Saturday, November 21, 2015


The depression laden air
Cuts through like knife,
What is what
And how is now, junk
Filled rooms are burdened by depressed tables,
People sit,
Talk, and
Slowly exasperate themselves.

The wolves surround with many eyes,
A love like not,
Don't know how.
Maybe another time she said,
Burdened eyes.
Arms are heavy
        Vain's in junk.

The city is disturbing,
The house,
Many windows
           got no soul.
Lets run like kids I say
I never was,
Burdened eyes,
Not like tomorrow.
Stanley stands there with arms up in the air,
This is the end he says,
Maybe not, there is always tomorrow,
Burdened eyes,   
      an discontent

Thursday, June 25, 2015

Free Writing exercise

A heathen,
A heathen in the coupling
Of humanity,
A heathen in due respects to
Better judgment, or discourse.
As man, woman, and man alike,
Abide by such evasive maneuvers,
Evasive actions, the degrading of societal
Norms, but to the norms of now, a mutated
Genesis of better judgment, or hope, towards the popular votes of the general populace. Throwing
Up our arms
With a satisfied grin, and a glimmer
Of hope.

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

The Abissalan

"Jim, you gotta see this!" Andy's voice rings out in the cold morning air." What is it, I am a little busy at the moment."
"Just come in here, I cannot explain it." In the next room, Jim finds Andy bent over an old television set, one of the big boxed variety they used to make back in the Fifties."Jeez!" He calls out in surprise." Do they even make those anymore?"
"A customer brought it in the other day, said it was acting strange. But that ain't the point. Look!" Says Andy." Look at what's on."
"Its the summit from tomorrow, I didn't know they changed the day, it wasn't on the news this morning, weird."
"That is just the point Jim, it isn't on right now, they didn't change the day, I checked. The summit is still scheduled for tomorrow
"Come on Andy, stop fooling. I can clearly see it on right now."
"Jim! Listen to me, I ain't fooling, this is from tomorrow. Somehow.. Someway, it's showing up on this old box."
"What!" He bellows." Like some kind a time machine."
"I don't know, I really don't. But look at the date, on the corner, this is from tomorrow at noon."
On the bottom right hand corner, in clear white lettering, Jim can clearly see the date; 11/22/19. An as an air of confusion begins to form upon his brow, he let's out an almost inaudible sigh, a slight protrusion of curiosity that seems to form upon his every breath." That cannot be possible, its gotta be some kind of trick."
"This ain't no trick Jim, but it is impossible."
   As silence seeps into the air, they both watch, dumbfounded, at the contents that lay before them. This cannot be possible, Jim thinks to himself. How could this possibly be a broadcast from tomorrow. Maybe, he wonders, it's not the news that is a day off, but himself. I have been quite busy as of late, and have missed a day before to the annals of work. With that thought, Jim quickly bolts to the other room. To the far side, above the workbench he had occupied earlier, hangs a calendar that had been marked off after each day had passed. And as he looks upon it, he is amazed to find that, it is in fact, the 21st." So Jim.. Are you convinced! "
"Where did you get that thing from exactly, what did he say?"
"He came in yesterday, I've never seen him before, never been here before either. He dropped it off and said that it was acting funny, that was pretty much it."
"Do you think you could give him a call, ask him exactly what's wrong. But don't actually tell him what is happening, it sounds pretty crazy."
"Yeah no problem, no problem at all." As Andy leaves the room, Jim still stands in front of the box staring at its contents like a child would each and every Saturday morning. Changing the channels, he realizes, yields no further results, no further clues, as each station has only TV series, game shows, and all the normal drivel one would find on a daily basis. It's only when he finds his way to the guide that he realizes what exactly is happening. It's not just the news that is apparently a day ahead, but each and every station as well. Upon switching back, Jim finds that the story has now proceeded from the summit, and onto an accident on the back roads of fourth and Jefferson. Apparently, later on tonight, at approximately 6 o'clock, a woman loses control of her car, ramming into one of the street posts knocking out the power to the adjacent block. This is something I can actually check out, he surmises, although it seems a tad crazy to do so, all things considering..
"Jim!" Andy calls out." I gave him a call, and he didn't really give me all too much to work from."
"Well what did he say otherwise?"
"He said that it stopped working a few days before he brought it in. And before that said it was acting strange, wonky, is the word I think he used."
"Wonky?" He ponders." What exactly did he mean by that?"
"All he said was that all the channels were wrong, after that it just kind of blew a fuse a time or so later."
"That doesn't really give us anything. But it does sound like it might've done the same thing before it blew."
"Sounds like it, but now what do we do?"
"I don't think we should do anything right now. I am not so sure it's a good idea to be glued to this contraption all day. As who knows, too much knowledge of the future could very well end badly. I just don't trust it.. Hell! I don't really believe it."
"An what do we do with the customer in the meantime?"
"If he comes back calling, wondering when or if its fixed. Just tell 'em it's giving off a few more problems than anticipated, what with the age and all."
"Alright Jim! Will do."
   It's hard to focus, Jim realizes, when a contraption such as that is in the next room. As he finds his mind wandering to the possibilities that may render themselves, the possibilities that may come forth, the possibilities that neither he or Andy could possibly predict, or for that matter, prepare for. But he can't help but think of what could be done, what could be saved, who could be saved. But it's a technology he doesn't understand, an a science he knows nothing about, as the side effects could be anything but desired. Throughout the day, he finds his mind is everywhere but the job, as he keeps on going back and forth from nonbeliever, to believer, to laughing at the stupidity of the situation, the stupidity of himself. But he cannot deny the facts at hand, as even he checked up on the fact that the summit, is indeed being held tomorrow, at least according to all accounts. But with that being said, it is only one mere fact, against a plethora of others that deny it, the existence of it.
" That accident is supposed to happen tonight, and not too far from here either." Jim says to himself. For my own benefit, maybe I could make a little detour home, see for myself."
  Even if I did happen upon the accident in question, he wonders, what is it that I should do exactly. Am I supposed to just sit back and watch, or let things happen as they are supposed to. Which in turn brings out even more questions. If this is in fact a type of time travel, is it possible to change what may, or is supposed to come. And if one could even do that, what consequences would be at hand. Is that accident bound to happen at one moment or the next, no matter what my helpful hands may do.
"Jim!". Andy calls out." What are you doing?"
"Jeezus Andy! You gave me the Scare's. How many times do I have to tell you to not sneak up on me like that."
"I'm sorry Jim, but you seemed a tad lost there. What were you thinking of exactly?"
"Just that infernal machine, I can't seem to get it out of my head."
"I know what you mean, I have been the same way. I think we need to look into it more, see what else it has to say. Maybe it's a one shot thing you know, maybe more evidence is in
"I am not so sure that that would be such a great idea Andy, who knows what we may find out, about our friends, ourselves, this town."
"Don't you think that's a risk we should be willing to take?"
"For what purpose exactly!"
"For the greater good! Maybe we could save lives, maybe even our own."
"Who knows what events we may trigger if we do such things."
"Yeah!" Andy sighs." I guess. Well I am going to get going Jim, see ya tomorrow."
"Yeah Andy, I'll see ya."
    Outside the air is thick, a paltry odor hangs overhead, and the mountains rise up out of the earth like a wall, or a tidal wave. Off in the distance, the streetlights disject upon the landscape like hordes of fireflies. As Jim sits in his car, staring at the empty lot across the way. After work, he normally would head straight home to just to fall asleep amidst the noise of late night t.v. But tonight, he cannot help but wonder if he should, in fact, take that detour he thought of earlier. To do so though, would be an admission of believability, an utterly crazed thought as far as he could imagine. But to not do so, would play upon his conscious, ever wondering exactly what might have been, if or if not said accident might have come into being, and if he should do something to change that fact. its a thought that has been playing upon his mind for the better part of the day, a thought that he has still not completely decided on. But even so, he can’t help his impertinence, the curiosity that seems to slowly gain strength upon the confines of his consciousness.
