Archive for the ‘philosophy’ Category

These are a few of my favorite passages from Milton’s “Paradise Lost”. Not only do they pull at my heart and personality like no other literature can do, but they also seem to be the most well-written verses found in the whole poem.


Book IV: 75-80

Which way I fly is Hell, myself am Hell

And in the lowest deep, a lower deep

Still threat’ning to devour me opens wide,

To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heaven.

O then at last relent: is there no place

Left for Repentance, none for Pardon left?



Book II: 623-628

A universe of death, which God by curse
Created evil, for evil only good;
Where all life dies, death lives, and Nature breeds,
Perverse, all monstrous, all prodigious things,
Abominable, inutterable, and worse
Than fables yet have feigned or fear conceived,
Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimeras dire.




Book I: 106-109

All is not lost; the unconquerable Will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield:
And what is else not to be overcome?




Book III; 298-302

So Heav’nly love shall outdo Hellish hate

Giving to death and dying to redeem

So dearly to redeem what Hellish hate,

So easily destroy’d, and still destroys

In those who, when they may, accept not grace


Book III: 335-343 (The LORD speaking)

“New Heav’n and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell,

And after all their tribulations long

See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds

With Joy and Love triumphing, and fair Truth.

Then thou thy regal Scepter shaft lay by,

For regal Scepter then no more shall need,

God shall be All in All. But all ye Gods,

Adore him, who to compass all this dies,

Adore the Son, and honour him as mee.”



Book III: 372-382

Thee Father first they sung Omnipotent,
Immutable, Immortal, Infinite,
Eternal King; thee Author of all being,
Fountain of Light, thy self invisible [ 375 ]
Amidst the glorious brightness where thou sit’st
Thron’d inaccessible, but when thou shad’st
The full blaze of thy beams, and through a cloud
Drawn round about thee like a radiant Shrine,
Dark with excessive bright thy skirts appear, [ 380 ]
Yet dazzle Heav’n, that brightest Seraphim
Approach not, but with both wings veil their eyes,



Book III: 702-721

For wonderful indeed are all his works,
Pleasant to know, and worthiest to be all
Had in remembrance always with delight;
But what created mind can comprehend [ 705 ]
Their number, or the wisdom infinite
That brought them forth, but hid their causes deep.
I saw when at his Word the formless Mass,
This worlds material mould, came to a heap:
Confusion heard his voice, and wild uproar [ 710 ]
Stood rul’d, stood vast infinitude confin’d;
Till at his second bidding darkness fled,
Light shone, and order from disorder sprung:
Swift to their several Quarters hasted then
The cumbrous Elements, Earth, Flood, Aire, Fire, [ 715 ]
And this Ethereal quintessence of Heav’n
Flew upward, spirited with various forms,
That rolled orbicular, and turned to Starrs
Numberless, as thou seest, and how they move;
Each had his place appointed, each his course, [ 720 ]
The rest in circuit walls this Universe.



Book IV: 201-204

Of immortality. So little knows

Any, but God alone, to value right

The good before him, but perverts the best things

To worst abuse, or their meanest use.



Book V: 574-576

As may express them best, though what if Earth,

Be but the shadow of Heaven, and all things therein

Each to other like, more than on Earth is thought?



Book V: 520-522

Attend: that thou art happy, owe to God,

That thou continu’st such, owe to thyself,

That is, to thy obedience, therein stand.



Book IV:725-735

And starry PoleThou also mad’st the Night,
Maker Omnipotent, and thou the Day, [ 725 ]
Which we in our appointed work employ’d
Have finisht happy in our mutual help
And mutual love, the Crown of all our bliss
Ordaind by thee, and this delicious place
For us too large, where thy abundance wants [ 730 ]
Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground.
But thou hast promis’d from us two a Race
To fill the Earth, who shall with us extoll
Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake,
And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep.


