Category: Weird


El Malvado Muñecas


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El Malvaldo Muñecas
Gently, the wind caresses
They swing
Synthetic hair fluttering
Catching the rays of sunlight.
Eyes stitched shut.
Lips stitched to a slashed smile
Across kntted faces
The locals cross the road
Quick signs of the cross
Away from the dolls
Garroted
Under barbed wires.
Puppet-like
The wing, the puppet-master.
No one knows how
Or why
Or when
But even the bravest of men
Would never stray where  they hang
Swinging merrily
Invitingly…
Touch me…

She died,
Nina, the curious.
A week after she had waited,
Away from Papa’s gaze
To quickly touch a doll
Light; just light on its feet.
Drowned.
A week after,
Her doll, redhead and patchy
Hung beside the others.
Garroted.
A dancing puppet.
Touch me…

Papa wailed as he saw
His gift of love,
Crudely added
To the macabre theatre
El malvaldo Muñecas
They took her.

Poseído!
Muñecas poseído!
Possessed,
Every single one of them
Their stitched-on smile
Never wavering
At the accusing glances of the locals.

It is whispered;
Sí, it is true
That on a certain night
They do not just hang.
On a night when the gateway
Between worlds open;
Día de Muertos.
Their stitched eyes open.

It is whispered,
Sí, it is true
They remember;
The warmth of their owners,
The echoed feel of a body
Pressed softly
Against a child
And then, they move
In search.
Of old owners, long gone.
Of new owners,
soon to be gone.

El malvado muñecas
The evil dolls.

Ma Sullivan


She sidled up to the front aisle and sat down, her thinning grey hair covered haphazardly with a scarf. It did not stop stubborn wisps of hair bent on freedom from escaping. She sat and waited for the remaining seats to be filled up apprehensively. Her calloused hands gripped the clutch of her favourite bag and she rubbed the filigree design with her thumb feeling every bump; a habit she was wont to do when extremely nervous.
The room to be viewed was still empty of people, the only occupant, a big metal chair She stared at it, as if concentrating trying to pry it secrets out. Soon, it would be taking the only thing she had left away from her. Her lips dried and she licked them reflexively. She heard movements behind her and knew the pew had begun to fill up.
She did not turn back, avoiding to see the faces.
It wasn’t shame or fear.
No. Ma Sullivan knew no shame.
She just did not want to explain her presence; or offer apologies she knew would be ineffectual.
So she sat there, hair tucked haphazardly in her scarf, back ramrod straight, staring right ahead.
Quite a number of people wanted front seats, and as she made way for them, they saw her and gasped.
She did not avert her eyes; No Sir!
She looked them straight in the eyes, taking in the ill-disguised look of disgust on their faces without a twitch of her facial muscles in reaction. They always dropped their eyes first, shuffling past her. She heard them whisper amongst themselves and pass her name around.
She heard the murmurings behind her but refused to answer them; she had every right to be here.

Soon, the lights dimmed and the main stage area lit up, distracting them.
Guards came in and walked to the chair, checking the straps and bolts. When they were done, one of the officials gave a speech.
She did not listen. She tuned them out.
She came for one thing only.
Soon, they brought him out.
She stared at him as they pulled him to the chair and strapped him. Ignoring the bondage, she stared fixedly at his face.
He had grown softer around the edges. His eyes looked rheumy. He looked older than ever.
His once full head of hair was shaved completely bald and looking like that, sitting there, she could not help but be reminded of his father.
His father had once sat on just the same chair.
She had watched her younger son sit on the same chair.
Now, it was his turn.
As if feeling a stare, his weak eyes looked to the audience and seeing his mother, there was a sudden light in his eyes.
Not one of happiness; of anger, of resentment.
He sneered at her.
She watched him impassively, unprovoked. Seeing as he couldn’t rile her up, his swore at her, red in the face.
Unfeeling bitch.
Like she hadn’t heard that one before.
Was this his way to finally get the attention he always craved from her?
Well, he got in. She was there watching.
He flipped her a middle finger before he got completely immobilised and smiled at the little frown thst crawled up her eyebrows.
The bitch wasn’t carved out of stone then!

