My Soul for Sale

My tagline reads: I’m selling my fucking soul, in desperation, without mystery, like a two-bit dime store beatnik poet rhyming for a hit of delirium.

The lines are from my original poem Selling My Soul, written way back in (late) 2011.  Those particular lines, however, resonate with me still.  I crave that hit of delirium daily, to escape life, to escape reality, and live in the dreamlike visions of not only my poems and stories but where my soul feels untethered by reality.  It leaves me stuck between the clichéd rock and a hard place.  I live in reality.  I have bills to pay, rent overdue, income falling short of what life demands, but my mind is restlessly attempting to describe what it envisions.  Not only restless, but desperate.  It doesn’t want to just describe it, it wants to live there.

I want to live in the reality where my soul is free, where my heart feels joy and love, passion and creativity, every moment.  Unfortunately, this life forces me to face reality and know that I must wake up and make money if I am to survive.  Sometimes, however, I do not want to wake up.  I do not want to die, oh no, death is nothing but and extended blackness of this reality.  Death leaves me feeling nothing.

What I want to live is that moment when, for example while watching a movie, the hero says fuck you to the prevailing powers because freedom means something more than conforming to the hypocrisy of wearing the correct façade of civility all the while suppressing the true self.  I do not want to conform to the modern-day demands of beauty, and femininity, and work, and grind of bill paying while my productivity is wasted in a gray cubicle provided by my latest pay master.  I do not want to suppress my intellectual and creative self.

Unfortunately there is no other way, is there?

 

Will You Ever Actually Leave?

Yeah, so, I’ve kept the blog private with the intention of not actually blogging but still following.  Well, I’ve gotten an inordinate amount of requests to see the private blog that I thought perhaps I left too soon?  No promises on actually blogging in this space but for those who want to see the archives for Sunday Picture Press, or may actually give a shit about my past posts, I’ve changed the privacy settings to allow the curious to see it.

Hopefully the curiosity is satisfied and not disappointed.  But, for now, here is Indigo Spider, and perhaps there will be new stuff like this:

POEM #230

My dreams are dead
shredded in an escalation of violence
during the demon wars
which left nothing beyond the revenant
that stalks the landscape of my desolated mind fuck

My dreams are alive
dancing free in the syncopated rhythm of rhyme
breathing between the lines and lucid dreams
which I swim with increasing desperation
attempting to remain comatose in fevered sleep

My dreams are dead
brutally murdered by obscene fear and obsequiousness
impaled on the edge of renegade and submissive
where nothing remains beyond my bleached bones
that crumble to ash in morning light

SWALLOW THE SKY

Sun rises and kills night
The moon hides from the carnage
A child of domestic violence
Revealing her face in phases
While the daily ritual continues
Sun worshiped and night vilified
The massacre accepted
Leaving the demons to swallow the sky

MESSAGES

Her persona speaks violently
a digital version of herself
part truth, part lie, part delusion, part memory

So, there you have it, Indigo Spider apparently will never die.  People still seek it out, occasionally, in waves, that make me wonder if I can ever truly walk away.  The previous poems have appeared on another blog(s) that shall remain nameless.  If you find it, good on ya!  If not, perhaps I will re-post other poems and stories from the other blogs I’ve got hiding out in public.  No promises, no clue myself.  In the very least, for those who keep asking to be included to the private blog, it is no longer private so you can be disappointed in finally discovering the truth.

I shall end with my latest obsession, the newest stuff from Twenty One Pilots (for which I am beyond the normal listening demographic but clearly don’t give a flying fuck).  Enjoy:

FAIRLY LOCAL

RIDE

STRESSED OUT

 

SPP: Smoke

Frederico Bebber via My Modern Met

Frederico Bebber via My Modern Met

a ghost trapped, a light
just flickering between two worlds
~~ Anti-hero by Steve Shultz 

revenant/ˈrɛvɪnənt
noun
1.something, esp a ghost, that returns

The world spun exponentially faster than my vision with each inhale.  There was a thrum, a beat, a vibration that rose from the ground up through my body colliding with my heartbeat.  I couldn’t identify its origin or intent and felt the need to run but was unable, my legs rubbery, my vision blurred.  Despite my inner animal recommending flight I remained prone on the velvet chaise lounge beneath me.

“Nothing to worry about, relax.” A voice whispered in my ear, sounding distant at the same time.  I glanced around trying to determine where I was, to whom the voice belonged, but my vision only registered colors sweeping around me.  Soft glowing lights flickering, like candles, all around with soft gauzy curtains enshrining where I lay.  I inhaled deeply.

