'Lesser artists borrow, great artists steal'

'What is history but a fable agreed upon?'




Midnight escapes along through the minds of wicked silk curtains whilst fading for another well-woven imprint of my smile. Every known flat surface slowly filled with the black water. A cool, thickening cleanser ready to pour out upon the pitiful features of existence. It lies deep, but so did the empty well. Pleasures engulf an imperfect precipice.


If the world that we are forced to accept is false and nothing is true, then everything is possible. On the way to discovering what we love, we will find everything we hate, everything that blocks our path to what we desire. The comfort will never be comfortable for those who seek what is not on the market. A systematic questioning of the idea of happiness. We'll cut the vocal chords of every empowered speaker. We'll yank the social symbols through the looking glass. We'll devalue society's currency. To confront the familiar. Society is a fraud so complete and venal that it demands to be destroyed beyond the power of memory to recall its existence. Where there is fire we will carry gasoline. Interrupt the continuum of everyday experience and all the normal expectations that go with it. To live as if something actually depended on one's actions. To rupture the spell of the ideology of co modified consumer society, so our repressed desires of more authentic nature can come forward. To demonstrate the contrast between what life presently is and what it could be. To immerse ourselves in the oblivion of actions and know we're making it happen. There will be an intensity never before known in everyday life to exchange love and hate, life and death, terror and redemption, repulsions and attractions. An affirmation of freedom so reckless and unqualified, that it amounts to a total denial of every kind of restraint and limitation.

Steven. Chelsea. Alena. Ashley. Website. WireClub. DeviantArt. Lpc. VF. MySpace. Game. Gba. Words. Li-Young Lee. Literature. V-Era. Arcana. Winchester.


I stand before open ruins
Clouds caress a mental crack
Gusts of wind, so it begins
That wave of bitter ends

Distilled silver passerby
Glances on to cherished paint
Newer forms of dancing dead
Higher hopes that this will stay
With my mind a little longer

Wire wakings dissipate
Through dirty patches' dew
A sun that never requests
The things that I have done
This still air will suffocate
What's left of my morale

So it began, this ending true
A light that never showed
Where my ending began

©Bemavajyi 2009




"What are you writing?"
'A novel.'
"What's the story?"
'There's no story. It's just...people, gestures, moments, bits of rapture, fleeting emotions. In short, the greatest stories ever told.'
"Are you in the story?"
'I don't think so. But then, I'm kind of reading it and then writing it.'

It feels nice to simply be.

I've been online less and less, and, therefore, I have been able to get more done in real life. From daily routines to projects to socializing, I can claim in confidence that I'm happy.

Were I to say anything in regarding an old friend: I wish her well.

Title: Elizabeth

There is no substitution
For this old heart
That never existed

Strangers in life
Walk closer to death
Hand in sticky hand
They'll perish evermore
And I will stand alone

As I took my first step
Was I aware of the acts
I would one day commit

When I am lost
You peel at posters
Thoughts go under
To painfully become
A standing ovation

A war will soon ensue
In search for a jewel
They won't even dare
To remember you


©Bemavajyi 2009
























I don't know it's name, gender or reason for existence...I just know that it's kind of cute (in a marshmallow-way). I've kind of always wanted a stuffed rabbit doll, but never really had one of my own.

White checkered fabric: body.
Brown fabric: limbs, ears.
Purple thread: limbs, ears.
Brown thread: body.
Large purple button(x2): eyes.

It was also a quick sketch.


Venus was the second inhabited planet after the first destruction of Earth billions of years ago. The cause of the world-wide 'Wipe Out' remains a mystery, however, the few remaining inhabitants of Earth fled to Venus- they resided in the area now known as Ishtar Terra. A few of the beings remained on Earth in attempts to make the planet habitable again. Whilst on the sister planet, my kind and I gradually got used to Venus' dense atmosphere and harsh climate. I had always dreamed of an adventure, but I never expected it to start after I was set up to die.

