My idea of a dream vacation would be to Egypt.  I have always been fascinated with the country, and I would love to see the pyramids.  It is a very fascinating land that is often romanticized in novels and movies, and I would like to see if it is truly as intriguing as the media makes it seem.  I would like to visit the Valley of the Kings, and see Tutankhamen's tomb and treasure.  If I had the opportunity, I would enjoy helping with an excavation, if there were any sites discovered in the area of my travels. 

I think most fascinating of all would be mummies.  It's amazing how the remains of people who lived 3,000 years ago can tell us so much about how they lived.  I would go to the Cairo museum to see all the famous mummies; I think it would be a truly eye opening experience.    

 

The wildlife in Egypt would also be spectacular to see.  I've only saw a camel once – a baby camel at a petting zoo I visited with my mother.  It would be awesome to see the crocodiles in the Nile river, and the other wild animals that call the banks of the river home. 

 

When I was little, probably two or three, I remember seeing a show about the sphinx on the Discover Channel.  For weeks after that, I drove my mom and dad crazy with constant questions about Egypt.  Seeing the land I've been fascinated with for so long would be the ultimate vacation. 

The last dream I had was about being in a forest.  It was spring time, over cast, cloudy, raining, and cold.  I remember that it was really wet.  I was running for my life, it seemed like, when I came to a secluded lake, surrounded by trees.  I found Jack there, one of the characters I routinely write about.  Instead of his usual dirty jeans and torn t-shirt, he was wearing a bear-fur wrap, with only his face visible.  Sassy was there too, wearing a long white dress, like a princess-type-outfit.

 

They were burying their most recent sacrificial victims along the shore of the lake.  Three young women went into the pits dug in the mud, then Jack placed three inverted crosses on the filled in graves.  I remember that the crosses were metal and enamel, and light pink and blue. 

Jack said that he was so good at what he does, the cops would never catch him.  He laughed about it, and left me there at the burial site when he and Sassy left. 

I started to follow the two of them through the woods, thinking I could follow the footprints in the fresh mud, but there weren't any.  After a while of running, the forest turned into hilly pasture land with all these ponds and streams just FULL of fish.  I ran up the hill and I was at this farm house, with a bunch of trash, junk, and dilapidated little outbuildings outside. 

I ran into one of the sheds, looking for a fishing pole and lures to go fishing, but instead I found animal bones.  Skulls, spines, tails, you name it, it was hanging from the ceiling, or scattered on the floor, and every flat surface was covered in animal bones.  Though it was dark inside, I read the boxes and they were labeled with the parts of the animals that were inside, and it was really hot in the bone shed. 

Somehow, I found a fishing pole, and grabbed it from the skeletons, but the golden hook got caught in my hand.  That's all I can remember. 

In 20 years, I will be 37 years old.  Hopefully, I will be a published author, world famous, and filthy stinking rich.  Ideally, I will be living somewhere warm and tropical, in a spacious mansion, and will have a butler to tend to my every need.  I'll never have children; I hate children.  I wouldn't make a good parent because I'm too quick tempered and impatient.  I have no tolerance for children, and it would be in my best interest to never become a parent.  People say I will end up with kids, if nothing else, by accident, but there's no way I will ever have children as long as I have a choice.

 

Selfish?  Yeah, but if you don't look out for number one, no one else will take care of you.  I'll have all I can do taking care of myself, let alone two or three snot-nosed whiney brats.

I don't know if I'll be married in 20 years.  Probably not, given my luck with relationships and my tendency to anger those around me.  I know I have poor people skills, and I really don’t want to change who I am.  I'm happy with being alone.  Whether or not I'm married, or engaged, or single, it really makes no difference to me. 

In 20 years, I hope to change the way people think and make people question through my writing. 

If I could design one room in my house to suit only my needs, I would create a combination of an office and a bedroom.  My theme would be red and black, and heavily influenced by carnivals and circuses.  If would be a large, spacious, lofty room, with dim, soft lighting and a black marble floor.  Three of the walls would be black, the fourth would be painted in red and black diamond patterns. 

In this perfect room, I would have a computer for writing and doing homework.  Not just any computer -- a flat screen Dell, on a red wood desk.  I would have a flat screen, high definition television in this room, with a VCR, DVD player, and a large collection of horror movies to entertain myself with.

In contrast to all of the technology, I would have a large shelf filled with books -- horror novels by all of the greats, such as Stephen King and Clive Barker.  True crime books about the things people have actually done.  Books about Ancient Egyptian culture and mythology, the Aztec empire, and extra terrestrial life.  I would keep copies of Shakespeare's works, housed right next door to comics written by Rob Zombie.  It would be my shelf for inspiration in writing my own horror tales. 

