crimes, and set the brothers free?

Smile at the sun, let it burn their eyes.

Let it rise every day to right the wrongs.

Overseeing overseers aflame.

Three little birds. Fragile, safe, and vocal.

Exodus (pt. II)... Flight of the gulls!

Exodus (pt. II)… Flight of the gulls! (Photo credit: gogoloopie)

Stronger, protected, intensely aware.

Chirping, fluttering, happiness will come.

Onto the doorstep, no more need to hide.

Into the yard, where the battles collide.

Scorched earth and bodies on stakes. We will win.

Singing about beauty, love after war.

The glories we’ll find, no more need to kneel.

With cleansed hands we’ll bow, hand on coat and head.

Purity and truth. Design and intent.

The changes surmount what we recollect.

Listen to the message. Heed our warning.

Passing judgment is the choice selected.

Down below

We are sea and sand. We are beneath you.

Trampled underfoot. Insignificant.

Just granules. Little pieces, unseen.

A backdrop for your beach, outside your home.

South coast of Barbados, West Indies.

Not allowed inside. Brush away the taint.

So dirty and unclean. Not good enough.

I am sure you are better. Haughty one.

We will not forget how we’ve been treated.

We have ourselves. You’re not the only one.

The only one who matters. Bite your own tongue.

Or place your foot inside. You will eat words.

We are hardy, tempered for the weather.

You are weak. Prey only on the injured.

You are our target. Prisoner of War.

Pay your respects. Tell us what is deserved.

Does it make you cry? Kingdom crumbling.

Built on our backs, therefore, you owe us more.

Cruelty and punishment for thriving.

Ages before you discovered toilets.

Our memories are vivid, remember you.

Welcome, warmth, kindness, generosity.

And you look down your nose. We’ll cut it off.

Show us you can’t be despicable you.

The gloves are off, pummeling pugilists.

You started the fight. Now it is a war.

King Shark

King Shark

King Shark. He chomps and gulps, swallowing them.

Bones break as he grinds them into pieces.

Friends and foes alike, he listens to none.

Once he smells blood, mechanism engaged.

He crunches them up, one bite, then inhales.

As quick an ending as could be believed.

Some would say before life even started.

Impervious to others, wrests control.

Hook, line and sinker, pulled into the depths.

When the hunter becomes prey, see the fear.

Confidence and temperament disappear.

His terms now. They seek refuge in the storm.

Nature grants no such pardons to the weak.

Here, might is obeyed. Wily, cunning… not.

No subservience, only dominates.

Not a choice, a lifestyle. Can’t be swayed.

Like a rock, punch his nose, won’t go away.

Too hungry to quit. Can’t find the answers.

So he seeks to consume, destroy peace, love.

Insatiable, relentless, creatures scared.

Occupy the space, but make way for him.

If he owes you more than a look… it’s done.

Cry your tears and pray to your gods. He’s here.

Pursuit unending, until you can’t swim.

Come play in the ocean. King Shark will win.

Robot

The robot doesn’t feel his emotions.

Visor Robot

A protected layer he can’t access.

Little heart beating like a little drum.

Artificial heart, nothing can stop it.

A well-oiled machine that chugs along.

Pieces, parts, assembled from all over.

Device that functions without anything.

Doesn’t need love, caring, or tenderness.

He works because he must, no reason why.

He doesn’t wonder, or think about life.

There is no yesterday, lessons programmed.

Perpetual today, lives in the now.

Futures and plans are determined designs.

Unexpected shapes can’t alter his mind.

Square holes, round pegs, it’s all mathematics.

A formula solution. Only real.

Nothing considered. Taken for granted.

He has no experience, yet functions.

Outperforms everyone, but shares nothing.

“A box of bolts.” So derogatory.

No feelings to distract him from his ways.

No warmth or kindness can ever touch him.

Signals interpreted without meaning.

Is life so bad, who has the upper hand?

The one who knows nothing, but just lets go?

The Monster

angry mob

She looks at him, looks away. Disgusted.

That feeds the monster. Makes him grow angry.

Look him in the eyes. Maybe there is more.

Window overlooking the horizon.

She will never know. Not even one chance.

The monster grows weary. Tired of games.

Look down, fake a smile, but don’t dismiss.

No student from class. This is punishment.

The monster gets no relief from his home.

The people, the comfort others offer.

The monster broods because he cannot breed.

There are no others like him that still live.

So the townspeople chase him with their eyes.

Solitude is confinement. Let him out.

Explore the world and not be chased away.

Too late for that. His heart shrinks every time.

Overwhelms the monster with his small brain.

Face turns to fire. The torture remains.

Like a scar that doesn’t leave, but festers.

The fire consumes, destroys his nothing.

Flames fill his vision, smoke inhaled. Choking.

Searing lungs just wanting to be released.

To cry for help, but there is nobody.

