Enclosure in Flame

9. Enclosure In Flame

Of time that we rode
Darkest vows seal my woe
I was seen in your head
The waste flew from
Our throats - desires
Fate is low - bleed
My eye - heal my stone
I will open a door
And bleed in your dreams
Silently praying for
Enclosure within the
Flame of origin

Sometimes I truly feel like I have problems expressing myself without accompaniment. Music is always the answer because it can be so expressive; every note, every crash, rise, fall, every beat or note can convey something completely different. Listen to this song.

No, I don't mean put it on and go do dishes, or flip through the TV or read a book. I mean listen to the song. Turn the lights off, close your eyes, turn it up and let it engulf you. Music is emotion, it is lifeblood. There is no hatred in this song, what it is, what this song is is the end-cap to the soundtrack to the apocalypse. Don't blind yourself and assume that it is full of hate or vengeance, there is so much more to it, layer upon layer. Through Silver in Blood is bar none my favorite album of all time.

I can't possibly begin to explain myself sometimes, and wish people would just listen to fucking Locust Star or Aeon and 'get it.' TSIB is a journey, and 'Enclosure in Flame' is realization, it is a solemn optimism as well as acceptance. It is the main themes from the album, only slowed down, fleshed out, revisited one last time before the last few notes of the guitar slow down, fade out and dissipate into nothing. It is power. It is understanding.

Whenever I hear this song, after the whole ride Neurosis takes you on, the only thing that I can think of is that no matter how brutal it is, no matter what dark places it takes you, it leaves you wherever you want to be, it lets you decide. Does the understanding tone seem foreboding to you? Does the slow, droning, sludgey tone scare you for what could possibly come next? Or do you hear what I hear? Do you hear emerging from a dark place, seeing the sun, not knowing what the fuck is next, but understanding that at this very moment you control it, no matter how scary that is.

I'm an addict.

Reflection.

It was almost like you could feel him regaining consciousness, sense him feeling the warm trickle of blood drip down his face and into his eyes, stinging as it slides its way down. His leg is hurt, you can tell by the way he picks himself up, doing his best to not put much pressure on his left leg, grasping on his way up for anything to catch a hold of, but only finding dirt, rocks and rough, dying bushes around him for support, or lack thereof.

His face was rough, blood caked on, fresh blood trickling over it and his hair a mess, accenting the bags under his eyes. His face was warped and was, for the longest time my definition of violence. Maybe it wasn't the malice in his eyes, the open wounds or pouring blood as much as it was the indifference of the cars whizzing by him that struck me with fear. Regardless of the shape he was in, something was clearly horribly wrong. Something is horribly wrong.

Maybe it wasn't malice in his eyes and just pain, just that the blood, the bags and the pain all reflected that made that strong impression, but the reality and gravity associated with a man on the side of the road beaten and battered without anyone giving a second glance. Whatever it was, the malice was so real and was so thick that it was marring the air around me, each breath I was taking feeling like it was taxing my heart to its fullest. He staggered out into the road, a car putting on its turn signal and switching lanes seemlessly, to avoid both hitting him and engaging him, instead leaving him at the mercy of the next wave of cars, all doing the same, this time a different lane.

The median tripped him up, his body crashing like a wave, face first into the dirt -- narrowly missing a rock. Just when I felt that my breathing couldn't grow more erratic, the closer he gets the heavier the world feels on me. As he picks himself up again you can see the pained look and just how heavy this all is weighing upon him. I want to move back, to turn around and run away, but I'm frozen in place by the sight of him, and the world flying by like he isn't there.

His composure somewhat regained, he lurches forward, stumbling over a rock, but staying on his feet. It is at this point that his eyes raise and lock with mine. I'm locked into his trance now, not able to look away or as much as blink. An overwhelming sense of both fear and comfort has washed over me as step-by-step he comes closer and closer.

The injured left leg drags behind him slightly, the foot at an inhuman angle to match the vacant look in his eyes. Cars are whizzing by behind him still, but the road between him and me feels like an empty two-dimensional plane. His form just keeps growing and growing as he moves closer to me, there is no moving right or left, its just straight through to me.