By bed would be done in a red and black to match the harlequin theme of the room -- a water bed with a canopy fit for a queen.  The dresser and vanity would be carved from wood that matched the computer desk.  A lavish crushed velvet comforter would dangle lazily from the bed, pooling on marble floor in a crumpled heap. 

I would keep Venus fly traps and cacti for ornamentation, and they would grow wild near the balcony window.  Finally, I would have an aquarium, with two or three large piranha swimming about.  When my day was going badly, I could drop a steak in with my carnivorous fish and watch with delight as they ripped it to shreds. 

In a perfect world, this room would open up into a large balcony, over looking the sandy beach and warm ocean far below. 

If I was president of the United States, I would definitely make a few changes in the way our country is ran.  First, I would allow gay marriages, because it is not the job of our government to decide who the people can and cannot love. 

 Second, a lot of the federal prison system will be done away with.  Bullets are much cheaper than keeping a prisoner on death row for 40 years until he dies of old age, and a good, sharp knife is far cheaper than bullets.  "But that's inhumane!"  People cry.  Well, it was pretty inhumane when the guy when out and abducted a little girl, tortured, molested, and beat her to death.  What goes around comes around. 

Third, censorship would be outlawed, because it solves nothing in the long run, beyond making the censored items more desirable to those who seek them.

Freedom of speech and religion would not be selective rights:  that is, Christianity would not be favored over Satanism by the government, nor would Jewish people be favored over, oh, say, Buddhists. 

Everyone would have the right to express themselves without fear of reprimand because their views and opinions are different than mine (ex: Bush locking up war protesters and saying they're terrorists)

If I was president, I would change the laws so that people can't make Welfare a way of life.  I would see to it that no one was immune from justice, everyone had to be responsible for their actions, and the rich could not buy their way out of trouble. 

In short, our country would be ran by the ideas and principles of Anton Szandor LaVey.

Times are changing; our laws and standards must change as well. 

Prom 2004

It was supposed to be one of the happiest days of my young life, though I found it to be dreadfully borring.  Prom 2004, my Junior prom and the first formal dance I had ever been to was less entertaining than a day spent in the dentist's chair. 

I imagine it's because I'm not social and I don't enjoy dancing.  I'm sure that it was something wonderful to someone who enjoys such things, but for me, the best part of prom was getting dressed up; I will elaborate on the preparations, because they were the most entertaining part of the day.

My day started at 9:00 AM; not that I had been able to sleep the night before, because of my excitement.  On the ride over to Kirksville, my mother and I talked about her Junior prom, and what she wore, and how much things have changed and stayed the same.  My mom is awesome because she encourages me to be myself, dress how I wish and think for myself.

Mom and I had lunch out at McDonnalds, went to Goodys to shop for last minute jewelry, and to Why Not Tat2s in order to check on the tattoo designs Chad and Derrick are drawing up for us.  

It was my mother's idea that I get cornrows for prom, so at around 2:30, I found my tender scalp at the mercy of Evonne, sitting trapped in the beautician's chair at Cultural Connection.  I had been excited about my hair appointment ever since we set it up a month ago, but all my excitement soon wilted and died away when I realized how much it hurts to get your hair braided into cornrows.  My hair was pulled so tight that it felt like it was being ripped out, and with every twist, tug, and new braid, the pain only got worse.  

I guess it's true, what grandma used to say about beauty being painfull.  

Evonne was really friendly and cheerfull, all the while she was torturing my scalp.  It took two and a half hours to do half my hair in braids and beads, and she spiked the rest.  I looked delightfully freaky when she was finished.  

Once my hair was done, mom and I came home so I could get ready: the time I had been anticipating since January!  I was so thrilled to finally see myself in my entire outfit -- black velvet and lace Victorian dress, fishnets, and my usual pale skin and dark makeup. 

I spent nearly an hour on makeup alone -- a rarity for me.  I usualy take ten minutes of a morning, but prom is supposed to be special.

I did prom my way...slightly different, "freaky" as someone said, though I prefer the term beautiful. 

Prom is the one night in a young woman's life when she can feel like a princess no matter what her social status is.  I did feel like a princess, a princess whom had died and clawed her way back up from the grave.  People stared, and I knew they would, but I wouldn't have it any other way. 

I kept my head up the entire night, despite the difference in attire from my peers, the strange, dissapproving looks I recieved, and the silver Baphomet pendant of my mothers that hung around my neck. 

