My Dark Knight

For Matinee Muse

Hello, bee-yoo-tee-ful!
You with the face that magnifies
a sinister smile,
blackened amoral heart.
You with the painted mug
that guises the decay
of a polluted, impure soul.

Why so serious?
Was Daddy mean to you?
Is that why you hate?
Agent of Chaos,
Master of Anarchy.
The perfect villain -
seeking to blacken
Gotham’s purest souls.

This town needs a better class of criminal...
said you,
to those less committed than you,
transcending evil
to an unknown,
serpently speaking
crookedly hunting -
madness personified
inside your darkened soul.

Yet still -
it is that bee-yoo-tee-ful
painted, decayed face,
it is that classy criminal look,
it is that perpetual smile
full of disgrace -
that lived inside,
the one that took
my breath away...

***********

I went to see The Dark Knight this weekend. Phenomenal. Heath Ledger, in particular. His execution of The Joker was flawless. He was brilliant and stole every scene he was in. He brought in a whole new, much darker dimension to the Joker with his sinister whiny voice, the serpentile way he kept licking his lips, his feral movements - the embodiment of anarchy and chaos to perfection. It is tragic that he passed away so early in life and never had the chance to bask in what would have been one of the greatest roles of his life. To witness him tap into the brilliance of his art was awe-inspiring. And I am left to ask: how could anyone ever possibly top this?

The Little Demon

The ten word challenge over at Raven's Views this week are: cardboard box, liquor cabinet, ostrich feathers, longitudinal, hamburger helper, partnership, laundry detergent, magnificent, San Francisco, prognosis.


That’s it. She’d had it. He crossed the line today. She went to the liquor cabinet to pour herself a strong one, no rocks. What did she have in there anyway? Whiskey. Yep. Good enough. She poured herself some and took a couple of swigs. She could kill him. She could kill him for having brought that crazy thing from San Francisco. The day he brought it home it did look quite innocent and frail, meowing in that soft teeny raspy voice that melted her heart. She saw his tiny figure in that big cardboard box and agreed that he had done the right thing. Said he found it on the street, all hungry and scrawny, and he just couldn’t leave it there. She loved him for that. That was then. Now? Now, she hated him. Hated him for having such a soft heart. How was anyone going to get anywhere in this world with such a soft heart? Right now she was so angry at him that she had a good mind to grind up that little monster and feed it to him tonight for dinner. She could picture it now, she'd add some spices and tell him it was a new recipe called The Cat's Meow. Yeah, an exotic culinary form of hamburger helper, if you will. That ought to fix him. This was supposed to be a partnership dammit, a democracy, a meeting of the minds. He was not supposed to go and make decisions that would affect the both of them without her input. And she had had no input in this; he just showed up with it. And she hated him.

And there he stood. In her mud room looking like the cat that ate the canary. Except this time he ate the neighbor’s ostrich. Yep. Those were definitely ostrich feathers sticking out of his mouth alright. Another swig of that whiskey. Oh, yes. Much better. With Johnnie Walker’s help, she finally got the courage to go out and face what he had done. She needed to peek over the fence to see what happened to that damn ostrich. Served the neighbors right anyway. Who ever heard of an ostrich as a domesticated pet? Just wasn’t right. And, she couldn’t help it if her little Demon had now decided to graduate onto bigger and better things. He was feral all right, all the time bringing home little presents for her, dead small birds mostly. I guess this time he really wanted to impress Mama. But did he have to eat it? God, what was wrong with that cat?

She peeked over the fence. Yep, there it was and the prognosis did not look good. The bird was lying on the dirt and seemed, shall we say, a little on the stiff side. Gosh, how was she going to explain this to her neighbor? Eh, Sally... yeah, hey, about your magnificent bird....well, it seems it and Demon got into a little tiff. And Demon won. Nope, that just didn’t sound right. Eh, Sally... yeah, hey, what happened to your bird? Is it sick or something? Yeah, that’s better. Play the dumb act. After all, it wasn’t her fault and she could control Demon just as much as she could control the weather.

