Paper sheets, and padded walls

“Insane”, that’s all he muttered before casually glancing at the watch on wrist.
Pat noticed the iconic Omega trademark and three dial configuration upon the watches face. Often called by his outer voice as the “Ohm’s waste of time and money.” The inner voice had to admit the truth though, it is a very impressive watch even if nothing more than a needful thing to own. “Time is time whether it was told by Mickey Mouse or a Dollar Store special…”
It was the sudden voicing of random thoughts in the first or third person that made his doctor mutter obvious facts. Pat often wondered if the muttering was not the doctors own sickness pushing up into the light.
“Is my fifteen minutes up already?”
The direct questioning of the doctors movements seemed to unerve him. He moved his foot in a nervous tapping.
“No”, he replied. “There are a few more things I need to check before we can…”
Blah, blah, blah was all that Pat heard. Thoughts meandering back to the beginning of the page.
What did I say that was so insane? The truth most likely. Then again, maybe not.

Thick misty droplets of water formed upon the warriors armor. Standing before a roughly stacked alter of stone, the knight watched as wet tuffs of grass and kindling took flame. The ceaseless movement of the air blowing up from below churned red embers into imagined signs and symbols. From within the boundries of the cloud smoke darkened and grayed blending beyond visual discernment with the fog of the surrounding air.
Only the differing heat between the two defined their difference.
“Another log upon the fire”, he spoke. “Another soul traced out for judgement. Soon all will be called to bow before the Light of the coming day.”

“I have been here before. Tired hands tracing out lines upon the same blank page. Written words, gone unread, spoken echoes within my head. This same mildew that rots my skin, tants my soul, bleeding out to fill this room.
I have been here before. The same moth eaten chair whose cloth now stretches molded over a padded and wooden form. Yet it does comfortably supports my bones. Even the cobwebs and dust bunnies still decorate my world with my precious books and magazines stacked preciously near to hand.”

“Woe unto you who know not. Your blind ignorance to fate. It is the same as mine. All is vanity, worthless, pointless, and futile.”

The Sage cautiously looked around.

“The Dreamer dreams things yet unkown.
The Watcher sees from beyond his throne.
The Litch who lies entombed still knows; it is only the Author unto were your destiny flows.”

“Sometimes that guy gives me the heebie-jeebies”, the Sage spoke to himself. “I never know if he just likes repeating things for me to write down or if he is using it as a factory reset… some new beginning to disrupt the conversation in the readers mind.”

Here the Author points out the word of the day must be “beginning”. <
The Sage replies, “Do I even need to write that down?”
Yes… <

“The nurse will be back in and she’ll bring your copies of the lab tests, new prescriptions, your next scheduled appointment, and I also want her to check your BP before you go out the door.”

Pat smiled. “Sounds doable. I reckon I am due for a chat with Linda anyhow. She is always good to get my blood pressure up higher.”

“On second thought, I will just check it again myself.”

“That sounds good, Doc. It all sounds good…”

The White Thread

Souls burn in the thin air of the mountain high places
Found stone piled ever high mounds upward upon which sacrifices lay
Here the sun’s light rises red even as its setting light fades to starlit black
We are but vapor before the Lord
Barely marking a moment in time
What Law have you fullfilled that you may say you are worthy
If not all then the answer is none
For surely you are dead under the understanding of it
We were all dead once
But not for Grace given by the One
The Only Alpha and Omega
Destiny ordained that all would be cast into chains
The choice is ours
Punishment meant only for fallen angel and demon
False gods without power
If it were not for the lust and jealousy of man
Or
Before you now
The High Preist stands
The Great Comforter enshrined in the Temple of the heart
And upon the Eternal Throne
Without beginning or end
Judgement waits all
But many will not even reach this Heavenly threshold
Cast down into a Lake of Fire
Even as the last breath escapes the mouth
As a vapor cast out into utter darkness
To “Repent” your iniquity, “Accept” forgiveness, “Know” that Jesus Christ is the fullfilment of the Law, “Understand” His sacrifice was for you, and the “Resurrection” is the beggining of a New Testament for “All” the families that walk the earth.

