Archive for the ‘Author’ Category

I compared you to a sun.

The sun is a star

And just like those balls of flame

It started out small, but only with my vision.

For I was once far away

And your light was a pinpoint.

Do you remember?

You were the only star in the sky.

Faint, solitary

With nothing but darkness surrounding you.

That’s all my weary eyes could see – darkness.

But in the middle was a tiny light,

For I saw you from afar.

I know not how, but I found the courage.

I drew nigh.

The light grew,

Illuminating my life,

Revealing a spectrum of colors

That had never before existed.

The colors were your different shades,

The separate facets of your soul.

Anyone could see them, even with a chasm of distance between they and you.

But I drew nigh.

And your colors – a supernova.

From that first letter, scribed by my trembling hand,

A slab of volcanic rock struck my visage.

And I remembered.

Recalled my life, 19 months before.

You were there – a taste

A preview

A preclude

A preface to my life.

I wanted it back.

It was time to commence the novel.

The pages – you provided fresh ink

To the wasteland of my life.

“Are you sure,” you wrote in reply,

“That no one other is in your mind?”

I pondered for a moment

A slice of eternity. 

And realized – I realized YOU.

There was no other

Your presence made that clear.

And though you may not believe

And may not comprehend,

I knew, even then

That I wanted to drown in your light

My entire life.

Even as a child

Even as a nihilist

I knew you weren’t just a girl.

I fell in love with you, then and there.

But then you said “yes”

And my world was unmade.

We stood

And, strangely, you hit me.

Dazed, I watched your laughter.

So palpable

So real.

And even through the pain

The pain of your attack,

I said 

“This one is the one. I finally have her back.”

Was a corpse of a heart

Made new from the ashes

the Eternal knows what to do with dust

Life, exhaled into it once

So it can be again

As many times renewed

AS the changing of clothing

The shedding of skin cells

and the changing of times
Candle wax, a glass entryway

And flies stuck in the tape

My surroundings, trivial and mundane

But I still hear your voice
“Get behind me, sadness!”

The words cascade from your lips

and reverberate through all my intentions
IF you can save me, then surely you can save us all

Mount a rescue!

Split the atoms!

Part the seas!
Power, ferocity

the Root of Personality

The only real Fact 

IN this wasteland of adjectives 
But you let us….

My God, you actually allow us

to describe you with our actions

And forgive us

When we try to be nouns
He on the throne waits with patience

He IS patience

Love, power, wisdom

Looks down on us with longing
You long to be near me?

I mustn’t try and argue

But I feel unworthy

Blasphemous, full of rage

and a crippling weakness

That makes me long for strength 
“Put down your envy” you say

“Grab hold of me. I am the only Power. 

You are only strong

When you relinquish control”
Master.

Savior.

Mystery.

Save.

Fantastical face

Heart like a pulsar

Immaculate body

And eyes like an emerald ocean
These are the things 

The things that give me breath

They give the breath, then they take it away.

Is there a way to make her stay?
Intelligent eyes

Hand crafted soul

Crafted with the very energy and essence of God

He knew what I wanted

Knew what I needed

And he let one of his angels

Leave the heavenly realms
Mortals like me

Don’t ever see

The face of an angel

The form of a goddess
I guess the fairy tales were true

Believe it, receive it….

The love of sacred female



​​​​​​​​

I feel a draining

Like the air lost its content

Empty places, drawn out spaces

And all desire is wanton

 

Me alone, this empty creature

Fell into the sea (of fire)

Deviations, obligations

And who I’m supposed to be (desire)

 

Too much time dreaming

Insufficient action

But if we roll up our sleeves

Will we be rolling up our hearts?

 

Depends on how we wear them

Curled up inside with pink little bows?

Or open and bare, ready to be unwrapped?

We are the vulnerable

 

I’ve decided to risk it

Does this action come from courage?

No, I tell you

I’m just a bored nihilist

 

Ready and willing, come tear me down

Take a look, then tell of what you’ve found

Spin out the twine, unravel the soul

Both order and chaos, my friend and my foe

 

Please just let me feel something

On this swiftly passing day

Then I’ll die and then I’ll rest

After I’ve found my way

 

 


Poison the dropper

Soften the skin

Lean your head back

And take it in
Venom, merci

It’s pumping through our arteries

There certainly is a lot of it

Coursing through me
Chemical rage, chemical failure

It’s everywhere! It’s everywhere! 

Will someone find an antidote?