I stumbled upon a wood

A transparent Grove with silver lined trees

At the behest of my master, Mother Instinct

Mister Self

This bio-spiritual entity

That seeks its own comfort

and that of none other

The trees were shining,

With the voluptuous Fruit of Folly

Dangling from their jagged arms

And the grass sparkled

I was filled with longing

But upon touching these things

And seeking the fruit

My phalanges passed through them

As they would through mountain air

Mister Self…Mother of Feeling…

For what reason have you led me here?

Connections are made

Microscopic conscience

The mechanized soul


I see goodness

I witness the coming together

Of souls, minds, ideas


But are the thoughts our own?


Perhaps not for long

When, through hunks of metal

Consciousness is duplicated


Does the soul exist?

If we can, in fact, create it?

Your network–

Streaming doubt into my veins

There are ghosts, surrounding…


They are data. They are bytes

Bytes and bots–

As the Spirit of God is breathed over the waters

And as the wind moves reality

We know not, we see not

Where the invisible originates


These thoughts are cliche

Familiar, but it’s true

Not science fiction

The trees shall clap their hands

And the mountains, sprint as the antelope

For on this day

This minute fraction of death and decay

In the midst of the universe

Life will arrive

A breath of freshly crafted oxygen

Filling the lungs of all beasts

Whether cattle grazing, birds nesting

Lizards leaping, lions roaring

Or man himself, in this destruction he has helped to create

The life

The breath

The dry made moist

And the valleys filled in

And the crooked roads straight

And the crags bowed low

So it is with this day

As death becomes breath

And we receive

Image result for afterlife

Think of your deathbed. Visualize your fading form surrounded by your friends and family (or, God forbid, alone). It’s all about to pass away. Everything you have ever thought, seen, smelled, touched, and heard is going to disappear as if none of it ever existed. What is the purpose of this decimation? Better yet, what was the purpose of the life that preceded it?

Perhaps there was no point at all—no meaning for anything. If everything eventually ceases to exist, then this certainly seems to be the case. From humans and ants to stars and pine trees, everything in the Universe, organic or otherwise, seems to die at some point. We, however, are the only tenets occupying this space called reality who contemplate this fact. This, I believe, is one thing Nietzsche may have meant when he called Man “the sick animal”. Save for instinctively avoiding it, other animals don’t seem to ponder on their termination or on what may happen afterward.

All things will face this inevitable door, whether beastly or rational, alive or inanimate, religious or secular. So, other than trying to enjoy the short time we have as much as we possibly can, the business of life seems to me to be about understanding this eventual end. There are many different beliefs about what the future holds when our hearts stop, but I would first like to discuss what is perhaps the most popular assumption in our modern climate of nihilism—that, after the neurons stop firing, there is nothing.

First of all, we should realize that no human being can effectually visualize the concept of “nothing”. If you try to think of “nothing”, you will end up thinking of at least a color (white or black, whatever people think of when they try to conjure up nothingness. This, to me, is why nihilism falls on its own head, though the attitudes and the actions resulting from the state of mind may certainly remain). True emptiness, if it is even possible, is neither colored nor tangible. One may say, “There was nothingness from our perspective before we were born.” But we didn’t even have a perspective before birth. I will come back to this in a moment.

Secondly, can you really imagine that every single one of your hopes, dreams, and experiences will vanish instantaneously as though it all never existed? Some say that they can imagine this; that the state of non-being after death correlates to our state before birth or during sleep.

But our “souls”, if you will, are actually most certainly present during our slumbering—not a simple “non-existence”. Our brains are working constantly throughout the sleep cycle, whether through dreams or other unknowable processes, and we simply have no memory or awareness of the unconscious.

As far as death’s nothingness being likened to the state before we were born, we didn’t even have any experiences at all during that time, for we did not exist yet. So, how can our “non-existence” after death be compared to our non-existence before conception? Things must develop, evolve, or be created before existing, before being “things” at all.

