Stranded Verses

Friday, October 31, 2008

// 8:56 PM

If I were a Hermit Crab...or a Sea Worm

~I'm having a random and "emo" moment, please bear with me.~

I like the ocean and the things living in it. It's almost like our world, but bursting with extra colour, and vibrancy and life. Perhaps it is just the illusion that water supports things...but I like it nontheless. I suppose if I had more access to the ocean - like living by the beach for instance - I would be out there, more often but, being a city kid born and bred I have to content myself with aquariums and tanks.

It's not half bad, really and if I get over the fact that the animals are being imprisoned inside...I find that I rather like to look at aquariums and tanks containing various oceaninc creatures. It is both interesting and relaxing. But what I like to notice, most often are the little hermit crabs and various species of sea-worms. I look at them and the way they scurry about their lives, as much a part of the bustling life on the coral-reef as they are distant and separate from it. I look at their houses and they way they live. Hermit crabs, of course live for their whole lives within the safety of their "borrowed" shells, often decorated with poisonous anemone (for they are ones who like their privacy) and sea worms, if you do not already know, make some of the strongest, deepest and most quaint looking burrows out of random materials that form a significant portion of "coral" reefs.

I would like really like that sometimes. To live in my own secluded area that I can truly call a place of my own. SOmewhere where I'll be safe - safe from the Voices, safe from the world...safe from intrusion. Just a small place that I can crawl back into and hide, and at the same time, be able to partake in the hustle and bustle of life around me. But at my leisure. It's a very nice thought, I think. And most comfortable as well and sometimes...just sometimes, when I am in my bed and curled up under my comforters I close my eyes and pretend I am in my own little burrow. A secure shell, protected by my regiment of anemones.

And then I would be safe. Safe from the Voices, safe from the world...safe from intrusions. People would say that sometimes intrusion is needed and I agree. But I cannot help but stress on the word "sometimes". There's no point in intrusion, when I cannot do anything about it. It just makes it worse, and there are times when all intrusions are dangerous, and all intrusions are scary.

I am a hermit crab without a shell, my body is soft and vulnerable, and at the mercy of anything.

But if I lived in a shell, with a poisonous anemone guarding my entrance...now that would be another story...

It's rather strange really, considering how if you approached me out of nowhere and asked me

"If you could be any sea-creature in the world, what would it be and why?"

I'd most likely reply "SEAL!" in a hearbeat "Because they get to experience the best of both worlds!" But I suppose if I really think about it...I would have to go for a Hermit Crab or a Sea Worm. Not one of the most glamarous or coolest choices, I must admit...but if I think about it...and really think about it...seals are way too communal and friendly for comfort and a man needs his privacy.

~Perhaps I'm secretly more anti-social and depraved than I thought possible~

PEACE OUT

2 comments

I got 100 percent on the ABC Striptease Quiz!

Thursday, October 30, 2008

// 5:49 PM

It Burns
by Zee bo Bee

The Moth and The Flame
Bert Byfield

A moth flying in black darkness
found a yellow flame flickering
over a red candlestick,
on a brass plate.
Bright in the darkness,
and the moth was pleased,
At the beauty of it
and flew around it admiringly.
and the moth fell in love,
with the flame.

"A moth might love a flame,
but how shall we join our souls, silly moth?"
Asked the flame.
"Very carefully,"
said the moth.
"But it can be done,
if we have love.
The Power of Love.
we will be victorious
over the dark dangers,
as your light illuminates
The Darkness."

"We could never be happy," said the flame,
"For we differ so."
"We will rejoice in our differences," said the moth.
"You will be you and I will be me!
And we will dance,
together and always,
on the wings and flames,
of our love."

"It is my nature to fly," said the moth.
"Up Down Left Right Fore and Aft
Afloat in your light and warmth
Close but not too close
Together but in our own ways
Free."

"I must possess you," said the moth.
"Yes, you may," said the Flame
And so of course they were married.

On their wedding night the moth danced
around the flame.
And the flame flickered magnificently
and they were quite happy together.
through many dark nights,
they danced,
in Happiness.
Supreme.

"I love you," said the moth.
"Come closer," said the flame
"I love you," said the moth, coming closer.
"I only want to help you," said the flame,
glowing warmer, flickering brightly,
eagerly,
as the moth approached.

"I must have you inside me," said the flame,
singing a sweet song,
a siren song
of destruction.
"All of you," sang the flame.
"Consume you!
All of you!
In a yummy moment of glory."

