Thursday, April 5, 2012

Hollow Bodied Organisms

I dismembered all members of my family.
I remembered the act of forgetting.
I dismembered the concept of memory.
No home is safe or sound.
No home is safe or sound.

I divided brittle pigments from their bones.
I guided my hand so steadily.
I divided the monarchs from their thrones.
No home is safe or sound.
No conscience can be found.

I could care less if I was careless.
The thought will be abandoned,
The prosecution stranded.
You could care less if I confess.
Raise your fist and strike your gavel.
Chase my body with a scalpel.
Success! Success!
Regress! Regress!

I dismembered all members of my family.
I sit high upon my horse, looking down without remorse.
I dismembered the concept of forgiving.
No home is safe or sound.
No conscience can be found.

- afm

The Alex Show - Episode 36


Alex: It amazes me how easy it is to forget, whether we want to or not.

____: What do you mean?

Alex: You know, like an impactful conversation you have had with the most important of persons, a conversation that has sculpted your life and changed your shape, yet over time we forget about the conversation itself. We forget about the sculptor and the effort they made to mold you into something different. Upon forgetting we start believing that there never was a sculptor, and that the sculpture was created all on its own.

____: You speak of creating a sculpture when it sounds more like you are describing its destruction. How ironic.

Alex: Yes, it is peculiar how destruction is the foundation to creation.

____: Again, you will have to elaborate.

Alex: Well, you could apply it to anything, really. Go back as far as Adam in the garden. God may have created man, but it was man's self-destruction that created man as a species. That is when creation was truly completed: when destruction began.

____: And I believe it is safe to assume you were not originally talking about Genesis. Perhaps something more personal?

Alex: I should just continue ranting without pause. Your questions hold no more curiosity or concern than the silence of a psychiatrist.

____: How does that make you feel?

Alex: Hah! You're funny. But yes, I was referring to something of more personal interest.

____: Please continue.

Alex: As you wish, doctor. Anyways, I've just been wondering - as I often do - what is the use of conversing? We manipulate words, we select the ones we want to hear and we twist their inflections, and the worst part is we now trust those words to hold truth. People hate being deceived, yet they play the fool. If this is the case for everyone as it is for me, then what purpose does a conversation have? What is the purpose in this conversation?

____: Well, you could apply that to anything, really. Go back as far as Adam in the garden.

Alex: You mock me.

____: I have to! You make it so easy. Seriously though, let's say there is no purpose to conversing. Let's say there is no purpose to anything for that matter. If that is the case, then why worry? Just enjoy it.


I have forgotten the sculptor.

- afm

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

The Alex Show - Episode 35

I am starting to strongly believe that the emotional content of people is much like the universe.

When the body lies, the mind runs. When the body questions where the mind has wandered, it rarely looks within. One cannot simply roll their eyes back and look through bone. No, unlike other organs, the exoskeleton is much harder to access. Even if one were to miraculously break through the rigid, rocklike structure of a skull, the mind itself is impossibly impenetrable. Still, anything can be broken. Sometimes strength and will power are not always the mandatory instruments needed. Sometimes you just need to play a different tune.

The day is gone. You enter the safety of your home. You lock all your doors, turn on every light, and ready the alarms - assured relaxation.

ASIDE: It is as if we as people are always hiding. Though we may relish in the venture of travel, knowledge and love, come nightfall we reside amongst ourselves, and once our eyes are shut, we claim not to see, yet we do. We can see eternity.

All is quiet. There is stillness for a brief moment in your conscious day, but it is that very stillness that commands the mind to move. It is the stillness that directs direction, instructing a person's internal instruments to sound. Each thought buzzes, reverberating off your skull until memories, dreams, and imaginations become a terrifying reality of what could be. It is hard to believe that in stillness much can be stirred.

ASIDE: "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." What a true statement after being dissected. Fear is worse than Death. Death does not seek you out, Death merely waits, and if you filled your life with good intent and right doings, He is easily thought of as an escort, a limo driver to a glorious afterlife. Fear is not like Death. Fear consumes. Picture a smaller fish being eaten by a larger fish. Fear is the larger fish, and you the smaller fish. Your body is enclosed in its body, fighting for escape. Regardless of your struggle, you can only move in the direction in which Fear moves. Though you may have been devoured, you are not dead... yet. Only your own actions will guide you to Death.

There are lessons to note. Do not check the peephole once your door is locked. Whatever may be out, cannot get in. Do not look under your bed. You will find nothing but what you left there. Once the lights are off, they stay off. Light cannot expose what cannot be seen. Do not run to your bed. Running in the dark is more dangerous than the fictitious things that wish to catch you. Do not hide under your covers. Comforters are not made to be shields. More importantly, note what you should do: always look up.

ASIDE: It is curious how people feel small when they are afraid, yet they never look up. If you are literally small, you almost always look up. You have to because so much of the world is above you. The same should apply to those who are figuratively small, for if your paranoid mind is correct, up is where they will be hiding.

to be continued...

- afm