I realized, sitting a the table all alone through every slow dance, that so many of those happy couples thing they're in true love, when in reality, it's lust that won't last but only a few months.  It seems silly to say "I love you" when you're someone who's been hurt so often and rejected so many times. 

I would have enjoyed prom itself, if I was a person who takes things at face value and finds delight in social situations.  I would rather bask in the dissapproving stares -- it proves to the people who hate me that they're not going to keep me down, keep me from going somewhere when I want to, or being myself.  

Prom was the ultimate experience in defying tradition; I loved it.   

 

 

Dionysian Sacrifice

A balmy summer night, not particularly dark or stormy, during the middle of September gave rise to his inspiration, his depravity and madness.  He needed a sacrifice, the Gods called to him –at least in his mind – a perfect young woman to offer. 

As the thin, gaunt man stood hiding in the shadows, gazing out at the parking lot from just behind Captain Spaulding’s Museum of Monsters and Mad Men, his mind was torn in conflict over whom he should pick.

Captain Spaulding’s was the last gas station for at least fifty miles, and rest stops were non existent in the desolate country side.  The store was a little bit of everything – gas station, museum, freak show, and fun house.  It attracted numerous folks from all over the area, mainly out of necessity.  ffice ffice" /> > >

Folks like the car load of cheerleaders coming home from their most recent football game or whatever silly follies those girls participated in, exhausted, and still in their cute little skirts and matching shirts.

“Go team, go.”  He chuckled darkly to himself, running his vile tongue across his cracked lips. 

When he saw the tall, well tanned, fake little blonde sauntering towards the back of the building, his black heart leaped up into his throat.  She would be the perfect sacrifice to appease all of the old Gods and everything he believed in – she was extraordinarily beautiful, a perfect princess.  A sacrificial lamb sneaking into the lone wolf’s den. 

For a moment, he questioned that she had seen him – her reason for approach – but when she turned and ducked into the doorway on the side of the building, the man with the greasy curtain of black hair was relieved, the girl was only using the restroom. 

Stifling a giggle, the man picked up a brick from the ground and snuck around to the side of the building, hiding and slinking through the bushes and shadows, breathing heavily, beyond excited, his heart beating a billion miles an hour.  He could barely hold on to the brick, his palms were so sweaty. 

It was the adrenaline rush he lived for, hunting the ultimate form of game – human.

Jack Burroughs hid in the shadows until the bathroom door creaked open and the teenager stepped out.  Eyes wide with excitement, he raised the brick high above his head and brought it down on her skull as she turned to walk away.  The distinctive resonating thud of impact, the crunch of bone, and the painful moan that escaped the girl was clear indication that he’d hit her hard enough.

Jack chuckled to himself as the girl fell to the ground, unconscious.  He dropped the bloodied brick and grabbed her by the ankles, dragging her into the shadows before her simple little friends had a chance realize she was gone.

When the other girls and their sponsor realized their captain was gone, Tori Madrox was slumped over in the cab of a truck, unconscious and bleeding from the wound to her head, and Jack was at the wheel, cackling like a maniac and headed for home. 

She would be a perfect sacrifice to his sacred gods.  

>  >

***

>  >

>  >

Heavy footfalls on the rickety, weatherworn porch, carried on the hot summer breeze into the dilapidated old farm house through the open windows.  A firm knock at the door awoke Cyprus Burroughs from her light sleep on the divan.  Yawning, she hurried to the front door and unlocked it, eager to see what her brother had brought back.

Grinning triumphantly, a crooked, rotten smile, Jack strolled in with the limp body of a teenaged girl slung over his shoulder.  “You hungry?”  He asked of his sister, “if you want, I’ll butcher her up real nice, but I’d rather not.” 

Not waiting for a reply, Jack dropped the cheerleader, and she hit the grungy carpet with an audible thud.

ffice:smarttags" /> lace>Curious, Cyprus lace> looked down at the blonde girl lying on the floor, unconscious and bleeding from the wound in her forehead.  Taking a step back, she smiled slightly, for once seeming pleased.  Pushing her dark dreadlocks back from her face, she gazed at her older brother, the man who had dropped the unconscious teen on the floor. 

“I just ate.  She another sacrifice, Jack?”  lace>Cyprus lace> approached him, leaning closer than she should have, resting her hands on his chest.