"I am pretty,
you want me,
you love me.
Come to me,
I will be yours.
I will be all that you want,
Touch me!
Feel me!
Come inside me!
Explode all your hot passion,
all of you inside me!
I know you want that.
You know it, too."

"If you really love me, you will do it,"
said the flame, lustfully.

"I have waited long enough," said the flame
"while you dance about me!
Up Down Left Right Fore and Aft,
you have no center,
no wick!
No candlestick!
So you must join me
in mine.
You must!
You must
Do it now!"

"The day of reckoning has come," said the flame.
"Touch me!
Join me!
Enter me!
And you will be filled with joy."

"Too hot!" said the moth,
"I would be consumed!"
"You don't love me," said the flame.
"Go away!"

"Come to me now," said the flame,
"Come and touche me deeply.
It is for your own good.
It is time.
You have flow free long enough.
It is time for you to prove your love,
you oft stated love,
and join with me
in my way.
The True Way.
Now.
Or,
I will burn for you
no more.
Nevermore.
Done."

So the moth flew into the center of the flame
in a glorious moment of love
and became a flame himself,
flaring and bursting and crckling
like a firework rocket,
and burned to a cinder.
Small,
black as coal.

DEAD

"Mmmm... that was good," said the flame,
flickering brightly.

PEACE OUT

3 comments

// 10:51 AM

Monologues

Hey ya'll

I'm sure you've all done it, at some point in your life, so there's no reason to start things out negatively by denying it. Monologues. The very act, of having a conversation, or at least a speech by yourself. It's strange isn't it, unless one were terribly lonely or a hermit...why would there be any need to engage oneself in self-conversation? There hardly seem to be a point in it is there? After all, don't we constantly poke fun at the poor Supervillain who monologues to himself as the brave altogether-too-handsome-Superhero-Man he's got tied down to a conveyor belt - slowly making its way to an activated ion-slicer beam - frees himself only to smack the Supervillian in mid conversation? You know we all do it. "Why the HELL is he talking?" we all say. "Just KILL him already!"

But then, perhaps the Villian needs it so much more than anyone else does. He is different you see, crazy - as some will call him, sick - as most will insist he is...and altogether not handsome enough to warrant him the class of hero. And so he lives an utterly cursed existence. He is distanced from all you see. Feared by his lackeys, ridiculed by the public who knows alltogether-too-handsome-Superhero-Man will save the day, and of course, physically abused by Mr. alltogether-too-handsome-Superhero-Man himself. A cursed existence. Imagine, all that years of self-plotting and twisted genius and absolutely NO ONE to turn to. It only makes sense, when he's got someone tied down and with nowhere to go, can he INSIST that people listen to him.

Of course, he could talk to his lackeys, but perhaps they're too buzy fearing him or carrying out his orders for them to possess any semblance of intelligence worth his notice...and so he has to turn to his last resort. The alltogether-too-handsome-Superhero-Man with wavy locks, who is tied down on the conveyor belt -perhaps not as secure as he'd like to think- and pray that there is at least an inch of gray matter behind that alltogether-too-handsome face and monologue.

But Villains aside, why do you do it. Or actually, why do WE do it? Is it really because it helps us think? Or, that we are crazy or schizophrenic or whatever it is psychologists and psychiatrists would like to call it nowadays? Or maybe, just maybe, we're a lot more like the Supervillain than the alltogether-too-handsome-Superhero-Man than we think? Perhaps, in all of us, is a part that just needs to say something. Things that cannot usually be said - for whatever reason - on a general basis and to people you know. And so, you go up to your room. Sit down upon your bed. And Monologue.
Nothing crazy about it really...or silly. After all, we've all done it when we were children as we fantasized or played or spoke with our imaginary friends...or whatever it is that children used to do back in the days when they actually had to IMAGINE to play a game (and not just plug in a gameboy cartridge as they do these days) . And perhaps this is also what we're doing all along. Living out our fantasies, playing...or imagining if most of you still have that capacity. I suppose the difference is, children (at least back in the day) used to do it more openly though, I daresay it would be strange for an adult to start talking like Aragorn from Lord of The Rings or Iron Man or whatever it is in his or her living room with guests around.

But tonight, of all nights, when you are monologuing, you might want to be careful what you say.

You never know who may be listening in, or what. You never know, you might get a reply! You never know...