Soon the ceremony, as she dubbed it started.
The official stated his name; stated his crimes.
Ma Sullivan did not flinch as the list of murders her son had committed rolled out.
Murders against women her age; women that looked like her
Murders meant for her.
He had had her face in mind every time he strangled them; he said so in court.
His real victim was her but since he could not get her, they had to do.
No, he wasn’t molested ss a child.
But the fucking bitch was made of stone, all my life!
She sat stoic then, listening in the court room.
She was doing the same now; sitting there, stoic.

Soon it was show time,
They fixed the cap on his head and there he sat, looking as stupid as his brother had looked with that cap on his head; as stupid as his father had looked too, seated right there.

They killed him.

The others gasped as the electric currents fried him. She said nothing, merely watching her son’s jerking body as his brains fried.
It almost reminded her of his birth; the light flickering in the dinghy backroom of a motel. The smell of death and decay that she had been unconcerned about.
She wondered for a second if his electrocution had hurt as much as she did, pushing him out of her
It would have been fitting if it did.
Come in screaming, leave screaming.
It didn’t matter now anyway.
He was dead.
When he had been confirmed dead, she watched them roll out his dead body.

The show was over.
The murmurings began again.
How could she come to watch?
How could she bear it?
Just what kind of a woman was she?

She said nothing, walking out of the stifling room to the open air, grateful for the gulps of fresh air.
She made a beeline to her car and when she was safely inside, she rested her head on the steering wheel.
Tears coursed down her cheeks and she did nothing to wipe them away.
Where had she gone wrong?
Why did they all end up the way they did?
The media touted her as evil. ‘Matriarch of the Evil Sullivan”
It did not matter that she never participated in their crimes; or that she had kicked all three of them out of her house before they had gone on a bend.

Could she have stopped it?
She had failed.
As a wife; she married a lazy psycho, a lunatic.
As a mother; she was too busy to love them. She herself never received any love from her mother.She had worked hard to provide money for anything they wanted.
Why hadn’t they been enough?
Her lunatic mistake of a husband then bred them for evil.
As a human; she had been too afraid to stop them.
She kicked them out instead.
She had been a coward.

She swallowed a sob and decided on what she would do.
She would absorb all the blame; from the families of the victims, from the general populace.
She would absorb them all.
Then she would take it with her to a place where she knew she belonged.
To hell.

————————————————-

If this doesn’t make sense, welcome to the club. Didn’t make sense to me either.
Reading a book titled Talking to serial killers and this is the result of a half-formed idea.
Are people born evil? Or is it solely on upbringing?

Let’s think about that.

Refuge


The abandoned house groans like an old woman as a nifty wind buffets the shack.
Window frames bang against window sills routinely at different corners of the house.
The swing hooked to the old oak tree at the backyard complains as the rusted metals holding the contraption rub against each other with the force of the wind.
The front door had fallen off at one point and so the house invites us inside to take refuge from the billowing elements.
The front door leads directly to a large, almost empty space that should be a living room.
Wallpapers peeled off, plaster fallen off the walls in patches like fairy dust.
It is almost empty, save for a rocking chair.
It does not move, even as stray children of the wind find their way into the abandoned shack of a house.
Somewhere within the house, an old grandfather clock booms the hour and as if on cue, the house is whipped into a frenzy.
Creaks.
Groans.
Moans pass through the walls and if one should press their ear to them, they’d swear they heard conversations.
The stairs squeak, as if someone of great bulk is climbing down.
The grandfather clock stops booming at twelve and suddenly, the rocking chair begins to move slowly.
Almost happily; like a dog that has sighted his master.
The stairs stop squeaking and the floorboards take over the squeak, almost sounding like footsteps that lead to the living room and eventually, to the rocking chair.
The chair rocks faster…
Faster…
FASTER!
Almost in a frenzy that if it were human, it would have been foaming at its lips with excitement.
A big crash and as if a weight had fallen on it, it stops.

