40enFri, 11 Jan 2013 23:55:10 GMTFri, 11 Jan 2013 23:55:10 GMTPA_IzanagiPT

I will end up sharing them on Deviant Art, or a similar sort of website
]]>Fri, 04 Jan 2013 08:38:10 GMTThu, 27 Dec 2012 06:52:00 GMTThu, 27 Dec 2012 04:42:31 GMT
I wait my turn.
All eyes are center stage.
This will be a night to remember.
I'm changed, but it'll be too late before they can know it.
We lay together once, not as lovers but as kin.
Death is coming all the same.
Our Father who art in Heaven, give us this day our daily meat.
I'm ravenous for its birth. Hungry for my absolution.
I can see her, see her fine.
Enter me then.
One simple inch.
So small and insignificant and yet it tethers universes...


She sticks her head inside my mouth and I close my jaws an inch...


Hear the crowd roar!

I join them...]]>Thu, 27 Dec 2012 04:42:17 GMT
Then let her wish be granted, let us become one. Let her enter me, in, out, in, out, in, out, wonderfully sexual.

I wait the few moments patiently, before she releases me from my cage.

She herds me out to center stage. I don't see the other animals, Mister Boris, nor the crowd, or even Oren. Only her, my Dorothy, my Delilah. Baby, I've come back to Kansas!


And hear the crowd roar!


I awake and she is standing over me. Those same eyes of pity, or is it love? We lay together once, not as lovers, but as kin.

The whip she beats me with tells another story but... If I'm wrong. Oh, I could love her, aye, I could love her.

I've waited too long for this moment. I've waited my turn, countless turns, turn on turn on turn. Cursed repetition. Too late to return to Oz. To safety.

Leave me an inch, one simple inch... Is that too much to ask for?

Aye Lady, I shall. Enter me then, and we will lay together as kin once more and chase the stars till they are hunted from the sky...

She is within kissing distance to me now. She smells of green and brown and red.


And hear the crowd roar!]]>Thu, 27 Dec 2012 04:42:02 GMTFreaks in mind and body... Ah, its been a heck of a ride ain't it? We's gots one last speculatacular for youz guys, cuz well, ya been one fanfreakintastic audience!"

"I know, I know, but you can come back and see us next year and we'll have a whole new feast of Freaks for youz to enjoy. Now, before I bring him out, remember to grab a copy of 'The big bumper book of Freaks' on ya way out. At 44.95 it's a freakin' steal and we's only gots so many copies, so youz just better run to get one, before they all go finito".

"Now for this final act, we's gonna need Oren the Gigantic to come back on stage... just in case... But never fear folks, everything is perfectly safe. We caught this son of a beast out in the Badlands. He'd been getting into villages and making off with the kiddies... nasty business. Lucky uncle Boris was here to save the day, eh?
But have no fear... now... he's as gentle as a wittle pussycat and twice as friendly!".

Mr. Boris's lies will be his downfall. He'll probably go back to selling second-hand cars in the cesspit he once called home. A pity I won't be around to see it, Oren's sword will see to that. See the sword, see it well. But not before I kill her.]]>Thu, 27 Dec 2012 04:41:49 GMT
Curse this repetition, this repetition, this repetition... Endless, day in, day out... waiting. Waiting for a chance, waiting to come back from Oz. I've been waiting for too long and can wait no longer, I've begun to wait in madness...

But... I wait my turn.

I know that it will come and so I wait it patiently. My face betrays not a hint of anticipation and yet, I'm ravenous for its birth. Hungry for my absolution.

The crowd is clapped out, the bucket of fish is all but empty. Desks begin to beckon back their servants. Mister Boris, ringleader of the animals that took away my pride, lays the table for dessert. For my dessert. Freaks in mind and body, breath sighs of relief. A job well done. Only an inch remains and that inch is mine.

I wait my turn no longer, my turn has come.


And hear the crowd roar!]]>Thu, 27 Dec 2012 04:41:22 GMT
"Help us... save us... mercy... father..."

Heard the words turn to screams and the screams to silence. And when the only sound was a crackle and a spit... A father watched his children eaten.