   The stars are out, a mirror image of the lights that now pepper the city, and the moon drifts upon the sky with its porcelain glow. The houses appear empty, abandoned, the cars that now occupy the streets are few and far between, like rats that scurry upon the land in the cover of darkness. The street in question is just as such, with rows of houses that encircle each side, and a small suburban forest that caps it all off. Its about 15 minutes to, as Jim sits in his car waiting for what may, or may not come. The radio, set to the oldies, plays The Air That I Breathe by the Hollies, a song that seems to go quite well with the current atmosphere. As each car passes, Jim can feel his nerves suddenly coalesce, his excitement advance, like an active volcano ready to rupture in a fit of agitation. Its at about 5 to, when suddenly a small black subaru comes careening around the corner, in a flash Jim can see a woman waving her arms in a panic before finally finding a pole a block or so up. Hurriedly, Jim chases her down the street, and upon opening the door, he finds that the woman in question is actually Andy, his assistant from the shop.
“Andy!” He says surprised.” What the hell are you doing here?”
“I was doing the same thing your doing i imagine, seeing if i am crazy or not.”
“ Well are you alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, i am fine. A little bruised up, but fine nonetheless.”
“What exactly happened, i saw you careening around that corner pretty fast.”
“I am not really sure, my hands slipped from the wheel and i kind of panicked i guess. It's all kind of a blur to be honest.”
“Well we should probably call it in just in case, who knows what might happen otherwise.”
“Yeah you go ahead, i am just going to sit for a bit, as my hands are still shaking from the crash.”
  Sitting high above the horizon, the sun is obstructed by the clouds sporadic abode, as they sprawl themselves across the sky in an almost interlacing pattern. The morning air still has a modest touch of briskness to it, denoting the fact that winter is now still upon us, that in turn makes Jim’s hands shake as he reaches for the keys to open up shop for the day. Andy, still not being present, usually starts about an hour after the fact, but with the accident happening just last night, one can not be sure when she might show her face, if she decides to at all. With a multitude of projects awaiting him, the morning passes by with ease, his thoughts wandering over to Andy every so often, and if everything is, in fact,  alright. It is quite unlike her to not call in, Jim contemplates, whether it’s her being sick, or just running a tad late for work. As he has never been the type to check up on people when they had called in sick for the day, as it always seemed more intrusive than outright rude, but in such a case, he figures it would be more than understandable. There is an office out back, that he barely uses, and as such it has quite the disparity from the rest of the place. When one walks in, you can easily see the fact that it is hardly ever occupied, except for the fact of Andy, at times, who as well has always been the cleaner of the two. An even than, she prefers the desk that lies out front, as the open windows allows a natural intrinsic atmosphere to flow in. In turn, this office has a drab, almost prison type feel to it. What with the dark gray walls, that fully ensconce the desk within, as the only window, upon the door, hardly allows the world to beam through, let alone the workshop that lies just outside.
    It's almost noon, and the sun has found its way above the clouds. A handful of customers sit restlessly, waiting to pick up the various electronics that still lay strewn across the concrete floors of the warehouse. But the only sound that seems to penetrate Jim's ears is the constant ringing as he waits patiently for Andy to answer her phone. After about a minute, he reluctantly gives in, hangs up the phone, and heads back to work, as his mind stays within the office walls worrying about what may be keeping her from answering. Why, he wonders, does one's mind have such a tendency towards the worst, as though sifting through the murky waters, never able to find land. As he realizes that his first thought is rarely a good one, rarely planted firmly upon the landscape looking across the waters in triumph.
"Sorry about that!" Says Jim." It has been a pretty stressful morning."
"Don't worry about it, I know how things can get sometimes." The man says with a chuckle.
"So what can I get for ya?"
"Oh! I dropped off a lawn mower about a week ago, said it wouldn't start, wouldn't crank, wouldn't do anything really."
"Right right." Jim says apathetically." Just give me a second to locate it."
Andy has always been the more tabulated out of the two, as Jim finds all the assorted machines, and mechanisms lined up on the front shelves according to name and date. A most peculiar way of ordering, thinks Jim, but i can’t fault the fact that it has been working thus far.”Sorry.” He says to the man at the front desk.” Andy is the one that organizes, so i may not be as proficient in this area as she would be.”
“So how did everything work out, did you find the problem.”
“I did, i did. It seems as though someone had tried to fix it previously, and had not used the right spark plug. Which caused the engine failure, but its fine now, i put in a new spark plug, and fixed all the ensuing damage done to it.”
“Thanks.” He says.” Thanks a lot.”
“You're welcome." He says, exasperated. "If you have anymore problems, bring it back in, we will fix it free of charge, if it’s of our own doing.”
  As the day ends, the place is all but vacuous, still containing various thoughts that arise like steam from a boiling pot of water. All day, the same distractions seem to pull him in the opposing direction; Where is Andy? Is she okay? And was it always her they saw on the news that fateful day, or did that knowledge change the path one was supposed to take? These are all questions, questions without answers, questions that have permeated his very being throughout the day, a day that, at one point or another, seemed to have no end.
  Outside, the sun finally finds its way beneath the mountains, leaving a light smear of orange, and red, complemented by the very trees that cover the land. In the distance, the roar of an engine, the high pitched calls of various birds, and silence, the type of silence one only gets from living in such populated areas. The drive home is a blur, a long forgotten memory lost to the confines of one's forgetful nature, one's own unfocused tendencies. An before he knows it, Jim sits at home, slumped over the couch like some Ill fated animal, as the television bears over him with the whitewash of the moon. When Jim wakes, the sun glares through the front window, allowing a streak of light to pierce his eyes with a fixated glow, as though it had picked this very spot, this very moment to bear down upon him. The clock in his kitchen flashes 9:00 am, he is late, late for work, late to get up, late to bed even, as he still finds himself slumped upon the couch facing the TV.
  Jim has always loved the smell, the aroma, that coffee brings. Not just in the morning, but anytime, the sensation it brings forth whenever he passes a coffee shop, or a freshly brewed pot at home, or work, or wherever else he may find himself. He finds that the aroma itself is uplifting, even before a single drop has touched his lips. This morning, or this afternoon, at this point, is no different, as the smell encompasses the room as though sifting through the pores upon the walls of the apartment. But it is then, at this point, that his phone decides to ring, an eminently harsh annoyance when one has just gotten up.
"Hello?" Says Jim. "This is Jim speaking, who is calling, I ask?"
"Jim.." A voice says." This is Andy, Andy from work."
"Andy! I've been worried sick about you, how are you, is everything alright?"
"Well that's the thing Jim, that's the reason I called, you see.." She pauses." I don't think I may make it in today, actually, I am not sure when I will make it in."
"Of course, of course, take all the time you need, you know that."
The thing is.." She says, before falling silent once again. "Do you think you could do one thing for me?"
"Well." Says Jim. "What is it you need me to do?"
"The TV, the one we've been watching for the last few days.. Throw it out, throw it in the garbage, just get rid of it, trust me." She crackles." No good will come if it."
"Of course,  whatever you ask. But." He pauses." Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I am fine, you don't need worry about me, not no more."