A low  murmur, old crooning…
The empty rocking chair begins to move, as if controlled.

There is just one glass that has not fallen off a window frame in the house. The glass is in the living room. The rocking chair faces the windows.
Reflected on it, a fat woman sitting, staring at the naive soon-to-be-permanent-guests of the house; You and I.
Face, as black as night.
Hair, as white as snow.
Teeth, as red as blood.

She watches us as we run into the house to take refuge from the heavy rain that just began to fall.
“Wow! That was bloody sudden!” you mutter as you look around and sighting the chair, make for it.
You sit on it and invite me with open arms to sit on your lap.
Together, we sit, gazing at nothing.
We do not notice the reflection.
We only shiver a little; maybe from a chill.
Maybe because reflected, she just pulled us into herself.
One big hug.

Face, black as night.
Hair, white as snow.
Teeth, red as blood.

———————————————————————-

Another flow of random energy amassed as words.
I would settle down soon enough for  proper story.
Promise.

Random Thoughts…


LOVE WAS…

Love was the first kiss we shared at the back of an empty 21 bus bound to Newington Green.
Love was the sparkle in your eye as our kiss broke and stared at each other anew.
Love was the fumbling fingers that almost dropped the ring when you formally made me yours.
Love was the tears when we found out we would never have children because I was barren.
Love was forgiveness when I found out you fathered a child outside home.
Love was the hand that fed you when you were ill.
Love was the hands that held yours when we found out you were going to die.
Love is the hands that is removing you off the Life Support machine.
Love would throw clumps of sand on your casket.
And Love would…
What would love do now?

THE INVOCATION

Hands raised high in anticipation;
Sharp inhaled and exhaled breaths,
Betraying my early frantic gyration.
It is time for you to come.
The Invocation of my Demon Brother.

MUSE

Muse sits down and crosses her legs, feet tapping inside my head.
‘It’s my turn! Pay attention to me’ she seems to say.
Quickly, I drop all I am doing and try to embrace her.
As a lost lover, or friend perhaps.
Her mocking laugh, jeers
As she turns into wisps of smoke.
I grasp at empty space.
Disappeared.

UFO

The journal said we were originated from Earth.
Earth.
We thought we came from Urai.
Urai lays abandoned now, in ashes.
We thought we came from Jyupi.
Jyupi is a wasteland, torn asunder.
But no, we are from Earth.
We are going back there.
My brother and I,
To destroy Earth.

****************************************

Spur of the moment shenanigan.
Random is as random does.
Have a lovely weekend break.

Show Me


I ramble. You read.

SHOW ME

I wish I could see what you see; see what you saw.

I want to see what you wish you could  un-see; how deliciously defiling would it be?

Show me the good times, the bad times -especially the bad times- my pretty.

My mouth waters at the thought of your eyes brimming with tears.

I lick my lips at the thoughts of your eyes widened in horror.

Tell me! Show me!

I want to revel in the horror your eyes have feasted on.

Can I peel them back? Peel your eyes back and stare into them, I mean?

The eyes are windows to the soul.

I want to break your windows without a care in the world and crawl in like a thief.

Desecrate all you hold sacred; bring to light all you clench down tightly in the darkness.

I want to know what you had known; what you wish you didn’t know.

Don’t spare me, tell it all!

Can I lick your eyeballs?

Maybe…just maybe I could taste your memories.

I want to know.

I need to know.

Show me!

I do not care if remembering would break you down.

I do not care if it makes you scarred.

I do not care if remembering would DRIVE YOU MAD!

Or me mad?

Aren’t we all mad?

TELL ME!

