SeldinTaase

"Well now...aren't you just full of surprises?" Maya's flippant remark could not disguise her irritation or apprehension at Paul's sudden transformation. Paul seemed frozen in time as he stared at Maya - not knowing if she was addressing him or the creature within. It was then that Paul realized that Maya might never have been been speaking to him.  In his own self-righteousness he never considered that whatever these things were they may place no more significance upon humans than humans would a slug or an amoeba. His senses dull and feeble - smothered by exhaustion and the remnants of the Proxitol - Paul could feel Tal'Shen pressing into

Afternoon faded into evening and Lysanna cursed herself as mirror shards carved glyphs into her sick-pink flesh. Iridescent black fluid oozed from her wounds and cast a glimmer like starlight into the room's darkness. That bastard and his lonely little war. she thought. If he hadn't disrupted the parturition none of this would be necessary. Lysanna wanted revenge against that harrowed fool but there was no time; survival of the Scion was all that mattered.  Her life now forfeit; a sacrifice for the childe. She would inflict her wrath upon her sister - punishment for a millennia of diaspora and her betrayal - before joining the others in th

We have heard with our ears, our mothers have told us, of deeds performed in their days, in the days of old: the destruction of nations, people afflicted by plague. they lived through the chaos; but not by their sword were they saved. Hands from the heavens, and the lights from the sky, delivered them into their ruin. We push down our fears; tread round those who would rise up against us, to stand resolute in despair. but still they rejected us; still they disgraced us, and would not travel on with our tribe.   we turn back from our foes, and those who hate us have shunned us we are nothing but sheep for the slaughter We

Paul hid behind the darkness of his eyelids summoning the courage and strength to open them.  The pain in his head was clearing but he watched the room spin as the churning in his stomach made him retch. "Good to see you awake." The voice snapped Paul from his delirium and he pushed himself to sitting. A frightfully well-dressed man sat in a large leather chair near the foot of the bed. "Who the fuck are you? Paul demanded. "I'm Doctor Bailey." he said. Paul fought back the urge to vomit as he scratched at the IV needle taped to his arm. "Where am I? How long have I been here?" "It's rather...complicated." Bailey replied. "Yo

The cacophony from the bar had become endlessly more intolerable. The persistence of drunken voices seemed determined to drown each other out; nothing ever changes. Far away from here, foot steps could be heard walking through Hell. There is no moment connected outside of this place. There is no way to become that which we are not. The stagnation of emotion cracks against the delusions that hold me to this place. No act of faith can measure the experience of evolution and there can be no changes of spirit that will prevent us from falling into oblivion. The necessity of escape becomes an ever pressing priority. Already, drunken phantoms trav

Your presence and your pertness can inspire such devotion But those that look on you in kind cannot recognize their void The multitudes and masses are illustrations of confusion They can't connect within your words and your thoughtful perspicuity For all your love you cannot make their self-absorption disappear The ouroboros and the wasted twist within their endless dance For reasons I have yet to grasp you join them in their dance The sycophant and narcissist seem to command your blind devotion Until the fragments of their façades fall away and disappear Bereft and lonely you despond and stare into the void Unable to hear the

Disconnected Left with the lingering taste of Gin and citrus – cold water cascades – Baritone and Blistered – sound passing through circumstance – there is only emptiness swimming inside my brain. There is no abstract thought – I am blank for the first time in an epoch. I wander the halls inside my head and listen to the noise. In the uncontrollable urge of placing motion to music there is a stillness of spirit that is more profound than the rhythm. Articulation in amplification – synchronicity in sound. Rhythmic oppression of the senses. Repetition of Rhythm. Repetition of Behaviour – Repetition of Con

The street is cold and lonely. Long dead lampposts and bedraggled billboards stand as silent sentinels above shattered concrete and asphalt. Hollow sounds and echoes cling to the ash and dust that billow from underfoot. Empty now are the lanes and sidewalks. Detritus and decay are the ruling class, their power and patience a testament to the frailty and faineance of humanity. Forsaken is the city and consumed are all its citizens; a necropolis of steel and stone is all that remains. The magnitude of my antipathy and the melancholy of my memory are manifest in the ruin this city has become. Staring at the sky, alabaster sun burning through the

Sara hated travel – hated the journey, the movement. Perhaps the wandering of her spirit gave rise to the complacency of her body. Still, the necessity for travel was inescapable. Sweating through a fog of Xanax and Ambien, her hair damp – piled and disheveled like heaps of autumn leaves – tumbled in ringlets against her cadaverous skin.  Her eyes, sharpened by deep shadows, were a tumult of color – Indigo.  Vermilion.  Rust.  Mahogany. Her beauty was cruelly deceptive – perverted by time and corrupted by desire.  Her perfume was the sweet smell of jasmine and acety