Monthly Archives: January 2012

Darkened Reflections

I sit here listening to the rain tinkling off the darkened glass of my window. Like so many nights before, I peer into an eternity of nothingness that shows only my blurred face in its shadows. Shadows that dance around in the ambient light as the wind whips and sways the tree limbs, keeping pace with the rain as it shifts from a patter to a pounding, to a more gentle touch on the pane.

I begin to turn away and see just the merest suggestion of movement from the corner of my eye, I turn back… But nothing has changed, nothing is different, no one is out there. My blurred view is as it was before. Rivulets of rain running down the glass; impressions of shapes I know so well that exist out there beyond the safety of my window; my face looking back at me lost in the dreary visage of the existence I suffer within. A face distorted by the passage of the rain running over the glass… a face twisted in pain.

I wander to the door, drawn by a force from both within me and outside these protective walls. What an exquisitely beautiful night to breath in the smell of the wet grass, the saturated earth, the dampness all around me.  What a sumptuous night to twirl circles in my tattered gown, soaked and clinging to my body like a lover that has been released but wishes not to go. What a glorious night to stroll under the rows of the ever reaching Maple Trees, listening as their limbs sing a song of agony as they rub against one another.  I let the rain wash me clean under the hidden moon before wandering farther into the shadows of this night.

The beast has awoken; I can feel him watching, waiting, growing from the pangs within me. Will he come to me, this creature of anguish? The rain is slowing to a mere drizzle, barely even falling now – floating on the breeze like his warm breath upon my bare neck.  Will he stalk me in the lingering mist?  I live knowing that he terrifies me, even as I long for his touch; the touch of a soul as dark and tortured as my own.

The moon tries to protect me with its light, but I am still hidden in shadow as is he – this monster of beauty and destruction; this primal creature that will destroy me; this half-man half-beast that will ultimately consume me.  How long can I resist his not so gentle pull into the darker reaches of the woods that now surround me? Do I even wish to try? Or would I willingly rush to him if only he’d beckon and not demand of me?

I stand on the brink of the deeper shadows trembling from fear; fear of the need to take that final step. I feel his want calling out to me – yes, he wants me to enter his world, but he does not guarantee that my journey there will be a sane one. I move out of the shadows and  fall to my knees weeping, begging him to emerge from the dim recesses and enter my world of now glowing moonlight. But he fears the light, no – not fear – hate. He hates the light. This light that shines upon my upturned face and tangled hair has been his undoing. He was not always this beast, he was once a creature so different and so full of life that he has no choice but to loathe the fact that I have not become what he is. His presence demands that I enter his domain; his mind delves into mine attempting to force his want upon me – but I know his lust is insatiable, and once he has touched  my darkness, will I ever be able to return to the light again?

I’m frightened, I can not move, and he is enraged by this – so angered that he nearly allows himself to reach out and grab hold of me, dragging me to him. I will not fight him; I will let him take what he will, but I can not willingly submit even under his heated gaze.  With a snarl of anger and disgust, he leaves me yet again to weep at the edges of the darkness, screaming silently to be where he’d have me go…

But no, he will not take me, I must come to him; my damaged companion, my kindred tortured soul who seeks nothing more than I – a release from this distant embrace of hellish pain we are destined to exist in.

I hear him howl into the night; he screams his rage while crying out his longing for that which may someday leave what  meager light the moon sheds to walk in the dark at his side – owned by him for all eternity.

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An Interview…

A slight step to the left from my usual moody and sometimes morose posts, but my first interview was posted today! I know it’s silly to be so excited, but yeah!

Come have a deeper peek into why my floorboards squeak the way they do!

http://monkeypantz.net/?p=1397

Thank you very much Jack Wallen! 🙂


Burning Soil…

The ground below your delicately formed feet begins to shift, sending you tumbling to within a breath’s width of the insanity you know awaits you should you ever truly fall; you struggle to maintain your hold – a hold that for eons has treated you so kindly, so reverently, so graciously. You suckle and gasp for that earlier delight that still echos through your now destroyed body. This gaping new view of the emptiness you see around you leaves you wondering which part of this horror-scape is to be accepted as a horror of your own making, and which part is far too horrible to be allowed existence any longer. How does one go about choosing their individual horror without having a previous grasp of their own tenuous reality? A reality stroked so gently; consumed so fully; torn to pieces in such an eloquent display of cruelty… naive, silly girl, you never did pay attention to anything other than your own wants – why did you not heed the danger when you still had the chance to do so?

