HOPE IS THE LAST ONE TO DIE

Let�s start throwing things at each other. Let�s erase whatever we have written on this blackboard of life. Let�s make it blank again, let�s call saints by their names. Let�s see two become one and one become two. Let�s dream aloud, let�s cry, let�s turn everything down, let�s go beneath the bottom line.
...couple of things we have left, nothing and something. They are both so abstract and opposite, just like things we dream about and things that we accomplish. It is strange how we become formal again, trying to be complete strangers to each other, spitting out whatever was hidden deep inside us for such a long time, looking at the memories caught in the pictures, clutching things that are so dear to us. It is sad how we compare things that happened to us now to the things that happened to us then. Different approach in life is something that they talk about in the books. I believe that given a chance we would all fly, but still some would fly higher, faster. Equality equals utopia, my friend, and let me warn you, be good at your own expense.
Sometimes I try to recall all things good, yet they are just microscopic scraps among the huge piles of bad deeds, among the hurt. It is so easy to give up when tempted, it is so easy to sin. Also, it is very easy to say that you are sorry. Yet when I look back I see myself avoiding forgiveness as if to be sorry is evil.
My life is just another nothing, going straight and sideways, rising up and falling down together with the autumn leafs. Nothing worth mentioning, yet at the same time it is the most unique fruit of creation, it is the one and only, completely different picture, filled with different colors and accompanied by a bunch of different backgrounds. I dare to say that life is a pure emotion, so vivid and full of opposites, which makes it very hard to describe to someone who never had one. I guess that could be the reason why nobody gets too high on it. Still, it is a tale worth telling, if not to others then to your own self. I am saddened to admit that sometimes life is nothing but acting upon the circumstances.
Given a chance, I would fly. I would at least try to roll over the edge instead of rolling along. I would like to see the lights and maybe go down in flames like Icarus, not because of burned feathers but because of simple helplessness. Sky is not the limit, we are the ones who are limited. For we are human. We are imposing countless rules on others, and most important, on ourselves. We limit ourselves till we cannot move. After a while it all starts again, just like a wave, just like a birth cycle, and those god damned lights seem to be so close, yet not within a reach.
Let�s cry, let�s mourn, let�s see two become one and one become two. Let�s dream of limitless limits, sleeping safely in our cradles of humanity. Let�s just dream, for something tells me we are not going to do anything about our dreams. We are the nation of abundance, the nation of consumers. No one wants to pay the price of freedom, no one wants to sacrifice what was once sacrificed for him. God knows what else we do not want to do, yet given a chance we would all fly...
As strange as it may sound, hope is always the last one to die.

for those of you interested to read more, respond. I will post more. Otherwise, it would be just a waste of HD space.

*responds*

*sits back, folds arms, and see's if bch can motivate any one to motivate them selfs*

*watches..stares......*


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totally nihilistic

�this house stood still, listening to the voices inside in the hall. They ran out of paint sometime by noon, and this little troubadour of 18th century stood half-finished, pale with green and fresh with blue, where, my dear friend, green was old, and blue was new.
Memories were sticking out like rusty nails in the floor boards, and suddenly everything was clear, just like a midsummer's midnight, this was no dream, new people where moving in, fixing things up, and house wondered in silence, what will become of its skin�will it shed, or will they simply let him be, let him stink as he stunk for years now, alone and abandoned, in this little white suburbanite cul-de-sac�

///????????


Now we know, that maybe trees don�t make a sound when they fall alone, but that�s philosopher�s stone, my dear friend, just like love, it�s another chemical reaction, for all you know, it could be shit we really need to be consuming, make it last longer (radio out, Jesus, who the fuck put this here? Noise, more noise, grinding,

�. house was shivering with every knock of the industrial hammer, tearing it�s basement apart�why would they do something like that, everything was in absolute order of centuries down there, nostalgic collection of oak leaves, I remember , plain as yesterday, my little hands, touching your old face, running my fingers along your wrinkles.


