Write for me

"Why dont you try writting something erotical for a change?"
Her words struck me...
"What do you mean?"
"I have read some of your writtings, you have your style, you have your stories,you writte about different genres, but never have i seen you writte something of an erotic nature"
"That may be true..." - I muttered.
"Well of course its true, have you even ever considered it?"
"Not really" - I admitted, more to myself that to her.
"Well?" - she looked at me with her pretty dark eyes. I could see she wanted me to do it, let my imagination and probably my perversion break free and flow onto a piece of paper.
"I... I will try, I promise"
"Yay!" - her eyes lit up and she hugged me tightly.
If it meant so much to her, hell knows why, then I would try my best.

[...]

At home I, for the first time, confronted a blank piece of paper onto which I would write something I had never written before.
No fantasy, no steampunk, no slice of life, no such topics would appear in it, though I could write something with elves...
No no no, nothing like that. I must try to write something life-like, something that could happen to anyone...
Who am I kidding? I have no clue on how to start such a journey.
My hand shook as I neared the pencil to the table.
Fear... I was affraid.
The unknown is what we are affraid of, let it be darkness, let it be another religion, another race, just another human being, but something of which we dont know nothing about.
I got up from my seat and quickly went over to the window to gace at the nightsky.
Faintly shinning stars embedded in the dark blanket that was the universe.
Tomorrow would be a new day, a new chance to go on an adventure, to write what had never been written, to confront myself with this newfound fear...
Tomorrow was the day

The Leash

And you remembered that song you used to listen to long ago.
Not did you remember because of nostalgia, you remembered because you felt the pain depicted in it.
Just like the lyrics preached, he broke your throne, but he was not satisfied with cutting your hair, he had to cut your wings.
And now you feel grounded, as if nothing was real anymore, as if there was no reason to keep pushing.
Each day the sun rises, light bathes your room, but whenever it touches you, you feel no warmth.
Just another pointles day after another and so the weeks go on:
Get up, get ready, get out, get on, get in, get out, get in , get in...
The monotonous existence you think to live is ruining your imagination, your happiness.
Its time for you to open your eyes and see your surroundings.
There are others that care for you, others that love you, many who appreciate your friendship.
You got your reasons, you got your beliefs, you got us...

Free yourself from the shackles of the past and embrace the future with such love that even the foundations of your past will crumble.
You have done this before, I know, what keeps you from doing it once again?
Unleash yourself

The businesscard

I have to admit that I sometimes struggled to restrain myself from splitting his head open with an axe.
His voice so irritating, his face so perfecttly inmaculate. I couldnt stand the sight of it.
One day... onde day...
One day I would make my wishes come true, see him sheding blood, his guts splattered on the floor, his eyes pleading, asking for forgiveness, for mercy, for a swift death.
But none of that would do, no mercy for the perfect, no acceptance for the weak, no tolerance for the hypocrites.
A perfect painting would I paint with his punny blood, pathetic fools work he would seem once his pure body lay sprain on the floor, his pulsing veins still fulfilling their unpaid duty, his heart pounding his life away, poor poor powerless being, left alone to die like a pooch on the street.
I ponder if he would look pretty on my pink wall if I were able to compose with his precious body a work of art.
Thoughts aside I cant help but feel belittled by his display of power, treating everybody else as no more but a slave, there are no coworkers, just slaves ranked higher in his personal power hierarchy.
The white of the paper is probably perfect, not a single stain.
The font carefully chosen.
The ink merged with the paper as if a wizards work had been involved, not a single speck of imperfection displayed.
And the texture of the paper... one could run his finger a thousand times and still get somewhat aroused by it.
And he would not say where he had gotten hold of such a masterpiece, that he would not tell to anyone as he said himself.
Oh, but he would...
He jocked about the value of it by proclaiming that even if his life were at stake, no one would find out where he gotten hold of it.
I would find out if what you say is true, I swore to myself I would.
Sooner or later, but i would...