I’m getting really scared 
The toxins take many forms

They’re chameleonic that way 

Anger, sadness, failure, fate

Can we keep all the demons at bay? 
Society condemned

Afraid to go in, afraid to go out

Saying too much or too little

For fear of what others may say
Bomb out, rebirth

Prep me up for the hearse

Evil belly, wide girth

At least it could be worse
But could it? 

Is it really not so bad?

Can we really find a cure? 

Reclaim the love we all once had? 
There really is no cure

Only a constant treatment

Love and laughter pure

Our new souls, condition mint.

The terrified scientist wanted to speak, wanted to move, wanted to do SOMETHING, but he was utterly paralyzed. He didn’t know if it was due either to sheer terror or to Patient Y’s incredible mind powers, but it didn’t matter. He was alone with the boy, and he knew his life was about to end.

“Didn’t you hear me, Mora?” Asked the boy with a wicked smile. “I want to go outside.”

“How…how…” 

Oh, so you can talk. That’s good. That’s Excellent. Now you can tell those guards to back off.”

On cue, the door behind Dr. Mora began to resound with the frantic pounding of fists upon its glass. There were a dozen men outside, 3 of whom were armed with the electro-magnetic guns, but they couldn’t get in – the passcode wouldn’t open the door no matter how many times they typed it in. 

“I can kill them all, doctor,” Patient Y said dryly. “But I’d rather not. All I want is to go outside.”

“You…” choked Mora. “You…you…”

“Spit it out, Mora!”

Patient Y’s creator, his “father”, knew that Y could have easily made short work of the entire facility by now, but he was dumbfounded as to why the boy had not. Mora was being kept alive for some reason, and though it didn’t totally allay his fears, it at least gave him the courage to speak, though falteringly, to his creation.

“You want to leave the facility? Where will you go?”

Y laughed. “I didn’t say I wanted to leave, my Dear doctor. I only said I wanted to go outside for a while. You know, soak up the sun a bit. Then I’ll come back and be a good little guinea pig. But you…you’re gonna be with me every step of the way, and I need to know I can trust you.”

Mora began to open his mouth as tears cascaded down his face, but he once again couldn’t make any words leave his throat.

“Something you wanna say, doctor?”

“Can’t…cant you just read my thoughts? You’ll know you can trust me then. I’ll cooperate, I promise.”

Patient Y cocked his still bleeding head to the side, not even bothering to wipe the red liquid from his eyes. 

“Yes…yes, I do believe I can, doctor.”

The guards continued to pound on the door.

“Make them leave, Mora.”

Dr. Mora pulled the radio from his pocket and looked at the guards as he began to speak into it. 

“Everybody, out. Don’t follow us. It’s…it’s under control. We…”

“Wait,” said the Patient. “First, we have to take care of those guns. Those are the last three in the building, right? Last ones in the world?”

Mora nodded his head in defeat and began speaking again.

“Get rid of those guns.”

“No,” shot Y sharply. “I have something else in mind.”

“Don’t hurt them, Y, please…”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that again. You call me, Masuta, do you understand?”

The Japanese word for “master”. Mora shuddered and looked back at the guards, only to witness a horrific event. The three armed guards pressed the barrels of their weapons under their own chins and fired simultaneously. The guns, the only three weapons on the planet that could be used to stop the Patient, were now spent and useless. Mora and the other guards realized this…and they all screamed.

“Run!” The scientist shouted into his radio.

Most of them had already taken off before Mora even had the chance to shout. Now, the man was alone with his creation, most likely soon to be the only man left in the whole facility. 

“Damn,” laughed Patient Y, “those guns must be expensive. Only had five of ’em in this whole place, huh?”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt them, Y…”

“What did you say?” Growled the Patient in an inhuman, demonic sounding voice. “What did you call me?”

Mora was frozen in place once again. The intimidation, the power, the sheer evil of this boy – it was all too much to handle. 

“Say it. Say my new name.”

“M…M…Masuta.”

“That’s right. And I didn’t hurt them. They killed themselves. Either way, most of them are still alive. I don’t want to kill, doctor. I really don’t. But you gave me the power. And all life will do whatever it takes to protect itself. Now…let’s go outside.”

The door opened, making an entrance into the world for its possible destroyer. 

Several minutes later, Mora and his patient had made their way outside the facility. There had been no one in or around the building. Everyone knew that Y was now unstoppable. Mora began to think hopeful thoughts about the military, about atomic weapons, but he was trying as hard as possible to keep his mind closed to Patient Y. He failed.

“An A-bomb?” Laughed the Patient. “Really? You hope an entire city gets destroyed just to wipe me out? That’s murder, sir.”

“You’re a murderer!” Said Mora, surprised by his own courage. 