You

The days and nights now merge
Trouble and torment cascade together
Sadness and sorrow but a fond memory
The sage’s quill slowly writes
Words trace out upon invisible parchment
Ink drying before the sentence becomes complete
How odd time has become
Blind eyes seeing clearer that those from sparkling youth
The Lord gratefully granting skill in both hands
Even as the right ends its useful purpose
The left grows more in skill

I digress…

The books stack together upon the bench. Many completed for their story was short. The few that remain unfinished will perhaps never conclude. Those that believe being granted everlasting life for Death and Hell have long since past.

The Sage puts down his pen…

Pat sat comfortably in his chair. The chickens and geese happy to be out roaming the yard blessing him with ruckus crowing and the pleasant clucking of a satisfied hen. The only distraction from this pastoral paradise being the occasional black ant foraging up between pants and sock.

“Those little bastards…”

The Watcher paced about nervously. His mind distracted by the events not yet seen…

“No. That’s not right. Events not yet witnessed to.” The Sage correcting thoughts even as the scroll unrolls.

The Watcher’s pacing unaltered continues on. Even as that which is false is spoken of so too the doer is busy exalting of himself. Money and power are of this world. No greater chains were ever forged in the darkest pit. How vain those people are to trust and believe in the words of their own mouth, and works of their own hands.

“I have been here for a very long time. I have watched as the light has filtered in through the many seams and cracks of this reality. I have watched as the myriad faces flowed by. Often our eyes locking for an instant then timidly released by you in sudden fear. I see you. I know what it is to be you. Like a shadow your fate and mine are bound. There is no escape.

“I am as you are as you are as I am.”
Wise words from an even wiser man who saw only after he was blind.

This I say to you, “Repent! The glass, darkly obscuring, soon shall be removed, and you will know even as you are known.”

A New Page from the Book of Pat, verse 12:08:25

I say everything I’ve done, it’s all make believe. Pure work of fiction. Just nonsense I babble on about.
That’s because if I forget to say it ain’t so then some ass will come along and see the reality in what’s what… then I’ll get screwed again. Just like before.

I’ve been here many times. Sat in this very same mildew stained chair. Watched the cobwebs drift down to blow eroticly about with dust bunnies upon the floor. Fixated I am. I get off transfixed at the slow movement of my own decay.
Death doesn’t come easy for the insane.

Today’s extraordinarily special for me. Lucefer and the other angels have come by for a birthday party. Sadly I am the cake.
Long sensuous fingers peel back the flesh from about my eyes. Careful to avoid the layered muscles and most of the nerve clusters. Of course temptation being one of his weaknesses the devil makes sure to pluck a few strings. My mouth quivers in the ecstasy of the moment. Here the party trick of a forced smile isn’t lost upon the revelers. Skin stretches back bringing with it hair. And just like that the wrapping paper is undone.

I don’t scream though. Only the living scream, and everyone knows I have been dead for awhile. I’ve been dead for a very long while.
If it wasn’t for the guilt I believe I’d have quit playing this game of pretend sometime ago.

I ramble… I can’t help it. It came with the dieing. Someday you’ll understand what it’s like when random braincells flash their last gasping breath of memory, and somehow you’re supposed to put shit into some kind of rational order just to be understood. A few expletives would fit here. Feel free to choose your own. I won’t mind. I may learn a new word.

Let’s go back to the party.

Like a birthday cake nimble fingers make quick work of the frosting and beautifully rose shaped flowers. The sweet red cherry jubilee pulses in the open air. Its translucent strawberry gelatin shudders orgasmic from all the festive excitement of the party goers. I take a deep thought and point out to myself that even now at the end I never was much at being the life of the party.