I can smell the breath and the burnt, rotting flesh now; it is overwhelming at first, but I can't stand to cough, gasp or look away. He keeps sliding towards me, blood trickling down his face, seeping into the crevices on his face and highlighting his already-defined features. My heartbeat quickens and my breathing grows more and more erratic as he grows closer. My legs feel like they are just dead weight now, bolted into the sidewalk I stand on. I can't hear a thing outside of his heavy breathing, or the gurgling sound of the blood in his throat. He stops for a second to spit out some of the blood and wipe it from his face, leaving streaks across the side of his face and neck. He reaches out for me with his bloody hand, stumbling forward letting out a gasp as a car horn quickly fades in, is interrupted by a loud thud and a smash before it fades out, the man now laying on the ground not moving, his body pushed 10 feet back.

If he wasn't dead yet, he was now, but I'm not sure anybody but me knew he existed.

Romance in the key of Z

"C'mon," Jeff pumps his fist into a downed man's face, the man tattered, torn, rotting. "One of you fuckers has to have a ring on you -- Pete!" He looks around, dropping the man, still convulsing, hissing and grabbing towards him, taking a hold of his foot. Jeff pulls only to see the man's mouth, bile dripping from it, coming towards his heel. "Oh, you fucker. No ring, but you sure can bite." In one swift motion he pulls out a handgun and unloads a bullet into the back of his head; twitching again, bile leaking out of his head and finally letting go. "Pete!"

"Shit.. Jeff... Jeff, I think that we have a problem," Pete calls over to him, hunched over next to a tree, a small pile of bodies surrounding him, and blood trickling from his right bicep. His breath is growing heavy as he tries to pull himself up using his gun as a can, only for Jeff to place his boot onto his chest, pushing him back against the tree, gun falling from his hand.

"You didn't get -- Jesus, Pete!" He points his gun at his arm, waving it around as a cigar hangs from his mouth. "You got fuckin' bitten! Reckless mo'fucker..."

"Don't get any ideas, man," Pete starts to hyperventilate, reaching for his gun. "It ain't like that, it ain't like THAT!"

"Did'ja get a ring?" He pushes his boot tighter against Pete's chest, as blood oozes from his arm, Pete's eyes beginning to look heavy, yellow beginning to appear around his eyes. Jeff leans in close, blowing a puff of smoke into his face, looking down at the bite, "because man, that bite don't look pretty."

"It ain't pretty man," he writhes in pain, his skin yellowing more and more, the life seemingly draining from him. "It ain't pretty at all, but I know how it..."

"Ring?" Jeff smiles, cigar in between his thumb and middle finger of his free hand, index finger tapping away the ash, it fluttering onto Pete's wound, ash melting away into the red-turning-black blood oozing out of him.

"Man, I got problems beyond that -- look at my fuckin' arm, man! Hey, hey, hey," he reaches his hand up and points behind Jeff as a snarl and a hiss comes from behind him, a hand reaching towards Jeff's shoulder, only for him to flick the cigar into Pete's lap, grab a hold of the hand and whip the whole body of another decaying, mangled person onto Pete, this time a woman. Jeff glares down at the hand to see a shiny diamond glaring back at him.

"Pete," Jeff pulls his gun out while still keeping his eyes locked onto the ring.

"Jeff git'em offa me! I'm already bit I don't need this..."

"We got ourselves a winner," he pulls the trigger, unloading a slug through the forehead of the woman, spraying ooze all over Pete. Jeff tugs at the arm, as it rips off, the body slumping over to reveal the bullet struck through Pete as well, motionless, decaying and covered in bile. Jeff pulls the ring off and tosses the arm aside. "This one sure is a winner," he inspects the ring closely and begins to head back as Pete's eyes dart open, he hisses and lunges for Jeff, who still staring at the ring lands a kick to the chest of Pete, whips his gun around and unloads two shots into his head, sending him slumping over.

"Fucker," Jeff mutters, eyes fixed on the ring. "Shoulda' known it wouldn't be long," he shakes his head and stuffs the ring into his vest pocket, heading back towards the high concrete walls in the clearing.

----

"Jeff," a flashlight pours over Jeff's body, him reaching his arm up to deflect the light, as the guard quickly swings open the iron gate. "Where is Pete? Did you guys get what you were looking for?"

"Stenches got'em," he mutters, reaching into his vest to pull out the shiny diamond ring, holding it up for the guard to see. "But got me a nice little present from a cocksuck'r," he pats the guard on the back, hard, then trots off as the guard closes the gate. "Oh yeah," he yells back, "somebody better go clean that mess up, must be about 12 of 'em out there."
"Oh man, oh man," the guard looks on. "Poor Pete, man... That old Pete, I mean wow..."