The Grotesque thrusts my children into his gaping maw and pulls them back out for me to see. Repeating this process all the time in cursed repetition. In, out, in, out, in, out, perversely sexual.

All I ever loved, now lives within the belly of the Grotesque.

All my pretty ones? Did you say all? O hell-kite! All? What, all my pretty chickens and their dam. At one fell swoop?

And then he came for me. I tried begging. Not for my life, no, to end my life, to finish it. Leave me with my wife and children, leave me with my pride, leave me with my honor...

He left me and the world went dark...

And when I awoke, SHE was standing over me. She wishes she was as I was once, I see that clearly. I see pity in her eyes, a knife in her hands, a tear on her cheek. And I prayed, as I had never prayed before, for her eyes to tell the truth... But all she gave me was a lie.

She cuts my hair. Leaves me balding and deformed. Freakish. She is my Delilah, my betrayer. Once proud and mighty Sampson has now lost his pride, his honor, his courage.


And hear the crowd roar!]]>Thu, 27 Dec 2012 04:40:55 GMTOren and I first did battle on the plains? Why, how long is a piece of String?

He'd come upon us like a charging bull, nothing but red to begin with and nothing but red at its end. He'd deftly lopped off the proud, noble head of my wife, as if it had never even once, adorned atop her shoulders, in that graceful way that I was so sure it had. He'd even stopped to smile, but then... I was upon him. Rushing, furious, in a maniacal rage. Foolish instincts. Never stopping to consider. Nothing in my head to heed.

Desperately, I tried for his throat and twice I found it. But it was thick and impenetrable, like trying to chop a tree with a toothpick. He'd swotted me back like a horse fly, crushing me against a jutting rock, ribs broken, teeth missing, my skull singing the song of defeat.

He'd raised his sword above me like Damocles, nothing but triumph written on his ape-like face. But, instead, he'd turned on my children...

Picking them up like newborn chicks, still blind with innocence. Once more he'd paused to grin his stupid grin, long enough so that my youngest could have picked out the different bits of creatures stuck between his teeth. And then, one by one, he'd lowered them onto the edge of his burning sword so that they sizzled like
little sausages.

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire..."


Hear the crowd roar!]]>Thu, 27 Dec 2012 04:40:42 GMT
And I have few friends in Oz to help me on my way. The Tin Man is my nemesis here, strong, powerful, heartless, his chassis reflects light, just like Oren's sword. The scarecrow always by his side, still, silent, brainless, commanded only by the wizard himself, the Maestro, his master and commander.

No, this cowardly lion has but only one friend in these parts. Her... my Dorothy, the one who wishes she was as I was once. And sometimes, she IS the pretty girl who simply wishes to return with me, back to Kansas. But more often, she is the Wicked Witch herself, doing everything in her power to prevent it.]]>Thu, 27 Dec 2012 04:40:30 GMTBoris will start singing, as Oren swallows the sword that killed my kin. Singing in that blunted, stumpy voice of his, so devoid of life. I've heard the song a thousand times before, tis' a song of misery and sadness.

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire,
Jack Frost nipping on your nose,
Yuletide carols being sung by a choir,
And folks dressed up like Eskimos."

He always replaces 'folks' with 'freaks', perhaps unintentionally, who can say for certain? And all throughout, the Grotesque thrusts the flaming weapon into his gaping maw and pulls it back out, for all see, as happy as a child that just learned to piss in one direction. Repeating this process all the time in cursed repetition. In, out, in, out, in, out, perversely sexual.]]>Thu, 27 Dec 2012 04:40:16 GMT
Here, I'll prove it. Oren... sit... Oren... sit... Good boy!"

"Thank you! Thank you! You're far too kind!"

"Now, see the great battle sword he swings, the magnificent Nero, huh huh huk... Nero he calls it. Originality isn't Oren's strong point ya see, he's only spelled his own name backwards!"

"How many braincells have you Oren? Five? Can you count five? Count five Oren, go on...

"Nope, that's four, Oren, one, two three, four! Imbecile! Can you say imbecile Oren?"

"You're an imbecile aren't you Oren? Nod your head Oren. Oren nod.... Oren nod... Good boy!"

"Thank you! Thank you! You're far too kind!"