Friday, May 15, 2015

Gregarious Mills

  The only trace, is of his footprints, that rapidly disappear with the continuing fall of the oncoming snow. The trees, having no effect, stand silently erect, as their branches droop heavily as if upon the confines of sleep. The skies, now darkened, mirror the image of the landscape, that confers the forest with such apposite dread. Mills, silently creeps further inward, as the forest itself seems to undulate along with his own beating heart, that in turn appears to rise with every step, every sound, every breath that breaks through the silence. Suddenly, among the trees, a figure, a shadow, a figment perhaps.. shifts among the silhouettes of the forest. An as Mills begins to prepare his bow, he hears a faint voice call out from abaft.
"Mills.. Mills! It's okay, let him go!"
Off in the distance, a spectre arises, a pale creature that is quite indistinguishable from the snow itself. "Mills!" The voice calls out once more. An as an addled discern begins to form upon his brow, Josephine, fully emerges from this pale apparition." What are you doing here? This place is far too dangerous for someone as ill prepared as you."
"I know, I am sorry! But you need to stop this. As there are more pressing matters that you need to attend to."
"More pressing matters!" Says Mills, indignantly. "What could be more important than this. That man, that thing.. Tried to kill our king! My father! What better place is their for me to be but here."
"I know Mills, I know what you must feel, but if the king is correct, much worse things are to come."
"Much worse..What do you mean?"
"Just come back, your father will provide the
"Very well." He remises." Very well."
   Mills can still remember the stories from when he was a kid, the stories his father would tell him when he was upon his bedside. Even today, they say that this place is haunted, they say that the remnants of the dead still roam within the confines of the forest. Even the name, the Sepulchreal Forest, brings about fear in the hearts of many.
Mills father, the king, built the castle walls with this thought in mind, as what better way to fortify one's castle but with the haunted minds of men. It all started, ages ago, when a small group of men, on the run from such imperial forces, took refuge in this very forest. As the months passed by, winter fell.. as did they. One by one they fell to the cold, the ice, the barren landscape, lost.. without any direction to freedom. Even the few that did, supposedly, find their way, were to only find the end of a sword. If this be true, Mills ponders, how could they not have found their way out, and why did they stay for so long, knowing that their doom lie in wait. Some people say that the object they stole was cursed, that the forest itself was cursed, the truth though, as Mills sees it, is that no one knows for sure. More than likely he imagines, is that the imperial forces dredged their way to the hideouts of these men, and cut them down where they sleep.
"Mills!" She asks." Do you think that the stories are true? Do you think this place is actually haunted?"
"Well, legends such as this do normally have a basis in reality."
"But do you believe that they are true?"
"Its only true if you believe as such, that's why my father built the castle so close to here, as most people still fear this forest, maybe with good reason."
"You do realize you're avoiding the question." She smirks. Mills laughs, quite jovially, as she says this, all while continuing on in his course in silence.
When the forest ends, it opens up to a great field, like a blossoming flower on the verge of spring, an out ahead, upon the snow covered flurries, one can see the outlines of the castle town, the soldiers upon its brow, are barely visible, but the bright red flags that fly valiantly upon each pier, is clearly visible like a beacon of light onto a fog covered ocean. As they walk onto its grounds, Mills fails to realize, until now, that Josephine happens to sport the most ill suited of attires. She wears a long white dress, that drags itself upon the snow, her arms, bare to the elements, shiver in frustration over her forgetful nature, as they wrap themselves around each other fighting for warmth.
"Here!" Says Mills. "Take this, it will keep you warm till we get back." He hands her his jacket, wrapping it around her frame like a blanket, as she looks on with compassion.
"Thanks." She whispers." I appreciate it."
"Sorry I didn't realize it earlier," he smiles,"my sincere apologies."
"That's okay." She says in jest." You have always been the distracted one."
Despite the snow, the crowds still impede upon the streets with an impudent nature, forgiven in the fact of the apparent chaos that ensues, as they carry their respective cargo as if walking on a thin layer of ice. The houses, having such a thematic atmosphere, look almost stoic in their respective climates, as though they all stand tall like the many guards of the castle. Up ahead, lies the marketplace, which is surprisingly busy considering the current conditions that impede, and farther still, lies the castle, further protected by a large moat that surrounds its walls. Various soldiers still decorate its exterior, as the walls themselves are covered over in dead vines, dirt, and other assorted artifacts of a nature gone unhindered. While the soldiers themselves are covered over in a fresh blanket of newly fallen snow. Inside, pillars line the floor, that rise up out of the ground like giant oaks. Accompanying each is a small light, a torch that oscillates quite erratically as though its very being is flickering from existence. This hallway, in particular, eventually diverges into two separate corridors, and a handful of steps that lead up to a small unassuming wooden door. It is here, that Josephine decides to take her leave.
"Mills?" She says unquizzically." Greg, this is where I have to take my leave. It was.. fun though, if you were to ever do it again some time. "
"Yeah!" Mills laughs." You should really be saving me more often."
"Well if that's the case, I think I will be keeping your jacket." She smiles, before taking her leave.
Beyond the wooden doors, a throne, empty and   disconsolate, with only two guards standing upon each side trying to look so gallant in their apparent idleness. But as Mills creeps ever closer, a voice rings out, such a voice with muffled familiarity, it's just than, from beyond the pillars, the queen, emerges from the shadows of the next room.
"Gregory! I am so happy you made it, I see Josephine has found you, with little trouble I hope?"
"Yeah, I was in the midst of the forest, upon the tracks of the assassin."
"Well don't worry about him, he is taken care of."
"Taken care of, how do you mean?"
"You will find out soon enough, as your father will fill in the rest."
Beyond the darkness, lies the King's chamber. It is mid sized, surprisingly bourgeois, and consists mainly of a small bedside table, and a four poster bed. A two tiered chandelier, made of crystal, hangs in the middle, an oddity considering the rest of the room.
"Father." Mills whispers." how are you?
"I am okay my son, I may be old, but i am not so easily taken." He gasps." Does your presence mean Josephine had found you in a sufficient manner. "
"Yes, everything went well, but why, I ask, did you bring me back while I was on the brink?"
"Did she not tell you as I had planned?"
"All she had said, was that there's a more urgent matter, that needed my attention."
"Ah! I see I see. There is an urgent matter, one that is far more important at the present time. It consists of the fact that that man, was no mere assassin, in fact, I don't believe that his goal was assassination at all."
"How do you mean, he did try to kill you, that is a fact one cannot so easily ignore."
"I know how you must see things, but trust me, his mission was far more sinister than merely killing me. Do you remember a few years back, when we pillaged the Isles of Archeonulus?"
"Yes, I do. There was nothing there, beyond the forest and the trees.”
"Well, as you may very well know, things are not always as they seem. As we did find something, but something far greater, far more sinister.” He pauses.” At least according to the People of Mount Nukkidega."
"Why haven't I heard about this?"
"Only a few people knew about this, only a few people could. I didn't want this item's whereabouts to get out, as the myths of old, are still widely known, still widely believed."
"You do not speak of General Tunibrious, as you cannot be serious."
"Yes.. It appears that his legendary helmet has been found, and it is an item most worthy of destruction."
"But it's just a legend, a myth. A story passed down from the Great War of Endelboor. Probably from his own soldiers he himself commanded."
"Nonetheless." He mumbles. "What you believe, matters not, it is the fact that they, themselves, believe, that makes such a
  Endelboor was a city to the south, bordering the Torpid Desert. It was the final battle of the great general, already apart of legends, and myths by that point. But as is now known, that was mostly by his own hand, and the hands of the soldiers he led to battle. It was said that when he died, his essence, his being, being so great, did not die along with his body, but was transmuted in a sense, into the armor that he bore, and the most powerful being his helmet. As for what the rest of his armor is concerned, nobody knows what has come of it, or if it even survived said skirmish. In fact, the woman who took his place, was believed to wield the very helmet in question, which most say was the very reason she was so rushed into power. After her defeat, many years later, the helmet was believed lost, stolen, destroyed, or any other number of theories that still persist to this day, that is until now.
"So, dare I ask?" He whispers, charily." But have.. Have you dared try it on."
"No!" He says sternly." That is not the course we should, or need to take. As if the stories happen to be true, with great power, men are easily corrupted."
"As you wish. But then may I ask, at this juncture, what is to become of our would be assassin."
"The woman you call Josephine." He says quite fugue like." She was sent out to find him, a task that should prove her merit, hopefully quite warily.. at that."