The man nodded, brushing a stringy black curtain of hair back from his gaunt face and grinning a sick smile, “To Dionysus.”  Not in the right frame of mind to deal with his younger sister at the moment.  He was still to high on adrenaline to feel like holding idle conversation.
            “Who else?”  lace>Cyprus lace> chuckled softly, noting the red and yellow cheerleading outfit the girl wore.  It seemed frivolous to her, allowing young girls to dress up and prance around half-naked as sex symbols to be worshiped within the school system.  lace>Cyprus lace> never went to school, public education was simply another way for the government to brainwash people, according to Jack and Fredrich, her older brothers.  Daddy was going to teach her, but that never happened; her brothers taught her about fanatical left wing beliefs and occult practices.  This was the extent of her education.

There were words written across the girls chest.  lace>Cyprus lace> didn’t understand them, but the writing was pretty.  Though completely illiterate, lace>Cyprus lace> was not stupid and she had an eye for art. 

“Can you tie ‘er up?”  Jack asked, removing his trench coat and flinging it over the back of a threadbare recliner which seemed to fit in, given the contents of the ratty, rundown living room.  He sat down, half lying, half sitting, on the puke-green sofa, he pulled a pocket knife from the pocket of his ragged, dirt-caked and grease-spotted jeans.

lace>Cyprus lace> nodded, silent – always silent – she rarely had anything worthwhile to say.  As the youngest of the Burroughs siblings somewhere around age twenty four, she was the most passive.  Twirling a long, black dreadlock of hair between her fingers, she drifted into the kitchen to rummage through the drawers and find something suitable for tying the girl down with.

Fredrich was off getting drunk somewhere, but he would be more than pleased they had ‘company’ again.  Sassy was in her room, listening to the latest pop sensation, reading fashion magazines no doubt.  The silly little twit fancied herself to be a celebrity.

When lace>Cyprus lace> returned from the kitchen carrying three brown extension cords – all patched with duct tape – she found her cadaverous brother Jack carving something into his upper arm with the knife he held.   She eyed the blood trickling down his deathly pale flesh as he carved at his skin, a smile of sick enjoyment on his features. Blood was commonplace at the Burroughs household, it did not bother the young woman to watch her brother carving away at his flesh.  A lot of things were commonplace at the Burroughs household – things that would have disturbed normal people. 

Wordlessly, lace>Cyprus lace> set about tying the girl, repeating to herself a silent mantra: ‘bring the hands behind their back, wrap it around three our four times nice and tight, secure it to their legs so they can’t get up.’  It was a process she had repeated so many times, it was almost second nature. 

“Ya know, I been thinkin’…” Jack trailed, still slicing away at his own flesh. 

lace>Cyprus lace> said nothing, only raised her head to look at her brother, still kneeling on the floor straddling the teenager. 

“Ol’ Hitler was on to somethin’.  Ya’ can’t get people excited about love, it just ain’t natural.  People only get excited when they gots somethin’ to hate.  If you can get enough folks involved in the hatin’, and enough folks has got your back, then you’re invincible, just like that.  Boom!  Immortal!”  He looked up from the carving in his arm, eyes wide with a perverse kind of excitement that made lace>Cyprus lace> shudder involuntarily.  “People gonna’ remember him forever for what he done.”  There was a hint of laughter in his voice, a sick and depraved giggle. 
            She couldn’t really recall what it was he had done, but it was a name both of her brothers mentioned often.  lace>Cyprus lace> eyed the cut on his arm, nodding in agreement with whatever it was Jack was ranting this time.  The symbol, oozing fresh, dark blood was one she knew the word for.  It was on all the banners in Jack’s bedroom – with no formal education, nor morals to tell her otherwise, swastika was just another household word, and it was synonymous with pride.  

She watched the blood trickle from the four-legged symbol of hate lacerated into her brother’s skin with slight detachment.  Blood and hate and death – she had grown up with it and was desensitized.  It was a way of life, really. 

Sitting down in a reclining chair, lace>Cyprus lace> sighed rubbing her eyes, further smearing yesterday’s eye shadow.  It was late; nearly midnight, and there was still a lot to be done before she could go to bed. 

On the floor, the young girl groaned softly, beginning to wake up.  Tori Maddrox, the captain of the cheerleading team, homecoming queen, and high school princess loved by everyone would never live to see the light of another day.    

From the hallway came a delighted squeal, “Uncle Jack’s home!” 

The man, still reclining on the couch, gave a half annoyed growl when his niece rushed into the room and tackled him.  He dropped his knife – it bounced under the couch, and he cussed at the beautiful blonde as she clung to him. 

“And you brought me a present! Oh Uncle Jack, I love you!” 

The cadaverous man struggled against her, growling slightly.  She was the same age as lace>Cyprus lace>, and the daughter of their brother Fredrich, and at the moment, the blood relations was the only thing keeping him from strangling her.  “She ain’t for you, Sassy.”  He hissed. 