Incidentally, this is why I believe the Big Bang (or whatever the birth of the Universe truly was) was caused by something. How can something come from nothing? If nothing existed, then how could there even have been an explosion? Unless existence and the causal ground for existence has actually always existed in some form as an absolute, an ultimate force of action that we can never comprehend.

So, to say nothing of the massing reports of near death experiences evidencing the fact that there is something there, the past few paragraphs have explained why I truly do believe that death is not the end. What happens then? I don’t pretend to know the full answer, as no human does, but I do have an incomplete, vague idea of it. Regardless of whether that belief of mine is correct, it will still remain vague and only partial until the day when I die and actually experience it. For I am of this realm…no human mind can contain the complexities contained in the next plane of existence. But many minds have certainly tried, though.

Buddhists and Hindus believe in an almost endless cycle of reincarnation, coming back after each death as a new living being until they reach atonement (At-One-ment) with oneself and the universe (Nirvana, Moksha)

The ancient Jews believed in Sheol, a place where the dead are merely ghostly afterimages which take no account of Jehovah and of which Jehovah took no account (this belief is the closest one to believing in “nothingness” after death that I have found within religion, though I am not very knowledgeable about the subject).

Ancient Egyptians believed that the state of the corpse was integral to the quality of the afterlife, unlike many religions which profess the human body to simply be an empty shell after death. They also based their entire lives on their belief in the afterlife, coming up with countless rituals and mythologies to prepare people for the inevitable. I love Egyptian mythology, but my mind has a real problem with the fact that a lot of what they believed about a “good” afterlife only related to those who “deserved” it due to their political or social status (this, unfortunately, is the attitude of many religious systems to this day, whether about the afterlife or the quality of the current life in regards to respect and fair treatment).

A more humorous example (at least to me) is the ancient Iranian belief known as Zoroastrianism. This religion purports that the path to the Afterlife is a lengthy bridge known as the Chinvat Bridge. All must cross this overpass after death. If one has lived a moral life, then the bridge widens the further you go, making crossing into the House of Song simple and straightforward. If one has lived a bad life, however, the bridge will turn over on its side and the soul will have to walk along the narrow edge, all the while being relentlessly attacked by a witch.

Belief systems are obviously important in regards to our speculations on eternity, and they are also important for other reasons. There are a slew of different ways to look at mythology. Some of it is exaggerated history based on dynamic personas. Some of it is made up of colorful imagery to express metaphor, the writers of such stories knowing full well that the miraculous events did not in fact happen in reality but are simply expressions for true events or attitudes. A few mythologies, such as bedtime fables, were invented to teach children how to behave (all true mythology actually develops the human race into something better, brings order and structure to chaos through things such as chants and rituals). Some of the stories probably came directly from the teller’s dreams, and whether any given mythology was presented to its maker by dream or not, I still believe that mythology is basically a “group dream” and a dream is a “private mythology”. To me, mythology is basically metaphor, but metaphor of a most vital and even holy kind. The stories show different facets of the human psyche – darkness, light, evil, good, Kings (power), servants (powerlessness), Knights, princesses, quests, visions, magic, Angels, demons, dragons, and much, much more than could ever be written down by any one person. Not only are the tales essentially initiation rites for the human to pass from one experience to the other, but they also touch something deeper—something BEYOND human. All mythologies are mankind’s way of expressing the inexpressible in an artistic way. They are gateways into the numinous, portals into a deeper understanding. They are the masks of God. As Saint Thomas Aquinas once said, the only way to know God is to realize with total conviction that he is actually not knowable. The Absolute Being is further beyond the understanding of mortal men than our minds are beyond the understanding of invertebrates. And yet, despite being so far off, so unlike God (or “Ultimate Reality”, whatever one chooses to call the Self Sustainable), we are still somehow inexplicably linked to the Beyond. We create. We bring works of art into the world. We beget children. We love. In my opinion, there are many reasons for us to believe that there is in fact something beyond the reality we can see and touch. The rich mythologies and works of art produced by our species over the centuries are just a few examples of many. Reason, rationality, and inherent morality that may differ between different peoples on the surface but actually rings true for all of humanity about the important things (though some do kill, I believe every human being has at least at one point in their life known that murder was wrong. Whether the act is committed or not, we still know that it is contrary to the grammar of being). There is SOMETHING out there, copiously but incompletely referenced by our belief systems…and I believe it is INSIDE us as well.