Sunday, May 10, 2015

A Series Of Random People.


Her eyes,
Are like visions,
Of what could of
Could a

Had to been..


Begin again


If the sun
were ever to
Outshine you,
It would
Only still be
          A candle

Amongst your depth.

Dumdum Dugan

As I
(you see)
Well I'll
I'll be

A beauty
That had be

With form
Can see
  ( But covered )
Need - but not -
Can't see.


I can still see her, still imagine her dark brown eyes, as they stare off into the distance with a prophetic wisdom, contrasted by the mottled haze of the falling sun. Her hair, trembles beneath the wind, a slight draught of air, that feigns the very trees that seem to fall upon her backside. I can still see her smile, her lips, that as well trembles beneath the weight of the keen autumn air. While her voice, sweet, but bitter, from biding her final adieu, while disappearing with the iridescent haze of the fallen sun.

Wednesday, April 01, 2015


The trees sway with the
Subtle motions of a bar
Full of drunkenness
It's as though my hands
Has suddenly come into
View, I might be drunk
In the cold winter air
She warms my shivering breath..
I miss her deeply.
Loneliness, is like
Being unable to breathe..
I might be dying.
her hips sway, like the
trees, under the influence
of a wind swept day.
Her breath fumbles through
The air, as it makes its way to
My shivering lips
When life becomes a
disheveled blur, Only then
will happiness come.

Dead Leaves..

Dead leaves,

That fall from dead trees
That stand tall among the bones of the forest.
  The leaves (in the midst of decay)
Expose their garish display of variegated
       from such overcast skies.

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Chapter 4 - The Machiavellian

