Bow Bow

The Den was a quiet little pub off Treacle Mine Road. Its visitors were respectable middle class,middle-aged men stopped by to have a drink on their way elsewhere;
for the most part.

The pub itself was tidy, neat, orderly. Soft yellow light illuminated comfortable cushioned chairs arranged loosely at small tables across the room.
Everyone knew the barman. And more importantly the barman knew everyone. He was probably called Tom.
Bradley H. Higgins was a regular to The Den. Now, there was a man who had been born to drink quietly at a pub like that. He came in at two everyday, on his break from work; drank his drink, and left, He spoke, albeit courteously, to very few people. He paid his tab regularly.
In appearance, he was unremarkable. Short, slightly built, he had thick, black hair which was engaged in a rapid recession from his broad forehead.His form, imdeed his very being, seemed to exude the words, "Mild mannered".
This story is about what happened at The Den one evening; involving the afore described Mr. Higgins.
It was two on a friday in December,and Mr. Higgins had just entered the pub. He made his was up to the barman and ordered his drink. He sat himself neatly and quietly down on his stool.
His drink was ready in minutes; Tom knew his job and his customers.

"You Bastard!".

At first, the only reaction to the sound was of quite puzzlement. It sounded alien and foreign. Surely such and animal scream could not have emanated from any of the pub's quiet drinkers.
As one, they all turned to look at the doorway, in which stood framed....a thing. He looked like a man, certainly the basic elements were there- face,body,legs; but there was something...animal about him. His hair was wild and matted, his face was dark and scarred. He was frothing at the mouth. His convict's attire hung off him in shreds.

"You Bastard!".
And as he screamed it the second time, he raised his hand and pointed- pointed directly..... at Mr. Higgins.


"You lying, cheating, manipulating WEASEL!".

There were sounds of alarm as the man advanced into thepub. Tom reached under the table for his club. No one did anything, mind you. They were all staring, transfixed.

"You ruined it all, you TURD! We were like BROTHERS! I looked up to you, I envied you , I TRUSTED you!". He spat on the floor and drew a breath; his face, hitherto contorted in a mask of fury , took on a rather strange quality. Was it my imagination, or was there something very...human...and wounded in that visage?
"I was HAPPY, you sonofabitch. I was with her and I was HAPPY! But you....YOU FUCKED it all up. You with your WORDS and your PRETENDING and you PROMISES and your DREAMS!"

He seemed to be working himself up to something. Tom pulled out his club, several of the guests rose. Mr. Higgins had still not moved a muscle.

"This is so FUCKING funny!", the madman laughed, deranged. "You're the Bastard and yet these people think I'm crazy!HA HA! They think that I'm evil! Look at you! Sitting there....sitting there where I should be Sitting! Drinking your little drink...Ha ha....SIPPING your little drink; and no one...NO ONE really knows....ha ha..NO ONE really knows what a sick, twisted little..HA HA..ha ha...ha."The laughter died with alarming suddenness.

His eyes narrowed. "Why don't you SAY something? Why in the name of all that is holy are you SMILING you demented freak?!"

Mr. Higgins is smiling.

"You-! You BLOODY-! You...!"

Mr. Higgins finishes his drink.

"Now, LOOK here, you-!"

Mr. Higgins gets up.

"But..! But I-!"

Mr. Higgins walks over to the madman and stops.

The world stands still.

"Bow Bow", says Mr. Higgins.

And out he walks.



The End.





What else can you say to a dog? 'xcept "Bow Bow" and hope it pisses off onto some other unlucky sod the next time.

A Spiderman

By day, I am surrounded,
By night, alone.
"Dusty trophies, empty hallways."
Talking to myself,
On the phone.

"Who am I ?
I am a Spiderman."

Alone in a crowd,
A twisted, seething mass,
"Mr. De ville, Remember me?"
Is this but,
A well played out
Farce?

Floundering,wary,
out of place;
"Ha Ha."
Should I laugh or should I cry?
Should I run or stand and face?


LIstless, fascinating,
bored to death;
"La Di Da, La di darling."
Music, my love,
A stranger well meth.


Waiting for
the door to open,
"Alcohol, Alcohol, alcohol."
Cocaine, best friend-
a mind broken.


Hail! the new day,
She dawns.
"F%^k this, hangover."
Just like the last one,
She fawns.