“She’s so pretty!”  The woman continued, leaping down off the couch, crouching on the floor in her pink lace nightgown that left little to imagination. Gently, she stroked the teenager’s hair with a well-manicured hand, the pink of her nails matching her gown.  “First we’re gonna play dress up, and have a tea party, and then we’ll watch cartoons and be bestest best friends forever!” 

“I said I didn’t bring her home for you to torture…we gotta sacrifice this one.”
            Sassy looked up at her uncle in the dimly lit, dingy living room, a hint of a pout forming on her lips.
            “Aww great… there goes the neighborhood.”  lace>Cyprus lace> groaned, rolling her eyes where she sat.
            “But…I wanna play!”  The woman squeaked, near the verge of tears like a spoiled child that didn’t get her way.  To say Sassy was touched in the head –like the rest of her family– was a vulgar understatement. 

“We’re sacrificin’ her to Dionysus.”  Jack answered coldly, closing his eyes, trying to remain calm with his extremely immature niece. 

Sassy’s bottom lip trembled, she snorted slightly, glancing at the cheerleader.  “I wanna play dress up!”  She shrieked, tearing at her long, curly, blonde hair, wailing with tears streaming down her beautiful face.  The young woman sat on the floor, kicking and screaming, throwing a fit.  “I wanna watch cartoons and play doctor and have a tea party!” She managed in between sobs and gasps.  Laying back on the dirty carpet, with no regard to decency, she continued her immature display, “It’s not fair it’s not FAIR, IT’S NOT FAIR!”

Jack looked at Cyprus, and Cyprus at Jack, and both remained silent for a moment, until their niece’s sobs and shrieks quieted, both knowing there was only one way to win an argument with Sassy. 

“How about…you play with her for the time being, and Jack, you got find someone else to sacrifice, and then when she’s done with the girl, you can kill her, too?”  lace>Cyprus lace> suggested, always the peace keeper of the family. 

Looking up, hopeful, Sassy smiled a sickeningly sweet smile to her uncle.  “Please?  Oh pretty, pretty please with ice cream and sugar and sprinkles and gum drops and ---”

“Alright, good GODS, if I agree will you shut your yap?  You’re givin’ me a headache!”  The cadaverous man snapped, glaring.  No… he’d never hurt the girl.  Never hurt family.  Family was sacred.  That didn’t mean he didn’t lose his patience with her and consider strangling her to death with her own intestines, though.

“Thank you so much!”  Sassy squealed, again pouncing on her struggling, protesting uncle and hugging her tightly.  “Don’t just sit there like a bump on a pickle, help me drag ‘er off to my room so we can play!”
            Reluctantly, Jack sighed, pushing her off of him and standing up.

From her position, watching it all with detachment, lace>Cyprus lace> smiled slightly – a hint of a smirk at the corners of her mouth.  Peace was restored to the murderous clan, if only for a few seconds. 

lace>Cyprus lace> mused to herself that Jack was wrong – a common hatred had proved affective in uniting people once upon a time, but only love could keep people united in the long run.

Family. 

 

 

It should be noted that the ideas and opinions expressed by the characters here in are not my own, nor do I condone or approve of them.

---

Curious, she looked down at the blonde girl lying on the floor, unconscious and bleeding from the wound in her forehead.  Taking a step back, Cyprus smiled slightly, for once seeming pleased.  The dark haired woman raised her head, gazing at her older brother – the man whom dropped the unconscious teen on the floor. 

“’Nother sacrifice, Jack?”  She asked softly.

The man nodded, brushing a stringy black curtain of hair back from his gaunt face and grinning a sick smile.  “To Dionysus.”
            “Who else?” Cyprus chuckled softly, noting the red and yellow cheerleading outfit the girl wore.  It seemed frivolous to her, allowing young girls to dress up and prance around half-naked as sex symbols to be worshiped within the school system.  Part of the reason she never went to school; public education was simply another way for the government to brainwash people, according to Jack and Fredrich, her older brothers.  Daddy was going to teach her, but that never happened; her brothers taught her about fanatical left wing beliefs and occult practices – the extent of her education.

There were words written across the girls chest.

xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-comCyprus didn’t understand them, but the writing was pretty.  Though completely illiterate, she was not stupid and she had an eye for art. 

“Can you tie ‘er up?”  Jack asked, removing his trench coat and flinging it over the back of a threadbare recliner which seemed to fit in, given the contents of the ratty, rundown living room.  He sat down, half laying, half sitting, on the puke-green sofa, pulling a pocket knife from the pocket of his ragged, dirt-caked and grease-spotted jeans.