Happy ALL-HALLOW'S EVE

PEACE OUT

0 comments

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

// 6:54 PM

Prince of the Toadstools,
by Zee bo Bee

The Stolen Child
W.B Yeats

Where dips the rocky highland
of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
with a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and minglin glances
Till the moon has taken flightl
to and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles,
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
with a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
that scare could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
with a faery, hand in hand
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on teh warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peacve into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.

PEACE OUT

0 comments

// 1:27 PM

I don't have the power
by Zee bo bee

Said the mother to her son,
in what felt like their final hours
"I would like to make it go away,
but I do not have the power."

"I wish that I could break these bars,
but I do not have the strength.
Just miraculously grip them tight,
and twist them along their lengths. "

"I wish that I could tell them to stop,
but I do not have the words.
If they would simply spare your life,
I'd give them (if I had) my second and third! "

"But I cannot do all those things,
they don't stop no matter how I scream,
and so all I can do is hold you,
and tell you that it's just a dream. "

Said the mother to her son,
in what felt like their final hours
"I would like to make it go away,
but I do not have the power."

PEACE OUT

0 comments

// 1:05 AM

To new Beginnings

Hey ya'll

Starting anew here. Same ol' writer, different outlook in life. Looking back on the old blogs (and I've had more than one!) I cannot help but shudder at some of the things I've written in the past. Of course, some will say that the past makes us who we are today. Others will insist that it is now who we were in the past, but what we have done. However, I've not really been inclined to believe, or follow what "Some" say. Or "others" for that matter. In fact, Im beginning to wonder

"Is it not possible, for one's life to start anew. And completely anew, without involving the past whatsoever?"

Of course, life is unlike a blog. I can simply delete my older posts and pretend I had never wrote them. In fact, once their deleted and all copies of them destroyed, it would definitely seem as though I hadn't. But life...now common sense stuffs aside, like how informal vocal lessons with my dear Phillipino Nursemaid from a young age of 4 gave me the confidence and technique I have today, or how I know how to swim now because of those lessons I took when I was 12...things like that aside, what about the more intricate things in life? Of course the two I have just mentioned are very much "physical" things in that they merely involve actions...talents...stuff like that. But what about the rest.

For instance I cant very well deny to myself and say "I have never gotten a tattoo", considering that the effects of such are very permanent and physically measurable... but what if I said something like "I have never made fun of anyone in my life!" What if I did that, and denied it so strongly that I no longer remembered all the people I've tormented in my youth...

would it really make a difference? Of course, I can go on with the rest of my life, "starting anew" so to speak, with complete disregard for past self and past selfish exploits, would it be possible? Would it no longer matter that I had, in fact made fun of...and to varying extents tormented people less fortunate than me in high school. Would it mean that all the crimes I've committed against *Denny*, all the times I've embarrassed *Jay*...all the bitching I did behind *Aisling's* back...what happens to all of that? Would they simply just dissappear? Would it not matter now, that I had turned over a new leaf.

But then of course there is the subject on the people it involved. Of course, it would be one thing for me to deny that such horrible instances ever happened...but what about *Denny*? Would he still feel vengeful for the time I played a cruel trick on his pride? Or *Jay*, when I told him to ask *Sally* out just for the pleasure of watching her reject him...or perhaps *Aisling*...but then again, I still feel *Aisling* deserved every bit of what she got...but the point is, and I repeat,

"is it really possible to start life anew, and completely disregard the past?"

A question, that I am going to aim toward all of you. Do enlighten me...to what extent can we "leave the past behind" ?

PEACE OUT

0 comments

// 12:14 AM

Dante's Inferno pt. 1 - Limbo
*Disclaimer - being a Nature Spiritualist, I'm not all to sure about the existenceof Hell, at the same time, it is rather interesting to read into*

Hey ya'll

Something you might be interested in (especially you Bags, considering the nature of your next story)

IN the midway of this our mortal life,
I found me in a gloomy wood, astray
Gone from the path direct: and e'en to tell,
It were no easy task, how savage wild
That forest, how robust and rough its growth,
Which to remember only, my dismay
Renews, in bitterness not far from death.
Yet, to discourse of what there good befell,
All else will I relate discover'd there.

...............................................................

How first I enter'd it I scarce can say,
Such sleepy dulness in that instant weigh'd
My senses down, when the true path I left;
But when a mountain's foot I reach'd, where closed
The valley that had pierced my heart with dread,
I look'd aloft, and saw his shoulders broad
Already vested with that planet's beam,
Who leads all wanderers safe through every way.