Yeah, yeah;
coming.

Unconditional

Author's Note: I believe in God, despite it all; such is faith.





I, ___ take you, ___ for my wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death do us part.


The question is-
If I go crazy then would you still call me Superman?
Kryptonite.


I'd like to take a look at this abstract called "Unconditional Love".
Who among you will step forward to love this man unconditionally?

What if ...he becomes poor?
What if he loses his mind?
What if he becomes ill?
What if he is maimed in an accident?
What if he lies?
What if he commits murder?
What if he commits....adultery?


I can't see in one eye.. What if, someday, I lose vision in both?
"Even if you were blind, it would not matter, I will still hold your hand and walk you home"-My Art of living.

Should you find someone better, don't stop to think. Leave me and begone with you. I shall not hate you. I shall live in acceptance- in the line "As long as she is happy..."



Show me the person who shalt profess unconditional love and I will show you their Condition.



Is a mother's love unconditional? I have no answer to this one. In all honesty, probably it isn't.
There are certain things that I cannot allow myself to believe.

Note that I have always been far more interested in the angels on Earth than in Heaven.


There was a son who went home from school one day. Mum, he said, I'm sorry.I seem to have failed in my Maths exam.

There was a flicker in the mother's eyes.

That's alright Son.I'm sure you'll do it the next time, she said.

And she hugged him.

All was well.

However there is a part of me that stops at that point....the flicker.

Was that merely being human?

So, humans cannot love unconditionally, yes?


And so they brought about the concept of a higher being who could love unconditionally.

Why?

Because it felt better.

Is God's love unconditional, Father Jacob? Tell me then, why do we have confessions? Why is there Sin/Hamartia? Why is there a Hell?

So that you can be put through the whole rigmarole and at the end of it all He woll still love you?

Everyone deserves to have someone. For those that don't- there is God.

The floor is now open.

Nora

Never have her:


This one's for Nora

Kayla Silverfox: Do you know why the moon is so lonely, Logan?
Logan: Why?
Kayla Silverfox: Because she used to have a lover.
Logan: You tell this to the kids?
Kayla Silverfox: No.
[Logan laughs]
Kayla Silverfox: His name was Kuekuatsu and they lived in the spirit world together.
Logan: Oh, this is a true story.
Kayla Silverfox: Mmm. And every night, they would wander the skies together. But, one of the other spirits was jealous. The Trickster wanted the Moon for himself. So he told Kuekuatsu that the Moon had asked for flowers; he told him to come to our world and pick her some wild roses. But Kuekuatsu didn't know that once you leave the spirit world, you can never go back. And every night, he looks up in the sky and sees the Moon and howls her name. But...

he can never touch her again.

.....
Never have her: Part- 2:

Curse of the Wicked Witch:

I loathe Fate. I loathe her with all my heart, and with all my soul and with all my mind. Centuries have I stood here; the years have not been kind- what was once the handsome form of a Lord of men is now the wasted form of an old fool. Centuries, I said.
Death, that sly Bastard, has tried to creep up on me several times.

He has tried; and he has tired.

I am...immortal; an immortal in pain.


I am the Man Who Loved Her.

There she stands-Niyati.

She is just a hands breath away.

But if I stretch out my hand, and cross the line of Fate, she will die.

Shatter,

Disappear,

Begone forever.

Pity me, mortal.

.....


Blood on my hands:

What do I care if a thousand nameless people die in some corner of the world, as long as in the here and now, you are safe?



Heck, I may even have killed them myself;

so thay can't harm you.

.....

If I could:



God, no.

NO.

She's dying God, look at her she's dying.


LOOK AT HER.

An almost feral scream.

Do you know what it is like to be young and in love?

Do you, old man?

DO YOU?

The feral scream again.


My wife has cancer.


(Aside)

And how I wish I could reach in and pull it out.

(To Cancer)

Leave her.

Please.

I beg you. I'll do anything. I'll give you whatever you want, (Breakdown), ANYONE you want.

Take me, Take me instead. (Sob)

TAKE ME.



Ward number 353 at St. Ursulas was cold, so cold.

At midnight on the 27th of May 1969 there were only two people in the ward- Jonathan and Sarah. One was dying on the outside, the other....on the inside. She had cancer.

