Bad dreams become horror stories

I had a really weird dream that a very old version of me died...
I saw myself laying naked and skeletal, unmoving.
I looked to be about 85 years old, maybe older
Grey hair, wrinkled sagging face.
Somehow my spirit was outside of myself but yet I was able to feel and see and move.
 I even smelled the decay 😩🤢
I consumed my old frail body like a cannibal, ripping away at its flesh- until there was nothing left
Then the front door to my house pushed open, and a newborn baby me came crawling in.
I immediately grabbed it and held it under me, while I sat upright, on all fours
I started growling animalistically, snarling and gnashing my teeth
I sensed there was danger in the very near to us approaching.
I was ready to annihilate, whatever pushed thru that door next.
Instinct told me everything I needed to know.
I felt in my bones, my next direction and where I need to go
This was my new spirit, I needed to protect it with every ounce of my life
I needed to embrace it and nurture it and would have unleashed pure WRATH for whoever tried to harm it next.

In my mind is a rolodex of scents yearning to blend, textures &  shades wanting to smash together in unity
Dreams  and memories wanting their recreation, poignant moments - forever burned.... Each begging fearlessly for a chance to be showcased,
Whirling around in your mind like a deranged carousel.
Non stop from morning till night your eyes twitch -then begins your top lip
Incessantly going as the brain never stops  thinking, believing, creating, dreaming of ways to fill the life canvas

Dark Fluids

Silent eyes watch you from every shadowy corner 

Where the unloved critters will stay, forever suspended 

Ready to leap onto their next vulnerable prey 

Onto undesirable guests 

The consistent derelicts 

The pleasure I gain from their fears are unwarranted 

But my laugh is wide and loud 
as I find delight in their self-inflicted tragedies 

Parasitic flesh wears thin and bursts 
when the prey holds inner realms 

Perhaps, tread carefully next time, my dear.  
Gently, lightly, softly 

It's best to be more self-aware as you enter the Corvid's lair 

For I've already predicted your sense of false divinity, 

The wrinkle in your disguise is a  validation, not a revelation 

The joker's mask you wore was to hide YOUR own world of despair 

Mirror images of who you want to be- 
LAUGH at you as you strain to steal them 

& the cowards retreat, slinking back into my shadows, 

Eventually withering and fading away into the dark abyss 

(C) Victory

Serpent crawl

Serpent Crawl (C) Victory

(art Vraska, Golgari Queen; the artist is Magali Villeneuve)

Her pensive gaze locked

As she crawls low

Across the Autumn void;

A celestial corpse

Among fallen debris

Exquisitely flawed

Skin peeled back and marred

Scars from those who exiled her

Rousing from hunger and passion

She breathes her beautiful fires

Casts her visions and dreams

From the icy chasm

Of the black oblivion

And when the late-spring rains

She will emerge yet again

Twisting in a circle of fire

Protection from the external world

 From those who destroy

 What they not know  

The Invalid

The Invalid - (Another musing non-poem non-story by Victory

I took a voyage into the innermost realm of the subconscious

Disorientated but determined to find the source of neurosis

A frail form lay beneath a swirl of electrical currents

It had translucent skin, freckled with open lesions

It laid there limp, barely fluttering its pale gray eyes.

I took it upon myself to bring it home to try and nourish it

Dragging it by its weakened limbs, it’s whimpering from an unimaginable pain.

“Almost there!” I shouted back, while launching the body into the general vicinity of reality.

Back in the galley I procured a healing sustenance 

Formed from warm milk mixed with ginger and raw honey

But its delicate lips were wounded by my tarnished spoon

Blood began to spill from its mouth, it was now whimpering in more pain.

I threw the bowl to the wall, disgusted by my inability to cure its ailments.

Back to the galley,

Soaking muslin bandages in witch-hazel and rosewater

I returned to find it sitting upright in bed, smiling at itself in the reflection from the mirror.

“For what causes you such happiness, do you not acknowledge your current state?”

It opened its mouth to speak and out spilled a handful of black millipedes, scurrying quickly to escape

I called from the window to my Corvid familiar, to come feast upon these unwelcomed pests;

The being watched with a smirk upon its face, gesturing towards a notebook and pen.