   The atmosphere inside is dark, moody, with the particle board walls being chipped away from years of disservice. Each table sports a light that hovers overhead like the many souls of the dead, all donning differentiating colors of the rainbow as though Davis is bearing witness to the birth and subsequent death of stars in the midst of the crab nebula. Off in the far corner, like a forgotten relic of a bygone era, sits a jukebox with its long colored lights adorning each corner like the fallen pillars of a once great era. One can see the dust covered window shining hazily in the overcast lights of the restaurant. As the music it plays crackles against the broken walls of the place as Robert Johnson sings soulfully to the seemingly uninterested crowd. All the while the waitresses bustle about with a disinterested scowl about their young faces, as though readying their stance for the oncoming end to such a dizzying display of customer interaction. The people seem to cower in relative darkness as the overhead lights only give off a seemingly multicolored disco feel to the place, like the clashing of cultures that sit awkwardly in silence. In the back stands a reticent bartender in the midst of a clamor of noise, as the customers that sit before him throw their hands in the air in a commotion of nonsensical tittering, as though being all too self aware of their own doings. An in the midst of the crowd, like a beacon of light shining forth into the misty night, sits Sally, with a drink in her hand as she watches the crowd in the most cautious of manners.
   Davis, could always tell when Sally has been taken over by such nervous tendencies. As she happens to brush her dark brown hair from her hazeling green eyes more often than not. But Davis knows that that is just who she is, a slightly nervous anti social that feels the need to hide behind her unkempt bobbed hair, and burnt orange cardigan, that is now dawned by a green collared golf shirt with the alligator logo partially a skewed from old age. But even with that, he realizes that her tendencies towards such things is the reason why they got together in the first place, as Davis' love for humanity has been wavering since he could remember. Not to say that that is the only reason for their short timed encounters, as now, as he looks down upon such innocent beauty, and an almost reluctance to believe as such, he can still remember, quite fondly, the times that they had spent as a couple, even if it was for but a few fleeting moments.
  "Well," says Davis, " I hope you weren't waiting too long?"
 "No no no, I just got here myself, and besides, I had a couple friends to keep me company."
  "I see, I see." Says Davis." How many friends are you planning to make tonight anyhow."
 "Well," she laughs, " the more the merrier, I have always said."
 "So, how have things been with you, its been a bit since we last talked?"
  "Well I hope our little encounter a while ago didn't have anything to do with it."
 "No of course not," he chuckles," are you sure you haven't had enough?"
 "I think I am good, why do you ask?"
"It just seems like you're being more upfront than you normally are, and since I know you fairly well, I know that that is usually an ability only given after, how should I say, wetting the old whistle a tad."
 "I may have lubed the pistons slightly." She mumbles, as though being quite pleased with herself for coming up with such a sentence.
  "Well anyways," says Davis," that really isn't the reason. I have to admit, it was a bit on the awkward side, at first, which may be expected, I would imagine."
  "We both most definitely have that quality, don't we!" She chuckles.
  Sally, being the friend she is to Davis, even if she is one of the very few he has gathered throughout the years, understandably makes him a little nervous at the prospect of losing this that he holds so dear. But on the other hand, he must admit, even if it is just to himself, that he does feel himself being attracted to her. As it has been quite some time since he has felt such an emotional response towards another person, he is at a odds to what exactly should be done about it. As even now, as Sally sits before him with such a crooked smile as though some wicked thoughts has passed through her mind, he can feel the swelling of his chest, as if some nervous ticks has randomly risen to to the nape of his neck, readying their chance to shoot out for the simple idea of making one look more so on the foolish side of the spectrum.
  Myles has really been the only one that had made Davis feel such comfort, as usually others, more so on the female side of things as he had noticed, do not make him feel as such. It does make one wonder why that is so, is it the necessary attraction one feels towards the opposite sex, even if it is hidden beneath subtle layers of consciousness. Why than, would one worry more about woman liking you than men, is it that men always look for the possibility of some type of relations, or just the fact that the female mind is a complete mystery to us. But when in the presence of such attraction, men do seem to go through a slight transformation, an almost dumbing down in a sense. As when at heads with that type of situation, we are just at odds as to what exactly is the right thing to say, as we have all noticed, saying the wrong thing can have some unwanted effects. At this point, Davis can feel such cross roads come into being, a sensation he is not readily comfortable with, as the last time he had come into contact with such, was actually at the office when he first laid eyes on Sally.
  Davis can remember the day quite vividly, as outside the sun lay overhead, carpeting his side of the office in a haze of sunlight. The office itself, was a sea of cubicles, and he was just so lucky to get one near the window, which seemed to almost hover over the underlying city as though a king would when looking down upon its disciples. He could hear the maundering noise of his coworkers, as though a quite inebriated rumble of peaks and valleys with no discernible consistency to its noise level, like listening in on the passing traffic from a fixated point. It was from this mess, that Sally walked forth, like a bird rising from its flock into the dawning rays of the sun. An as she continued her path towards Davis, he couldn't help but fix himself for her benefit.
 "Its Davis, isn't it?" She says as her voice breaks in a nervous tone.
 "Yeah." Says Davis." It most definitely is, how umm! How may I help you?" He asks in a confused manner.
 "Well a bunch of us were considering going out for a drink after work, I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to join us?"
 "Oh!" He says bewilderedly." I wouldn't want to be a fourth wheel."
 "No no no, you have no worries, we want you to come. As," she pauses," you are part of the group, aren't you? "
 "Well yeah!" Davis says in a fluctuant manner." I guess?"
 As Davis remembers the conversation quite well, he has always imagined it as no more than a conversational necessity, an unwanted affair that has the sole purpose of following such societal conventions. An it is precisely that thought process, that had him disregard such an invite and instead head home for the night. As he had, at that point, never truly felt as though they had wanted him to join, figuring it was just the fact of an awkward interference on his part, seeing he could so obviously hear the whole conversation. It was only till the next day that he had realized his bewailing failure, as it was not as much as the group, as Sally herself, who had truly wanted him to show up. It just happened that she did not feel comfortable being so straight forward, as most people would undoubtedly feel the same strain in doing as such.
   "So!" Says Davis, as the waiter quietly places the menus upon the table." I haven't seen you around work as of late?" He asks with a sudden pause, before Sally breaks in.
 "Oh yeah! I hadn't told you, I got that promotion we talked about remember, so I am up on the fifth floor now."
 "You don't mean the editing position do you, I thought Marshall got that?"
 "For reasons I don't yet understand, he declined it. I am not quite sure why, but hey! Works in my favor right?"
 "Well congrats, you're an editor now, I always knew you'd rise above the rest."
 "Thanks, I was a little worried about it at first, seeing I had no real experience in that field, but it actually worked out in my advantage, as my worries were all for not, an I seem to have a knack for it."