Just then Sally came out with a box of laundry detergent in her hands. She had been crying. She asked her if everything was all right. Sally shook her head and pointed at the bird. She knew what happened and was blaming her. Blaming her and Demon for having brought tragedy into their home.

Oh, Sally, I’m so sorry....

Oh, don’t be. It’s not your fault. Well, that was very decent and generous of her. Now she felt like a rat.

Yes, but...

Who would have thought that that crazy bird would ever eat detergent! Detergent! And now it’s dead! She started bawling uncontrollably. Longi is dead!

Yes, crazy Longi or Longitudinal, as he was named by their crazy owners now lay dead on the ground, not as a result of her Demon, but as a result that the bird was just plain loco.

Oh, Sally, I’m so sorry. Listen, I have to go.

She entered the house and started calling for Demon. He appeared from under the sofa looking all forlorn. She picked him up and started stroking his fur.

What’s the matter my baby? Are you sad because Mama didn’t acknowledge your great big kill? Oh, poor baby. My little angel. She stroked him some more. My good boy. My good sneaky boy. Bringing Mama ostrich feathers to fool her. Oh, how clever you are!

And outside, poor dumb Longi lay dead as a result of a spar with little Demon. And nobody the wiser.

Mommy’s good baby. Purr......

Morsels of Wisdom

I grew up with a mother whose everyday language was peppered with simple, life learning adages. One of the most common ones she was fond of saying when either of my siblings or myself failed to listen was, The devil doesn't know more because he's the devil - the devil knows more because he is old.

There is something quite true in that statement. The morsels of sageness my mother would gift were a combination of ones that wisdom and experience she herself had gained in life coupled with ones handed down to her by her own mother, who had learned it from her mother, and so on. Adages were part of our family culture, handed down through generations. And although I do not use adages as often as my mother did, it is quite impossible for my siblings or myself not to use one as a form of simple symbolic explanation when the need arises. And, each time we do, we remember our mother.

And I sat and thought of the morsels of wisdom I have gained in life through experience and from witnessing life around me. Which are those morsels of wisdom that I would want to gift my daughter? What things have I learned so far?

1. that slowing down has been the greatest lesson I've learned, but also has been the hardest.

2. that laughter is the best medicine. The biggest cliche, yet so true.

3. that a good, heart-wrenching cry can sometimes exorcise and cure many ails.

4. that patience is a gift that life teaches you along the way.

5. that forgiveness is the greatest gift you can give yourself and others.

6. that a long, healthy life is not a guarantee.

7. that in times of crisis, everyone surrenders to something greater than themselves.

8. that we all have crosses to bear, but none that we cannot lift.

9. that in time, everyone you love will eventually disappoint you or hurt you in some way. but I've learned that this is due to the high expectation of perfection we hold others to and not the fact that we are all human with frailties and flaws.

10. that you can be a good, caring and loving mother, but you can never be a savior.

11. that sometimes the greatest and most difficult to give gift you can give your child is to have them learn the lessons themselves.

12. that no matter where you work, you will encounter the same type of nonsense and the same type of people. there are no perfect people; there is no perfect job.

13. that a happy face sometimes masks a very sad life.

14. that a smile can go a long way in your relationship to others.

15. that anger is the suit of armor of the deeply hurt.

16. that your greatest enemy is sometimes your greatest teacher.

17. that if you allow fears to rule your life, you have built a coffin for yourself.

18. that phobias are completely irrational yet the mind fails to understand this.

19. that you should take the time to become well-informed and educated, otherwise the world will leave you behind.

20. that laughter is the best equalizer.

21. that silence sometimes speaks louder than words.

22. that all the answers you seek in life are already at your disposal. you just need to stop and listen to your inner voice.

23. that a quiet person is not necessarily an uninformed person.

24. that a vocal person is not necessarily a smart person.

25. that arrogance is the suit of choice for the insecure.

26. that anger is a toxic emotion that needs to be managed and reined in.

27. that envy is a cancer that will eat away at your insides.

28. that depression can kill.

29. that when you loose a child, you will never understand why.

30. that you are the greatest role model to your same sex child. (actually, Dr. Phil said this.)

31. that parenting is the hardest job in the world, yet the most gratifying.