SHOW ME!

Quarter Past 11


Hey!
I worked on a watercolour painting on Wednesday so today, decided to try writing a story based on the painting. Picture’s in B/W cos my paint strokes are terrible and they look better this way!
Enjoy!

Quarter Past 11

IMG_20130306_172704-1_Logan

She did not mean to stay out this late.

There had been wine, music, food; she had lost track of time. She had promised she’d be home before 11. It was quarter past 11!

Harried, she walked out into the rain, cursing as she rifled through her bag for her little umbrella. The rain in savage glee increased, mercilessly lashing at her for her tardiness, plastering her clothes to her skin as she finally found and opened her umbrella.

Shivering and with alacrity, she ran, deciding to use the shorter route home. Normally she’d have been wary of using the bush path at night but between her irrational fear of large expanse of trees and the thunderous rage that would be her father when she got home, she decided to let the Devil take the hindmost and leg it.

Thankful for the flat shoes she wore, she ran until she was swallowed in by the trees.

Despite the fact that she was late, she unconsciously slowed to a walk as she traversed the narrow path. Gently, as if the slightest breaking of a twig would unsettle the atmosphere, she crept through.

Suddenly, she stopped. Her ears cocked and she turned around to stare at the gathering darkness behind her. Her heart hit her ribcage hard, as if begging to be let out. Fear of he father forgotten, she began to wonder if taking this particular route wasn’t a foolhardy thing to do.

She walked faster, stopping momentarily to stare quickly behind her. She didn’t even have any light and her phone was dead.

Only the stay rays of the moonlight that managed to penetrate though the dense foliage lighted her path and they did so badly.

There!

She heard it again.

She stopped as her blood roared in her ears raging like lions in a burning cage.

Footsteps. She was not mistaken.

Basic instincts screamed at her and she obeyed without thinking; she ran.

Her hands shook as she held the umbrella, panting as her feet slapped wet earth with dull thwacks.

Almost out of the bushes, she laughed shakily in triumph and exhilaration.

She heard no footsteps. She stopped to take deep breaths. What if she had imagined the footsteps?

She laughed and shook her head, walking at a normal pace, her ears still listening for sudden movements.

As she walked, she realised how heavy her limbs were;  almost as if she was carrying a heavy load on her back.

She blamed it on her unfit body and mentally promised to run more.

“Who’rrree you?”

A small voice suddenly asked, close behind.

She shrieked and turned about panicked. She saw no one.

“Who…who’s there?” She called out, eyes wide as clammy hands tightened their grip on her umbrella.

“How ccccould yooou not noticccce?” The small voice whispered into her ear. “You’ve beeeeen carrying me on your baaaack sincccce you walked intoooo myyyy forrressst…”

A cold tongue licked her ear.

Blood curdling scream.

Eidolon


Hey guys!

Today, I bring to you a writing experiment of some sort.
This piece is going to be read in an unusual way:
First you read straight down, and you continue the story by reading from the bottom to the top!
Quirky eh?

=========================================================================================

EIDOLON

It was

Pain to move;

His body hurt,

They had held him down for too long.

For now;

He had managed to free himself from his demons.

“I need to move on”

He tried to rise on shaky legs.

Shivering like fingers stroking his spine,

He got up.

He reminded himself.

“It’s just a dream”

“Brand him! Brand him! Brand my name on him!”

Burning pincers.

Poke. Poke.

Shrieks of anguish.

More pain lanced his body.

He stumbled as his hands stretched to find a hold.

“Mine!” A voice had cried.

Bad Dream.

Flashes of light behind his eyes.

He woke up in pain.

He woke up scarred.

 Fin.

==============================================================================

Make sense?
Hehe!