Patient Y put his face inches away from the doctor and smiled widely.

“You’re in no position to say anything about morality, Mora. Now, shut up and let me enjoy this weather.”

A light breeze passed over them as Y looked up at the blue sky. Birds singing. Bright sunlight. 

The perfect day for the end of the world.

“Okay,” sighed Patient Y. “That’s enough for today. Let’s go back inside.”

Mora was confused. 

“What was the point of all this?” He asked.

“I told you,” answered Y, “I just wanted to go outside for a while. And now, I’m going back inside. I’m a man of my word. Except…”

“What?”

“I’m done with the whole ‘guinea pig’ thing, on second thought.”

Everything went black for Dr. Mora.
………….………………………………………….:….
“Dr. Masuta? It’s been three weeks since the escape, and Patient Y still hasn’t shown any special brain activity.”

Masuta, a teenager with no scalp, looked up from his desk at the man who addressed him.

“Yes, I know,” said Masuta with (what sounded like) a heavy heart. “Maybe the outside world was just too much for him. The sights, sounds, smells…all that stimuli may have shut down his special brain functions after nearly two decades spent in a room.”

“It certainly looks that way,” said the other scientist. “It’s very unfortunate. Everything’s unfortunate. The escape, the deaths of the guards who caught him…Doctor Mora…”

“From what I’m told, he was a good man.”

“He was a visionary, Dr. Masuta. He started the whole project. But now, it looks as though it’s time for termination. It’s too bad…you’ve been excellent as our new head of research. I’m sorry you didn’t have more to work with…Patient Y was really something.”

“And you’re sure he’s not anymore?” Asked Masuta with a raised eyebrow. “I mean, has the helmet registered anything extraordinary? Even a flicker?”

The other scientist shook his head.

“Damn. Well, what about his behavior?”

“Still volatile. All he does is scream and tell us that he’s not who we think he is.”

Masuta bore an expression of disappointment and curiosity upon his face…well, at least upon the face that he wore…the one everyone else could see…the clean cut, well manicured face of an academic in his 50s…not his TRUE face. 

“Does he still say he’s really Dr. Mora?”

“Yes. And we don’t know why. All that energy built up in his neural tissue for so long seems to have finally broken him. Delusional, psychotic…he really did hold promise at one time. You should have seen it.”

Dr. Masuta smiled.

“So,” continued the other man, “what are your orders?”

“Termination, of course. Then, start work on another.”

“What are we gonna call this one,” chuckled the man. “Patient Z?”

“No, no, no,” laughed Masuta. “We’ll give this one an actual name…and we’re going to treat her like a person, not an experiment.”

The other scientist frowned in confusion.

“Her? You want it to be female?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no, of course not. You’re the boss. I mean, I know the gender doesn’t really make a difference for the end result of this project…but can I ask why? Just out of curiosity?”

Dr. Masuta stood up and gestured towards the door with his arm. 

“Get started,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

A few seconds later, Dr. Masuta, now alone in the control room, typed a few keys into his computer and pulled up an image on his screen. A hospital bed. A dreary cell. Walls covered with intricate sketches and formulas. And amidst all of this, a man running around in circles with a helmet on his head. A man who looked for all the world like Patient Y…to most people. Normal minds…feeble minds saw what they expected to see. 

But not Masuta. He saw Dr. Mora in that cell. 

“Help!” Screamed the captive scientist. “I’m not Patient Y! I’m not Patient Y! It’s Masuta! He’s the one! Please! I’m Dr. Mora! PLEEEEEAAAASSSSEEEE!!!!!!!”

We can do it

Open sky, adamantine heart

Was tattered yesterday

Sinking in the grime

But we pulled ourselves up

Aggrandizing effort

The wraiths of yesterday,

Our ankles released

Can’t you see? Can’t you believe?

Don’t let them have control 

Our self serving souls

Egotistic impulse

I can do it

Awakening regeneration

Focus on the sky

Arise, make new creations 


What’s truly strange is the boy’s demeanor. He is quiet, tranquil, and courteous to the nurses. The scientists always figured it was an act, as they were sure the subject harbored intense resentment over his very existence, but the readings from the helmet showed otherwise. Though they couldn’t exactly read his thoughts, they could determine with high accuracy the patient’s emotions through his brain activity, and those emotions seemed unwaveringly positive. 

“I sure as hell wouldn’t be happy,” Dr. Grayson said one day in the control room. “Living like a rat in a cage from birth…”

“Are you feeling empathy for the subject, Leonard?” Asked Dr. Mora, chief engineer of the project. “Don’t forget: we must always remain completely detached. It’s the only way to achieve real scientific progress.”