32. that your child does not need you to become his/her best friend. they need to be parented with all of the responsibilities that that entails. becoming a best friend is easy, being a responsible parent who will many times be hated, is not.

33. that drinking does not solve problems, in fact, it only magnifies them.

34. that compassion for yourself, others, animals and nature is an essential life-giving force to your heart and soul.

35. that being humble and gracious are assets that cannot be taught.

36. that evil unfortunately exists.

37. that love always prevails.

38. that you cannot control what happens in this life, but you can control how you will respond or react and, hopefully, learn the lessons given along the way.

And what are the little morsels of wisdom you have learned? What are some adages you'd like to pass on?

The Pages of Life

Picture @ Deviant Art
For Wordzzle

the tattered pages of an open book
reveals
the absence of print,
washed carefully away
in the baptismal rain
of the altar of the neologistic spirit.

the patterns of watermarks
reveals
the intricate network
of the regenerated soul,
amidst honey pages
that seek the nectar language
that will speak to its spirit.

the mind
resistant at first,
lies in wait
inside a protective bark
that tearful rains have not yet washed away.

to grapple with
what soon will be revealed
is not worth the struggle -
and hence,
insight is unlocked
filtering new words
filling the blank pages
of a tattered reborn book.

Three Feathers Fall A Heart

Courtesy of Deviant Art

It was the disconsolate songs of the children that called to him. Sorrowful, tender songs released from small lacrimal glands of children shedding tears of pain and cries of confusion. Those in his world called him the Angel of Mercy, one of many who went to guide the young from their world onto the next. He tendered to that particular group that was the hardest of all: babies and young children whose unfortunate time had come because of hunger, disease or violence.

Most angels stood by their assigned humans for decades, rescuing, caring and shielding them from dangers in life. Others, like him, were called to duties not for the faint of heart for it required much of them, given assignments as penance for a former life reprehensibly lived. He had not been a decent human being in his first life. Far from it. He caused much sorrow and pain, indifferent, never showing remorse nor compassion. He killed. Three to be exact. Yet the Fates felt he could be rehabilitated; his life and crimes, a result of of the twin evil pair of nature and nurture, were most at fault. They saw a glimmer of light in the dark spirit that covered him. An eternity in Hades would only aide in vanishing it completely.

He died in a bar room brawl. Apropos, considering his life. At the Pearly Gates, he did not expect to be granted entrance from St. Peter. Even he knew the things he had done were unforgivable. He never felt the power of goodness and love reside within the palpating chambers of his heart. The day they sliced his throat ending his violent life, no clear red liquid gushed out but instead an evil, dark, thick-densed sludge that had flowed freely through his veins - a pandora's box filled with the horrors of mankind. This was who he was and death had finally freed him.

Or so he thought. Instead, St. Peter did not reject him, but he did not grant him entrance either. He was led to the side and given temporary wings. And his assignment, one that would take much of him for decades to come, was also the one that in time would save him. There were no shortcuts in this life - another thing stripped and discarded of his former life, along with the pervading inhumanity of his soul. He humbly accepted his penance, in awe of the loving Spirit that saw a light of goodness in him and fought to keep his soul against the Devil that wanted to claim it as his own.

Since then he had seen it all and held them all, absorbing each child's physical and emotional pains and easing their transit into the afterlife. In this lush beautiful Eden called Earth, their agonizing wails seemed inappropriate in the natural order of things, sounded inappropriate in the silent stillness of the night. They should have been healthy and happy, gleefully enjoying life, not dying of starvation nor crying in pain at the hands or ideologies of another nor have been inflicted with diseases not yet meant for some so new to life. His heart shattered again and again at the injustices but his assignment was not to question; his assignment was to bring them home. He had been ruthless and mean in life; however, the penance given in this ethereal life moved him beyond understanding. It was as if each child was his own and, at the same time, he was each child, thereby opening an unwilling heart, releasing gushing crimson streams of tears and pain, staining his virgin wings along with the cries and agony of the innocent fallen.

For decades his heart ached anew with each passing. For decades he felt the same intensity as the first. Desensitization was an emotion unknown in this world. That was the Devil's emotion - the very one that had seeped into his veins making him fearful and hated by those that once loved him.