...............................................................

Then was a little respite to the fear,
That in my heart's recesses deep had lain
All of that night, so pitifully past:
And as a man, with difficult short breath,
Forespent with toiling, 'scaped from sea to shore,
Turns to the perilous wide waste, and stands
At gaze; e'en so my spirit, that yet fail'd,
Struggling with terror, turn'd to view the straits
That none hath past and lived. My weary frame
After short pause re-comforted, again
I journey'd on over that lonely steep,

...............................................................

The hinder foot still firmer. Scarce the ascent
Began, when, lo! a panther, nimble, light,
And cover'd with a speckled skin, appear'd;
Nor, when it saw me, vanish'd; rather strove
To check my onward going; that ofttimes,
With purpose to retrace my steps, I turn'd.

...............................................................

The hour was morning's prime, and on his way
Aloft the sun ascended with those stars
That with him rose when Love divine first moved
Those its fair works; so that with joyous hope
All things conspired to fill me, the gay skin
Of that swift animal, the matin dawn,
And the sweet season. Soon that joy was chased,
And by new dread succeeded, when in view

...............................................................

A lion came, 'gainst me as it appear'd,
With his head held aloft and hunger-mad,
That e'en the air was fear-struck. A she-wolf
Was at his heels, who in her leanness seem'd
Full of all wants, and many a land hath made
Disconsolate ere now. She with such fear
O'erwhelm'd me, at the sight of her appall'd,
That of the height all hope I lost. As one
Who, with his gain elated, sees the time
When all unwares is gone, he inwardly
Mourns with heart-griping anguish; such was I,
Haunted by that fell beast, never at peace,
Who coming o'er against me, by degrees
Impell'd me where the sun in silence rests.

...............................................................

While to the lower space with backward step
I fell, my ken discern'd the form of one
Whose voice seem'd faint through long disuse of speech
When him in that great desert I espied,
"Have mercy on me," cried I out aloud,
"Spirit! or living man! whate'er thou be."

...............................................................

He answer'd: "Now not man, man once I was,
And born of Lombard parents, Mantuans both
By country, when the power of Julius yet
Was scarcely firm. At Rome my life was past,
Beneath the mild Augustus, in the time
Of fabled deities and false. A bard
Was I, and made Anchises' upright son
The subject of my song, who came from Troy,
When the flames gfrey'd on Ilium's haughty towers.
But thou, say wherefore to such perils past
Return'st thou? wherefore not this pleasant mount
Ascendest, cause and source of all delight?"
"And art thou then that Virgil, that well-spring
From which such copious floods of eloquence
Have issued?" I with front abash'd replied.
"Glory and light of all the tuneful train!
May it avail me, that I long with zeal
Have sought thy volume, and with love immense
Have conn'd it o'er. My master thou, and guide!
Thou he from whom alone I have derived
That style, which for its beauty into fame
Exalts me. See the beast, from whom I fled.
Oh, save me from her, thou illustrious sage!
For every vein and pulse throughout my frame
She hath made tremble." He, soon as he saw

...............................................................

That I was weeping, answer'd, "Thou must needs
Another way pursue, if thou wouldst 'scape
From out that savage wilderness. This beast,
At whom thou criest, her way will suffer none
To pass, and no less hindrance makes than death:
So bad and so accursed in her kind,
That never sated is her ravenous will,
Still after food more cravings than before.
To many an animal in wedlock vile
She fastens, and shall yet to many more,
Until that greyhound come, who shall destroy
Her with sharp pain. He will not life support
By earth nor its base metals, but by love,
Wisdom, and virtue; and his land shall be
The land 'twixt either Feltro. In his might
Shall safety to Italia's plains arise,
For whose fair realm, Camilla, virgin pure,
Nisus, Euryalus, and Turnus fell.
He, with incessant chase, through every town
Shall worry, until he to hell at length
Restore her, thence by envy first let loose.
I, for thy profit pondering, now devise
That thou mayst follow me; annd I, thy guide,
Will lead thee hence through an eternal space,
Where thou shalt hear despairing shrieks, and see
Spirits of old tormented, who invoke
A second death and those next view, who dwell
Content in fire, for that they hope to come,
Whene'er the time may be, among the blest,
Into whose regions if thou then desire
To ascend, a spirit worthier than I
must lead thee, in whose charge, when I depart,
Thou shalt be left: for that Almighty King,
Who reigns above, a rebel to his law
Adjudges me; and therefore hath decreed
That, to his city, none through me should come.
He in all parts hath sway; there rules, there holds
His citadel and throne. Oh, happy those,
Whom there he chooses!" I to him in few:
"Bard! by that God, whom thou didst not adore,
I do beseech thee ( that this ill and worse
I may escape) to lead me where thou saidst,
That I saint Peter's gate may view, and those
Who, as thou tell'st, are in such dismal plight."