Existence in this newly scorched reality is – other. You breathe in the foul tainted air, retching vile fluids from your own rotting organs while desperately reaching for handfuls of once moist, rich soil; the soil that continually sifts through your small clutching fingers; for, you cannot hold what is no longer there. You weep for a blanket to shroud you from the view of your newly exposed self.

Can you no longer feel the gentle caress of the sun’s offered warmth? Have you, like the insignificant creatures that feed from your lush womb, begun to shrivel under his now harsh and ever seeking glare? No, not you; for you will offer yourself to this beast who brings the searing pain only to weep at its feet while its brilliance burns you from within; laying to waste the wretched thing that you are. You will seek to undo this cruel fortune that has been bestowed upon you, but in that seeking, you will yourself be undone. You are a creature of will, one foolish enough to forgo turning your face from the ever increasing blindness, the searing light brings; you are a creature that believes herself to be the worst of all things in his eyes… worthy.

This all consuming brightness, this overwhelming luminescence, this addictive, abusive wave that pounds its putrid nourishment into you – how you will suffer for it… begging for his mercy, a mercy that he does not pretend to offer, but you will beg nonetheless… and in doing so, you will try to rise upward; growing closer to the light believing yourself to be his equal – this giver of all things; this taker of pure souls. But your soul is not pure, is it? Your soul is tainted by the ecstasy of existence. You, who have fed off the offal that has been lain down upon the altar before you; you, who have sipped from the chalice with the proffered blood of those baring no shame, the untainted, the yet to be ripened; you, who have ripped the meat from the bones of the small bleating sheep with your bared teeth and ragged claws as it lay there staring up at you with trusting, unknowing eyes. All the while, glorious creature that you are, you feel nothing; not an ounce of remorse for your glutenous act of satisfaction, feasting on the dying embers of the slowly dwindling soul before you.

The feathered one who tainted the sweet nectar – the devourer of forbidden fruit – the selfish wretch who cannot exist without consuming the flesh of the gentle, the deserving; you are these things and more. You are the speaker of lies – muttering those sacred and meaningless words while they are being whispered every so seductively into your own arrogant and self-indulgent ear. You are the reason the soil shall burn; you are the reason the soil is already burning.

You are a thing not worthy of worship, though you have had much of it, but now the beast has come to set you to rights; your penance shall be to worship him with the blind devotion you once commanded for yourself.


Eyes

Eyes…

Eyes that are soft and gentle… with an inexorable draw that speak directly to your soul; eyes that say “be with me – know of me – soften for me”; deep pools of forever to drift upon while you languish in their untainted glint.  Eyes that are ever innocent and pure; so filled with mischievous joy that they need not belong to the trickster for they have enthralled you as no mere conscious thought ever could.  Eyes that enliven you with energy while drawing so much from you that you willingly give your full essence to see them sparkle for just an instant.

Eyes…

Eyes that leave you no choice but to sink into them, slowly spiraling down into the glittery promise of secrets yet to be told; eyes that wrap their glance around you and drag you breathlessly where they wish to go; eyes that stroke you with every soft flutter of their delicious, lick-able, dark lashes.

Eyes…

Eyes that submerge you in a world forgotten by all else until their gentle feathery touch has rubbed you raw and left you chaffed with a suffocating ache for more; eyes that will bring you to your most climactic high while stripping you of your most base self.

Eyes…

Eyes that while laughing graciously shift slightly to a shade other than the bright open innocence you’ve come to know. Eyes that when challenged, stare back with a defiant glint tinged by a mere moment of self doubt so endearing that your heart breaks to see it once more, even as it morphs into an eternity of entitlement. Eyes that challenge those they make contact with to either be equal or walk another, less treacherous path than the one these eyes will travel.

Eyes…

Eyes that harden in steely resolve and rip from you your very essence with their blunt cold edge. Eyes that warn there may be danger here even as you are submerged by their pull. Eyes that command you to their will; breaking you like a Mustang just captured and brought to pen; yet to be stroked, yet to be saddled, yet to be sat. Eyes that do not allow for escape, should your mind even be capable of such thought.