Who am I now? Why blue?

Then I knew. I heard little voices, angel like, in the attic, and what once was sweat is now sweet. Children. Heaven and light. Definitely something I can cherish, these walls will stand strong, my roof will not leak, I refuse to die and perish in dust, I stood here for centuries, I was young once, please let it be me, please, if you can hear me, give my wooden floors all the strength required to carry on, so I could see them grow up, and then I can die, my mission over, your permission granted, for all I know, all I see, is children. I was a child once, speaking in common terms, my floors where fresh, my attic clean, and now�..


Tom waits is singing. Tom traubert�s blues. And blues it is��

hehe metaphores are fun

......and you answered "because you love us all so much?" my friend

that guy scares me.

dude... that is beautiful.


i like it.


can i get it in paperback?


[This message has been edited by Bar room hero (edited 04-22-2001).]

I was watching the Sharks game today and they had McCarty from the Red Wings in one of those cheesy human interest type things. It was called "My Story." He got and camera and was all, "This is my story." All he did was talk about his band and Stanley Cup winning shot a bunch of years ago.

Who the hell cares about that McCarty guy anyway?

bar room, thanx. not in paper back yet, i still have to finish some stuff, first edition might be out in August, but that depends on my savings account and questions of self-financed release..

THE JET

I wish I could just spread my wings and fly, fly away, through years of light and future past, and sail away to where I'm going through celestial ways on a wind with no name. I'd be a spaceman flying like an eagle to the sea, letting something carry me, I'm free, I feel that I'll never change. I'd listen to the walls breath and watch the new sun rise. People couldn't drag me away because I've got so much to say and so little time, and time keeps on slipping into the future. But I won't get fooled again because I'm sailing away to a distant port deep in the Never. Who feels like me? It's more than a feeling, yes it is. I wish I could always feel like that, feel like the first time, perhaps like it's never felt before and never will again.
When on a dark desert highaway, with cool wind in my head, I was as cold as ice and not willing to sacrifice and/or love. The lights are going down on the city on the account of the fact that the stupid burning wheel in the sky kept on turning. I sadly realize that I'm just a prisoner of my own device, and that tonight will be the last night, that tonight there's going to be a major jail break but even as I write now I know that I can never leave without the help of outsiders. Bad mistake - sure I've done few, I wish I could pay my debt now, I committed the crime, and I'm on the stairway to heaven. Literally just dust in the wind, brick in the wall - if you will. I'm losing my sanity like losing speed on the fast lane, I can't help it, moaning, drooling I'm a drag.
Darlin', I've got to ramble. Judging by the rocket in my pocket it's time to squeeze the lemon. It's 5ccs' worth a lovin' spoonful, it's all here, a part of my life, and here comes your man, it's the Pixies on the radio, close my eyes 1, 2, and 3, god it hurts.

EMPTY IS DRINKING COFFEE

I have an empty friend, he lives in an empty crate. His happiness makes me question my qualities and doubt my emotions.
But then again I don�t know what I feel
am I as empty as my friend here, or real?
I hope to be fulfilled, I would like to believe in you my empty friend,
and have you drinking coffee just beside myself, when daylight brings the night again.
I always hesitate, deny, I don�t admit I lied
I do everything, yet nothing�s done. My days go by admiring your heavenly smile and I wish for today to last but much to your joy, much to my sorrow there is always another tomorrow�.

Today I�m smiling, dumbstruck, no longer worried or angered of true, since my friend just told me that I�m quite empty too�


copyright SCKBCH aka MS 1995, Ballantine Books, inc.,

the above was issued in some of the midwestern universities bi-weekly magazines, with funds provided by Ballantine Books.

[This message has been edited by sckbch (edited 04-22-2001).]