But no matter what, myth is not accurate history. It may be garbled history, but it is imprecise. There are rarely dates for the supposed events, and there are never reliable witnesses. I’m talking, of course, about myths like the Greek and the Egyptian gods. Some mythological figures were at least inspired by true events. I believe there was a historical person who could be considered the first Buddha, and creatures like dragons, which are found in every belief system imaginable, are quite obviously inspired by dinosaurs (or at least crocodiles…but I don’t buy it). However, hardly any mythology purports to exhibit a complete or at least believable history of the events in question.

Then something interesting happened shortly after the….a man claimed to be God. Not simply divine like pantheistic “all is one” mystics, but GOD—the self sustained, self existent ground for being; the playwright behind the curtain. And he came from a group of people, the Jews, who were of all ancient civilizations the least pantheistic—they believed that God was separate from man. Near man maybe, by means of love and covenants, but certainly not the same as man. Yet here was a human being uttering words of downright blasphemy to the ears of most who followed his own cultural religion (Judaism). He even talked of forgiving sins, cancelling out corruption as if he were the chief party injured by every offense we commit, which would be impossible unless the man really was God. And the most curious thing is that, based on his teachings and his conversations, he didn’t seem at all insane or even mentally unbalanced. How could a sane person say that he was God in the flesh? He couldn’t…unless what he was saying was true.

You may reply that Christ is just another legend, that we have no reason to believe that he truly said these things or that he even existed. I don’t subscribe to the “legend” theory at all, and I will explain why in a bit as well as include some things I consider as evidence in his favor. But first, let’s think about what the whole story actually means, whether it is valid or not.

The Absolute, the Unbroken comes down (Immaculate Conception) into the presence of the derivative, the broken. The Absolute is itself broken by becoming organic (the God-Man). It is then further broken by means of violent action (torture, Crucifixion). But, by super-physical paradox, the broken Absolute still retains the power to put Himself back together.

And that is precisely what happened. The Broken Absolute became whole again, and the event itself was so powerful that it affected everything and everyone in existence, whether we can see it yet or not (time has no bearing against the Absolute). Even acknowledging this iconoclastic occurrence (still more, immersing one’s self within it—living by it) gives one a great power—a power that changes lives and makes the world a better place. Even if it hasn’t happened yet within our limited perception (we are slaves of time), all existence has been made whole.

Jesus Christ is the archetype for death, and conversely, the archetype for life. Nothing else answers the question of death so beautifully, so HISTORICALLY as the One who defeated the Reaper himself. I personally cannot accept his story as merely mythical. Historians who lived close to the time of Christ such as Tacitus and Josephus mention Him and His miracles, and these people weren’t Christians. The most compelling non-Christian account is that of the Talmud, an ancient collection of Jewish writings. The writers of this document didn’t believe that Jesus was the Messiah, but they certainly believed that he was something supernatural. “Jesus the Nazarene practiced magic and deceived and led Israel astray.” These ancient Jews knew he existed and that he performed miracles. If what was written about him in the Bible were untrue, then there should be all kinds of documents from people in that time period refuting it, saying things like “no, he did not exist,” or “no, he did not heal people.” Even the resurrection was reported to have been witnessed by at least five hundred people (1 Corinthians 15). And yet, where are the documents denouncing this? With how often the story is attacked today, it surely would have been disproven very quickly by whatever means possible two thousand years ago.