Tell Me Your Dreams


First post of the New Year and it is going to be a random.
Sorry guys. Lol.
Restless (as usual), and hysteric.
I should say happy but ever been so happy you want to scream and cry and it becomes almost like a physical pain? Yup, that’s hysteria and that’s where I am now.
Also battling the oddest waves of chest pains that bring on panic attacks of me thinking I’m dying which in turn brings on my heart palpitation which according to Google, means I’m either suffering from anxiety, got kidney failure or I am a walking heart attack.
Yea, I pick anxiety, thank you.
Not writing this to bore you about my predicament (or have you worry. I am fine)
Just need to dampen my hysteria a little.

Tell me your dreams.
Literally.
I’ll tell you a few of mine. Of course, my bad dreams.
Feel free to interpret or psychoanalyse or fear for my sanity.
Lol.
This is me, opening a doorway into my mind.

I begin.
First dream that comes to mind right now is a crazy one that had an odd ending. I say odd, because I lost consciousness in the dream and in real life I suspect. And for the life of me, can’t figure out how it ended. I hit blanks when I try to remember.
They chased me. Six men. I ran but they chased and caught me.
They weren’t exactly men; creatures, lumbering creatures.
They took turns hitting me and tore my clothes into pieces. I screamed and screamed.
They held my arms and feet,dangling me in the air and the first thing got ready.
Once I saw him fumbling with his trousers, I knew what would happen.
Somehow, I forced myself to lose consciousness. Still cannot remember what happened from there. I cannot remember waking up after that dream.
So vivid and just at that spot, black.
Forcing myself to remember used to get me panicked and I’d have goosebumps so I stopped trying to remember.

Another disturbing one, I’d blame on my dabbling into the Occult.
Before you panic and say “Hey! Witches and Wizards!”, calm down.
Occult simply means hidden or secret knowledge.
I am a believer in the spiritual, the supernatural. I am curious so I always want to know.
What lies beyond this world. What we can’t see. But some things are called Secret for a reason.
Anyway, I have a lot of mystic, esoteric texts.
The infamous 6 and 7 Books of Moses (which is overrated in my opinion), Book of this and that.
I read these books. I wanted to know, not practice.
Wasn’t interested in summoning anything. I thought I was safe.
The dream.
I was at the door in the night and the Devil asked me to open up.
How do I know it was the devil? Because I was scared.
My body was shaking.
Pitch dark and swirls of red.
“Open the door” he said.
I couldn’t even pray. I couldn’t speak. I was cowering in a corner, teeth chattering, tears.
He spoke to me in my mothers voice; my brothers voice.
Even cried like a baby.
Open the door.
Then he pulled me.
I was getting up without meaning to.
I wasn’t in control of my body.
I was screaming incoherently as my hand reached the door. I kept screaming as I slid the bolt.
I woke up.
I woke in tears. My body shaking. Cold sweats. Covered my mouth to stop myself from screaming. Eyes wide.
Shook like a leaf for an hour our more.
Didn’t sleep for the rest of that night.
Terror.
Funny thing, I used to hear screams. Not asleep. In the day time. Busy with work and suddenly screams of tortured people. They spoke in different languages. Mostly Chinese and German.
Somehow, I understood what they were saying.
Save us! Save us!
This isn’t a dream.
Anyway, i quit with the books. Curiosity killed the cat.
Lol.

Mind reacting to that. Heart pounding fast.
Deep breaths.

Was gonna tell a third but meh. These two are enough.

Psychoanalyse me?
Tell me your dreams.

Day 30 -Senseless


Dionysus is here.
Enough said, if you know what i mean!