The vibration became stronger causing my foggy brain to wonder why my body remained prone.  The sound of burbling water underpinned my inhalations, pausing when I held my breath; my small attempt at ignoring the vibrations around me.  The air crackled but my vision softened further, my muscles now limp, my thoughts swimming in padded smoke.  I let the vibrations, the voices, the soft candle light ebb from my consciousness as the smoke seeped further into my cranial existence.  I thought, nothing matters, let the world explode, let the vibrations resonate in time with my heartbeat, until all my memories are erased and I’m nothing more than revenant. 

Stranger’s shadows moved beyond the curtains while the vibrations resonated stronger within my chest.  I closed my eyes, smiling, with the feeling of my body vibrating with an unfamiliar rhythm as my veins filled with another hit.  Any molecule of fear I entered with was now lost among the smoke and candle light.  All my memories, my sense of self, became nothing more than a corpse and in that haze his wolf blue eyes pierced my mind.

The curtains parted softly as if moved by a breeze and the vibration I felt narrowed to match his movements.  My eyes, half-lidded, watched him move towards me, liquid in its fluidity, until he stood next to me.  I heard him speak but never saw his lips move.  “Now darlin’, I have taken your pain.  Relax. I will replace with pleasure.”  I smile.

“Close your eyes.  Feel,” I felt his voice wash over me and my back arched involuntarily.  All my synapses responded to his words, his thoughts, his presence and I wanted to fold into his liquidity.

I wasn’t sure he was real, was next to me, or if he was just a product of my hallucinations but his breath over my breasts felt so intense, so warm, I fell further into these hallucinatory pleasures he created within me.   My eye fluttered opened briefly; long enough to watch each candle flame flicker before snuffing out one by one.  The smoke filled the room entirely, swallowing my flesh with its gentle embrace, and beyond the shroud of gauzy curtains all movement ceased.  He sat next to me and my body responded with an explosion of bliss.

I see him back lit, smoke hanging in the air behind him, and a momentary flash as he lights his cigarette.  I hear the grinding of the wheel, the flick as the fuel ignites, and see the blue of his eyes in the momentary spark.  I hear the paper catch fire and his breath inhale its smoke.  He reaches down to touch my skin, now hyper sensitive to his vibration, and his lips smile as his teeth gently grasp his cigarette.  “It has been too long.  You have waited too long to see me, to end your pain.” 

I close my eyes in response to his touch.  I have waited too long and think, yes, please, remove my pain.  

Suddenly my heartbeat is in time with his vibrations, his inhalations and the gentle touch of his lips on my flesh.  I feel the world tilt and slow; my mind grasps for understanding.  But my heart relaxes into this new rhythm, my body falls in time with his thoughts, and the smoke drifts slowly upwards. The burbling water sound stretches in a strange extension of the darkness; sound without sound, light without light.  I feel my body ignite.  He leans forward until his breath brushes my ear.  His voice drops, resonating deeply into my haze, “Darlin’, you are mine.”

I feel like a butterfly in his hand and I can not avoid his blue eyes penetrating mine.  I feel my body burn, break apart, drift upwards with the rest of the smoke.  A scream escapes from somewhere.  I hear it, broken and horrific, both from within and without and as the sound gets louder with each breath; I begin to realize it is mine.  I feel the scream rip apart my skin, the smoke rushing in to fill the wounds, and his smile soft and dark.  His eyes dilate further with each decibel my scream rises.  “Shhh, do not struggle.  The smoke, let the smoke fill you.  You will explode and become revenant.”

I cried and my body shuddered.  My mind held on to his voice like a golden flame flickering between two worlds.  The smoke filled me completely, draining from the room, erasing all light even that which back lit his form.  He smiled lighting another cigarette.  The vibrations stopped.  The moment before my flesh dissipated into smoke I saw his blue eyes flash and heard him say, “Remember me.”

I knew all light was gone but so was all pain.  I knew, even with the erasure of my existence, I would return forever, to any world, to him.  To let him remove my pain; burn me up into smoke.

Sunday Picture Press: Fire

sundaypicturepresspicture

As I said in an earlier post, I have given up on self-hosting.  Too many issues that took away from writing.  It was issues with my hosting site that caused the latest (and hopefully last) hiatus and since that is gone, it is time to bring back Sunday Picture Press!