Cyprus nodded, silent – always silent – she rarely had anything worthwhile to say.  As the youngest of the Burroughs siblings at somewhere around age 24, she was the most passive.  Twirling a long, black dreadlock of hair between her fingers, she drifted into the kitchen to rummage through the drawers and find something suitable for tying the girl down with.

Fredrich was off getting drunk somewhere, but he would be more than pleased they had ‘company’ again.  Sassy was in her room, listening to the latest pop sensation, reading fashion magazines no doubt.  The silly little twit fancied herself to be a celebrity in her mind.

When Cyprus returned from the kitchen carrying three brown extension cords – all patched with duct tape – she found her cadaverous brother Jack carving something into his upper arm with the knife he held.   She eyed the blood trickling down his deathly pale flesh as he carved at his skin, a smile of sick enjoyment on his features; it was commonplace at the Burroughs household. 

A lot of things were commonplace at the Burroughs household – things that would have disturbed normal people. 

Wordlessly, Cyprus set about tying the girl; bring the hands behind their back, wrap it around three our four times nice and tight, secure it to their legs so they can’t get up.  It was a process she had repeated so many times, it was almost second nature. 

“Ya know, I been thinkin’…” Jack trailed, still slicing away at his own flesh. 

The equally-filthy young woman said nothing, only raised her head to look at her brother. 

“Ol’ Hitler was on to somethin’.  Ya’ can’t get people excited about love, it just ain’t natural.  People only get excited when they gots somethin’ to hate.  If you can get enough folks involved in the hatin’, and enough folks has got your back, then you’re invincible, just like that.  Boom!  Immortal!”  He looked up from the carving in his arm, eyes wide with a perverse kind of excitement that made her shudder involuntarily.  “People gonna’ remember him forever for what he done.”
            She couldn’t really recall what it was he had done, but it was a name both of her brothers mentioned often.  Cyprus eyed the cut on his arm, nodding in agreement with whatever it was Jack was ranting this time.  The symbol, oozing fresh, dark blood was one she knew the word for.  It was on all the banners in Jack’s bedroom – with no formal education, nor morals to tell her otherwise, swastika was just another household word, and it was synonymous with pride.  

She watched the blood trickle from the four-legged symbol of hate lacerated into her brother’s skin with slight detachment.  Blood and hate and death – she grew up with it and was desensitized.  It was a way of life, really. 

Sitting down in a reclining chair, Cyprus sighed rubbing her eyes, further smearing yesterday’s eye shadow.  It was late; nearly midnight, and there was still a lot to be done before she could go to bed. 

On the floor, the young girl groaned softly, beginning to wake up. Tori.  Tori Maddrox, the captain of the cheerleading team, homecoming queen, and high school princess loved by everyone would never live to see the light of another day.   

From the hallway came a delighted squeal, “Uncle Jack’s home!” 

The man, still reclining on the couch, gave a half annoyed growl when his niece rushed into the room and tackled him.  He dropped his knife, it bounced under the couch, and cussed at the beautiful blonde as she clung to him. 

“And you brought me a present, oh Uncle Jack I love you!” 

The cadaverous man struggled against her, growling slightly.  She was the same age as Cyprus, and the daughter of their brother Fredrich, and at the moment, the blood relations was the only thing keeping him from strangling her.  “She ain’t for you, Sassy.”  He hissed. 

“She’s so pretty!”  The woman continued, leaping down off the couch, crouching on the floor in her pink lace nightgown that left little to imagination. Gently, she stroked the teenager’s hair with a well-manicured hand, the pink of her nails matching her gown.  “First we’re gonna play dress up, and have a tea party, and then we’ll watch cartoons and be bestest best friends forever!” 

“I said I didn’t bring her home for you to torture…we gotta sacrifice this one.”
            Sassy looked up at her uncle in the dimly lit, dingy living room, a hint of a pout forming on her lips.
            “Aww great… there goes the neighborhood.”  Cyprus groaned, rolling her eyes where she sat.
            “But…I wanna play!”  The woman squeaked, near the verge of tears like a spoiled child that didn’t get her way.  To say Sassy was touched in the head –like the rest of her family– was a vulgar understatement. 

“We’re sacrificin’ her to Dionysus.”  Jack answered coldly, closing his eyes, trying to remain calm with his extremely immature niece. 