A seething crock pot steams over rattling it’s lid. The noise of the gurgling almost too distracting to think. Pressure builds up from all those lame ass things I should have, could have, but didn’t. No regrets…
A white hot froth simmers up to a boil. Things buried tumble up from beneath. The vapor expelled casts a ghostly shade above it all.

The scene changes. Bloody hands claw out tearing loose the worm eaten cloth about me. A revenant fresh from the rapture, emotions clash with the truth. All will see things at the same instance in time.

I know the purpose of this calling. My seeing and dreaming of things in repetitive fashion. You wouldn’t understand. At least if you’re favored you won’t. So don’t be a nameless Lot’s wife and take an errant look back. What you would see following close behind is a horror that’s been promised since the beginning.

And I know you’re not ready to know what I mean.

The Garden of Our Youth

Where have the flowers of spring gone?
Those were the days of our youth.
Spent in the hope of something better. Only to be wasted by those who did not understand their value.

Places Out of Time

I remember days that lasted weeks.  Left alone to many nights at port, to many times on dusty roads.
Mirages appear and disappear like the voices in my brain.  Landmarks becoming burned deep into my soul.
Out there somewhere I’m looking for something lost or maybe it’s just something I’ve never seen.
You never know what’s waiting there just beyond what you know.
Crazy ad it is, that’s exactly where I want to go…

Another Wakeful Dream

I’ve been here before…

This same dust filled room.

I have sat there in the same worn, mildewed, moth eaten chair, and watched the silent currents blow the cobwebs into movement.

I have watched the micro world’s blown about as dust in the light of each passing day.

There every page of life is written, collected, and bound. The work of a legion of unseen hands.

Every letter, every mark upon the page, created by a host of beings.

Beings that etch their knowledge simultaneously into the condensed lines of unreadable script.

My tired eyes have long ago grown accustomed to the wording.

Upon a shelf of magnitude…

There sits the great library.

Each volume a collection of time. Each traced letter a forgotten second remembered, recorded, and shared…

And each night I close my eyes…

Each mid day nap I close my eyes…

Each careless blinking of the eye…

Another leaf, another chapter, another book is added.

They lay scattered, disheveled from there proper place…

For but a short time.

Until leathery, age worn hands, once more lifts them into their place.

I know. I have been here before.

I will be again.

The Torn Letter, From the Book of Pat

Another Wakeful Dream

I’ve been here before…

This same dust filled room.

I have sat there in the same worn, mildewed, moth eaten chair, and watched the silent currents blow the cobwebs into movement.

I have watched the micro world’s blown about as dust in the light of each passing day.

There every page of life is written, collected, and bound. The work of a legion of unseen hands.

Every letter, every mark upon the page, created by a host of beings.

Beings that etch their knowledge simultaneously into the condensed lines of unreadable script.

Linking infinite worlds and paths.

Information and energy never disappoint

Recorded beyond the boundaries of forever

Relics of bygone years

Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, all things are vanity

Death in a deathless place

Life in a place of despair

There grows the knowledge

Torn from the roots of trees

Grown fruitless in the withering breeze

And when you look for what it is you find

It’s then you loose your place

In the endless fantastic we craft

An Autumn Day

The heart grows weary as the cold nights lengthen
The wicked gather
Adorned in riches of jewels and gold
Where are the vigilant that tend the watchfires
Have they abandoned their duty to glean the crops
Why have the wise men ceased their understanding
Frequenting instead the alehouse and tavern
Alone the traveler wanders
Burdened by knowledge that the gates have all been barred
Highwaymen prowl like lions
The blind, arrogant, and foolish fall prey
And from the rooftops the innocent crying leap
But there are none to stop their fall

Fading the Day

Walking away
Into shades of grey
Walking away
Light fades to night
I imagine you there
Never turning to see
Even as the horizon
Blends earth and sky
A dream was all we had
And now even that has been taken from us
Nothing is real
Not earth or sky
The nothing is real
Not you or I
Nothing I feel
Makes any sense
The nothing I feel
Brings back the light