On the morning of 28th May,1969, the ward was still, so still There were only two in the ward- one was breathing softly and the other was breathing...not at all.

He was dead.


........
Nora:

Cryogenecist Dr. Victor Fries saved his dying wife, Nora by freezing her in a cryogenic chamber, till facilities to perform an organ transplant became available. The chance never came. The corporation pulled the funding on his project...


His face pressed against the glass.

On the other side, his wife lay suspended, an ethereal white mist surrounded her.

She looked peaceful,beautiful; like an angel in heaven.

He raised his hand, made as if to reach through the glass.

His mouth formed the word,

Nora.

When he stepped back, his skin tore.

......

Logan: Wow. Koo-koo-ka-choo got screwed.

Because. I write.

This is a blog about a blog.

Why do I write?

Because.
Because, I.S, I find it therapeutic. It’s my way of letting the world know. It’s my way of showing people my thoughts, who I am, of inspiring the next.

It was a packed room. They said, afterwards, that the speaker was inspired. That when he spoke, they felt as if it all made sense and it was all clear, and that they felt chastised. And they went out and cut the goddamn tree. But one boy stayed back. He went up to where the speaker stood, completely drained.(For you see, everytime he spoke, he gave something of himself.)

“What’s the point”, he asked, rather plaintively.
The point, son, is that....the point is...the point...
Hope can push a dead man on.

Maybe, just maybe, years from now, or tomorrow- they’ll think of me and what I said- and they’ll change.

I write about random stuff. (Courtesy: Nazia)

More, accurately I write based on specific real-life incidents, conversations, ideas. And people walk in right at the end of the movie and go “ Ooh, Random!”.

I write because I’m looking....for the others: Someone.

And from person to person they passed the paper. It had one word written on it” IGHIHIIIGG”. They could see the beauty of the word but did not understand. They passed it on.

I write whenever I’m inspired, I.S.

Blood and sweat. Blood and sweat. He flung the sword into the tree.
Pull it out.

Show me what you’ve got.

Impress me.

And I write however i feel like.

Because.

It’s my blog.

Blame on me

In silence, he drank three goblets of the potion. Then, halfway through the fourth goblet, he staggered and fell forward against the basin. His eyes were still closed, his breathing heavy.

"Professor?" said the boy, his voice strained. "Can you hear me?"

He did not answer. His face was twitching as though he was deeply asleep, but dreaming a horrible dream. His grip on the goblet was slackening; the potion was about to spill from it. The boy reached forward and grasped the crystal cup, holding it steady.

"Professor can you hear me?" he repeated loudly, his voice echoing around the cavern.

The man panted and then spoke in a voice the boy did not recognize, for he had never heard him frightened like this.

"I don't want... Don't make me..."

The boy stared into the wizened face he knew so well, at the crooked nose and half-moon spectacles, and did not know what to do.
"... don't like... want to stop...
"I don't want...Don't make me..
No...I don't want to ...I don't want to....Let me go...
Make it stop, make it stop
No, no, no, no, I can't, I can't, don't make me, I don't want to....
It's all my fault, all my fault.Please make it stop, I know I did wrong, oh please make it stop and I'll never, never again..
..Don't hurt them, don't hurt them, please, please, it's my fault, hurt me instead..
Please, please, please, no...not that, not that, I'll do anything...
..No more, please, no more...
I want to die! I want to die! Make it stop, make it stop, I want to die!

On his knees

KILL ME
.....
Oh we few, we merry few..band of brothers- look at us now.

Look me in the eye and tell me that what I did was wrong. Go ahead; tell me. I can’t pretend that I did not know that this would happen. You wouldn’t believe me if I did.
But, then again, neither can you.

Story time.

There was once a little boy, gentlemen. And this little boy, Oh, he was so smart. My, my, what a smart little fellow he was. I’d wager that you wouldn’t have found a smarter lad even if you’d looked mighty hard; why, even if you had looked a million miles, you wouldn’t have found smarter. No. No.