...............................................................

Onward he moved, I close his steps pursued.

0 comments

// 12:14 AM

Same old', same old'
by Zee bo Bee

He felt his life was boring,
it was the same from day to day.
He felt it had no meaning
It was never in his way.

But then as he were laying,
upon his bed to sleep,
he realised life was maintaining
a balance he could not keep.

In being dull and boring,
that nothing happened at all
life kept him safe from facing,
any strange challenges and falls.

~Monotony is, the dull face of Security.~

PEACE OUT

0 comments

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

// 11:54 PM

The world between the world
by Zee bo Bee

The world between the world,
is most often quite unseen,
we disregard it in our lives;
as though it has never been.

The world between a world,
is both delicate and small,
it can flourish in one second,
and in the next is nothing at all.

But the timeline of this world,
that is contained within our own
is faster than we can imagine;
let me show you how they have grown

In a minute they had life,
the very first of their strange kind,
by the next they built their cities,
the quaintest you'll ever find.

And they multiplied and multiplied,
and spread their influence,
Until eventually they were congested,
you can see how with common sense.

And if the next thing had not happened,
the people might have moved,
to different worlds to colonialise,
but alas the next thing proved;

that no worlds can last forever,
even the ones that are self-contained,
for this world in a drop of water,
found itself quite literally drained.

And the parameciums and amoeba,
the euglenas and algae,
found themselves a doomsday
when the drop was wiped away.

The world between the world,
is most often quite unseen,
we disregard it in our lives;
as though it has never been.

Image Hosting by PictureTrail.com

PEACE OUT

0 comments

// 11:43 PM

Sonnet of Confusion
by Zee bo Bee

On Valentine's Day I gave you some flowers
and a red box of candy, sealed with a kiss.
Then, candelight dinner; conversations for hours,
But I couldn't help feel that something's amiss
You raised up your eyes to look right at me,
beautiful - but troubled, and most apalled.
"You're upset," I said, "What's the matter, do tell me?"
And you asked me "do you even love me at all?"
"You've never, not once, told me 'I love you!'
And you are always just doing your own damn thing!
Sure you've kissed me...PLEASE! Attend to!"
Because I need to know I'm not just a fling!"

But if I know not of this feeling or why,
how can I say that "I love you," and- do I?

~The notion of Love is like flowers, and therefore without hope. Because hope is tomorrow, and flowers have no tomorrow. It can wilt in a blink of an eye, and leave you with memories...forever wanting.~

PEACE OUT

0 comments

// 11:35 PM

I know the place where lost Thoughts go,
By Zee bo Bee

*I had a thought for a blog post, and it began with, "I know of that place...". But when my Train of Thought suddenly dissappeared, I found myself with nowhere to go. So I sat down for a while and eventually wrote this:

That place where your thoughts go,
is situated right under your bed
It is where the river of dreams flow,
and what your "Rationalities" dread.
.....................................................
Whenever you're thinking of something,
that quite abruptly flies far-far-away,
and then you find yourself standing,
with your mouth open - nothing to say.
.....................................................
This is perhaps a most frustrating moment,
that all of us have experienced before;
when our Thoughts dissipate without condonement,
like the white foam that washes ashore
.....................................................
But yesterday night I've discovered,
of that secret place where all lost Thoughts go.
and suddenly, just, I remembered
to write it down to let all of you know;
.....................................................
As I looked and looked under my pillow,
to search for a Thought lost - so dear -,
I found myself facing a strange fellow
who spoke in a voice high and clear.
.....................................................
He said to me, "Cyren don't worry"
"Your thoughts have been kept safe by me."
"I could tell you where, but I've got to hurry"
"So why don't I just show you :- LOOK! See!"
.....................................................
And so next he lifted my comforters,
and -following that- layers and layers of quilts,
till' eventually the small-strange-collecter,
showed me where he kept my Thoughts that were spilt.
.....................................................
There they were, nestled amidst the dust bunnies,
so light, you could disperse them with one blow.
But they shone with the brilliance of rubies,
and from then on that's how i'll always know; -
.....................................................
That place where your thoughts go,
is situated right under your bed
It is where the river of dreams flow,
and what your "Rationalities" dread.