Silence,

madness, imprisioning sadness,

set me free for I am empty of thought yet full of inspiration for nothing that may come of us,

for the end may be near and our time may be expiring,

though we have not accomplished all that we have set out to do because our fear holds us pinned to our beds at night,

waiting and wondering about things past,
present, and future, and those thoughts linger, ringing cries of newfound faith of fact or fiction never knowing what truly is to come until the end when all is revealed to the world and the truth is known to our souls and we may discover that our lives were full of emptiness, and the fear that god loomed over us, was fiction, therefore faith is lost by our souls, and eternity is spent as nothing but mist lost in a void, or perhaps the faith of so many is descovered as truth and the faithless are doomed to purgatory for an unknown sentence, and god sees fit for those who did not believe to join his children in heaven to spend eternety in joyful bilss and left to wonder why their time had come, but the fear in our hearts as humans drives us mad and even those who claim themselves to be of purity, and faith for their god is strong question what may and may not be at one point in time,

proving that no one is absolutely sure of what is to come.

i see the end, ,,,,i am the end..........

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nihilistic warcaust

Where are you stealing that crap from, Nihil?

i read it on the back of a prozac packet.

or was it aourax, or xanax,

bwhahhahahahaahahah

Take it somewhere else, guys.

HELLO, TO ALL OF MY DEAD FRIENDS (intro/foreword).

When asked, why does he still go on, he would simply answer � �I go because we all go, in one way or another.� Even though it�s an old clich� but as my dear dead friend Narcoleptic would propose, we�re all headed nowhere. That seems to be a very nice point of destination for me. How many times did he yell his name into the pillow, muffled sounds of agony, embedded deep inside his rotting brain, or so he thought, spitting blood, clenching his fists and talons in never-ending search for the weakness that seemed to seep out as slowly as his sanity, out with the jets of the winds headed east. He was asking, aching for it. Yet it never came, as salvation is known for being too soon, too late. He still goes on and on, rambling, sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied, most of the times hated, sometimes loved, an emotion he could not grasp nor recognize. For a while, at least. He is a still human being, he still sins, tends to ignore future he promised others, he still lies, deceives and leaves. He still refuses to believe, and I think that�s the only thing he is proud of.
So here he is, here he stands waiting for your fair judgement, ready for the opposition to oppose. Here he is, feeling apathetic towards you, ignorant and stubborn, born into the twentieth century, the century of climax. Here he stands still, with his soul in his right pocket, wicked smile, wicked eyes, wicked silence. Let me make something clear: despite all your ovations and praising he still despises you all, as so is his nature, which ran via nurture of the world he was born into. He still feels superior. He still admires dictatorship, and lava of human blood, the sight of sacrifice so needless, so emotionally sick�
This book would not ever be accomplished without your help. I will not deny this fact, yet this will be the only thing I will stand up for, and I will admit it, you are the only thing that kept me going. You really haven�t done anything significant, you just stood there, awaiting your demise, and hoping to be immortalized in my notebook. Get up, get out, there�s no space for you in this world there is no way to fill the void of your empty exoskeleton. I showed up in the wrong place at the right time, tired of being pushed around, tired of wandering the deserted desert of my thoughts, deprived of all my habits. I want you to know that I could never fully enjoy my habits without your spoon, and advice on self-destruction, help me, I�m in hell. Help being the metaphor, of course. Though I am destined to roam alone, I have been promised an easy death, and company of occasional lost soul here and there. I suppose you must be that lost soul, you must be that pseudo nothing in this pseudo everything world�. Oh yes, I do feel superior indeed, so is my nature, via nurture, the hell I have been through is bigger than the I-70 billboard promising coffee break right before you hit Kennedy express way. �You live, you learn� - I have lived, and learned the essence of denial, the inner workings of self-execution. I have learned the ways of ignorance and alien pain. It�s much easier to co-exist this way. I have the right be an asshole because I am the one who stumbled upon you. Gaze, and be rapt, it�s your last chance to become a line of ink on the piece of napkin I that I picked up in the Fagerhost caf� shop�.
Thank you mom and dad, for the insanity you so eagerly introduced me to, once I learned to cope with familiar incoherence of your relationship with each other. If I were you with the son like me, I would probably blow his fucking head off at point blank with .357 you kept on your nightstand. You are the most caring and wonderful people I have ever known. Thank you for your patience.
George T., thank you for your incredible craziness and acceptance. I will never forget what you taught me. I feel like I owe you the whole world. Sometimes I think I would give up anything in an instance just to see your face and chat with you about the concept of magic and the ring of stones on your table. Whatever gods there are, may they bless you, and keep you filled with lithium. You�re less suicidal that way.
My future lieblich, be patient. Things tend to show up when you least expect them to. Everything is an infinity of circles, it comes and goes, and comes around until you reach out and kiss the face so dark and yet so familiar. The day will come when we will ride topless, Mustang 1967, enjoy my dilemma and your falseness.
You, my friend, can go and fuck yourself, as far as my egotistical self is concerned. I think I would probably mourn for a while, waiting for the Empty to make me a cup of French roast coffee, but I rather dive straight into the euphoric state of well being, in other words, to hell with you all.