It was the wounded cry of the young that called to him. He flew to their side in those final moments bathing them in his devoted glow of peace and unconditional love letting them know they were not alone. He loved them all. He protected their hearts from further pain. Their suffering now ended and a new life awaiting them.

And before each Heaven-bound journey with the newly borne angels, three feathers -- one for each of the lives he took - were left behind on the Earthly tombstone where his body now lay. Plucked from the wings that finally gave him life, a reminder that they were always in his thoughts. And that in time, forgiveness for himself would eventually find its way into his heart. Until then, he would roam the world guiding the fallen young into the afterlife. Until then, three more feathers fallen from a heart filled with remorse and pain, but not yet forgiven.

For Poefusion, WI, and 3WW

Dreamy Encounters of the REM Kind

So this week's prompt over at Sunday Scribblings is this:

Write about a chance encounter you've had with an old friend or flame, or perhaps with a stranger -- or even a celebrity... And sure, they can be dead or imaginary too.

I ask: do chance encounters in dreams count? Below are some funny snippets of dreams I've had in the past:


I'm at a black-tie affair, drink in hand, sashaying my way to one of the buffet tables to begin grazing on some shrimp. Then I see Calissa Flockhart. The first thing I see is her face. Oh, my gosh, Calista's here! Oh, she's so pretty. She is in a strapless black dress. But then I see the chick is covered with tattoos on both arms and chest. Huh? I'm shocked and befuddled. Gee, who would've thunk it? End of dream.



I'm at a nice fancy restaurant. I'm dining with Prince. With Prince! I like the dude, very talented. I have many of his LPs, yes, LPs. We've finished dining (no, this wasn't a date, he just happened to be there) and Prince is trying to help me choose a dessert. I can't make up my mind: cheesecake or death by chocolate? He says, go for the cheesecake; I couldn't stop looking at the chocolate. I guess he didn't want me die.


I'm in Staples making copies. Suddenly chaos breaks out. Bill Clinton appears like he's in charge and proceeds to calm the people down. Then I see The Hill in a Queen's robe (covering her head) descending some stairs. She sees Bill is being very ineffective. She exasperatedly takes the robe off her head, wraps it around herself and proceeds to maintain order. People start to listen to her. She is actually better at this than him. Then someone in back of her points to her and addresses her as the Queen. Hillary hears this (think Carol Burnett when she descended the stairs as Scarlett O'Hara draped in curtains) and she freezes on the spot and her eyes light up. Yes, Queen! she exclaims.



In this dream, Steven Tyler, is my star du noir. I like Aerosmith. Pretty cool band, some slammin' songs over the years. Well, in this dream, I'm living in this tiny, dump of a town. Gray, dumpy, dumpy town where the people are so boring you want to shoot yourself. But this town is fanatical about Aerosmith that they even named their only local diner after them, well, sort of - Aerodiner is the name, to be precise. Now this diner also happens to have a kareoke section where you can only sing Aerosmith music!

Now Steven Tyler comes strutting into this diner and introduces himself and the band and nobody believes that it's him! I know it's him; nobody else does. That's cause they're friggin' dumb! He's dressed in a skintight white outfit with fringes. He laughs and says, No, man, it really is us! We're Aerosmith! All the diners turn their backs to him not convinced. Well, Steven decides to go up on stage and sing a song to prove to them that they are indeed Aerosmith, their beloved band. Steve begins singing, one song leads to another, and now the young crowd is starting to have a good time. The young girls, still clueless, don't care anymore whether they're Aerosmith or not, they like their music and they're hot! So the young chickies go up on the stage to dance. I join them. At this point I wake up and realize I have just become a groupie.

So I hope you enjoyed my chance dreamy encounters I've had over the years. I know I have. And I'm far from being considered a groupie or fan, so why I have these dreams, I don't know....but, hey, to Calista, Prince, Hill, and Steven....thanks for the good times, man!

Indifference

courtesy of Deviant Art.

your indifference
pours molten lava onto my
already wounded heart -

deliberately
depriving me of life;
reducing me
into the ashen state
of which i am not yet bound -

i ask: did i give you reason?

For 3WW