"During the cold war, Oren used this magnificent sword to butcher a thousand Commies. He drenched the sword in lighter fluid, so it burned with a flame as hot as the Earth's core. I spect', he just wanted to warm them up, huh huh huk. Can you say marshmallows over a camp fire?"

"Now, watch Oren perform this sacred act once more. Let him fire up this ancient blade and engulf the flames through his humongous gullet!"

"Never fear my good people, never fear... Oren's insides are stronger than steel... he'd eat the sun and ask what was for dessert..."

"If he could put the words together, that is, huh huh huk, huh huk huh, huh huh..."


I wait my turn, I wait for it to end...]]>Thu, 27 Dec 2012 04:39:59 GMT
"Ladies and Gentleman, may I present..."

See the sword, see it well.

"The Gigantic..."

Remember the pain, searing pain.

"Titanic..."

My children butchered.

"Elephantic..."

Never stood a chance.

"And ever so slightly... Psychopathic..."

My courage and my pride.

"ORRRRREEENNNNN!"


And hear the crowd roar!]]>Thu, 27 Dec 2012 04:39:43 GMT
So similar to the ones I once ran with, back in the good old days. I would have chased the stars for her, fought the sun for her, perhaps, even in spite of her deformities...
Aye, I could love her. I could love her.

But tis' not her body that disgusts me... but her mind.

Nay Lady.
Tis' not thine hands of yellowish pale flesh, cursed to seem like boneless chicken breast, but the whip they hold and beat me with.
Tis' not thy breath which pukes out unknown scents, but the words that fall from under it.
Tis' not thine face, more ugly than sin, with bloody lumps and broken skin, but the lying eyes, that doth lie, within.

Aye, I wait my turn, my decision made.]]>Thu, 27 Dec 2012 04:39:22 GMT
Let the acrobat mistime her jump. Let her reach out for the rope and lose it by an inch. Falling at first like a rose petal in the wind, then becoming as heavy as a severed head thrown from an Aztec temple. Crunch, Snap, Scream. Wonderful.

Let the snake awake and ensnare its charmer, its fangs an inch apart.

Let the fire-eater's lung thicken with that last inch of tar, the inch that gets him.

Let the clown weep bloody tears, an inch before insanity.

Leave me an inch, one simple inch... Is that too much to ask for?


An inch is all it takes. One inch. So small and insignificant and yet it tethers universes. Sun and moon, light and dark, love and hate, all separated by a single inch.

How long until my turn I could ask but... how long is a piece of string?
An inch, it whispers. An inch. Life and death at either end. An inch.
Leave me an inch, one simple inch... Is that too much to ask for?

I wait my turn. I wait... for my inch.]]>Thu, 27 Dec 2012 04:39:00 GMT
My prison lays me still, but I can see the light between the bars. I can see the faces behind this masquerade. Familiar faces, that only ever acknowledged me in fear, apprehension and loathing. Only she, she, ever loved me. We even lay together once, not as lovers, but as kin. And I accepted her warmth in this cold unusual place. But I'm but her slave and every day she chastises me. Curses me when I fall foul and beats me for my
anger, my very natural anger... broken.

But no... it still lurks in its dreadful deformed form, deep beneath the surface, like a venomous worm... waiting.

I wait my turn. I wait for my redemption.

So let them come. Let the fat man call them by false names and let them dance their dance of shame. The dance of the dancing bear. Chewed and moth eaten, stitched with sadness, like teddies that children leave in dusty corners which only spiders share. I'll watch them from my prison and pray for foulness in the air.

Our Father who art in Heaven, give us this day our daily meat? Perhaps something to splatter, something to burn, something to bleed?

Anything for a little taste of vengeance. Une Entrée avant main course? Something to whet the appetite? Something to still my beating heart before it bursts and everything is spoiled? Oh God, Almighty, please?!

Leave me an inch, one simple inch... Is that too much to ask for?]]>Thu, 27 Dec 2012 04:38:45 GMT
I've heard his little speech a thousand times before, and it rarely deviates from the original copy he once wrote, on the inside of an empty cigarette packet. This will be the last speech he makes, however. He'll probably go back to selling second-hand cars in the cesspit he once called home. A pity I won't be around to see it.