    As the crowds begin to pour in, like a steady stream of water dripping from a broken faucet, Sally seems to almost huddle up against herself, as if seeking protection from the very elements of nature.
 “Is everything okay,”asks Davis,” You’re not cold are you?”
“No.” she responds coldly.” I am okay, Just a bit peckish, as i haven’t really eaten all too much today.”
  “Oh! well my jacket is here if you ever need it.”
“Thanks!” says Sally in a soft voice, that seems to almost reverberate upon the hard wooden table before them.” I appreciate that.” As the waiter hovers over the veritable myriad of awaiting customers, he is as a lighthouse upon the misty waters of a fog filled night, with his bleached white button up acting as a beacon to Davis’ wandering eyes, eventually finding his way over to the table in question.
  “Have you had time to look over the menu.” he asks in a surprisingly calm voice.
“Yes actually!” Sally blurts out. “ I think i will have the chicken fettuccini, an do you think i could get another beer as well please!”
  “An i think i will have the beef dip!”
“Would you like another beer as well sir!”
 “Yes, yes, of course, thank you.”
Davis, as the night moved forth, slowly began to see a slight change in Sallys’ attire, as her cardigan no longer bares itself upon her as though in a state of abscise, which is now coupled with her ever growing conversational status. No longer is she bound by her usual anti social behavior, as her social ticks have since been resided, leaving only an alcohol fueled husk in its wake. Which is not to say she has had a lot to drink, as Davis has realized. But with Sally, it only takes a few for her to shed her socially stumped self.
 “Do you remember that guy i dated a few months back, Michael Bales?”
“He was the one that eventually freaked out upon finding out about us, right?”
 “Yeah, i am still not sure how exactly he found out about that either, at that point we haven’t talked for some time.”
 “Well he was a little on the strange side, probably following you around, spying through your window at nights you know.”
 “Thank you for that, like i wasn’t paranoid enough.” She laughs.”But anyways, he got back in touch with me the other day, wanted to see what i was doing.”
 “Oh, the old ex text, we know where this is going.”
“Where this is going, what are you talking about? it’s not like he asked me out or anything you know.”
 “Come on Sally, you're smart enough to realize that he is basically looking for one of two things; to get back together, which is the most likely, or a booty call, which more than likely is just a wild hope he holds on to.”
 “I highly doubt he is looking for a booty call, besides, he made no mention of either anyhow, let alone a booty call.”
 “When two people haven’t seen each other for some time, one doesn’t just ask for a booty call out of the blue, you have to take it a bit slow. And besides, he is not getting ahold of you specifically for that, it’s more of a hopeful aspiration on his part, a bonus if you will.”
 “Yeah like sleeping with me is a bonus!” she snorts, as her glass clangs against her now empty plate, partially spilling her brimming beer upon the table.
 “Well speaking with experience,”says Davis,” Thats as bonus worth playing for!”
“It’s just too bad i couldn’t say the same for you huh!” She laughs, tilting her head back in an obvious display of pleasure.
  Sally was never the one for such drunken excess, never the one to go out of her way for a drink, even when it was in such access as it is now. As the last time he had seen her as such was around the time they decided to break up, which as stories go, was mutual. But what Davis has never fully admitted, or even realized, was that he was not exactly on agreeing terms with said deal. What he did realize, was that he could not go on with a relationship that would be so one sided, so he unwillingly agreed to the terms she had put forth, like a mighty river that must eventually branch off from itself.
  "So what exactly did this Bales say in this text anyhow?"
 "Nothing really, he just asked what I was up too as of late, and was saying that he had gotten a new job in advertising, making the big bucks, as he put it."
 "Well what was he doing before?"
"He wasn't really doing anything, he was between jobs. He used to work for the bank up on fourth, the Royal Columbia."
 "Oh! Yeah he most definitely wants you back in some form." Laughs Davis." As he is obviously trying to impress you with some fancy new clothes you know!"
 "Well.” She says.” I am not as easily impressed! you got to do a little more than stalk to get with this little lady!” she laughs, quite hysterically, as if being somewhat aware of her obvious capriciousness.
  Davis doesn’t necessarily have the chance to see this side of her, as its not too often that she lets her proverbially beast out, like a true manifestation of  Bruce Banners’ other half. She becomes a wholly other person, as though some door has opened up upon her consciousness, allowing all the previously locked up personality traits freely flow through unto the outside world. An most people, as Davis has imagined, would more than likely prefer this half of Sallys’ personality, As her normal lovely personage seems so filtered as to leave but an overly conscious self, that seems to naturally draw men away in such bantering confusion. But the problem being, is the fact that once one peels back the layers, letting her sun filled eyes finally pierce through, you find something wholly more, a flowering bloom, a break through the clouds, a small embering light. An Davis, being as he is, most prefers this side of her, which in reality, is not really a side at all, seeing that registering it as such is as though it is not her true being, but a sideshow that she encompasses under certain circumstances. Which, for her alcohol fueled bliss, is more in line with that very thought process.
  But being that as it may, could not one argue the fact that this is a mere side effect of such alcoholic beverages, which in turn would mean that most, if not all, go through the same type of transformations as Davis now sees before him. An seeing as that may be true, wouldn’t it also be that this is not in fact a part of her personality, somehow hidden away since childhood. Could it be so, that a substance such as alcohol could eventually bring out a part of you that you had no idea was there to begin with, or is it instead being an illusionary tactic of said beverage, tricking the mind into letting certain thoughts flow more freely from ones mouth, like an overly filled glass that can’t help but let a few drops spill over its towering brim. But then if it is a kind of illusion put forth by its contents, why than would most people, at least pertaining to Sally Rathers’, prefer this delusionary specter that he now sees before him. As the real person, whether you get along with said person, seems as though it would always be the better choice. At the end of the day though, as such thoughts pass through Davis’ mind, he cannot help but believe it is connected to the whole grass is greener effect that so many seem to suffer from. A wholly depressive state of constant unhappiness seeing that what others may have always seems more pleasing, at least until said people actually attain those properties, only than realizing what they had previously lost, like some kind of vicious circle of self harm.
  Outside the fog has receded, leaving only a slight pungent odor of rotten waste in its wake that now hovers over the now empty streets of the dead. The smell itself comes from the polluted air that seems to travel to these parts every so often, like a flock of birds heading south for the winter. The fog, seems to almost mask the smell, as though acting as a wave of ones hand when in the midst of such unpleasant, and wanted odors. Its a supposed act of nature that the people have really not gotten all that used to as of yet, as its ebb and flow is quite inconsistent, never staying long enough for any one person to get used to its aromic atrocity. It’s an act of old that for one reason or another, has not been exactly eradicated as of yet. But the government offices at this point are not anymore streamlined than they used to be, as the money needed nowadays are tied up in red tape and the grubby hands of such greasy politicians. an probably the same ones that decided it was a great idea to build this particular district where it now stands.