"Yeah, sure," Jeff waves his hand towards him.

"Well, Jeff... That Jodi sure is a lucky girl, eh?" He is shouting after Jeff now, but Jeff isn't listening. He slams the gate shut and locks it, staring back at Jeff, only to turn around to be face to face with another, well, zombie, growling at him and sending him onto his ass. The zombie reaching through the bars, trying to get through to no avail. The guard scrambles for his gun and unloads a clip into it, it finally falling over and hissing its last hiss, spraying its last bit of bile. "Shit! That was fuckin' close."

---

"Jo, hey Jo," Jeff calls as he slams open the heavy iron door to the brick-walled house. "Where are ya', babe?"

"Shit, Jeff," a small blonde girl runs out from the bathroom, white towel wrapped snugly around her. "Ya back already? Its only been -- shit, your a fuckin' mess," she looks him up, and holds her nose. "Ya fuckin' with them stenches again?"

"Yeah," he laughs as he slams the door, fastens the deadbolt and plops down in a recliner, pulling out a cigar and flipping open his cast-iron lighter. The flame dances in front of him as he takes a deep breath, cigar lighting and the flame coming to an abrupt halt as the lid slams shut. "What 'bout it?"

"You are gonna get yourself killed, ya' know that?" She sighs and storms into the bed room, the sound of her rummaging through the closet as he laughs to himself, pulling the ring out and staring at it through a haze of smoke.

"Me? Naah," he laughs smugly to himself.

"Yeah, right," she stomps through the hall back into the bathroom, glaring at him on the chair, her eye catching the glint from his hand. "You are gonna get yourself -- hey, hey Jeff," she moves in closer as he lets the ring drop into his palm, him clasping it shut.

"Hey, hey what?"

"What was that?" She tugs at his hand, him keeping it tightly clasped with a smile on his face.

"What was... What?" The smile on his rugged face is ear to ear now as she keeps pulling at his hand, now with both arms, her towel shifting a bit and Jeff staring down her towel. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"You fucker!" She balls her fist up and pounds on his arm. "You know what I'm talking about, now let. it. go!" She grabs a hold of his arm and pulls with all of her weight, giggling as he struggles with her, him letting go, the ring spilling to the floor with her. She collects the towel and stands up, glancing down at the ground and dropping the towel, in shock. "Is that..."

"Something like that," Jeff leans back in the chair and grins, exhaling a ring of smoke.

"Oh Jeff," she leans over and picks up the ring, holding it up to the light, forgetting she ever had a towel. "This is beautiful, I mean, wow."

"Yeah, I fig'red you'd like that," he pulls himself out of the chair and she jumps into his arms.

"Oh Jeff," she holds him tight. "Does this mean?"

"Damn straight," he gives her a squeeze, then pulls her back, takes a long look at her slick, glimmering body and licks his lips. "Go finish washin' up," he smacks her on the ass, she yelps and jumps. "I'll be in soon."

"Oh, I will.. I'll be waiting," She darts off for the bathroom again, as he calls behind her.

"Oh, and, uh," he runs his fingers through his hair. "If I were you I'd just give that a quick washin' to be sure there ain't nothing on it."

Who are they? Are they a threat to our beliefs?

I realized a while ago that posting nothing but opinions can be difficult for me to keep up on. I write MMA shit now when I have time, at Total-MMA.com where some awesome dudes talk about the art of cramming your fist into some dude's face, or throwing him by his clothes.

For now, this is my dumping ground.

--
Rivers

Walls of perception melt into time,
Waves crash and fall -- evening out.
The horizon blurs over, confusing my senses.

The vanishing point is completely gone;
Like it was nothing but an afterthought.

I should be fooled so easily --
Comfort comes at a severe price.
It can't hold you forever,
And in time will turn and bite.

The venom depends on the level of trust,
the amount of doors left open in plain view.
Being vulnerable is proportionate to being alive.
Being alive is bleeding rivers.

When the river stops flowing, the world stops turning.

-----

Ideas

My ideas are my demons,
I only write to draw them out,
To clear myself of them.
After they've left
I could care less where they go,
What they do or who they touch.
They aren't my demons anymore.

Its your choice what to make of them.