Nintyman

One. I am now at one, the yin the yang emulsifying before my beating heart. The bridges connecting the very foundations of mind. The table being set in the living room of my thought. The knives being left on the side, the shining gleam reflecting the very feeling of one onto the canvas of emotion. The teeth of the forks moulding their way around former friends, creating new. Fresh allies being welded in the forge of heart. The dual becomes the single The right and left, non essential as their ambidextrous cousins push them aside. Two becomes one.

Once upon a time in a virtual node, a numerical child lived in executable abode. Keystrokes for fingers and Ascii for toes, lived well he did in this house with no woes. Out of the void, sickness came in, the "solid" window gave quite a din. The system is breached, the firewall impeached Antivirus gave up, died down, was a leech. My defences down, profound holes, big and round, inferior programming  , mine. Sublime hybrids, now mine. Aliens browing my sectors with glee, corrupting my friends, disregarding their pleas, my windows now broken, my roots being ripped open, the source it lay there with a blue warm glow flashed

The quest of hitmen is a task in which my interest is very vast The shining blade of which I hold The slit, the blood, the blistering cold Siberian hounds howling towards my track, A simple bullet in their back The body rigid like a mast Rigor Mortis holds much like a cast The blood spewing from the neck Like a volcano fountain, from the holds of heck.

You How many lives have you lived? I ask myself as I sit, my back to the door. How many histories have you seen, the effervescant bastard love running through your veins how many souls gone taken? I'm here to tell you magazine; that we us are bigger than now our pumps pumping faster we dont need no you For you see, I'm not thinking that you are understanding your saying of phrases with random deliberation of a corrupt court in the dungeons of your thinking. We are faster, the clock is slowing we dont need no you A sneaky smile tip-toe's onto my face, I realise that I dont need no reading I dont need no you

I stare through the half open door  I see a frame, but in it lives half a  picture.  I look in the half mirror  and I find myself  myself kicking at the dreamless sleep of a roaring touch  suddenly  half a steed comes in, carrying half a knight in half plate arms  I find myself again Now I can sleep

I sit here in the corner, my corner, in my head The crimson roses of my emotion wilting to a further fuschia. I am in myself alone, I see no others in the blue dome of my pugnant rage, the furious instinct standing guard over my one, that is myself. I sit here and I weep, while smiling madly I shall give today Today I shall give But still the guards they stand The reflections of me, quite bland. My opal vision is blurred. Others, I ask you...please? Do they seem...unconcerned? Today is for mine, to celebrate my legacy, it is for my own, for friends to dissaperate, not to negociate. Out of the emerald fields of my own, come

Why is it in the gap of enduced freedom only when I have reached one end of the world, MY world, and stumbled to the other, being escorted there by the ones that have set me free. Why is it that I see such light on my end of the ultraviolet spectrum, when others are in the dark? Why is it that one and one produce none? The culmination of the labours of others, leaving them in the dusk, while I, the late bird; why am I at dawn? Forgive me, as my peripheral vision has come crashing down on my limelight, reaping all happiness from my mind, the thought of my coloured, converging world, suddenly diverse in the ways of......paper. Why w

I will be honest with you. I cry on, now, feel sorry for mine, Thoughts choking my brain, I have no clear mind, Myself is ruined, I see no hope For I cannot scribe, no meagre tome. I ask myself, why do I mix, My ruined heart, my shredded wings with logic, power, my upstart brain, The two are confused I feel such Shame With this feeble thing, I try to do the many things, to see your life through. I watch, I teach, I learn, I scribe, To try to better your petty lives, But how can I now see this through, If my two part brain is now subdued Excuse me now, if you must, My two part brain, being concussed, Must be taught to see thi

Insanity is falling on my brain parade. Insanity is falling. We run, we try to escape, we hide inside the houses of others in the hope that they can save us from OUR insanity. The misty black sky of my brain parade. The misty black sky, angel bent on the desecration of US. The creamy vapor rushing through the skies of my brain parade, like a war stricken bullet. Insane. I have lost all sense of direction. The innards of my inner ear telling me that the ONLY way to go now is insane. Broken hearts flying left...or right? Wrong? I cannot tell. While all the time, I am standing in the centre of this diminishing brain parade wonderin

The cycle is a story based on the piece of music 'Mars the God of War' by Holst. In this story, I have taken the actual character, 'Mars, the God of War' and brought him to life. I have converted the music to a story about Mars and how and why he creates wars. This piece wasnt inspired by a workshop session but what inspired me was the question on why we wage war, and this piece is only one way of explaining it. I wrote this piece to show that war is pointless, and the only thing achieved out of it is death, if that can be classified as an achievment. I wanted to say that the soldiers fighting the wars are like pawns, pawns in a game for amu

Her name is Love. I spoke to her through tainted eyes, and she listened. 'Do you remember a time when your mind felt young?' Fresh, nubile creatures: we are born back ceaselessly into the past; dreaming. Into ceremonius discontent; we MEANT to be a burning effigy.. With the most glorius flames, we were about marry destruction and creation. I almost believed.. I almost didn't awaken, He almost didn't live a Parisian death but the Doors remain Open and I come to fill air-tanks with the breath of perception. Perception's name is Love, she told me in a passionate burst amongst the flower bed. Are you here for the revolution? Are you

In The Cold there's a tingle then a click, as a penny (or my pound, to be precise) drops and I realize quickly that my fingers jerk red and stiff as hooked lobsters – my ear shifts in swift, alarming protest; my neck would shriek if it could, contenting it- self instead with Braille-esque bumps that rise from beneath my skin – like paper, I flutter in vicious winds, and squeal like a whipped pig, running from tearing eyes and cracked hands; sleep seems appealing for eternity, a permanent hibernation of withdrawal and protection from this most mendacious of seasons – completely sold on oversize cardi

She eternally falls. Begotten from the father, Forgotten from the others. She betrayed the spirit, She never knew how much it meant, To worship. Slowly she falls, down to the sinful world of ours. She knew that she had done wrong She knew it was her fault. She cried a long and painful cry, as she neared the earth. She wept, hoping to be forgiven. She remembers the dagger, the blood, and the Holy Spirit falling from its podium. What came over her, she will never know. She notices that no longer is she an angel, but a human, about to die. She closes her eyes, and that is the end, of the broken angel.