Also, if you compare all the copies of the New Testament that have been made over last two millennia, you will find through the science of textual criticism that it has changed or been edited even less than works such as the Iliad and the Odyssey. We have more evidence for Jesus existing and being the divine Son of God than we have for Alexander the Great and some other historical figures. There is much more evidence, (it even hints at this in the Bible—the last verse in the Gospel of John) and I encourage you to search out the evidence for yourselves.

If there was no validity to Christianity, then it would never have even gotten off the ground. What’s more, the early followers of Jesus persecuted for their beliefs would have been tortured and executed for nothing. Few would die for what they know to be a lie, and these were actual witnesses to his bodily presence on this planet. Also, some people seem to think that Christianity is all about power for the strong and subservience for the weak. While this may have been true in later years with evil events such as the Crusades, the very earliest Christians had horrible lives. Nakedness, famine, poverty, homelessness—usually only ending through death by torture. They don’t strike me as very powerful—and yet, in a different way, they were the most powerful people on the planet, though they didn’t use that power to keep other people down. Power over sin, power over death—and that power is offered to every one of us.

Think about your death again—the despair, the inevitability, the futility in escaping. It will come to you no matter what you do with your life. This fact has paralyzed me with fear on many occasions, especially when I try to sleep. I’m still scared. As I have said, no one has the complete picture, the total answer. No matter how firm my belief is, death is still frightening. But I do have hope—and that hope is found in Christ Jesus. Most mythologies seem obviously metaphorical—but not this. There are many stories of gods dying and rising again—but might those stories be prophecies of what was to come? The real, the solid resurrection story—the defeat of death. I don’t remember Odin “tasting death for all men”. As C.S. Lewis said in one of his essays, “Myth Became Fact”. True, historical—but still retaining all the metaphysical and psychical qualities of myth.

A lot of people have a problem with the concept of even needing salvation. We disbelieve in the inherent corruption of man. Aside from those who are obviously evil, are we normal citizens really corrupted by sin, regardless of how closely we adhere to morality?

For the moment, don’t think of Him as dying for your sins. Think of Him as dying for your death. Think of all death in the universe as a result of some corruption, some brokenness. Animals and even plants are as corrupted as humanity, evidenced by the fact that they die. This is probably not due to their moral failure, for they have no morals. They are corrupted in ways we can never know, for the beginning of time happened too long ago for us to remember it (for even Genesis, whether taken literally or figuratively, is only a fragment of God’s ways). And could collapsing stars, the Big Bang, and other cosmological happenings also have something to do with corruption? Corruption caused by spiritual beings far beyond our comprehension, beings that may themselves correspond to astronomic bodies such as planets? Or could they have been corrupted by us, corrupted long ago by creatures that didn’t even exist yet? For the universes and non-corporeal realms may not be governed by the laws of time as much as we presume.

Or maybe supernovas and the like have nothing to do with sin and brokenness, and they were simply made to be created and destroyed beautifully for the sake of splendor and for other reasons only the Lord knows about. We will never know—but it brings up an interesting point.

Could this sin, this corruption, these collapsing stars within us and without have been allowed to happen for the sole purpose of beauty—a beautiful disaster? For it can be argued that if something you cherish is beautiful before being broken, it may become even more pleasing in your sight after being put back together than it ever was before.

So it is with our Father.



As I dip my quill to begin the dictation of these first lines, six hours have passed since I began reading through the records of the library. Oh! How Happiness and I miss each other already! However, she is likewise very busy currently tending to our newborn daughter and to the Rhinocydont hatchlings – which reminds me that I must write quickly, for Dienok and I are due for a hunt at dawn. Still, no matter how quickly I write, I know that I will have to stay awake throughout the whole night to finish it (perhaps even after the hunt).

I am not alone, however. Our cat, who the whole kingdom knows by the title, “Princess”, is with me, curled up next to my papers at this very moment (she has learned not to spill my ink or eat my parchment, for she will have to sleep outside if she does it again). She is always with me when I am alone. Her presence has proved to be an immense comfort to me most of the time, though I do wish that she would leave me to myself on occasion.