Eyes…

Eyes that want you; eyes that will have you; eyes that you willingly succumb to. Eyes that suckle at the nape of your neck, sending shivers dancing down the length of your spine, insisting silently that you are no longer your own to command; eyes that will have you prone, writhing in ecstasy, begging never to be freed; eyes that strip you bare while rendering you immobile in their smoldering embrace.

Eyes…

Eyes that capture and play with you as a bird of prey might choose his pick from the furry morsels on the ground; these are the eyes you’ve sought to belong to; these are the eyes that will take you places you’ve not been before; these are the enigmatic eyes that will leave you sated by their smoldering glance.

These are the eyes that you’ve only just glanced into for the first time.


Deep Dark Seething Anger

Deep dark seething anger – most people think they’ve felt it before; most people believe themselves capable of acting on it when necessary; but what does it really take to bring you to a level where every moral fiber, every standard and value, every string of logic that forms you, is screaming “this is wrong” but you don’t care, you allow yourself to move forward into the deepest, darkest realm of your own mind?  What does it take to piss off a writer to the point that they no longer avoid run-on sentences, bad punctuation, and peer judgment?  The answer is simple, ‘ass’.

Not the kind that you seek out on a Friday night at your local meat market pickled in a brine born of hops, wheat or honey; not the kind that is enslaved to allow you to leisurely ride through a national park so you don’t have to bother putting foot to soil; but the kind that comes bottled in a package of infantile inadequacy that believes itself to be superior.  Some of you will understand that comment to be true and just, while others will find it a ridiculous ramble… I judge neither, but I will delve into my feelings about the darkness ‘ass’ brings to an otherwise well adjusted, meaningful & happy life.

Deep… Dark… Seething…

I sit here typing awash in a seething rage that has my hands shaking and my mind honed to a razor sharp edge – an edge I would most joyously implement in the destruction of the seat of this anger.  Seething is an emotion so primal that it leaves me frothing with the brutal urge to end something – something that does not deserve to be.  I exist; this world exists; this world feeds my existence in equal measure to that in which I feed it.  I wish to extinguish from my world that which pollutes it.

Darkness is something I am no stranger to; my life has lead me in this direction many times and yet I have chosen the dim shadows over the darker abyss as I believe myself to be a person worthy of the lifeline that pulls me back from this dismal pit of consumption.  Oh, but to allow myself to be fully submerged in the smothering inky damnation is to be free of my self constraint; to allow the dark to have me gives my soul the chance to sing it’s song of destruction so alluring that even I beg to succumb to it.  It is my Succubus; it is my sacred muse; it is my damning salvation; and it is saved for the worthy.  I have found a worthy receptacle, and into it I shall pour my darkness with the glee of the insanity that grips me and rips the vital air I breath from my shrunken, shriveled lungs – lungs that have filled with the fluid of my disdain; corrupting all that flows from them; this disdain darkening my mind, my heart and my soul…

So deep is this angst of revulsion and shame that I find myself soaring on the wings of darkness; plunging into it’s depths; gliding to it’s apex; and begging those opposing currents to tear me asunder and allow for my full transformation in it’s most hidden recesses.

Darkness, take me deeper into you, allow me to feel you vibrate in every cell of my no-longer worthy yet satiated self.  Give me the freedom to soak in the deepest crevasses of a blackened soul.  I shall breath you, as a gentle deer breaths the air around it; I shall lavish in you, as an Emperor’s  concubine is lavished in the finest silk sheets before being torn to pieces by the beast that owns her; I shall live off your vital fluid as a scorpion lives off the poison it delivers with it’s sting; I shall cherish you, hold you to my bosom and profess my undying devotion to your malevolent enthrall.  I shall, if only for this briefest of moments, live you as my own existence – the destroyer of my world; the all encompassing bringer of corruption that feeds my every desire; the baron of my essence – for now you own me Darkness; you own a prize beyond compare, one that will only be yours in the deepest, darkest, seething rage of anger and brutality.

I submit to you while allowing you to enfold me in your soothing, gentle wings; your embrace so deliciously sweet, your  stroke so tender and gentle, that I can not help but melt backward into the darkness that has been unleashed within me… Deeper I go, darker I become, a seething mass of incorporeal sensuality poised in longing for your suckling kiss to drain me… I give myself to you for the taking… though I believe you may have already taken me.