Sassy’s bottom lip trembled, she snorted slightly, glancing at the cheerleader.  “I wanna play dress up!”  She shrieked, tearing at her long, curly, blonde hair, wailing with tears streaming down her beautiful face.  The young woman sat on the floor, kicking and screaming, throwing a fit.  “I wanna watch cartoons and play doctor and have a tea party!” She managed in between sobs and gasps.  Laying back on the dirty carpet, with no regard to decency, she continued her immature display, “It’s not fair it’s not FAIR, IT’S NOT FAIR!”

Jack looked at Cyprus, and Cyprus at Jack, and both remained silent for a moment, until their niece’s sobs and shrieks quieted, both knowing there was only one way to win an argument with Sassy. 

“How about…you play with her for the time being, and Jack, you got find someone else to sacrifice, and then when she’s done with the girl, you can kill her, too?”  Cyprus suggested, always the peace keeper of the family. 

Looking up, hopeful, Sassy smiled a sickeningly sweet smile to her uncle.  “Please?  Oh pretty, pretty please with ice cream and sugar and sprinkles and gum drops and ---”

“Alright, good GODS, if I agree will you shut your yap?  You’re givin’ me a headache!”  The cadaverous man snapped, glaring.  No… he’d never hurt the girl.  Never hurt family.  Family was sacred.  That didn’t mean he didn’t lose his patience with her and consider strangling her to death with her own intestines, though.

“Thank you so much!”  Sassy squealed, again pouncing on her struggling, protesting uncle and hugging her tightly.  “Don’t just sit there like a bump on a pickle, help me drag ‘er off to my room so we can play!”
            Reluctantly, Jack sighed, pushing her off of him and standing up.

From her position, watching it all with detachment, Cyprus smiled slightly – a hint of a smirk at the corners of her mouth.  Peace was restored to the murderous clan, if only for a few seconds. 

Looking back over the past quarter, and rereading the poetry assignments I have completed, I am pleased to say that there are many I am satisfied with. Over all, there isn't one that I dislike, but I do have my favorites. "My Generation" was at the very top of my favorite list, because it expresses a lot of what I feel, in that my generation is very close to taking over as the leaders of the world. Instead of complaining about what's wrong with the world, it is our responsibility to try and fix things, and make life better for our children's generation. Resolution of problems must start somewhere. I also like "I Don't Need You", because it is something most everyone can relate to --getting hurt by someone you loved-- and it helped me deal with some of the ghosts that always seem to haunt me at this time of year regarding situations in the past. It seems all of my relationships end horribly; writing it down helps in dealing with it. The clerihew about Rob Zombie is also among my favorites, only because he's one of my heroes and very influential in my writing and prose.

I struggled with the form poems and the villanelle, because I don't like a lot of structure in my writing. I like being able to do it my way and break the rules if I feel like it. Forcing words to rhyme gets very messy when you have a particular message you want to get across to your readers. I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm dissatisfied with how the poems turned out, but they don't make a whole lot of sense as they are -- more like random descriptive words put on a paper to inspire pretty mental images than true poetry that tells a story. They seem to prattle on senselessly without real direction or focus, as loose strings tied on one end to an anchor, but flapping wildly in the wind.

As already stated -- I learned that I don't like a whole lot of structure and guidelines when I write. I want to be able to write what I please without being forced to live up to expectations or rules. I tend to focus on morbid and macabre things for a reason -- people want to be scared and grossed out, the reason why we have horror movies. I really enjoy getting a reaction from readers; disgust, shock, etc. Anyone can write love poetry, but it's a little more difficult to artfully make someone ill with words. Above and beyond everything else, the poetry unit helped me realize how much I love story writing as opposed to poetry. I feel I can convey emotion and meaning a lot better in a story than in poetry form.

 

 

Nature

 

Beautiful things you’ll never see

Growing wild tonight

Imagination is the key

Black and yellow striped bumble bee

In flowers pink and white

Frolics on his happy spree

Have you ever seen the sea?

Blue and green; just right

Beautiful, wouldn’t you agree?

And a mighty oak tree

Growing up right

Bursting through the filth and debris

Things which we

Trying as we might

Could never find the silver key

Did you ever perchance see,

On a dark and stormy night,

The person you always wanted to be

Shining golden bright.

I hope this explains my choice of professions a little better than I've been able to.  My mind was made up at my grandmother's funeral -- everyone there at the funeral home was so kind to us, and they were there when we needed them.  To be able to comfort someone like that and help them through their loss is an amazing thing. My family members and I will always be able to remember the good memories about my grandma now and not dwell on her passing. 