  As Davis walks Sally home, he is quite surprised to see her walk with such sobering stability. One would be at a loss to believe that she had drank as much as she has, as though her drunken self had receded much like the fog that once blanketed the city. Even her speech, is barely slurred, as she pronounces each word, each syllable, with such apparent clarity. She has a more jovial tone to her voice as well, as though she had forgotten all her past woes.
 "All things considering." She says in wonder.
"This part of the city really has an ethereal beauty to it, does it not?"
 "When one is able to forget about the past, only to than focus on the present, the now, the needs of the now, then one could really see the beauty for what it is."
 "Which is?"
"A necessity!"
 “How so exactly.” She asks.” One cannot exactly wipe out the past altogether, only with the past can one appreciate such things as has been currently granted to them.”
 “Although true overall, you should be one to realize, that the past, our past, has the ability to fade the present. What i am saying is don’t let the past stop you from allowing you to see the beauty of any given event, even if it is for but a short time. You can remember the past overall, but when you allow it to take over, is when you stop losing the ability to be yourself, sometimes you need to forget past iniquities and allow yourself the fact of happiness, even if it is for a fleeting moment.”
 “Well not the most graceful message you have ever delivered, but i do think i understand where you are coming from. With that though, i will ask you this, do you think our past will ever be forgotten, seeing that the basic foundation of our friendship is a romantic one, and do you think that foundation would ever become faulty with any regression.”
 “Have you ever thought of regressing.”
“That is not the point.” She says poignantly.” Do you think there is an allowable misstep in any friendship, would it even be a misstep if it was agreed upon.”
 “I think in any relationship there is an allowable limit, and if two people are mature enough to put certain missteps behind them as a basic meaningless event, than yes i believe that that friendship can, and should move forward, even become stronger than it was previously.”
  As they stroll down the city streets, the few lights that remain are like the embers of a once raging fire that still have yet to be extinguished. As the air outside is getting colder, with each breathe Davis exumes being a testament to the ever changing climate towards such wintery tundra. An as they begin to near Sally's apartment, Davis still can't help but be amazed at such poignant behavior currently exuding from Sally's drunken lips, as though the alcohol content upon her body has had the opposite effect, somehow opening her up and refining her in the most fascinating of manners. Now reaching their destination, Davis pauses in wait for his apparent departure, readying his stance for one final ado before heading back home after a long night out. Sally though, having different plans, hurriedly asks him upstairs for a late night coffee, ending his abrupt departure for such differing pastures. Being built just a year or so prior, Sallys' building is a shining construct of normalcy, considering the buildings downtown are all mostly clones of one another. This one in particular, takes on an ash covered hue as though it had absorbed the very darkness that now resides upon it. An at the peak, only about ten stories or so, lies a billboard with its iridescence that cuts through the night like a finely sharpened knife. Inside it takes on a wholly differing contrast, as the walls are plastered with a most unusually styled green wallpaper befitting that of the 1950's. With the doorman standing out front with a solemn look about his face as though he had somehow fallen asleep with his eyes open.
   Upstairs, Sally let's out a final gasp as she remembers a slight detail that she had previously forgotten to divulge. As she then suddenly stops before her front door and says.
 "By the way!" She begins. "I should tell you that I had just came into the helpful hands of one of those An-d's I am sure you heard all about."
 "Yeah, I heard.. I heard a few things."
"Well I figured it would be nice to have a helper around the house you know, what with the new job and all keeping me busy."
 "How is it working anyways, how does it act?"
"How does it act." She says quite gregariously." It acts quite like you and I do."
 "Well I have never really owned a robot before you know, I was just curious."
 "That's all fine and good, but its not a robot, he's Paul."
 "Paul huh!" Says Davis musingly."Okay!"
   Inside, Davis can hear the clanging of porcelain ring through the walls, seemingly cutting through the silence like a lighthouse through a thick fog. Paul, now stands about the kitchen with his back turned away, his long black hair carelessly flows upon his back as though a slight breeze has just met its contours in an extravagant display of flamboyance. An as he turns towards him Davis almost expects a muted flash of light to be streaked across his brow as in the old movies he watched as a child. An as Davis peers before him, studying the minute details of Pauls extravagant exterior, he finds himself fumbling over the fact that he is an android. Even the wrinkles upon his face appear to have slowly evolved their like a slow moving glacier that cuts through the land. As his piercing eyes are as though they are the heavens themselves, a bright blue sky on the most sunniest of summer days. With his mouth slightly agape, he eventually mutters a nerve rendered greeting.”You must be Paul, i am guessing?”
 “That would be me, and you would be?”
“Oh sorry.” Says Davis, still frazzled by his utter misconception.” My name is Davis, i am a friend of Sallys’ from work.”
 “Well hello Davis from work.” He says coldly.” It is nice to meet you!”
“Yeah same,” he says,” same.”
  “Would you two be wanting anything before i am off for the night?”
“No, that is quite alright Paul, thanks for everything!”
 “Always a pleasure Madame, always a pleasure.”
 As Sally removes herself from the living room, she leaves Davis in silence to scan the room. Noticing the pictures upon the wall, a plethora of erratic tastes that do not seem to have any type of underlying theme whatsoever, he cannot help but wonder the origins of such objects, as though they suddenly happen upon her one winters afternoon. Maybe they were a thrift store buyout, or maybe Paul has found a taste of his own, a taste so unlike him. As Davis imagines one with such perfect features would not want anything less, forever burdened to seek out similar features in all of daily life. But then again, he realizes, even if he won’t admit it, that he somewhat feels a tad threatened by such an aspect. But considering that he is no more than a mere machine, makes such an emotional response all the more interesting, as he is not quite sure if he should really be all too jealous of a An-d, no matter how attractive one should be.
  “So.”Sally calls out from the edge of her bedroom door.”Do you like the pictures?”
Sally, now sporting short green soccer shorts, and a white undershirt, shuffles over towards Davis sitting upon the couch. An as he looks upon such bounteous beauty, he cannot help but feel a slight arousal begin to whisper deep within himself. After such a long time, he has forgotten such esoteric beauty that would normally be hidden beneath layers of wool and cotton.
 "I was just curious as to where one might happen upon such artifacts?"
 "Why!" She asks in bewilderment." You don't like them?"
 "It's not that, it's just that they don't really seem to go together. You have to admit, they are quite random."
 "That's why I like 'em, they are just so odd!"
"I guess that does make a lot of sense, considering the source."
 "Are you calling me odd?" She asks inquisitively.
"Not really odd, just interesting."
 Now sitting beside him, Davis can suddenly feel the heat of her pale white thighs upon his own, as they shift ever so slightly in turn caressing his skin in a most pleasing of manners.
 "Is everything alright." He says forthwith, as a sudden look of nausea freckles upon her face.
 "I am okay! I just think all that alcohol has finally begun to show its face."
 "You drank quite a bit, maybe it might be best if you just slept it off for now."
  "Yeah," she mumbles,". You may be right."