So, here are the prompts for this week…

THE RULES (FEEL FREE TO BREAK THEM):

The rules are simple:  Write between 50 to 1,500 words based on the photo of your choice.  Title, genre, and type (i.e. story, very short story, dialogue only, poem, lyrics, etc.) are your choice just indicate which visual prompt you chose (if you want to include the photo in your post, just click photo, then copy the link). No deadline unless you would like a link to appear on the weekly post with the new photos — then you must complete it before 12 pm ET (GMT -5) on the Sunday following this post.  If you want to share your piece after the deadline just leave a comment for others to follow. There are plenty of fantastic word prompts, theme prompts, and other challenges out there, so if a photo helps with one of those, feel free to combine and have fun!  If you don’t have a blog but want to join just email indigospider (dot) indigospider (at) gmail (dot) com (or use the contact page) to see what we can work out.

As always, everything is optional, it is all about having fun and being inspired.

THE VISUAL PROMPTS:

 

Note to all the visual artists: Please send a link to check out your portfolio if you are willing to give me permission to use your work in a future prompt.

Remember: Please include a credit to the original artist.  You can copy the link to the photo so when it displays on your blog it will include the credit I include under each photo.  Or, if you prefer the ‘clean’ look of the photo without a caption, please include a note somewhere on your post giving credit.  Thank you!

THE TWIST:

This week is all about fire.

Some examples:

  • Burning bridges — do it, don’t do it, always wanted to, literal burning bridge
  • House on fire — s/he was like a house on fire, loss of a house to fire, set a house on fire for insurance
  • Smoking — cigarettes, weed, she was smoking hot, burning embers
  • Burning fire — bonfire, fireplace on a cold winter night, summer campfire stories
  • Phoenix rising from the ashes
  • Burning hot — sun, coals, water, earth’s core

Incorporate fire into your story however you desire.  Subtle, obvious, physical, metaphorical, emotional — so many ways to interpret and use fire!  I think you get the idea.  Interpret this weeks theme however your wish.  Or don’t.  Use a photo and forget the twist, all up to you!

Remember, the rules are only there for those who need that kind of thing.  The theme and visual prompts are there for you to use any way you choose.  You can use just the photo, you can use just the twist, you can combine them with other prompts you find out there in the wild wacky world of internet-land, you can write more or less, you can paint/photograph and write if you are one of those multi-talented types.  Heck, if you want to sculpt or create some sort of street art or activist stamp I sure as heck will post whatever link you send me!

That’s it, go forth and create.  Next weeks post will include links to all participants who either create a ping-back, drop a comment, send me a tweet (#sundaypicturepress or @theindigospider), or email.

Yay, It’s Publication Day for Dave Farmer’s Novel, “The Range” :-)

Indigo Spider:

Instead of spending your Black Friday like a zombie and giving money to big box stores that don’t need it… support a brand new author! Yay Dave! So excited to finally get your book!

Originally posted on Sarah Potter Writes:

the range book cover FINALNews breaks of a deadly virus in Asia but, despite fatalities, few people take it seriously.

Sheltered within the university bubble, Samantha and Louise are convinced the UK is invulnerable to this virus, until gruesome events unfold around the world and the death toll rises from hundreds to millions.

By the time the virus reaches England and students on campus start falling sick, Samantha has to weigh up the risks of travelling home to London. She decides to sit tight with Louise and wait for everything to blow over.

But the situation further deteriorates in ways the two friends couldn’t have envisaged. Their student flat is no fortress and there’s only one place they’ll be safe: The Range.

#

Hearty congratulations toDave! Today, the Kindle edition of The Range (Bloodwalker Legacy Book 1) becomes available for purchase from Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com, followed by the print-on-demand edition tomorrow.

Some…

View original 72 more words

Happy Thanksgiving, Pass Some Music!

Ah, yes, Thanksgiving day here in the United States.  There will be plenty of posts about being thankful since it is the day for it.  There will also be plenty of posts about overeating, shopping, and football no doubt.  So, as I have an hour or so doing nothing, waiting to leave to go stuff myself silly, drink a bit too much, and enjoy this snowy day, I felt the need to do a little musical interlude post.  I’m starving (trying to keep the belly empty until actual turkey and stuffing time) but none of the music is food related (not yet anyway), just random stuff I’m listening to at the moment!

LUX LISBON

Let’s start with a band that started following me on Twitter.  Never heard of them before the follow but I decided I like them so they are now on my playlist!  I know nothing about the band other than what is on their Twitter profile, they are from London, but you can probably find out more on their website and get a free download of their EP Get Some Scars.  The title track so far is my favorite:

I particularly like the video to this song, Memento Mori, because of the lyrics written on random items.  Must be the writer in me, I like words.  The song is also on the top of the list of favorites from them so far.