I wait my turn. His oh so honeyed words, invite his pets to join him. One by one, they slither to him willingly, obediently performing the twisted task he 'honoured' them with. Mocking them at every turn and praising their repulsiveness. Continuing in this way, till all manner of Freaks and Circus Performers have filtered into a bottle of their own perfections and imperfections. A greyish mess. Poison. The crowd slurp it greedily, clapping and guffawing like mongoloid seals begging for rotten fish.

Hear the crowd roar!

And after Mister Boris is done, said farewell and checked the purse, he'll finally shut his greasy beak. Mayhaps first coerce some poor soul to follow him back to his trailer for a nibble or a bite... Often, I have caught the scent of nervous sweat, mingled with stale tobacco, rising from his den. But there will be no such prize tonight. There may still be an aroma of sweat, leaking from Mister Boris's trailer, as he lies awake, but it'll be perfumed in the stench of blood.]]>Thu, 27 Dec 2012 04:38:33 GMT
All eyes are center stage, though some may spot the podgy man beginning his descent. Ringleader of the animals that took away my pride. Mister Boris, fat and penguin like, harbouring the black egg of greed. Its yoke drips money that splatters on his fine violent green suit, as he walks to the best seat in the house. Not that he'll justify using it, for he will see nothing, his magnificent beak is his act and that is all that he will use until the
curtain closes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, Freaks in mind and body... Welcome!"
"Welcome to the greatest show since... Christ darn it... I dunno!"
"Boy, have we got something special for you good people tonight! This ain't gonna be anything you ever gonna forget, or your money back!"
"I guarantee you ain't never seen anything like this. We got's here a guy, that's gonna eat an entire Chevy 1956 convertible... right in front of your very peepers!"
"That's right kiddies, he takes the biggest dump you ever saw!"
"And if you ain't got the stomach for that... have you ever heard a wittle Bunny rabbit sing?"
"That's right folks, we's gots a genuine singing babbit... and yes, he does take requests."
"Of course, we's gots all your favourites too, from fire-eating to knife throwing, clowns to contortionists to..."]]>Thu, 27 Dec 2012 04:38:18 GMT

I wait my turn.

I know that it will come and so I wait it patiently. My face betrays not a hint of anticipation and yet, I'm ravenous for its birth. Hungry for my absolution.

Though this is not my first dance of shame, tonight, will not be the same. I'm changed, but it'll be too late before they can know it.

I wait my turn. And so too, do they wait. Their breath, bated with buttered popcorn, teeth, stained with soda, tongues, lapping at the gloomy air in the massive mildewy tent that has all but outlived its purpose.

They wait, like they have waited their whole lives for this one, desperate rush of excitement, something to stray their minds from the desks they seem to sit at for most of their waking hours. From the child, pondering some quadratic equation, to the man, calculating his company's expenditure. From the babe at the breast, that
robotically sucks, hibernates and shuts down. To the aged crone sat alone at home, finishing her meager mémoires to the few loved ones that survive her.

They do not know, they all wait for death, and death, is always on time.

But tonight, they burn the desks of their minds and though death never dances here, death is coming all the same. But not for them, not tonight. He has but only one in mind and I can see her, see her fine...]]>Thu, 27 Dec 2012 04:33:01 GMT
The work below is part of a greater work of short stories, that I've been writing in my limited spare time. The collection is entitled 'From A Bird's Eye View'. All of the stories within the collection focus around a very unusual perspective.

The story below is one of the stories within the collection. It is called 'Hear The Crowd Roar' and is one of those stories you'll need to read multiple times in order to discover all the hidden meanings and allusions.

I'm NOT a professional writer by trade and this is only the first draft, a good deal of editing is still required on this particular work. However, I hope you will enjoy it all the same.

I regret to note, that I can't share the rest of the collection with you here. Most of the tales are simply not
appropriate for this website. This one, is one of the more timid ones. Besides which, some stories within the collection have attracted some interest... Though, I'm forever Mr. Skeptical...

If there are any literary critics among you, I would appreciate any constructive criticism. I will not hesitate to send a thank you card to anyone who can offer me some worthwhile analysis.

Please Enjoy!]]>