The scientist paused for a moment before continuing.

“And don’t forget…that THING isn’t even human.”

The two scientists watched the camera feed of the room and measured the boy’s brain activity for the next several hours, hardly saying a word after Mora’s brief diatribe. It was now 8 p.m., and it was time for the weekly interview. 

Dr. Mora typed in the code to unlock the heavy titanium door and stepped within. Two armed guards accompanied him, but their guns didn’t contain bullets. Instead, they each contained a highly charged round of electro-magnetic energy set to a specific frequency. This energy was specially formulated to knock out the patient and render even his unconscious mind virtually stagnant. If used on anyone other than Patient Y, however, it would literally boil their brain matter. It was a wonder of modern technology, a true scientific breakthrough rivaling that of the boy himself…but it had a severe limitation. Only one charge could be kept in each gun, meaning that each officer had one shot and one shot only if something went wrong. It couldn’t be recharged either – the force of the energy completely annihilated the gun during each of the tests. Thankfully though, the members of this dark project had never had to use the weapons. Patient Y was always exceedingly cooperative.

The door slammed shut with a robotic thud behind the three men as Dr. Mora walked towards his creation.

“Hello, Patient Y.”

The boy looked up at the scientist, straining his neck as always due to the immense weight of the helmet.

“Hello, Dr. Mora,” he said in a timid, soothing voice. “How are you today?”

Mora chuckled.

“Oh, I’m fine, I’m fine, dear boy. The real issue at hand is how you are doing.”

“I’m wonderful,” the boy began mechanically, “just wonderful. The nurses are taking excellent care of me.”

“How are your studies progressing?”

“Excellently. I learned about mitotic cell rounding today. Quite fascinating.”

Dr. Mora, as well as all the other scientists on the project, were taken aback every single day by the modified teen. He never asked for friends, never asked for company of any kind, never asked about his parents, never questioned authority, and never asked to leave. Not many people in the facility believed in the human soul – but they couldn’t help but reference that intangible word when describing their creation. They had engineered a human being without a soul…nothing more than pure organics and advanced thought processes. 

“That’s great, Y,” said Mora after a brief moment of pondering. “So…no problems at all? Of any kind?”

The boy looked down and put his tongue in his cheek. As he did so, Dr. Mora was overcome by the strangest feeling, as if time was standing still and as if the very fabric of creation hinged on the patient’s next words. 

The boy looked up after what felt like an eternity. 

“I just wish I didn’t have to wear this helmet,” he said.

The guards clenched their weapons tightly as the doctor hesitated before replying:

“My dear boy…why? You’ve never complained about it before. You – ”

“Sir…” one of the guards said weakly.

“Not now,” shot Dr. Mora. “Now, Patient Y…”

“Sir…I can’t move.”

The color left Dr. Mora’s face as he turned to look at the guards. They stood there, still as marble statues, their faces contorted in fear. As Mora approached them though, it seemed as if the paralysis was temporary, as they both began to slowly lift up their weapons. Dr. Mora began to sigh in relief, but before he could even make a sound, the men pointed the guns at each other and fired. They fell to the ground screaming as all their brain processes began to shut down. Blood leaked from their eyes, and…

Oh, Dr. Mora?” said a sing song voice behind him. The doctor turned around, his heart threatening to explode from his chest in fear, and saw his abomination standing there…without his helmet. Blood oozed down the boy’s face, and Mora soon noticed why – the helmet lay on the ground, with the Patient’s scalp still attached to it. 

“W-w-w…”

“So,” said the boy, cutting off Mora’s frightful stutters, “I feel like going outside today.”


His brain didn’t work right – well, it’s actually more fit to say that it worked too right. 

Signals are sent back and forth between our minds and our bodies at a million times per second, precipitated by external stimuli. 

The brain of Patient Y, however, worked at a rate a thousand times stronger than any human in history. He had been this way since birth, and the first few years of his life were spent in a bed with a collection of wires and electrodes attached to his head.

The scientists who engineered him had no choice. Upon birth, his mother’s head literally exploded due to a powerful electro-magnetic pulse emanating from his cerebrum. No one really cared that the prostiture they had used to grow him was dead, but they did care about their own safety. 

The helmet they had constructed, the one built before the organic elements of this experiment had even begun, malfunctioned three days after the boy’s birth. 23 scientists were killed and over half of the facility was demolished – all from the power of the mind.

But they perfected the process, and it’s worked just fine for 17 years. Now, Patient Y is awake most of the time…but he must wear the helmet for the rest of his “life”.