They come crawling and creeping when the people are sleeping
Slithering and sliding
and then…
A large foot on a sleepy man, stepping outside to take a pee
stepped on an alien who screamed…
Headlines read: Man vaporized by itty bitty alien bugs.
Writing
A poem written by: Black Fungus
Slipping.
A smoothness of satin fabric and soft skin.
She was, she is, seduction of such sensations… (How dare you stand foot on this ground)
He is, he was, tempter of the locks of passion.
Tongue slipping now, even deeper…
Can you feel it?
Inside there feels the tingle of loin
joined
the tender spot of bliss
sighing.
***
And this is how writers play daily. The rest is just the mundane.
So Why is it a New Year?
Why do humans cling to numbers of sequence with a fervor of some bizarre calendar relating to time.
A baby is born today, or tomorrow, or maybe it was a thousand years ago. And people celebrate. “Oh my what a fine little girl!” “What a fine little boy!”
Then just because of decay and ‘time’ the baby grows, and then fails, and then dies.
What if people started to believe time is nothing more than a tool? A way to bookmark a page. Instead of worshiping time as god. Paying homage, prayers, and even pleading to control what inside so many already know.
For me time does not exist and why? Why does time mean nothing to me? And the answer is simple… i can never die.
Gifted with memories and dreams. Knowledge and passions. Able to manipulate seconds, hours, days, and years.
Can you remember the day you were born?
Let me help you remember…
You were born today, yesterday, and tomorrow.
Nothing is a challenge
Trapped in a time loop.
Same thing every time in every situation
and you know what?
We all die over and over and over…
Thankfully there is pizza and potato chips to help make it all interesting.
A Child
As a child there is the belief in good and bad. The justice system of youth is such that love exists. Sadness exists. In existence there is stability and meaning which enabled growth.
A child believes in a parent, a friend, itself. This changes, i know because as a child i loved all. Black. White. Old. Young. Male. Female. i loved animals and birds, fish and frog. i loved my sister, my brother, my mother, father, grandmothers, grandfathers. i loved God.
i grew and became I.
I became an adult. I tasted anger in people. All people. I learned all people were politicians. The old ladies at church vied to be the leader. The policeman/woman followed orders and were the same adults as I.
I learned hate. I tasted evil. I became a politician in a way of my own making.
Democrats are evil. Republicans are evil. Communists are evil. Socialists are evil. I changed until I really needed to change.
i am now a child again. Not in this body as it is decayed and corrupt. No, in this body it shall die. In my real body i am eternal and i have regained what i had as a child. i love all. Black. White. Old. Young. Male. Female. i love animals and birds, fish and frog.
it is good to be free of the politics of what truly is not important.
it is especially good to know i am one of God’s children.
Hello God
Thank you for today.
Learning a lot. A lot to learn.
A lot of unanswered questions, though the ability to ask the questions increases expotentially.
You know a lot indeed and are a most wonderful and excellent poker player.
Tonight there is a new deck to cut and shuffle.
My mind is getting clear again, and to this the most thanks.
Anyway, ante up and lets get ready to play.
And don’t worry, this time i will play naked.
A Little Warm
Ahh yes…
Building upon what was already built a very, very, long time ago, I would say I would build a room in Hell.
The answer as to why Hell is perfect for reading and writing is simple. Reading and writing in Hell is better than anywhere else because your thoughts are not intruded by the sound of sweet music. Nor are they offended by peace, serenity, and love.
You see. In Hell there is no joy or happiness, there is literally nothing there which may seem to be what all writers crave, or at least, want. Those being, recognition, financial success, friends, lovers… Writers write for such pleasures. This is why the pain and sorrow of Hell force one to read nothing but the best and to write with a passion no Saint could even come close too.
Another way of looking at my choice is to state God made Hell perfect to offset Perfection.
Daily writing prompt
You get to build your perfect space for reading and writing. What’s it like?
A Good Question: Now, would anyone believe it?
‘The year you were born.’
Written by: The witness of Wind
The day was warm. It was cold and snowy. It was stormy and it was calm. Day after day the birth came at all hours of all days uncounted as the stars vied for attention in the numbers.
From a distance of East, the sun rose and set in the West. Nearby the sun never rose and never set. And yet, there always remained in the comforting orbit of planets and Sun.
Constellations familiar to the people showed the prophecy, they showed the mistakes of man. The Hope of Jesus. They showed the deceit of Evil. Cold glowing glow of space.
Parent in the singular tense as parents only existed to present one. Mother. Father. Into the world became another, and another, and another.
Swaddled and coddled. Rejected and refused. Killed in the womb by greed and ignorance. Nourished to grow into fodder for war.
Old men smile as inside they remember the day they were born. Old women smile as outside their body they remember whey they were young and called, girls.
On the year of birth it is and always will be, a beginning while trying and forgetting the end.
So many were born and died during the year of my birth.
i was born during the year eternity began.
my Father is God
my Mother is the Universe
my name…
ah yes, a name worthy of birth
To all who are curious, who care or hate,
my name is: Wind.
Try Opening The Door
Hard isn’t it? To open a door that is wide open to receive and open to everyone.
The path is smooth, the air sweet.
Ample lighting.
Warm.
Soothing music.
And yet you try to open what is right before your eyes.
~
To try and harm me is futile as the harm is already done.
Games only paint a wall black.
Tears mean nothing to me except when i shed them as an excuse for humanities stupidity.
~
Forever eternal those words, “I love you,” and still, “i still love you.”
So…
When will you get that into your thick skull?
~
Today, Tomorrow. And especially yesterday.
i always, always, always…
Remember.
Eternal Battle
“You sit there judging,” A snide remark by one who relishes in mockery
“No, it is the character of the one making a choice.” The reply was sincere as it always is.
“They all deserve death.” Some truth in this simple sentence as all are sentenced to death
“Yes, in this world and life in the next.” Absolutes are hard to debate and yet the debate continued.
“No. You are wrong. You are always wrong.”
For a very long time on many planets the battle between good and evil occurs.
This battle is between the only two beings able to judge character of those mortal beings trying to be what it is they want to be; Good? Evil?
The two go by many names. On the planet Earth many call them God and Satan. All other judges are moot in the grand eternal battle between Life and Death.
Robin Lipinski 