—————————————————————————————————–

SENSELESS

Everyone went to Monday like Shiva was elected the Goddess of Damascus.
Memorable it was, how the ocean washed away the roaches; the eagle left clutching at the sands of time.
My eyes opened to a beautiful nightmare as I imagined a big ball of light  taking me away from the grips of Scylla.
Faced with life, I exhale oxygen and breathe fire into Charybdis, Hephaestus is pleased.
The phone rang as the bemuda triangle showed us the circle of life, alas, unfettered by the restraints of freedom.
Call upon me he said, the lizard nodded its head as it laid eggs into the deep dark void.
Temptation sedates my curiosity; I solve it one at a time, twice amidst the erupting volcano.
As the drums whisper to me, it seems I am chasing the dragon; heavy clouds pour out their venom and stain the sky.
What sort of theft is this?
Stealing a young man’s sorrow is like throwing the wind to a pitcher.
Head spins and the chimpanzee cannot understand why Prometheus destroyed the clay.
If only he could make love to me, she said, I’m running at a blank as to why I cannot remember the last time that I forgot.
The sage said to embrace the embryo, forever eliminate the competition for the possibility of emancipation is the destruction of the biosphere.
As the fish tried to breathe on dry land, the water made fun of it while it choked.
Bathe me it said, Bathe me but what is a fisherman to do when he cannot sit on the sun and catch fish from the cloud when it rains?
200 miles per hour, it’s how fast I go in this traffic.
A paladin is not after me but I dived out of the plane only to land in a pool of breast milk.
First and foremost, the last thing she ever wanted to do was visit the moon with me.
The tears freeze my eyeballs and as I fall to the floor, they shatter.
Television was watching me and my channels started to change.
I was showing them how Abel killed Cain with cocaine.
So you tell me that you are unsure of not knowing but how can you feel what the feline says when it meows?
Is it not certain that the strength to pull Excalibur out compares not to the waterfall gushing out from a pleasured woman?
The toad hops in this strange miasma and the sun causes the stars to melt in broad daylight.
It’s like the pain is too pleasurable, tell me how I can unbear the pleasure.
If the cornflakes makes the chin chin jealous, how can it ever live to know the difference between sameness?
I know that you think that you do not know what I am not telling you but how can you be so certain?
—————————————————————————————-
If you read this from the beginning to the end and you’re like WTF did I just
read??? My Job is done!
————————————————–
LMAO!! Dionysus is a problem i swear! Why would chinchin be jealousing Cornflakes? LMAO!

Day 25- Santa Claws


Dionysus decided to take you guys on today!
Hehehe!

—————————-

SANTA CLAWS

Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!
What will you like Santa to add to your wishlist?
I come bearing gifts for both the young and the old.
All I ask in return is your pound of flesh by the mould.

Santa Claws, sharper than Krueger Freddy,
I take what I want whenever I’m ready.
Kids scream in pure ecstacy,
As my fingers pierce through their soft belly.

Ladies shed tears of joy as my claws massage their fanny.
Blood dripping, I seem to be making them horny.
I want a car for christmas, he stood there wishing.
My claws were the key and his flesh was the ignition.

Ho Ho Ho!, I am Santa Claws!
I live and abide by only one law.
If you have a wish, Santa Claws would deliver.
But just remember to drop your liver,
Kidneys, toes, eyes will do.
Heart, intestines, kneecaps too

What you ask, you shall receive,
Along with your inevitable bereave.
Ho Ho Ho, I am Santa Claws!
I ride no elves, but you see me crusing a Porsche.
My stomach is bloated from drinking too much liquor.
I dyed my beard white cause young girls like em older.

Underneath my red suit are a pair of guns.
To get a titty flash from one of them uptight nuns.
I am Santa Claws and I aint no folklore.
‘Ho Ho Ho’ and my big belly are what I use to lure.

Girls, boys, men, women are fascinated.
Camouflaged as I rip their flesh and the blood painted.
Walls, floors, tables and ceilings,
I give birth to the new untainted phoenix.
Death gives life and the unborn is born.
I give something new as their flesh is ripped and torn.

I am Santa Claws and December 25th is when I make my Hitlist.
Give me a call and I’d give you a visit
Ho Ho Ho!
Merry Christmas!

————————

Frankly, Dionysus is crazy! LOL.
Do enjoy your festivities. Drink responsibly and be safe.
Bless!

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