Loner Freaks (like us)

earthy odor of confidence and poise
evaporates
cold quivering metal mind
shivers, barren
“This is the Village of the Forgotten,
The Place of Lost Places
These are Those who were Left Behind”
she squints in the light of the impending hour
as two grandfathers grind their chimes
and a voice screams from the speaker phone
her mind
now fully programmed
whispers
“Type, damn it. Type.”

Crashing Through Treetops

She stared at the tops of trees wondering why she didn’t love herself. What could she quit, who could she leave to make things right? Then she would be happy, like all the other changes she’d made in her life. Lots of changes she’d made. She loved change. It wasn’t the result of the change that she so needed, it was the changing itself – going through the changes, striving endlessly. A car jerked forward into the intersection. In her mind, it slammed hard into her door, crumpling metal, tossing her to her side, her blonde hair splayed across the seat. Blood splattered on windows. Back to reality… she drives. Why weren’t things easier?

Inside Alis (Part Two)

Alis Diamond is strange. She purposely avoids any exercise in which she is required to analyze herself because she is not really her own entity at all, but an amalgamation of tangible influences contributed by thousands upon thousands of knowing and unknowing people. Alis knows she is strange, and she's satisfied, even pleased, with that simple definition.

Alis is a collector of ideas, thoughts and impressions. She is each day the "clean slate" which psychologists claim can only be maintained for the first few days after birth. She channels her energies not into finding herself, for she is just a pinball on a world machine. She directs her efforts toward understanding the rest of the world.

Inner peace and equilibrium are precious gems in the mantle of humanity, to be sought out and obtained only after deconstructing (not destroying) one's outer core of hardened emotion and pragmatism. Each irony, each insignificant inconsistency in world society, is a pin prick in the tinder of a battered straw voodoo doll clasped tightly in the hands of fate.

Alis feels the strangeness of human existence as would a single grain of white sand on a wide vacant beach. She goes with the tide.

Self Emmolation (A Man with a Cause)

All the waves of society's underestimation
cannot wash out the flame of intent
intent on recognition
it cannot be extinguished
it is only transferable.

The warmth which envelopes the emoliate
and charges him with purpose
sends its fiery tongue to lick the public's conscience
to singe their souls
and taunt them
And as all protruberances of the human host
become concave
the blood and fleshy sinew hearts of a few
bystanders
meet with reason
and strain outward from their shallow sockets
Their lives have been touched
by the passing of a stranger's

And like the smoking remains
of charred bone and teeth
The long and painful journey
lies prostrate before them.

Shattered Alis

On the elevator, the sound of a woman jingling her keys, or a man jingling the change in his pants pocket, was often abnormally loud and grated against Alis' nerves like the sound of shattering glass. Sharp and jagged, flying in all directions. Like her.

True Identity

Here I am, independent. Yes, it's good to have your individuality. To shine in your own light. But to do this, you must step back from your lover and your family. Go away and leave them in trust, and try to have fun hoping they'll still be there when you return. It's good not to be too codependent, but it's good to say spontaneously "I'd rather be with you." Something bad does not have to happen every time I leave, every time I breathe my air freely.

It's a sign of true identity to leave and then come happily home.