EVA AND THE HEARTMAKER

I stumbled upon this particular video via The Pirate Bay.  I like this song a lot but the rest of their songs are not to my liking.  This song, Told You, however, gets stuck in my head!

PJ HARVEY

I can’t believe this song is almost 20 years old!  I remember… yeah, never mind, I’m old, let’s leave it at that. Ha!  Anyway, it may be 20 years old but still a great song, Down by the Water, still mesmerizes me with the whispering.

VERY OLD SONG, TWO VERY DIFFERENT VERSIONS

My father had an album with the song St. James Infirmary played by Louis Armstrong.  This was the version I always liked and was familiar with:

However, watching Peaky Blinders recently one episode played a version by The White Stripes that I particularly liked.  I also confess, this is the first and only song I’ve ever listened to from The White Stripes, not sure that is good or bad but seems they are quite popular so I’m oblivious I guess!  Before I get to the video, I want to say, I am obsessed with Peaky Blinders!  It is available on Netflix (in the US; you lucky UK bastards get it on regular television I hear) and I read they will be doing season three, yay!

So there you have a Thanksgiving musical interlude!  I have just about wasted the hour and must put my coat on if I want to get to the feast in time.  I would like to end by saying, please, forget about Black Friday and make it a shopping free day.  Spend time with family and friends, don’t buy into the hype of shopping for shit no one really needs or can afford.  If you absolutely must shop, support local mom and pop shops or buy from musicians, artists and craftspeople struggling to live doing what they love.  The big box stores have enough of a profit margin.  Spread the wealth to those who really deserve it.

Sunday Picture Press, Blog Update and a Book Launch

LET’S START WITH A BOOK LAUNCH

Now, I know, the title has you thinking it is my book launch but no, it is not, not yet anyway.  A regular participant of Sunday Picture Press, Dave Farmer, has written a book!  The release date is November 28, 2014 — yes, Black Friday to those of you shoppers.  The title is The Range and his site has all the details.  It is an apocalyptic tale about friendship and survival.  There are scary bits, funny bits, and it is only the first of what will be a trilogy! So, instead of becoming a zombie shopper on Black Friday, add Dave’s zombie story to your gift list (and one for yourself of course) and not only make your holiday shopping easy but support a new, self-published, up and coming author!

Hopefully I will have an author interview in future after the book launch.  Dave is a great writer who has always been a supporter of Sunday Picture Press and he deserves all the support and word-of-mouth marketing he can get.

SPEAKING OF SUNDAY PICTURE PRESS

I bet many of you thought it would be on hiatus forever — or another two years.  You are WRONG!

It is returning Sunday, November 30, 2014.

Now that Dave has a book launch I hope he won’t be too busy signing copies to take part *smiles*  Sunday Picture Press went on a short hiatus this time because of hosting issues.  Which brings me to….

BLOG UPDATE

Sunday Picture Press went on hiatus, as I said, because I developed issues with my hosting site.  I have self-hosted the site for a couple of years and recently a renewal issue caused some problems with lost posts, broken links, and other problems.  I know nothing, nothing I tell you, about web design, html, css, flash, and all those other letters related to hosting a site.  I have tried to learn.  Unsuccessfully.

I had grand plans but in the end trying to learn about creating, designing, updating and maintaining a site has been more of a chore with no payout.  Not only has SPP been derailed but regular posting has been intermittent at best.  I want to write, just write, simply have stream of consciousness and publish… well, maybe not that extreme, but I started the blog to have a place to express myself.  I want to post poems, stories, rants, raves and whatever else pops out of my weird mind any time I please and self-hosting took away a little of that desire.

Not only because of the learning curve but I think because it added something else to blogging.  I somehow became… afraid isn’t the word, but hesitant for whatever reason to post because there was this (in my mind only of course) idea hanging over my head that it had to be polished.  It had to be something that attracted millions.  It had to be professional.  It had to be perfect.  I don’t know, but it had to be more than just my blatherings on a blog.  I created this false ideal in my mind but it was enough to make me stop writing.

So, in the end, I decided to forget about self hosting and keep my little old blog here on WordPress.com.  I can not promise it will mean regular posts again (I am finding it hard to get back into the regular writing groove) but at least Sunday Picture Press will return.  It may mean I’m the only one writing but at least it means I’m posting twice a week, the update for SPP and the story.  That’s more than I am doing currently.

For anyone who has me on a blog roll please update the link to read: indigospider.wordpress.com