Now, back to hurrying. About two minutes have passed since I finished reading the works of Alpha, Amoris, and Steer (the records do not show who dictated Steer’s poetry for him). The content of each scribe’s work is written beautifully, but it lacks the substance of narrative integral to storytelling. The whole Jungle has long wished that I would write a second book, but my life is so perfect now that I have constantly had to tell them that I have nothing to write about (I once attempted to compose a book of poetry for Happiness, but have since hidden it, for it cannot do her beauty and excellence justice). So I have now decided to give the Jungle Dwellers what they want with another book. But, as a wise man once said to me, “It’s not about what you want. It’s only about what you need.” And this whole world needs, in fact, desperately requires that the chronicles of my late friends (the REAL heroes of this Jungle, no matter what anyone, including Happiness, says) be made known.

Most of this story came from Alpha’s diary, and the only reason I even read it is because Happiness and the bovine tribe have convinced me that Alpha would have wanted it. It has been the strangest thing I have ever experienced – entering the mind of a mind reader.

The writings of Amoris were cryptic and prophetic, for she composed in detail the periods of isolation that the heroes experienced, hundreds of years before the events even occurred.

I believe I have captured the essence of my beloved Steer’s mind and soul due to heartfelt and cathartic poetry he left behind. This gives me the greatest joy of all, though it does make me wonder what he might have truly thought of me at least on occasion when he was alive. But the same goes for Emanuel, the Rhinocydonts, and, most of all, Snapper. Not necessarily about what he thought of me, but about the fact that all the inhabitants of the Jungle, myself included, may not have truly known him or any of these heroes at all.

When I am finished (whether before or after the hunt), I shall go over the whole work with Dienok for his approval. I wouldn’t want the public’s intimate knowledge of how his race once was to be a reason for him to return to his home world with his dragon kingdom (which Happiness could do for him at any time; but, thank the Creator, they have decided on remaining in the Jungle indefinitely).

I do believe that this is enough of a preface, so I shall now begin the tale. Please, enjoy it, for the sake of my fallen friends.




– Contentment (written signature)



Chapter One:

 Though it was eight o clock in the morning, there was no light. The trees of the jungle grew too close too each other in this place for that. It was like a sanctuary of darkness – a cathedral of black where the only things to be made out were the sharp smells of flora and fauna. Perhaps this place had existed since the dawn of time – no – far older than that. More like since before the dawn of time. Before the worlds. Before the wars. Before Happiness.

Except, of course, for the fact that this place contained life. Amid the immense trees and the for once silent fairies was a horse. The hunters did not know exactly where it was located. They just knew that if there was one place in this jungle that an escaped dumb beast would flee to for protection, it would be here.

The two warriors couldn’t even see each other, and they dared not even breathe, much less speak, for fear of startling the hidden horse and forcing it to escape further into the blackness. Thankfully, these two could communicate with one another via their minds.

“Do you smell him, Snapper?”

“No, Alpha. But I smell something else. Something not right…out of place…wait. Wait, I can smell him now.”

“How far?”

“We must walk another hundred feet. Cautiously.”

          “I know, Snapper. We must be very quiet. He could run away at any moment.”

“No. Cautiously. There is something else here with us.”

Alpha and Snapper moved on. The fierce Kappa warrior had a difficult time in doing so, for he was very heavy. Alpha’s agile, silent form had already succeeded him by several yards. But it was more than just the fear of making noise that held Snapper back.

It was the fear of the “something else”.