And it really hit me hard today, because it's been exactly two months since the funeral.  I lived with her the first three years of my life, she took care of me.  We knew she wasn't doing so well --it wasn't a surprize, but that didn't make it any easier.  Grandma always told me I was her little doll baby, and she'd go to her grave loving me, and that she'd watch over my from Heaven.  I know that's true, and I'm about ready to cry as I sit here in class and type this.

I'm glad we have morticians to make people whom have been sick for so long look well again on their final journey.  This is a thank you to the people who helped us in our time of need. 

---

The mortician is an artist,
He takes the cold, pale dead
Dresses them in fine clothes
Fixes their hair and makeup
And gives them back their dignity.

The mortician is an artist
Consoling grief with friendly words
Telling families of that "better place"
With a friendly smile, a warm handshake
The art of relief in time of loss.

The mortician is an artist
As I aspire to do
To give someone their dignity
To comfort a grieving family
To help them with their loss

People should realize -- it's all for the families.

The punchline is that it makes absolutely no sense if you try to read a deeper meaning into the first three lines. 

 

Magic Ninja Tactics

Purple, smoke, magic, mirror

Carnival, clowns, insane

Pink, ocean, frozen, clearer

World, mind, imagination, brain

 

A very uncharacterisitcally cheerfull poem, inspired by the bright blue stains of colored ink splattered all over my hands today. 

Peacefull Ocean

 

Green, yellow, orange, blue

Free, friendly, fishes

Thoughtful, honest, forever, true

Ocean, deep, wishes

 

 

 

Fixation

 

Freakish, fetish, fierce, fire,

 Uneasy, unfamiliar, unknown

Dark, delightful, devious, desire

Odd, oddball, own

 

Some haikus... horror movies, and such...

 

Explosions of rage

Pagan Gods are angry now

Ancient rites of death

 

Quid pro quo, Clarice

Hannibal the Cannibal

Silence of the Lambs

 

Seven days to live

See the ring before you die

Samara Morgan 

 

Freddy Krueger always has been my favorite movie character...

 

***

 

Freddy

Violent, Immortal

Stalking, Terrifying, Taunting

Nightmare on Elm Street

Amusing

 

The subject -- one of my favorite musicians/writers ...  Rob Zombie.  FYI -- there's a sequel to House of 1000 Corpses coming out in October.  Yay.

I know a zombie named Rob

He has a very appealing job

He writes music hear and movies to view

Does this zombie sound familiar to you?

 

Aaaah, the joys of relationships gone wrong.

____

I Don't Need You


Four months of exile, and what for?
Makes me hate you even more
Last night was the ultimate crime
Rejection even after all this time

You looked right through me
Like a ghost you couldn't see
Yes, I've changed haven't I?
You're still the same pathetic waste of human life

Couldn't even spare a smile for your old friend
I see you haven't changed in the end
The look of suprize
I saw in your eyes

Mama's little boy
Daddy's pride and joy
Working under an innocent guise
Your world is fake and built on lies

Lies you told me all those years
Lies to quiet my suspicion and fears
Lies to make me trust in you
Lies I'm happy were not true.

You make me sick, little boy
For too long I was your stupid toy
One of these days you will learn
Too late to ever make a return

Lost so much due to stupidity
You don't deserve a girl like me
I'm better than that, is what I mean
An inner beauty that is rarely seen

Looking at you across the crowded room
I had a feeling of inpending doom
As much as the truth may hurt and sting
I'll be famous; you'll cook fries for Burger King

7th grade seems so far away
Memories made in yesterday
Starting with happy and ending with bad
How our friendship ended is sad

I hate you now more than ever before
And I don't need you anymore.
I just hope that one day you'll be
As miserable as you made me.

Hate cannot even begin to describe what I feel for you.

Palms sweating
Dry mouth
Anxious anticipation
Locked in the cramped confines of my mind.

Like the last breath
A dying dragon
The engine coughs its last breath
Growing silent and cold.

I take a deep breath
Sigh heavily
Look to my right
Terrified out of my mind.

The woman beside me
Has the power to free or kill me
She is cold and harsh
In a dark blue uniform.

Hands shaking I look to her
She scribbles away in her notebook
My breath catches in my throat
And I cannot speak.

The passenger in my car
Looks up at me and smiles
"You did good, and passed the test
Come inside; we'll do the paper work."

Never before have I been so elated
My pale fingers coil arouind the steering wheel
I breath a sigh of relief and close my dark-shadowed eyes
I got my driver's licence on the first try.

           

The Juggalos –

            insane, happy, free

            misunderstood

            thinking freely; spreading love

            a loyal family 

 The Mainstream–

            close minded, boring, biggoted

            corrupted

            following pointless trends

            liars and haters