Dancing flames burn
like a womb within a womb
on the walls the shadows turn
and move with the rhythm
nine by nine
the chanting grows
slowing time
within the groves
beneath the silv’ry light of moon
the circle sings
an ancient tune
written in their hearts
The wretched ghastly yawlp,
Oh the aethereal tides
yearning for totality
in destruction
An ocean, a single mass
rotting horseman nigh
a hatred unstaunched
They are our cracked mirror
transmuting fangs, poison
messangers of undying screams
What do they hear?
Perhaps this curse is just the id
wanting not but for to want
enternally unrealized consumption
forever in unsatiated dreams
This decay that surrounds me is,
in the truest sense
permeateing and mutating my soul
And like them we rot,
our hope decaying as we seek
peace as they do flesh.
————————
Sing sweet lies to me
gentle lover
tell me of my beauty and virtue
this bloody face and rotting soul
yearn to be the ties that bind
Devour my sickness
sweet forever
offer me eloquent platitudes
I need to crush your face
beneath the soles of my self-loathing
Burn in my chaos
dear darling
feed my dissonent ambivolence
this pedestol of flesh
will raise me above myself
The romans buy boys
like plastic sex toys
and eat them up with garum
Throw a pound of fat on the fire
the pire
will be broadcast on channel four
The bread and the circus
will be sure to jerk us
away from the funerals of the damned
There is a house called hell
on a river of tears
where virgins sell
a taste of years
waiting to be spent
The maitrede sells youth like wine
and the pious do wait
to taste the divine
ambrosia of hate
rotting on the crucifix
She looked into my soul
with her empty smile
and kissed me with blood stained lips
dripping like ruby tears
and whispered
“I loath you for the way you make me feel”
her breath was cold as steel
steel stiller than her heart
in black and white
and death was her art
We stood inside a marble tomb
a place of death that was my womb
and her kiss made me fade into forever
the words she spoke like sperent daggers
a living statue from aeons past
and in the dark we would gather
and feast until the sun
And in daylight slept
I wept at the sweetness of her blood
With the podcast link going nowhere lo these many months, I’ve finally begun the long trek to temporary internet stardom, soon to be followed by an inevitable fall from grace leading my shameless prostitution of yet another psuedo-hip MTv in a desperate attempt to wring the last drops of attention out of the fading attention of the internet subculture… or maybe not.
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Part II of An Homage to Brooks continues the story started in part I. This short story exists as a combination of homage and fan fiction in the universe of Max Brook’s World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War. In this story, we take a look at another survivors tale of getting out early, and surviving in spite of the odds.
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I just finished listening to the audio book version of World War Z. I thought it was quite good, although I would have perhaps picked some different excerpts from the book. Anyway, I was feeling fictional again, so I thought I would post another short story- in this case, an homage to World War Z by writing my own interview.
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