And like all smart people – this little fellow needed a channel for his smartness. So he found a little wee pipe. And he began to play it. What a lovely sound that was, gentlemen!
And as he began to play it, the people began to follow him. Not because he was forcing them to, but because they were in awe of the sheer beauty of his playing.
How the people flocked to him.
The little boy was overjoyed. Look at that! They liked his music. How his cheeks glowed!
With a little skip and a little hop and a little jump, he ran down the mountainside, playing his pipe.
And all the people, gentlemen? They followed him, of course.
They crossed plains and valleys, mountains and hills and great mighty rivers.
A few of the people had difficulty crossing some of the harder obstacles.
The boy would help them when he saw that they couldn’t.
And they ran, and they ran.
And as time wore on, some of the people became tired. They wanted to stop.
But the little boy knew that they had only a little while to run, and so he ran on, relentlessly..
And they ran, and they ran.
And finally it was over, not with a bang or a shout or a clap of mighty thunder or anything like that but with a poof of apology- the little fellow had run out of breath.

And now the people started to realise how tired they were. They saw their wounds and their scars. They became angry, disgruntled, vengeful and also little ashamed of themselves.

They blamed the little boy.
They threw stones at him. They broke his pipe. They called him names.
They chased him away.

The little boy stood there and took it all.
Not a single tear, not a drop.

Then, he turned and walked away.

Analysis time, children.

Who did the following?
Were they forced to?
Was the little boy different at the end from how he was at the beginning?
Was it right, what they did to him in the end?

At every god-damned moment in your life you have a choice-the choice to say yes or to say fuck off. So, why don’t you exercise it?

Why?

I'm tired of being called names.

Sorry, blame it on me.

I am the man who used you.
I am the man who hurt you.
I am the man who started it.
The spark that burnt the forest.
The gene that mutated the species.

Sorry, blame it on me.

Because it’s easier that way.

It is so much easier to blame someone else for t=all the unhappiness that you perceive in your life.

You had the choice to walk away.

Bullshit- responsibility.
Bullshit- you’d already given your word.
Bullshit- there was nobody else.

You had the choice.

You still have the choice- to take the best from your choice or bleed with it.

I’d like every person who reads this article to take a moment and think about what’s wrong with his or her life today. Do you feel unhappy? Used? Abused? Neglected?

It’s your fault

You are the architect of your own happiness.

Choose wisely, live happy..

Adios.

Angels

And through it all she offers me protection
a lot of love and affection
whether I'm right or wrong
and down the waterfall
wherever it may take me
I know that life wont break me
when I come to call she wont forsake me
I'm loving angels instead.

Women are the angels we don't deserve.

You can be the worst sinner on the planet, a worthless fart kicked out of the dodgiest pub in thy city, a failure every step of the way; but, if at the end of it all, you've managed to get a woman to love you, then rejoice,
There is salvation in her eyes, even for the worst of us.

At the day's end, she won't forsake me.

Those eyes.

They call me onward and inward. Drawing out the very soul; like standing on the edge of a cliff and suddenly finding that you've run out of ground, like walking off a water fall, there's no breath left in these poor lungs of mine.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains.
Have you heard of the phrase "raison d'etre"?It's french. It means " Reason for being".

There's a reason for walking that extra mile, there's a reason for striving that little bit harder, there's a reason for a reason: her.


John 19: 26
When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, Woman, behold thy son.


And she saw her only son, stripped,humiliated and nailed to a cross; a sword of sadness pierced her heart.

To what does one compare you, O daughter? That you bear him a child, clenching through all the pains of birth, that you raise his child, sacrificing everything for it, and then finally, as it walks away from your arms you stand and watch it, knowing full well that it will fall? The ultimate sacrifice.


In the quiet dimly lit hospital ward, a man slowly regains consciousness, he opens his eyes. He can see nothing. The heart rate monitor begins to beep faster, his breathing becomes frantic. Where was he? What had happened to him? There had been an accident- flames, a lot of heat.

Why the f*&K could he not see?


And then,
"Woah boy"

A gentle voice, a hand is placed lightly on his shoulder.

" You ain't going nowhere yet."


"Who's there?"


"Easy there big fellow. I'm Mary. You're in ward 16A at St. Ann's.You've had an accident. The plane you were test flying crashed."

" But how-? Who - ? When- ?"

" Shhhh, take it easy now. You're alright," a soothing hand placed on his arm." "You're alright.
Don't you worry big man, I've seen a lot worse in my time. I'm here now, nothing will happen to you , i promise. Now, breathe ...."


And despite himself, Wing Commander Briggs felt his fear leave him, a tear roll down his eye. It would be alright. He was in good hands.
Angels' hands.