Chapter 3 - The District of the Dead

   The building itself, that Davis currently resides in, is quite the odd structure, especially when regarded towards such stalwarts of construction that has been built around it. It is in fact one of the few remaining vintage structures that still stands, as most had been bulldozed years prior in order to pull up the current standings of the city. Where as most buildings around have an abundance of the ordinary, davis', oddly enough, is quite the stout masterpiece of artistic architecture.  Beneath each corner of the building stands a pillar that appears to be cut straight from the mouths of the Roman Empire, that seems to impossibly hold up the entire building upon its back, which gives it quite the unnerving site for newcomers an passersby. Where as the very top of said building begins to dwindle down slowly to a small point that almost looks as if a hand of some sort reaches out towards the heavens themselves. The odd thing about it, in davis' mind, is the small structure in the midst of the pillars that has the only function of acting as an elevator to each resident currently living their. Which is not quite odd in itself, it's the fact that this particular elevator only goes so far as the first floor which in turn turns out to be the lobby. An if  anyone would take said elevator, would quickly realize that they now need to take a secondary one in order to find their way to the apartment. This one fact, has always puzzled Davis to no end, why go through all the trouble to make the simple fact of getting home so terrible difficult. Was it the ever ambitious drive towards an artistic endeavor, or was it the acts of an overzealous man trying to best his contemporaries, which in turn can still, to some degree, be found around the city. An even if one of these turns out to be true, wouldn't one imagine that someone, along the way, would speak up about the mere fact of such an idiotic an, let's be honest, obvious design flaw. But maybe that is why it has been loved so much over the years. As could it very well be, Davis wonders, that the mere fact of having imperfections could in a way make one perfect, or is it just the idea that when people see car wrecks they tend to slow down to see how exactly the carnage went about. It's a question, Davis realizes, that he ponders all too much. But he has always had a piqued interest in the dynamics of human behavior. Always been fascinated by the wonders of the human race an the choices they decide to make, the pure contradictory nature is one thing that both infuriates an fascinates him. As he often finds himself wiling away the time pondering such innate questions as such.
   Finally awaking from this self imposed slumber, Davis realizes that he now stands in the mostly empty lobby, except for the short slender woman that stands precariously behind the desk to the right of the secondary elevators. An as he sits there examining this young woman for a second, he realizes that he has not seen her before.  She does not sport the normal attire, or even the same grim outlook the others have found after hours spent standing in silence. Davis than, does something that he would normally never have the idea to do.
"Excuse me.. Miss!" He says in a low grumble, as if his nerves have risen spontaneously to the brim.
"Yes sir!" She says quite mechanically, as though she has repeated this very phrase on multiple occasions." How may I help you?"
   Davis, has never seen such a woman in this particular position, a woman so seemingly perfect it's as though she had been ripped right out of some fashion magazine. Her hair, that falls complacently over her face, shines as if the sun itself has somehow awakened before him. Her skin, as far as he can tell, shows no signs of aging, as though it had been grafted to her just recently. She, as well, sports this mid length red dress, that seems to slightly hug her every curve in a apparently teasing manner. Even the necklace she wears, gives the impression of being appended with it, as though they had been adjoined at birth like Siamese twins.
"Yes." He says." I was just curious, as to what had happened to George, the man that used to work here. As I have not seen him in some time."
"He was let go a week back, as his services were no longer required."
"Oh.. I see, says Davis," is there any reason why, if I may ask?"
"The company who now owns this property has decided to do certain cut backs, an sadly his name was on the list." She says, with a odd smile, a smile that makes it seem as though she has just learned that facial expression fairly recently from this particular conversation.
"Oh.. Okay." Says Davis, with a wink of confusion besmeared about his face.
"Thanks, I appreciate the candor."
"You are welcome sir!" She answers, like a knife swiftly cutting through the air in the most obtuse of manners.
As Davis awaits patiently in the elevator, he notices a man standing off to the side like a spider would hiding in the darkened corners of every room he may find himself. An as he takes a quick glance to see whom it may be, he notices that its one of his neighbors from the top floor.
"Its Fred, right." He asks." Sorry my memory for people's names isn't very good."
"That's alright," he smiles," I don't really recall your name at the moment either."
"Its Davis. Listen, I was just wondering, if you had the chance to talk to the woman at the front desk?"
"It just so happens that I have, lovely person isn't she. Its hard to believe that she is one of those   An-d's is it not."
"Right right! That actually makes sense, I had no idea. As she had come across as a tad.. Cold."
"Yeah she is like that isn't she. An you know the weird thing." He says, slightly moving ever closer as though letting me in on some secret stock tips. " I heard that some of the newer models are even, anatomically correct, if you catch my drift."
"Seriously! That seems a bit on the useless side doesn't it
"I guess, but hey! You never know what catches peoples fancy."
"Yeah, I imagine so, I imagine so."
  The particular design of the elevator has always been a fascination for Davis', as it always struck him as a tad off, considering the contrasting design choices of the rest of the building. As every time he finds himself upon it he cannot help but muse on what exact era it is supposed to be sporting. The dark green wall paper, that sits upon each corresponding wall, has these thin, barely visible, white lines that race across in a maddening manner. At first glance they do not seem to hold any pattern, but with further inspection one can find an octagonal fixation running throughout. Its just that the design itself is so apparently dizzying that one fails to see any form at all at first glance. This, as well, is all matted together with dark oak sidings running up each corner as though each wall has been framed like some renaissance painting.
  As the elevator stops, Fred gives off one final word as he turns his torso toward Davis an calls out in a muted voice."But I wouldn't mind seeing what its like, you know." Before he disappears behind the quickly closing doors as Davis hears his maniacal chuckling reverberate into oblivion.
Davis' apartment lies on the west wing of the building, with an ocean scape being projected onto the window on the far wall, which is as well adorned with a long sandy beach, empty, all except for the crushing waves that continually pull themselves back up onto the sand. Oddly enough, as far as Davis believes, there is a setting on the projector that enables the strange ability of having people roaming the beach in a fit of noisy fun. Why anybody would ever want this ability has always been beyond him, but I guess it goes with the imagined atmosphere of having beach side property.
   Being on the west wing as he is, Davis has always gotten a fair amount of sun year round, which lights up the room in a most grandiose of fashions, in turn giving the projected images of a beach side property all the more pleasing of sensations. His apartment, being mostly empty, all except for the few skillfully placed pieces of furniture that adorn the hard wood floors, that in fact are only plastic models made to look as such, is more of a pad if you will than a fully active apartment. Gone are the active electronics that supposedly make ones life easier, there are no automated fridges or ovens that do all the work for you, in turn turning society into nonfunctional slobs.
   Davis has never seen the need for such technological advances, as he finds very little use for such automated artifacts as a self cooking kitchen, especially one that cleans itself after the fact. But Davis has always been the one to do things for himself, if he is so able to do so. Which, in this day an age, has the source of mild ridicule from his colleagues an friends, as though he is some backwoods redneck of old, with a gluttonous disposition of old school mentality. Which, as Davis sees it, is an obvious notion of exaggeration that the male side of the species do to each other to ward off emotions. But he has never been one to be fully aware of societal conventions. Its at that moment, sprawled upon the bedside, in what one could only call an epic struggle to get ones shoes on without tearing said heels, which just so happened not too long before, that the phone decides to ring.
"Hello!" He says." This is Davis." In a long winded voice." Who's calling?"
"Davis.. Its Sally, Sally Rather's. I just figured we haven't connected in a while, an thought maybe you wanted to meet for lunch?" Sally, is a colleague of his from work, in which they first met, an became fast friends. They tried the dating thing a while back, after one night of drunken mistakes. In the end though, they found that it just didn't work out, an vowed to be friends thereafter. At first, it was weird, an difficult, which could be the reason behind the recent distance that has been put between them.
"Yeah." He says feigning interest. "That sounds great, I was just heading out to eat anyways."
"Great! I will meet you their, you know the place."
   The place in question is a restaurant they used to frequent, that is located up a few blocks in the district of the dead, which is named for the fact that at one point in the city's illustrious career, was home to a cemetery. But when they ran out of room to build, all the bodies were therefore dug up an cremated, with the land being paved over by the city itself. It is not something the city officials like to talk about all too often, as the bad press had died down years before, an the mayor is not someone to dig up certain proverbial dirt. But it does make one wonder why they would believe that such an idea was good enough to go forth with in the first place, as there are certain taboos with these type of ordeals. An even with that, the one thing they must have realized, if history would have taught us anything, is that the press is going to run with such a case no matter how one may spin it.
   Outside, the fog is now greeted with the falling rains, that drizzle forth like threads of silk. Which in turn gives the city a wholly new feel, as the few people that pass by do so like specters flickering into existence if only for a moment. The city itself, being mostly washed out by the thick haze, gives off a distinct feel of abandonment, as the opaque walls of clouds makes the city appear as though it is only a figment of ones imagination. Even the smell, which normally consists of such wonders as newly formed asphalt, an drunken escapades of nights before, is now replaced by a new aroma, an almost sweet, musky scent, as though in the midst of a deep forest, like the mildewy drops of a forested canvas. As Davis gets ever closer to the restaurant, the city appears as if it slowly mutates into a different form. No longer is each building a construct of normality, as the walls that lead to each alley are adorned by graffiti of differentiating complexities. There is even a small park, with pre-made plastic trees that are fixated throughout this grassy abyss. Off in the distance, lies a playground, all deserted except for the few crows that adorn the swing sets, giving off a most distinct atmosphere of some old school horror movie. Davis, cannot remember the last time he has seen a fog of such density, especially in the midst of the city. The
aroma, is even a relic of times past, as there hasn't been a forest around these parts for quite some time, which is exactly the reason behind such plastic monstrosities that adorn every park an street side corner.
   As Davis creeps ever closer to his destination, he finds the fog beginning to subside, as he gets ever further from the ocean. An as he is about a block or so away from said restaurant, it has now become nothing more than a fine mist that is washed out by the ongoing presence of the ever ascending rainfall. The adjacent wall of the restaurant, that faces a small alley, is painted in a marvelous set of graffiti, that depicts a heavy forest, with the sun rising out of its canvas. The sky is a slough of multicolored acid trips as though evoking the very spirit of Van Gogh's Starry Night. The restaurant in question is called the Machiavellian, apparently a statement made in regards to the very fabric of the political exploits of this fair city. Which is a statement Davis has always found to be on the more ironic side of things, seeing as a lot of what they are against is the murderous exploits the politicians have on said environment, an the wiping away of cultures of its people. But Davis imagines its all part of their agenda to clear the idea of this district being built on the gravestones of the dead.

Sunday, January 04, 2015

From who shall madness spring...

From who,

Beneath the sun
My love will sing

Through to death
An onto knife

My love will cling,
   Cling to life.