As they continued to stalk, Alpha took great care to not let his hidden thoughts about Snapper reach the turtle’s mind. Snapper had been different as of late. He didn’t eat as much. He was easily startled. And, most disquietingly of all, he had lost his edge in the art of sword fighting. Alpha would never forget the time he caught Snapper rumbling up his cannon in anger when his twin brother beat him in a sword match. Alpha would have intervened, but thankfully, Snapper collected himself quickly. His brother didn’t even realize that Snapper’s cannon was preparing to fire, which would have completely decimated the winner of the sword match. But Alpha did. And he knew that Snapper could somehow sense a new presence within the Jungle. Something that did not exist before. However, when asked about it, Snapper always shrugged his massive shoulders and grunted. Was this new presence of the Alpha? Or the Omega?

They could only guess.

“Halt,” said the telepathic voice of Alpha.

“What is it?” thought Snapper in reply.

“There is light. Sunlight, stabbing through the trees.”

“Nonsense. There are no open spaces in this part of the Jungle. Oh, you are right. I can see it now. And there’s the horse.”

The sunlight rained down upon the horse, briefly illuminating his black body before he moved back into the shadows. His head was at the ground, eating what looked like mushrooms. This horse, like so many other things in this Jungle, was different from horses belonging to other worlds.

For one, the horse was actually owned by another horse. The owner’s name was Swiftmane, and he was the Jungle’s lead breeder of dumb horses. Whenever he was not jealously wishing that he had been born a unicorn (pure black, red eyed, horned creatures that were this world’s epitome of grace, wisdom, and beauty), the Common Horse Swiftmane was busy with his farm of dumb horses. These ones were bred for milk, and, more importantly, for their nourishing, delicious meat that was the source of Horse Steak, the absolute delicacy of this world.

But those delicious meals were not being enjoyed frequently as of late. The livestock was depleting. It began at a slow pace, about a horse a month, but gradually escalated to two a week. Naturally, due to Alpha’s well-honed telepathy, Swiftmane put Alpha in charge of finding the beasts and discovering the reason for their disappearances. Alpha’s powers always produced an accurate answer for anything questioned of in this world, except for the fates of the Jungle’s creator, Happiness, as well as her future rescuer who was to come from another world (Alpha did, however, have some insight into certain things about these two that didn’t involve his telepathy). But this horse dilemma proved to be the third puzzle that Alpha was unable to solve with his enchanted mind.

Still, Alpha did succeed, with abundant help from Snapper, in locating a few of the horses, but most remained unaccounted for. Their condition upon being discovered caused great fear amongst the Jungle Dwellers. Blood was always present. The amount varied from a trickle to a pool, but it was there every time, along with an occasional piece of hoof or horse hide. Without tracks or any other signs of predation, all the Jungle folk were totally baffled.

All they could ascertain was that something had assaulted the horses from above—some sort of flying beast. But the fliers of this world were gentle, herbivorous animals that never caused any trouble—aside from the Fairies, but the only flesh those creatures consumed was their own.

No—there was something in the air, possibly ever-present, and it had proven itself extremely lethal. A specter of death, a power of the air, a killer that could soon lose interest in livestock and begin attacking people.

But that’s not what troubles Alpha the most. What truly disturbed him was that whatever else these monsters may have been, they were completely alien to this world. Alpha’s senses told him that they belonged neither to the good force his name represented, nor to the corrosive energy of the Omega. All created beings, even the cowardly humans, could be identified in at least a small way with one or the other. The phantom, on the other hand…


The horse, startled by the sudden noise from within the Jungle, jerked his head up and began scanning his surroundings.

“What was—”

Snapper’s thought was cut short by a visual and auditory frenzy. The horse was thrashing about violently and screaming in ways no one had ever heard from a horse before. A blur of feathers and blood surrounded the animal from all directions. Alpha and Snapper rushed forward, but were too late to even get a good look at the winged assailant.

The entire incident lasted no more than two seconds, and during that time, all the two warriors could make out were flashes of yellow and red, a pair of glowing green orbs, and four impossibly long limbs with what appeared to be hooks on the ends. Then, their eyes were blinded as a cascade of burgundy blood rained down on them from above.

The phantom had struck again, and Alpha knew in his heart of hearts that this was only the beginning.

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”




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.