The Legacy

On a tiny scrap of paper do I wish to writte what I leave in this world and once belonged to me.
To anyone who would read this:
To my youth I bequeath my early years, in which I enjoyed running through the fields and playing with all the woodland critters. There were no boundaries, no time limits, no responsabilities, just the fresh air and the joy you could muster up in any activity.
To the teenagers I bequeath the wisdom I didnt have at that time. Dont sweat the small stuff, dont listen to what others have to say, dont stay inside just because others dont like the way you are. Go out, meet people, enjoy, get drunk, get high, fall in love, get brokenhearted, start planning what you would like your future to be, do sports, make music, make a fool of yourself, get wiser, get stronger, question everything you have been told.
To the adults I bequeath what little time I have in this world. Dont work too hard, enjoy your free time, spend it the way you want, not the way others would want you to, go out, go wild. Love your friends and love your partner if you have one, spend time with them, think everything over, as nothing is as it may seem to be, dont judge others, dont let others judge you.
And last to the elderly I bequeath the energy they need to carry on, the company they long for in the long days they may spend alone in their homes, not wanting to be a burden to anyone but themselves.
The moments of joy in the park, the company of the birds on those sunny afternoons as they watch the rest of the world carry on without them.
And to them I also leave this note, so they may carry on what I started.

I know it may not seem much, but it is everything I have and surely do i hope it will help some of those who by any chance may stumble upon this, my last will and testament.

My time is up, I lived my life, I paid my dues, time after time I fell and then got up yet again with the same energy as all the times before.

And lastly I would like to leave a line to you, you know who you are. You accompanied me on this journey for quite some time, but sadly left before me on a warm spring morning, your kiss the only goodbye I ever got treasured as my most priced possesion.
Soon i hope to rejoin with you, all I ask of you is that you scold me for being late and then hold me tightly in your arms, so we may never again part ways.

To you, the reader of this, my last will, I give my gratitude for spending a moment of your busy life for the sake of reading such a meaningless scrap of paper you probably found by coincidece.
May the years be gentle with you...

Turmoil

The star lit sky gave me no rest on this night.
All the turmoil and caos around me promised many restless nights, if there
was ever to be a good night sleep for me.
How could so many believe in something so cruel, something so erratic, so
random, so unfair.
Was god real?
Doubt it...
And even if he were, i would not bow down to him even if he were to descend
from the heavens and in person asked me to join him.
Suffering, poverty, hunger, wars, terrorism...
If he sat and watched all that happen, he was not worth praising.
I could only fathom what frustration it was for some to hear others praising
god for a job well done by them.
If the operation goes as thank god.
If it didnt, the surgeons fault.
Such a double standard made me mad to the point of having to take a few
long breaths in order to repress the urge to hit something.
Miraculous recovery, its gods work, its a miracle, cant you see? What more
proof do you need?
I would definitely need some solid proof, not just the dreams and delusions
of mad men wanting the invisible dinosaur in the dark room to be real.
As real as the Alicorn sitting next to me while im writting this. Her mane
flowing with the wind, whispering sweet words into my ear, telling me
everything will turn out for the best.
A person that hears voices in his head: a madman.
A person that hears gods voice in his head: a saint, a chosen one, a holy
person and other names like that.
No different to me, those who listen to voices in their head are crazy.
Yeah... I know that Snowy... Yes, i am crazy myself, Snowy agrees.
I am mad myself, yet i have achieved the clarity and state of mind to
aknowledge that i didnt go crazy by myself, the world made me this way.
Or am i just pretending i am mad so that i may seem human?
I may just be wearing a mask, just like everybody else, so that i dont have to
deal with the idiocy and lunacy around me.

If i were to preach Snowy's religion to the others claiming that it is the true
one, i would end up locked up in sanitarium, where all the worlds preachers
should be.

See that, Snowy?
See the madnes?
See the sadness?
See the suffering?
The greed? The hate?
The egocentristic mindset of the society i have to live in?
Good thing you dont have to live here, i dont think you would make it through
the day.
Seeing all the enslaved animals, the poluted rivers, the cut down trees, all
that they call progress.
I sometimes wish i could leave almost everything behind and go live with
chinese monks or with a tribe, no matter the place, just live a simple life.
Almost all i would be glad to leave behind, yet my friends and my partner is
worth going through what seems like hell in order to keep them by my side.
As precious they are to me as a diamond.
You are precious too, Snowy, dont be jealous.

And now i rise, not as a hero, but as a villain to society, the villain this
society deserves, someone to take the blame, to make them open their
eyes to the real world they are living in.
No reward i expect, no sign of gratitude.
Stones, laughter, insults... that i expect.
I will welcome every single blow because i know that at the end of the day i
will be doing what is best for them.
For now i return to the shadows, not really knowing what lies ahead, but
knowing what i strive for.
My eyes will get acustomed to the darkness, my body to the beatings, my
hand to the grip of this pen, for i shall tell my journey to whomever would like
to read.

You will hear from me sooner than you think, untill that time comes, i bid
farewell.

