Manipulator

He slithers in the blue laboratory glow.
His silver words are silent needles.
No more seduction with your whiplash tongue
Master manipulator,
I'm your master now

Lash out with your claws
(No one can hear you)
Grip me with your screams
(Will they still fear you)
Fingers like white worms
And wrath electric in your eyes
My prince of lies,
your lies will bring you
to your knees.

He whispers smoke into the water
He paints the pictures that you love
No more twisting and deceiving
Trapped by your own doings
You're weaving your own pain
with every word

Tell me, are you still the hunter?
(and where is your kill)
Liar, magic bound with wire
(have you had your fill)
Now you're stifled, struggling
with your tongue behind your teeth
My lord of lies,
You have no lies to hide beneath

My prince of mischief,
You're a thief without a steal
And in the end, it is you
who'll always kneel.


~

can you help me occupy my brain

I need someone to show me
The things in life that I can't find
I can't see the things that make true happiness
I must be blind

Make a joke and I will sigh
And you will laugh and I will cry
Happiness I cannot feel
And love to me is so unreal

And so as you hear these words

Telling you now of my state

it's what i need.

~

A Theory Of Monsters

The most terrifying creatures are reflections of what they project. Those that only torment us but are themselves tormented.

Monsters who move with twisted limbs or stilted walk, who leap in freakish fashion instead of an invincible bound, who seem to have woken after a decade or a century of untold suffering.

Ghosts with sad faces, vengeful child-spooks with haunted eyes, persistent whispers in the afterworld that come from having been hurt in life.

The tragic Frankenstein who was created and then deserted. The werewolf who howls with the pain of every transformation. The Blade bloodsuckers with split gaping maws who seem to have been made as a result of torturous experiment. Zombies with remnants of their slow, diseased deaths - and echoes of their former selves - clinging to their grey skin.

Without this element of tragedy, a monster is not truly complete. Monsters are more than just our darker sides. They are the dimension where we keep our sorrow and anger, anxiety and fear. And when we fail to deal with those fears, the monster finally bursts forth.

We are them and they are us.

The most feared boogeyman is one who has your face.


~

Trying to get it right

I should be working. I got jobs screaming at me like a two-year-old tantrum-throwing motherfucker in the supermarket aisle.

Instead I'm one inch away from crying and I hate it.

By the way, I've noticed this default position I adopt when I'm feeling screwed up or just don't know what to do with myself. If I have a table or desk in front of me -- which I do now -- I go into a sort of foetal position. Or the sitting equivalent, anyway. Forearms close together, pressed on the desk edge, body hunched forward, head down and my hands clasping my mouth and nose.

It's a little like Rodin's Thinker, but without the grace and panache. A pensive and decidedly anti-social stance that says Go Away, I'm Thinking Dark Wiggly Neurotic Thoughts. No doubt the Thinker was being more philosophical than neurotic when he adopted that famed pose; but anyway. He sure as hell wasn't humming a Care Bear tune, judging by that frown.

It takes a load of facial muscles to frown. And I should really be conserving my energy for something more useful -- like, say, work. Y'know, the stuff that paid for the quality leather jacket I'm wearing.

But before that, I just need to get this out of my head. Else I'll just fritter away the entire bloody day thinking gloomy foetal thoughts.

~

Sit here on the stairs
'Cause I'd rather be alone
If I can't have you right now, I'll wait
Sometimes I get so tense,
But I can't speed up the time
But you know, there's one more thing to consider

I've been walking these streets at night
Just trying to get it right
It's hard to see with so many around
You know I don't like being stuck in a crowd
And the streets don't change but maybe the name
I ain't got time for the game
'Cause I need you
Well, I need you


--

In A Darkened Playground, The Night Is Ours.

9.30pm: the power goes out with a silent bang. There is a collective groan from those who were halfway through a movie download or awesome novel.

Ever notice how the sky brightens when you turn off the lights? Every faded cloud comes to the fore like half-formed nebulae. Every star is a miracle in the mottled velvet patchwork.

The stars lean down to kiss you
And I lie awake and miss you
Pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere
'Cause I'll doze off safe and soundly

We light candles; we text; we tweet. Thank the gods it is a cool night without the bother of not having a fan just when you need it. We tweet and text some more. We play games on our phones. My battery is running low, and I need something else to do.

I'll find repose in new ways
Though I haven't slept in two days
'Cause nostalgia chills me to the bone

My brother and I hit the playground in front of our house. He is seventeen; I'm twenty-four. Both a little too old for swings and slides. But in the cover of lampless night, our age becomes less obvious.

I'll watch the night turn light blue
But it's not the same without you
Because it takes two to whisper quietly
The silence isn't so bad

To my delight I am fit enough to climb the monkey bars. My adult legs can close the gap between rungs that my kiddy limbs couldn't. The swing offers the same delight; the see-saw feels the same.

Drenched in vanilla twilight
I'll sit on the front porch all night
Waist-deep in thought; when I think of you
I don't feel so alone

We climb atop the tunnels, the weathered smooth cement cool against our backs, and lie on them watching the moon. The night belongs to us.

When violet eyes get brighter
And heavy wings grow lighter
I'll taste the sky and feel alive again
And I'll forget the world that I knew.


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© Vanilla Twilight lyrics belong to Owl City.