It was cloudy, light with mist, dark with forest. The observatory home is where my suspicions led me to, and I, therefore, took it upon myself to explore the premises. Base white double doors opened to a circular room of cabin appeal. The first floor was all one room: a quaint couch faced the west to a pebble fireplace and hunter's decor; the Northern wall was faced with only windows looking out over a lake; the east area of the room had your basic kitchen and dining. An oak staircase snaked up to a single bedroom floor, in which the bed piqued a most daring interest. Strewn along it were remnants of worn toys, children sheets and retro child clothing- it spilled over the bed itself in a lazy fashion. Beneath the heap -visible by head alone- was my father. He wore the most peculiar expression of envy and mal intentions. I took a step towards him; he noticed my movement. With a shrill appeal of fear, he curled into the center of the bedding as did the lazy childhood items. A ragged gasp tore at the air around me, and I looked about to find a small washroom. Standing in the doorway, all derelict and crazed-looking, staggered a form of my sister holding a wooden knife. Her words incoherent, she advanced towards me in a rigid fashion grinning all the while. With interesting luck, the shampoo was all it took to make her disappear from existence. Family these days.

Spacial hues reminisce
Reminding me that time unhooked
This inability to feel the warmth
Of an original mother's love

Alas, such feelings were atrocious
Left alone for the human consumption
To glutton on wishes weeded
With deceit and clever planning

The obvious bent fairy tale
Of loveless seeking love
Was not in their agenda
Today, not in this way

After our concert to the heavens
And encore to the Sun
I could not let go of you

When the night grew wearily long
To blanket us too chilled
I cannot deny this bond
Of the Beast and his Beauty

Unlike automatic support
Within society's webbing
An honest self embedded
His memory of her
Into a chanced future

Monstrosity trove of secrets
Destroyed those anomalies
So carefully, with love

We felt a something never known
That hint of rosemary dust
Clinging like an after dew
With luck unmeasurable
Which blinded summer hope


It's automatic in knowing we would never be the same after this. Were we to start things over, I would never have existed. Should my grooming of instinct and nature disturb you, you need not worry of any betrayal, for I haven't the strength to turn away.

"She was His impasse, and He knew it far too well."

My name is Zhyanthan. No, it's not a girl's name and it doesn't mean much of anything. I never actually knew if it had meaning other than to concrete my existence, if at all. Were I to sum up the history of humanity, I would say that it is an irrelevant force of events designed to filter humans into a precise time within the present. With each step, each breath, there is always going to be something recorded for one individual or another to recognize and subconsciously remember to benefit their self. A style, a skill, a wisp of adventure. Humans are unable to create themselves, so they proceed to copy one another until there is no distinction of what individuality was meant to be. How cowardly and erratic these inferior beings are, yet I was unsuccessful in disliking them all.

I recall a moment in time where a human told me that she 'never saw anything quite like you'. When I asked her what she meant, she told me that I seemed too focused, too determined with life and my agendas. Further explanation revealed that she had this belief that angels existed for the sole purpose 'to guide man towards a prosperity they don't fully expect or want, but they will be powerless to reject it'. According to her, man spoke lies to suffocate their senses to be ignorant in the line of courageous actions. Relevant to the times, I would get the hint now and then that she was too wise for her few years, and an uncertainty began to bud from these predicaments: is it true? Prevention is the key, not reaction.



