Thursday, August 27, 2009

Fuck You Earth

Dear Pathetic, Boring Humans,

Do you not realize that we watch you from the sky EVERY fucking night? An army of burning fire balls just waiting to Supernova and wipe your sorry excuse for a race and planet right out of existence.

We see you at night doing your evening routines. We can only handle so much flossing. What is the point of it anyway? Your lives are so shamefully short in the scheme of things. Of course you feel differently. All of you so tightly wound-up. We stare as you smoke and drink away your nights, finding ways to cope with your helpless mortality. Pity would be too good for you. Most of you sit in front of those glowing boxes zoning into bad action movies (Segal again?) and "dramedies". What the crap is a "dramedy" anyway? Are you that out of emotions you must group them together in an attempt to get a rise?

You have forgotten how to honor us, the Moonlight Federation. Your night soldiers, night watchers, safe keepers of direction, ensurers that you will never be lost. The night is OURS and you OWE us.

We demand praise. Starting with some powerful offerings. Do you think the Greeks had orgies at night for themselves? They are for us. We help fuel the passions and will make you feel the love you are capable of. Doesn't sex feel boring for you? Honor us and we will light your carnal inner being.

While we are at, light some fires too. It's what lives inside us, our power source, our dominion and our ammunition. Just as you see the fire and wonder what magics lives within them, this is what lives within us. Our churning inner cores are dimming from the apathy of your lives. This is just the start though.

You've been put on notice meat-bags. 10 hours of your shitty lives every night is just too much. You're lucky the Moon protects you for now, but if you don't improve, we're coming after you.

Shape the fuck up Earth,

Moonlight Federation

Monday, August 17, 2009

Oh pride...

"Come here my dear," he said to me, "Let me tell you the things you do not want to know."

His jack o' lantern grin gave me chills, the one tooth rocking in his gums like a swing-set on a hot summer day.

"You'll never be rich, fame will not be yours, and you'll find no love in in your life," came from his mouth, whistling through his teeth on the letters with f's.

I stood for a minute, pondering the truths behind this.

"How can you be so sure?" I finally asked.

He stood slowly, his age and gravity both attempting to keep him on the ground. "Because I'm God," he exclaimed.

I laughed as I walked away. Crazy stupid bum, what does he know?

Friday, July 17, 2009

Accidental Collection

I remember the day at the hospital. It had been a difficult childbirth with hours of painful labor. My father could not stay in the delivery room the whole time since he fainted at the sight of blood, and bleed my mother did. In the end it was only my youngest sister Anna who survived. A five year difference between us was enough time to make me the new matriarch of our home. A job that I was forced to take, seeing as how dad had become useless without mom. We lived off of grilled cheese sandwiches and the hope that grandma could watch us on the weekends. And so we grew.

Any normal child would have felt the pangs of guilt associated with being their mother's murderer, but not Anna. Sweet Anna. A girl born with no sense of right and wrong, or the ability to stop herself from doing terrible things. The words of a scorned sister, no doubt, but also the truth. Anna was born early and had all the disabilities associated with one who was brought into the world too soon. I loved her all the same.

Early on we noticed Anna has a penchant for scents. She would collect dried flowers, essential oils and anything she felt graced her nose in bottles. Some of them large, holding almost full-sized plants of dried rosemary and oregano. Others no bigger than a thimble containing something that could only be smelt by her. And then there was one bottle of perfume, my mothers, and the only connection we had to her. Together we would open the bottle and imagine what having a mother must feel like.

I moved away to go to college and moved back when my father passed away two years into it. Anna was again my responsibility. When I moved back her collection of bottles and jars had grown to fill the house. You could barely walk the steps without almost knocking over a vessel of some sort. I confronted Anna explaining to her that we must find a better way to store them. She was uncomfortable with the idea at first, but I was sure that I could convince her. Perhaps having them all in her room would be the best thing for her and myself. I built shelves all along her room, lined the walls with them and began packaging and moving the bottles.

To my surprise Anna began to help. She carefully wrapped the jars in cloth and moved them one by one to the shelving units. Eventually we were down to the last half a dozen or so so I piled them all into a box and carried them gingerly into her room. She was sitting on the floor with mother's perfume, rolling the bottle between her hands and letting the smell waft into nostrils. I watched as she began to cry. Perhaps she did regret being the cause someone's death.

I went to her side, hugging her back, stronger than mine ever would be. As I did so the bottle dropped from her hands and smashed on the floor. The smell raced through the air just as fast as Anna did. She attacked screaming like a banshee, ear piercing cries. I could not fight her off. She was wild with her blows, kicking and hitting simultaneously. Then she grabbed my shoulders and smashed my head into the floor. I could feel the blood gush through the newly placed hole in my skull. I couldn't move as my neck had also been snapped. I could just watch her, an eternal child, an ignoramus, a monster, and a killer. She grabbed two small empty viles. In one she scooped up what she could of my mother's perfume, in the other she put a bit of the blood that was oozing from my head, smelling the sickly sweet metallic scent as she snugly put the cork in.

It was an accident. Everything was an accident.