I have a story.

schbch

see schbch run,

see schbch run over nihilistic in a hummer,

see schbch piss on nihilistics mutalated carcus,

piss schbch piss!!!

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cogito, ergo sum

...ok?

Hope is dead.. he just doesnt know it yet.

well, well, you haven't been outside your crack house edition, but you seem to know much about bias in Russia and UK, so how the fuck do you grasp the concept of hope being dead? oh, wait, hope's dead for you, your neighbor, Mr. fucking Flanders, well, go do your pyromaniac tricks, white bitch, then you can resort to your claims about the morbidity of such essential to survival things as hope.

*groans*

This is the last part. I will post no more. If anyone is interested in the whole story, email me. This is it, my friends, this is the end.

THE BLUE AND THE SPARKPLUGS

Now I have become a real man, though behind the bars. I have a life; I have another Homo sapiens inside me, by my guess it is located somewhere in my spine. No one knows that - it's one of my secrets. This guy likes to squeeze lemon a lot so I feed him all the time.
It's so strange, my parents haven't noticed how blue my eyes became, two blue deep holes which shine, spark like a new nickel. Little man is more and more hungry, and I know that pretty soon I'll be borrowing money to feed the bastard. It has been 3 weeks since the first time, and I'm doing full 200 per hour on the highaway, without noticing sad faces and gossip behind my back, I'm happy like an Animal. I would like to share it with someone, but I feel that I'd be probably misunderstood. Though even I understand that I lost my keys; I lost myself completely. All I can think of is the guy who lives in my spine. He's the hate love and tyranny at the same time. When he's hungry, he starts cutting my spine, stabbing it with millions of needles; and it looks like he's enjoying it. It is an absolute with an e. Vitamins can't hide my sickness, but I believe that I still look nice enough not to be confused with the dying trash bag; and nothing proves my addiction but my eyes.
It is not the last day of my journey, it is like a soap opera, it goes forever, it makes no sense and it's cheap. Actually it used to be cheap; now it has become very expensive and not funny at all. My image calls me a skyline pigeon and laughs, he says I went too far, and I think I did indeed. Going home I called myself a shooting star, a shiny thing that couldn't stop thinking about tomorrow because yesterday was gone with the wind evidently. I'm the champion, I can rock you and then just say fuck you and go away and smash my room again, blaming the terrible headache, hoping they would notice my sparkplugs, my blue eyes, hoping they would finally see the man inside me and say ' hey you ought to stop'. It is knocking again bye I hate it.

copyright MS Ballantine books, inc.

bwhahhah ahah ahahahaaahhwaa awaawhahha

ahhahahaaharraaabbwhaha hahahahaa

ahaha wahhhahwa.z aaasaaahaahah

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bwhahahahaahhahaa