CYCLED SENTENCE

This is the beginning of a short story I'm "attempting" to write. I have a basic idea of what my story is about, but so far, I've only written these first few paragraphs that you are about to read.  I figured I would do it in small segments at a time and just post them on this blog as I progress. At anytime I may go back and edit or change parts. To all of you real writers out there, please forgive my sacrilegious attempts of dabbling in your sacred art. To everyone else, please bare with the slaughter of grammar that I lay out before you. Feel free to call out my mistakes and help me improve. You will quickly find that I have no idea as to what to do with these ( , ) those ( ' ) or that ( ; ). Thanks.

CYCLED SENTENCE

BY

LANCE INKWELL

           

I stabbed a man to death when I was 28 years old; four times to the throat with a blood rusted, stuck open switch blade.  The papers called it a “Random Act of Violence”.  Though, when it comes to a man killing another man, it’s hard for me to accept that delicate type of language.  I always felt that “Slaughter” or “Mutilation” would be more fitting for my headline.

 Random, is to suggest, without reason or purpose. As if there was no objective to my violence. As if I had no conscious decision behind my assault of jagged iron into vulnerable flesh.  Sure, I didn’t know the guy.  I didn’t care. And it wasn’t like I woke up with an itch to kill that morning either.  To any outsider, I suppose it may appear that I was just a random guy who randomly went psycho on some poor random bastard.

Well, I’ll tell you something right now. When you go as far as dancing on a man’s chest, just so you can hear the discord music of vital air, as it whistles through the gashes in the bloody throat flute that is his neck, you and him both will know, there’s not one goddamn thing that’s random about it. No, there was nothing random about that son of a bitch being turned into a musical instrument of death, or me being the devil that played it. 

It’s been three decades now of him in the dirt and me in a cell. Had he never took his bandanna off back at that diner, had he just left it around his fucking throat, I would have never seen it.  It would have never triggered the killer in me. That symbol, the second he exposed it, it was clear to me. He was the enemy and he must die.  

CHIPS AND DIPS

Overheard conversation between two men at a Chinese restaurant:

"I seen on Facebook that they are gunna start putting  microchips in people soon."
"I saw that too!"
"Yeah, I guess it's so the government can track our location from space and some shit. Anywhere we go, they'll be able to track us. It's bullshit! That's an invasion of our rights."
"Who in the world would want that? You couldn't pay me to do that. I don't want people knowin' where I'm at."
"Well the article said that you would be able to buy shit with it like it was a credit card."
"That's fucking crazy! No thanks. I'm doin' just fine without it."
"Same here. Let's mosey."

Both men put on their jackets and grab their iPhones from the table.

FALSE AMERICAN IDOLS

Every night I find myself wishing that something would come along and put an end to all this mediocre, insincere shit, that the majority of the world calls music.  I'm not just talking about my opinion on what style is best, I'm talking about all genres. I can't find anything new that shakes me. Sure, every now and then I find a great song or two, but where's the beef America? Can we please take back our music from pre-teen girls and stop jerking ourselves off to the likes of Maroon 5. I just want some substance. Something that turns on my caveman brain! I say, whatever music is allowed to be played in shopping malls, shouldn't be allowed on the radio. It's all bullshit, and it's bad for you! Listen to what you will, but I've had it! This shit kills me inside. To hear all this auto tuned, soft core, limp dick, product pumping junk that is supposedly banging, just kills me. SO I declare, on this eve of my brothers death one year ago, that I will dedicate my life to the pursuit of honesty, truth, and an extreme retaliation towards all "artist" who fake the funk, pretend the pain, steal the soul, jive the jams, bubble the gum, polish the pop, soft the rock, crap the rap, level the metal, sell an image, demographic the magic, distribute but don't contribute, bunk the punk, and last but not least....WISH TO BE AMERICAN IDOLS. The whole dream of "making it" needs to be tarred and feathered. A real musician doesn't write music to "make it", They just write to make music. GIVE ME BACK MY RAW, UGLY, GRITTY, BARE BONES, IMPERFECT MUSIC! I know it's just music, but honestly, good music is about the only thing that makes me feel much of anything anymore. It's a sacred vibration that comes from within. If there is such thing as a god, or a universal truth, I guaran-damn-tee that it will be found in music! I here by pledge my life to writing music from my beating heart and rotten guts, waging war on today's music industry, and burning all the false idols to the ground! Hail, hail, rock and roll. Look out America, I'm a comin' ta getcha!

DEAD ELECTRIC and TWICE ALIVE

A PIT OPENED IN MY CHEST
A BLACK SINKHOLE THAT SEEMED TO SWALLOW THIS WORLD
TO BECOME THIS WORLD
TO BE AS ONE WITH THIS WORLD

NOW IM THICK WITH ITS FILTH
AND RICH WITH IS CARNAL TRUTHS
SOMEHOW DEAD ELECTRIC AND TWICE ALIVE
A SINGULARITY OF THE PUREST HATE
IN COPULATION WITH THE INFINITE DENSITY OF THE TRUEST LOVE
CANCELING EACH OTHER OUT IN CONFLICTING CLIMAX
PLANTING THE SEED OF ABSOLUTE VOID
OBLITERATING EVERYTHING THAT WAS HUMAN IN ME
WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY GIVING BIRTH TO MY NEW BEING

REBORN A SELF-MADE BASTARD BEAST
BITING THE HEAD OFF THAT WHICH GAVE ME LIFE
NOW SEEING IN NEW DIRECTIONS
HUNGRY FOR RAW INTERACTION
NAKED ATTRACTION
RUNNING WILD
LIVING ON THE LIVING

I AM THE NEW JAWS OF LIFE
RIPPING AT SPACE
TEARING AT TIME
LOOKING FOR SOMETHING FUN TO PLAY WITH BETWEEN THE KNOWN AND THE UNKNOWN
ALL THE WHILE VIVID WITH EXISTENCE AS RED AS THE BLOOD ON MY FACE
WITH DEATH BY THE THROAT, AS IT HAS MINE
KNOWING I WILL LOSE, BUT AT LEAST I'LL KNOW THE TASTE
WHEN THE HUNTER OF HUNTERS DRAINS MY BEAST BLOOD COLD

PERHAPS TO BE BEAST IS TO BE HUMAN
AND WHAT I THOUGHT I WAS
NEVER WAS

EXTINCT I WILL GO
A PIT WILL OPEN IN THIS WORLD
A BLACK SINKHOLE TO SWALLOW ME WHOLE
TO BECOME THIS WORLD
TO BE AS ONE WITH THIS WORLD