The house and the lake... continuation

Three months had passed since i last set foot on the dusty doormat.
Nobody but me took care of this place and i had had not too much time for that either.
So the dust and dirt had made itself at home.
As i opened the windows in each room, shame overwhelmed me.
My duty to keep this place incorrupt... i hadnt been able to fulfill.
I took care of the cleaning disregarding the time it would take me.
I had plenty of that now that my dreams had been finally crushed.
No job, no place to stay but the house by the lake and all the memories hanging in the air as if they
were silent ghosts judging me with their penetrating gaze.
I came to this place to try out some pills a friend had given me not too long ago.
He told me they would work wonders on my creativity and my self esteem, making me get past the
sadness that threatened to consume me.
I had taken the pills, but internally refused to take them.
I would deal with my problems myself, as i had always done and i would work my way to the top without
the use of external inspiration.
I thought the grief and all the lingering emotions would act as my muse.

Oh, but how wrong was I?
Very wrong... very very wrong...
Nothing had come out of it, no inspiration, no great compositions, not even a decent hit...
And so i sat in the middle of the living room, staring out of the window into the willow and the lake.
The bottle of pills in my right hand and the guitar lying in front of me.
If this didnt work, then i had nothing to lose anyway.
I popped open the white lid that separated me from an endless sea of posibilities and despair and
swallowed one of those little orange pills.

A 20 written on one side, "732" on the other and an obliterating sadness took over me.
I knew that the effects wouldnt kick in until after at least 2 hours, so there were 2 dreadful hours ahead
of me.
I closed the bottle up, took the guitar, leaned back in order to lay on the floor and put it on my belly.
A quick glance at the ceiling revealed that i had missed a huge spot while cleaning and a solitary spider
span its sily web all over the lamp that lifelessly hung from a single cable.
I was usually afraid of spiders, but right now i didnt care that much. And she was too far away and
under control.
That was the only thing i had under control at that moment, though.

I started feeling a tad bit better, so i got up from the floor and hung the guitar around my neck.
A song about a spider? Nah...
A song about the fear of the spider? Better...
I started strickig chords in an apparently random pattern.
Slowly it started taking shape, developping from a ghastly idea to a solid secuence.
I hummed a tune while playing at first, but that just wasnt enough.
I stopped playing but kept humming, i had to get this on tape or something. I got the recorder out of the
guitar bag, placed it on the table, hit the record button and kept playing.
Soon the lyrics started pouring out of my mind, through my gut and into the room.

I dont know how much time i spent senslessly jamming in the room, all i know is that i took a break
when daylight was about to pass away.
Now it was time to listen to what i had been doing for the past 5 hours.

The House and the Lake (Prelude)

"If there was anything i could do..."
"There is nothing you could do..."
"Maybe not now, but, who knows, maybe in the future..."

We had a fight like this once in a while.
It was just too hard for us both to accept that she wouldnt be around in a
short amount of time.
We were aware of the fact that everybody dies, nobody is free from their duty
towards the grave. But her case was different.
If someone died in their sleep from a heart attack, it was a shock for
everybody, but it couldnt be helped.
But if someone was slowly being eaten away by a sickness with no possible
cure, then the situation changed.
We tried our best to live every single day as if it would be her last and as if
she would live forever, but sometimes we got blown away by reality,
impossing itself on us, forcing us to look to its way. There wasnt too much
time left.
She didnt play the violin anymore.

"Why waste time on that?"
"Because art has never and will never be a waste of time"

Sometimes i convinced her with that simple statement. She would get up
from the bed and get the old, yet beautiful and heavenly sounding Stradivarius
violin out of its case. She would play enthralling music, making me loose
myself in its wake, completely possesed by the magic of each note.
Slowly dripping on me, the melody made its way from the violin to infinity.
That sound would always be there, no matter if she would not play anymore,
no matter if she were to fade away. The memory remained and thus she
would live on with me, no matter what, no matter when.
While i listened to her i gazed at the old willow that poured its branches into
the lake.
A lake full of life.
And our house would remain as full of life as the lake as far as we would
make it toghether.
And time played no role no more.
We had to life each day through. Nothing mattered more than her, her well
being, her everything...

Unbroken silence would hang in the air after she finished playing.
She would then put the violin back in its case, sadness stricken picture
painted on her face, a lonely tear rolling down her cheek.
It had become a habit for me to collect that tear and put it in a jar with the
rest of her sisters, so they would stay toghether and keep company.
I would do the same for her as long as i could.
Laying on the bed, her breath steady for maybe not too long, her head on my
chest. I would stare at the ceiling watching time pass by, not giving us a
spare minute to enjoy toghether...