Campfire time?

Marshmallows ala Mothman?

I've been roasted.

You're going to be roasted in a second. Just keep it up, swine.

What the hell, Baley?  It's beautiful.  It brings a tear to my eye. 

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Thank you, but it's slowly killing me, it's all about attaining the level of freedom I need from my conscious desires, so the writing's been either sleep deprivation or alcohol-driven.

 

It brings a tear to my eye.  Also, who the hell is the other Anonymous user?

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I think that was me, I had forgotten the browser on.

Blessed be the drink

for it opens the windows

to my soul and those

foul spirits that scream

rage at the world are

but whisper in mind

though the cries of

dispair are only my

own it's only the laughter

they hear if it's a disease

I have let it take

me for the torment

I feel is mine alone.

Sliding tackle, punching my gut as noises fall and die,

Peaceful surroundings, laughing, the living air

Is the chameleon's masquerade, the love of words distorted,

The love of letters engraved on a bottle's price tag,

Everything, reminiscent of that ancient perversion of sin

When man laid waste to reason,

Laid waste to ethics,

Morality envisioned

At the bottom of a glass.

 

I'm imagining the youthful Eldar as a Bukowski-type spirit.

Edited April 27, 200619 yr by Baley

Young Eldar makes the older Eldar sad.

Does he ever make him yearn?

No. What's left of the young Eldar is the source of the older Eldar's temper. However, the younger Eldar was suspended several times between junior and senior high school for fighting while the older Eldar would gladly run from just about any fight if there's a choice.

As a coward myself, or "pacifist" as *they* like to call it, I can easily sympathise.

 

But I'm not sure if a fiery temperament is such a bad thing, I've been regretting the fact that mine seems to have frozen, especially when I'm outside my usual habitat. It's this damned apathy taking over.

Something rare. A loss of words.

I want a compilation of Baley Poetry. I want this now Baley.

Would you settle for half torn badly written scanned pages?

It'd kill my connection.

Me <3 Baley's sig.

 

I still have a report to do for Mr. Pixies I believe, and a musical one at that, although he may have actually changed in my absence. Meh

Darkness they fear.

Scenes

 

 

 

Joint freaks on motorbikes, a whole nation descending into total chaos, any minute now, any minute now, hordes, legions of lawless madmen singing about sexual perversions, come running, no, swimming, no, flying! Flying like birds on the blind blue sky, Christ still up his bare tree, nothing ever changes, nothing ever happens, motion is just a myth, motion is the decay of the stillness of the everlasting everfleeing soul, motion is love.

 

The city is burning, pouting as the flames of salvation encircle their targets, sobbing as its children perish and pray and shout at God and hear no answer, it's crying, all alone, it's sitting there, almost motionless, thinking, silently, shivering, it's cold, so cold, the flames burn its interiors and torture its heart, that human being that lies inside every creation, that little particle of a soul that survives the dying body, that outlives destiny, the flames are everywhere, the city is flinching, pain following the lines of fire, pain, everywhere, a conjurer's hat, a magician's mantle, thrown upon a sobbing city, filled with giant little people, filled with sinners and saints and children and dogs and bitches pissing on walls.

 

"It's all gone black!" Matilda told me, she was young, I could smell her youth, it rested on her clothes, it danced around her, it was like I could touch it and feel young again. I liked Matilda, everyone liked Matilda. She was one of those people that could enter a bar on Mourning Street and in just a couple of seconds tens of dirty faced drunks could be seen meticulously aligning to offer her a drink and a shoulder to rest on as the lonely hours swung away, tobacco floating in the air, alcohol poking it kindly.

 

"No, this isn't happening." I said, I wasn't trembling, that's all rather pointless when you get down to it, everything has an explanation, logic is yet another illusion of the brain, reason is a pointless luxury when the sky goes black and screams of panic gash at you.

 

"Can you see?"

 

"A little."

 

"Thank Christ."

 

I stared at her, Matilda wasn't religious, she didn't oppose religion or anything, she just found it all rather childish. And what Matilda found childish other people found childish, she was, you might say, a prophet of absolutely nothing in particular.

 

"I feel we'll be fine." She continued.

 

"Oh, you feel, don't you?" The tone was condescending, me and my wimpy mouth, well, I did have a point, it might have gotten a little bruised with all the darkness drifting around, but it was still a point, a decent one at that.

 

She hugged me, gripping my shoulders, hanging on to me, she didn't want to let go, she was afraid, I could feel that, feelings, emotions, the world was shrouded in charcoal and there I was, feeling, understanding, sympathising.

 

I kissed her, eyes closed, taking refuge in one another. We spent hours hunched against the wall, sometimes opening an eye and glaring at the shadows, the seemingly passive shadows, the frightened shadows, the nice old shadows of traditionalism.

 

The mantled moved! The Sun was up, driving his trusty mustang, plowing the skies, plucking piece and prosperity, we got up, smiles on our faces, pointing at the big red globe of love and kindness.

 

Hope.

 

It's all we've got, hope that everything will turn out okay and we'll one day get back to that road of sunny sensations playing poker in our intestines.

 

...

 

But what if I told you that the sun never returned and that everyone froze, died, for nothing. What then?

I don't care what you say, I'm still not going to cyber you.

But what if I told you that the sun never returned and that everyone froze, died, for nothing. What then?

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Then you die in the loving arms of Matilda, and she dies in your arms, thinking that they are loving, though, only God knows what they actually are.

 

I liked "Scenes". I'd say it was your best work yet, but that is one opinion of one person, so it might not mean as much as I'd want it to.

 

Anyway,

Thank you.

Drink is simply the devil's own weapon.

Edited May 7, 200619 yr by Eldar

I want to know what Eldar originally wrote : ((

Edited May 7, 200619 yr by Baley

Uh, a rant about a twenty five year old in love with a seventeen year old he ended up marrying. Eldar, are you secretly a debaucherous lecher?

Nah, Alcohol just makes one a better person.