The sea comes to wash away destruction.

The waves crush him. He is drowning and dies.

Fairy Tale

Cinderella Castle in the Magic Kingdom at Walt...

Why is my princess locked in a castle?

In a land of make-believe, far away?

Did I do something wrong, or was it her?

Why do you punish me? I’d rather die.

The executioner won’t come to me.

If she’d only let down her hair, I’d climb.

Over every mountain I couldn’t move.

But someone has already decided.

Our fate should be together, but it’s not.

Such a cruel man rules the ways of the world.

She left me a slipper, a sign of hope.

I thought I saw a glimmer. Interest.

She changes like the tides, and then I drown.

She let me be forgotten. No charges.

What was my crime? What wrong did I commit?

I made myself better, stronger, more fit.

A leader of sorts, with men that follow.

Smarter yet too, this knowledge of nothing.

They answer no questions that I have found.

Nothing I do makes her swoon anymore.

What could win her over? A flower’s smell.

She’s not a prize to be won, but I’ll try.

A magic carpet ride? But I have none.

Maybe a kiss would transfer the magic.

From a frog, yes, but without bad habits.

So beautiful. With her I’d rule the world.

But she comes and goes. Leaves my life at times.

Infatuation becomes my heartbreak.

I cry, and wonder when I’ll be the prince.

Or her knight in armor, the kingdom ours.

How does my fairy tale begin or end?

I opened the book. The pages are blank.

No thoughts or ideas. Just wait for the world.

May you find yours, and some happiness, too.

I’ll just wish upon a star when she smiles.

The color of her hair, it matters not.

Nor the color of her eyes, once I’m caught.

A fish in a barrel, a shot not fired.

Nights alone without a friend or marriage.

The honeymoon is gone, and my ears ring.

Thinking about her, and who she might be.

A model, perhaps? Stop watching TV.

A skewed perspective, but one that matters.

Expectations held must not be let go.

Settle for nothing now, and it will pain.

Where is my darling? Playing in the rain?

Does she have food and shelter? Feels no pain?

Or has the world abandoned her to die?

One day I’ll find her I know she’s lost.

I’ll bring her salvation. I’ll give my life.

She looks at me with confusion. Why that?

Such a steep price to pay. I’ve done nothing.

Expressions of the heart are tried and true.

There’s nothing sensible in what we do.

Thanks for your concern, but I claim my path.

I took the fork because I don’t like spoons.

Gilded, in their mouths. Undeserving souls.

That is why I chose the woman without.

She loves me unconditional. Needs me.

And I need her, too. An equal exchange.

No profits to be made, according to our own.

Just business and pleasure, which I condone.

My heart bleeds for her, yet I feel no pain.

She has been freed, and our kingdom now reigns.

I fulfilled my promise. Now my tale ends.

Mother / An Apology

Mom, I’m sorry that I’m not as cute as a baby, that I don’t make people smile when I giggle or reach my hands up so a stranger can hold me. I no longer crawl on the lawn, stopping to contemplate curious fistfuls of grass, and my little sun hat no longer provides my delicate head any protection from the sun.

I didn’t eat my vegetables like you told me to, and my skinned knees took longer to heal despite careful application of ointments and colorful band-aids. And when I got older my wiry frame never could build the muscles I needed to carry you through life and handle the weight of the world on my shoulders.

My Spider-Man pajamas that used to allow me to jump around slinging my web, taking out the monsters under YOUR bed, they don’t fit me anymore. Now I can’t save your world one happy day at a time because my superhero costume doesn’t fit, and I can’t wipe away your tears no matter how hard I try.

I’m sorry that I was mean to the other kids, bullied them around with threats, guns and intimidation. I really shouldn’t have cut off their hands as my act of vengeance against the other kids and the cruelty of the world. You taught me altruism, but I ignored it because I saw the world, and it stole what was mine.

I shouldn’t have dropped out of school, just because the starry sky was so bright. Thousands of stars peppered across a vast blackness, constellations clear and representing those immortal figures we can only hope to become. But I didn’t notice how so many were shooting stars, falling, never to shine again.

And because of that, I didn’t become a doctor or a lawyer like everybody’s supposed to for success in life. I struggled to survive in a world from that felt so selfishly cruel in efforts to move ahead in life. I felt no need to reap profits, to steal from others. So my fate was sown with seeds of despair until I could win.

I’m sorry that I couldn’t provide you what you with your basic needs, that I allowed the generator to go out and leave us freezing on cold nights, and I never cleaned the outhouse to stave all of that putrid from spreading diseases to us. I should have swept our dirt floor, and collected more firewood for you.

I was pressured by circumstance to join the Army, to become a soldier, because that is how people must live in our society, the only way they can survive. War is dangerous, but a time comes when you must choose sides in order to win the ferocious struggle of selfish competition. Dangerous too is complacency.