It began, an ending trickling far
So festively drawn out the wiser
Unmatched along a scorching dusk

Sleepy memories waltz freely
To melodies of painful skies
Ink-bled scars silenced her screams

Little whispers pierced their heavens
Along the trails of forest beds
Therein lay my deepest desire

Harmony waiting just for me
Unnoticed as I tempt a view
At that inevitable wit
Of an angelic soul, waiting

Taming tales seem far past due
They cannot rest among eachother
This lie blindfolded withers away
Erodes into an abysmal sigh

An arch of kindness might have saved
A second gasp, a tear in space
A warm embrace was all it took
To seal dejected implications

Sinful waters heed its warning
Clasping whims of mournful tides
How long they stay as we fold through
Another sheet of bashful peace

Extraction felt so lost, profound
The lack in pain, ill-numbing sense
To see that which might be
Possible and equally
Another being given a chance
At the far-fetched strings they called a life

©Zhya 2009


It intoxicated him with a restless urge to cleave the fire where it basked. This euphoria made him drunk with excitement; no matter how many new ones he acquired, it never ceased to amaze him how beautiful each one is. The shine, the curvature, the strength. Even if it was a duplicate, the Kid treated each new knife and sword with the care a mother would her newborn. This unfathomable desire to give each blade a purpose was one of his few reasons to remain in this reality anymore.

Idiot. That was the word he had been searching for: idiot. It was one of the few words he overused that did not lose its meaning. This five-lacing whip always struck with precise timing and amusing effects. It became a principle taunt in any language, any situation.

This something, this something, a nothing- a button!

"Heh, what-ev sunshine. It'll all be a'ight soon enough, so quit shitting the small stuff and learn to eat the whole stone."

"Your predicament is unsatisfactory to my formality and judgment. Therefore, were it I you and you I, then I would be the one incapable of love and you the beloved fool."

It wasn't enough that he made it his mission to taunt Him for the sake of it, He had to go around the household and make it everyone's knowledge of what He thought of His scapegoat. The sole reason He remained silent was to wait for a sleeper's revenge: a moonlit reprise.

----

"Boy, why are you here in this prison? How long have you been here? What is your charge? Would you like me to get you some water?"

Try as she might, She could never seem to coerce the Boy to say anything to her- not a grunt or sigh; not even a 'shut up girl' cloaked her hearing. Still, she came to see him every night after the maids went to bed. She tried other methods to get the imprisoned man to speak with her. She would bring her favorite book and read it to him; she would talk of her family and her adventures on the grounds. The Girl brought her sketchbook a few times and attempted to show the man her mundane drawings.

Nothing.

Her stubbornness compelled her to keep trying, given that She saw something in the Man's eyes- a glimmer of life, of deep wisdom. There were times when the Boy would shift in his cell or cough, She took note in his behavioral patterns and soon discovered that: all he needed was someone to listen to him. It was on that night that She began her exhibitions in silence, either reading to herself or sketching in her keepsake journal, but, never the less, keeping the prisoner below her estate company.

On the sixteenth night of her silence came the first sounds of retribution:

"Reading in the dark is unwise for someone as visual as yourself"

She would become his impasse, and he knew it far too well.


It seems so simple from a distance, yet the action itself is far more complex. Were we to have the ability to just be, there would be no point to living. To live is to grow, prosper, discover, wonder, falter. The beginning and ending of any human being can amount to so much as nothing in comparison to the journeys they partook.

"I've been forbidden by the Higher to use these abilities on any other individual, and you want me to use them on the whim that they'll save us...do you realize how dangerous that is? Barely any of you have left this reality, and now you want to chance it to save your pathetic ass- how just of you."

Were it not for the journey, then there would be no tales to reflect upon. '''What is history but a fable agreed upon?''' Memory is a skewed concept that is taken for granted too easily. To forget is one thing; ignorance shouldn't be excusable. These incoherent ramblings are not going to get me anywhere. This check-stall is due to self-esteem issues and forced distractions. If only humans were incapable of procrastination, then perhaps things would get done far more efficiently in the world. There's an uncertainty that lies in shadows. It stings my eyes and chokes my hearing.

"To be honest, it is humans who are the true alien race of this tainted world. Their relentless actions, bloodshed, populations- humans clog the earth and suffocate all of her energy, yet we have to leave you alone. There are many who debate that we should wipe the race out and that it would bring about a better world; there are those who rebuttal that humans actually help soothe the planet's inertia or lack there of.