“I’m sorry about the mess” it wrote. “It’s been a while since I tried to speak”

The great black Corvid hesitated his meal and observed this strange new house guest

I laid the being back down on the bed,

I wrapped the sterile bandages around its skin,

The flesh began to boil and sizzle, as if the cloth was soaked in acid

The being screamed in agony as I ripped the cloths from its parched body

The corvid fluttered loudly about the room, clearly anxious

“YOU ARE MUCH TOO DELICATE TO SAVE.” I screeched, throwing the muslin cloths to the floor.

 “Blood, I need blood” it scribbled furiously, fresh blisters bursting onto the page.

Back to the galley,

I procured another concoction

A tiny slash on my forearm, enough blood to fill a small wooden cup

I returned to find it embracing my Corvid

They seemed to have a voiceless understanding.

It snatched the cup from my hands, slurping loudly and belched

The stench of a thousand corpses filled my chamber

In astonishment I watched as all its abrasions restored

Its weakened frail limbs became firm tanned taut muscles

Milky gray eyes became green crystals

It blinked at me with such amazing clarity

The crow now rested on its shoulder, squawking commands.

I stepped forward and fell right to my knees

I looked at my suddenly weakened pale limbs 

Distrust, pain and anger flushed through me

“How dare you?” I hissed.

The being carried me over to my bed 

One last note it wrote –

“You should have left me in the void”

Crow Bridge

Crow Bridge

 

On top of the bridge;

 They sit calm and brave;

 Taunting the waters below;

 Staring off into open spaces;

 Time appears to sit still;

 They simply pass, never aging.

 Gravity fails to pull at their brittle frail bones;

 Souls that connects straight to Mother Earth.

 The leader spreads its wings;

 Flies off into fathomless depths of the azure

Searching for a fortress of solitude;

Over expansive blurs of land and sea.

The flock has stayed behind at Crow Bridge;

Staring at the galaxies of stars;

Thinking back to the worlds destroyed;

Their fates have been created by your will.

A shapeshifter has suddenly attracted the curious,

All at once they rise in an uproar;

Chase after their leader some more.

What is left behind from them is silence,

As the current of death rushes below.

Slaves of New York Book Review

 

 

 

 

 

Slaves of New York

by Tama Janowitz

 

 

Must have more. Need more now. Send help soon. I am not sure I will survive without more from this author immediately. I need it and I cannot go on without...more!!.

Please, tell me that her other works are congruent with this one. Because this is BRILLIANCE! Pure sheer brilliance. I laughed hysterically, but it was more like scream laughing, it was seriously that funny. And it felt good to laugh that deep into my soul. I suggest you go purchase the movie as well, they are both amazing, and different yet similar.

I relate to Eleanor so hard, we share the same awkward clumsy eccentric social anxiety ridden traits. Please tell me there is more, you can not just simply take this away from me, I want to read it for the rest of my life. Eleanor is my NEW spirit animal. 

 

I savored the last 40 pages as long as I could, begrudgingly seeing the end approaching....NO!

 I forced myself to set the book down every chapter, snapping the book shut.
Can't I still carry it around with me, pretending I am still reading it? *wails*
This moved swiftly upward my list into my top 5 favorites of all times. If you are looking for one clear concise story, move right along nothing to see here. This is more then an ordinary front to back story, this is an accumulation of eccentric artistic souls from the 80s  wave in NYC.

I hate to compare, absolutely LOATH to compare, especially when I am doing a female vs. male author,

BUUUUUUUUUUT-
If you love Brett Easton Ellis as much as I do, you will love her. I am not quite sure what makes them so strikingly similar, their knack for hilarious story telling when it is only a "day in the life of" type of book that focuses on location and character studies. Or, their HILARIOUS dry wit, filled to the brim with delicious sarcasm and satire. Maybe it is their ability to dive straight into the trash and nitty gritty without appearing to lose their prestige.

They both need to produce more novels, similar to these fanatical stories. I mean otherwise I will wither up and die... we don't want that riiight!?

Ok Bye, go read it, right now.

 

Go!

 

BYE!