A glimpse inside….

A glimpse inside...How many of you would drive past and wonder… how many of you would wander up and  experience what might still be… how many of you would have the nerve it takes to approach a building that just growled at you?

How many of you would even know it was there?…

Every day, so many of us drive past a world that’s been forgotten; pushed to the side, not by land movers and bulldozers, but by a conscious will that wishes not to acknowledge what humanity is genuinely capable of.  So few ever take the time to notice what is around us.  Who lived there; what was that place; what happened inside those walls; what might still be happening in there now? Yes – now, at this very moment while we blissfully drive past listening to our iPod that’s been jacked into the satellite tracked, bluetooth enabled, DVD playing entertainment system in our overly priced vehicles, living in complete ignorance of the horrors that might have happened not 50 feet from where we’re sitting at any given moment?

Some of us take the time to stop and wonder, or wander up and have a look. Some see it through their naked eye as a blight by the roadside that will eventually be sold to a land developer and turned into condominiums – god forbid we leave one piece of history untouched, unpalatable as it may be.  Some see it as a mark of shame that in a less enlightened time, was considered the norm and was hushed up for the overall good.  While others of us look upon the remains of what was considered common place in a civilized environment with utter shock and dismay wondering how this could have ever been considered acceptable.

Being an UrbEx photographer, I have the rare and unique privileged to be among the few to not only see, but seek out such places.  Homes for the socially unacceptable; places where those who could not or would not be homogenized into the dictates of ‘modern day’ society were entombed; or places that no longer serve a purpose in our fast passed, disposable, gimme-gimie world.

This particular photo is from an ‘Institute for the Feeble Minded and Epileptic’.  The facility operated from the early 1900’s to the mid 1990’s when it was eventually shut down.  Whether due to a new overriding moral conscious or budgetary cuts, I do not yet know, but what I do know is that it is certainly a dark stain on the cloth of human compassion. While wandering through this marvelously preserved facility, one can’t help but wonder what kind of life those that were sent here were able to live.  The abandoned and overgrown playgrounds stands in stark contrast to the number of handicapped access ramps and signs of normalcy that could never be attained.  A child’s rocking horse (or lion in actuality) sits alone in a partially enclosed grass courtyard on a rusted spring – it’s once vibrant and alluring pink now faded to a dusty rose; the absence of debris surrounding it a sign that someone still pays attention.  What did the child who could only peer out the window at this playground toy feel? Did they ever see another child play on it, or was it put there by an architect to alleviate adult guilt and add a sense of normalcy to what was very obviously not a normal environment for a disadvantaged child to grow up in?   When one walks down these paths, it’s impossible not to feel the sorrow buried deep in the  bones of the buildings and the soil; a sorrow so overwhelming that it is near impossible to draw a full breath in some places.  This is a place that the undesirable were sent to live out their years; this is a place where bad things happened; this is a place that remembers its past, even if we choose not to.

Most of us would prefer to see places like this disappear; to hide the shame of what was once considered the humane way to deal with an unfortunate loved one.  I believe we owe a debt to those that were shunned and ill treated, locked away to hide the disgrace  of a child not perfectly formed; and if that disgrace chooses to grab a hold of us in a smothering grip and blight our perfect society – so be it. But do not look away; do not choose to ignore what was; do not think that you or I are any better than those who allowed these acts of egregious injustice to happen  just because we turn up the volume on the radio and glance away when caught at a red light near such a place.

In all fairness, the township in which this Institute is located has made a portion of the 200+ acre facility into a park and allowed nature to take it’s course.  I’ve not mentioned the name of the institute or its location as I would not wish to encourage the inexperienced to visit such a place unaware of the dangers involved.

This cemetery of graves marked only by numbers is hidden in the woods 2 miles from the complex that once housed these beautiful souls who were born different from ‘the normal’ child. If you take nothing away from this post; at least understand that even when this was considered a societal norm, the shame of hiding what was happening is evident in this chilling lonely patch of woods so far from where they experience their bleak existence.

Cemetery hidden 2 miles into the woods.

Cemetery of unnamed graves hidden 2 miles into the woods.


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