"What do you think of humans?"

"I think that they are a race of gluttony, greed and genocide. Whether they exist or not does little to the planet abstract to popular belief of nature harm. Sure, they cut down forests, dump toxic wastes and pollute the air; if it weren't for humans, then it's possible the Earth would have existed with another race of egotistical elites."

"So you basically think we're nothing?"

"No, you are something: I don't much care what that particular something is, but it is what keeps humanity prospering."

"Maybe it's hope, Boy, that keeps us alive."

"Hope is a fool's wet dream."

"Hope is what drives most of us to see that next sunrise."

A blatant concept, created by man, for man. Hope doesn't justify one's actions, negative or positive. It doesn't mean that people can just go out and accomplish anything or be alright with their stained souls. Hope is mans way of etching out the past to grasp a future without wager.

Bent up corners of faded faces, he glanced again at the memory. An elegant woman and peaceful man smiled out to him from a time when the world had no worries, no loss. Was it ever that simple?


If we were to believe that any thought created could manifest to possible, then this world would never have existed. The attributes of society dim the inspirations in that of the innocent. Physical limitations are nothing more than conscious restraints and disciplined boxes awaiting to lock us inside forevermore. What man is capable of is not that to success, but immortality through remembrance.

Mediocre rush moments in life -that spurt of adrenaline- exist due to the untold laws of human drama: a means to make your life seem more interesting than it actually is. How pathetic these insects truly are. Drama in itself is an abused rift in reality that is blind to the whim of endings: this is not it's fault.

Importance in life is scattered across empty dreams and hopeful widower graves. It twists, encases, drips, decays. All that remains is another aborted faith whereas humans could have simply taken responsibility for their actions and saved pointless civil battles. Those mortals are subjected through constant control- without it, they are doomed to failure. In the eyes of a newborn, there lies new patterns of pending control cravings. Society is a mosaic of elegant chaos.

Life is a constant struggle for construction, perfection. Equivalent exchange never was when it came to opportunities of lust and gluttony. Systems noose the species so willingly that it's a miracle humans haven't recognized: they are no better than farm waste. If it weren't for the stars, then would the world know just how valuable it is?

Maturity is an exaggeration- 'Honesty is the best Policy' is a mere politician deploy for easy access into the depths of idiocy. Fear will always compel humans to keep in their systems so long as they lie to themselves and those around them. Fears of rejection, loss and in-completion will never be remedied. They will one day learn that everything comes to an end, even themselves. Acceptance is the trap: a social dysfunction living on to drink in the next helpless being.

Once spotted is never forgotten.

Simple terms could never being primary to a justice it deserved. The mass will view the world as it wants to and disregard the light along the way. You don't need eyes to see the blasphemy. They don't need ears to know of hypocrisy. The day to recognize is just to analyze a forthcoming of drastic measures in lieu to self despair.

Soup questions are all that's left of a decaying race.

The world's reality was never the fraud but the creatures who inhabit it's craters. Reality has have yet to meet a person who is willing to become something, where they are at the point that they can say they like humanity for what it is- because it just is. We all know that we are inevitably insignificant: some are better at defining it more than others. At the core of it all, humans only know how to use.

We take what we refuse to give back.

If I take what I can and give back what I took, then I won't give what I can't take back. I don't mind humanity, but I won't integrate myself into what they want from me. I am more than just another stem among the roses: I am me, as she is I. To define one's self is a greater importance than lying in wait for a mere acceptance to a species that could care less.

Blaming how one is because of humanity lies in fault: you are who you chose to become, and you remain to be as you are because you desire it. To not wish such therein lies the integrity required to just be. It is up to the human's actions that help them decide who they want to become, and all for the cause of a fearful approval. Happiness is as abundant as one wants it to be; humans thrive on the negative that grants them sympathy from the crowds (even the lied negatives). You cannot become any better until you reform a better you, just for you, regardless of anything (or anyone) else.