I become alienated in time, nothing more than a laborer for the profiteers. When I used to enjoy work, finding fulfillment in my daily accomplishments, I came to hate it. I avoided work whenever I could, just wanting to escape from the misery it became. I had to retire before I succumbed to greed as its slave.

I tried to rise up, become a leader, a successful instigator of wide-reaching changes. So rare are such people that everyone surely must find the urge to at least try to overcome the impossible. I’m sorry that I failed that, too. Do you know what it’s like to challenge the status quo? Like taking on the whole world.

I’m sorry that I stopped visiting you later in life, sorry that my time became so consumed with other things. You even thought I had forgotten you when you needed me most in your lonesome old age. I’ve been trying to make life better, trying to make the world a better place. The truth is I don’t know how.

I will likely leave this world without carrying on our family name. What women wants a man who is too busy, and what man would give up you and the world for a single woman? You have no grandchildren to play with and relive the wonderful moments of youth, because I’m trying my best to make a difference.

But the bad guys are winning, mom, just like they always do. I don’t know how much longer I can stand it. I can’t even call myself a fighter. I have failed you along with the rest of the world. All sorts of empty promises left unfulfilled because I’m just not good enough. All I wanted has culminated into nothingness.

UN_Human_Development_Report_2010.PNG

Battle against Time

The face of a black windup alarm clock As a child, Caius did not know of the torments and terrors that the villain Time would bring to upon him later in life. For childhood is innocence, and time is not sufficiently understood. Days pass seamlessly from one to another. “Do I play now, or do I play later?” Interruptions for meal-time could be so inconvenient. “Mom, I just want to play!” Caius whined. So much fun to be had, why can’t he stay up later and play past sunset? So Time would leave his childhood alone. “Play, young Caius, do not concern yourself with me right now,” Time said. Because Time was waiting for Caius to get older before he stole moments away. Caius yet lacked comprehension of the vile thing that would betray him in adulthood.

Time slowly began to sneak up on Caius. It took from him little by little, such short moments of insignificance that he hardly noticed. Fleeting moments that added up to the days of his youth were so carefully stolen by Time that he hadn’t even noticed. “Where did those times go?” Caius wondered. Though Time was a villain, Caius was still unaware of the evils it was capable of. It was already hiding, taking things from him, and he didn’t even realize it. But Time waited for the right moment to begin to stealing things that would make Caius cry, precious moments Caius would never be able to have back. That is what Time wanted most. Caius did not realize it yet, but in time, Time would become his enemy.

Maybe it was because Caius looked forward so often, into his future, maybe that was how Time was able to steal so much from him. Caius had ambitions and dreams, and promises to fulfill. So he spent time thinking of the future, ignoring the present. How was Caius to know that Time was sneaking around his back, stealing moments he would need to get to that future? How was he to know that Time could take so many present moments that he would later grieve and yearn for when he didn’t have them? He didn’t realize that everything he built was being taken away, moment by moment, by unforgiving Time. By the time Caius discovered the little thief, it was far too late to do anything. Caius was Time’s victim.

Caius tried to reach up, outstretched hands grasping for his goals and ambitions to be realized. But by now, Time had stolen every past moment from him, leaving him nothing left to stand on, not even a pedestal. Caius could only hopelessly gaze at the pinnacle, look at it from afar, much as he had done before, except now it was out of reach. If he reached too far he would fall. He would never get to touch it, experience it, because Time had taken everything that he would have used to reach it. “Why can’t I reach it!?” Caius yelled. Tears began to stream down his face. Time is a heartless thief. No sympathy for its victims. It was impossible for Caius to reach his dreams, and Time would do nothing to console him.

Caius now hated Time, for all it had taken from him, all it had stolen away. Cowardly, fleeting time, sneaking around, taking with it every presently cherished moment. And more, Time forbade anyone to have those moments return. But Caius had enough of Time’s cruel methods. It was time for Time to be punished, to be shown you can’t take everything from a man without invoking his vengeance. Caius would make Time suffer like he did, he would torture it, leave it helpless, force Time to beg for mercy, tears streaming down its face, like he had so many times before. Time would regret the day it was born, and the very day it decided to become a thief. Caius would consume himself to bring the death of Time.

So Caius fought time. He hunted it down, with an arsenal of weapons to make any vampire hunter jealous. Sufficiently armed and teeth bared, Caius set off into the world, in pursuit of time. Before he left home, he smashed his alarm clock, then the timer in the kitchen, and he cut off his left hand with a machete to get rid of his wristwatch. All of the pieces of time he could not collect littered the dresser and the kitchen counter, his arm and the floor a bloody mess too. Caius walked down the street, entered every business where he knew Time was present, and fired his shotgun at every clock he saw. Not satisfied, he climbed a clock tower, smashed the face of it with his fist, and tried to wind it backwards to get his moments back.