PEACE OUT

0 comments

// 11:16 PM

The Magic Shell
by Zee bo Bee

I will leave here a parting gift to you, my dear;
a Magical Seashell from the oceans so clear.
Whenever you miss me just hold it up to your ear;
And you will hear me singing, just as though I am near.

PEACE OUT

0 comments

// 11:13 PM

The Death of a God
by Zee bo Bee

An old woman walks down the street of a crowded urban street. She is dressed in rags of faded tartan and pulls a shawl around her shoulders to ward of the blistering cold of this winter's night. She is shabby and shoddy in appearence and her gait is that of one bent over with age. A few people look up from their steaming cups of coffee but dismiss her as a homless. "Not my problem," they told themselves to ward off feelings of guilt. She sits down in a dismal alleyway and curls into herself. Lying in a fetal position, she seems to be murmuring something. Again and again, the same words. But no one knows what it is.

People are buzy, they go on with their lives. Their idle chatter, over their steaming mugs. Besides, it is too cold to go outside to listen.

The stories say that the Cold Woman was the most beautiful thing human eyes had ever seen.

I walk the streets with a resigned flair as I look at the world around me and take it all in; the lights, sounds, smells...

In its own cold and clinical way, this new world is actually rather beautiful. But it is not the kind of beauty that my heart is used to. My heart lived in a time long lost. It was a time when the Forests went on forever, and when men spoke of the Earth and its Elements with reverence. It was the time of Magic.

People do not notice me as I walk pass. They do not praise my name, nor do they lower their eyes in reverence. Butw hy would they, when I am but a shadow of my former incarnations?

These days, there is only one of me, and she is bent, and crippled and small. But then again, even in times of old, mankind has never been good at seeing anything beyond their noses. Even then...

She looked like the goddess of the dawn when she entered the village that morning;

I remember a time when women did things in my name, and when men would throw great feasts and offerings to win my favour. And I usually granted it to them, for it was a time when men were responsible and we kept the world in check.

Men took from us, they took land and water. They took plants when We granted them harvests and animals when they went to hunt. But they knew and they learnt; that to take from the Earth was to return it in some other way. They learnt from our kindness but also Our wrath, for We are not without anger and we are not above retribution.

We were the keepers of the Earth and the world was all the better for it.

The sun was shining for once, and it glittered off her white skin and lit the golden hair that flowed down to her knees.

But peace is never forever. There have always been war amongst Gods, but the war that was coming was unlike nothing we were prepared for. It started with the birth of a new God, an entity fairly new to our world. We were deign to let this new God coexist in our realm but it was not made to be so.

The new God stole our followers and punished our believers and when we finally decided to fight back, we were already much too weakened. Better retreat and live off the crumbs from this new God's plate, than be stamped out by force, forever.

And so we have existed for so long, in shadow and in myth. And despite His efforts we were kept alive by the small smattering of stories and fables told in our names. No longer did we have the powers to influece the Rain or the Wind, but we were alive. And for a short time, all was peaceful, once more.

But before long a new wave of Gods swept the earth, and they were man-made and they had names. The Gods of Science and Technology and along with them, the hounds of Internet and Satellite, and they sought to wipe out our existence completely from the face of the Earth.

We fought this time and we fought early. We appealed to the new God to join us in arms. "They are still young," we reasoned, "and you are of great power! Together we can beat them before they hold sway!" But our cries fell on deaf ears. He would not listen and he would not heed.

But he is young, younger than most of us by millenia, and it is always the place of the young to feel superior to their predescesors.

Her face was magical in its beauty, her eyes black in her white face.

And now it has come down to this. I walk down that dark street and stop by an alleyway. I sit in the corner, my back against a brick wall and I am shocked at how the cold effects me so. Never was there a God who was effected by the elements...but I am no longer...

I curl myself up in a last attempt to keep warm. I pull my shroud of rags and faded tartan around my shoulders, but it does not keep out the cold. The world is changing. It is heading for a new age, one that is as different as the old as flowers are from cars.

"It is the way of things, to eventually pass from existence," I tell myself over and over again, an imaginary mantra that keeps away the cold. The world will go on without us to take care of it, but whatever chaos it entails is for men, his new God and the even newer Gods to face. But all things move on, and it is my time.

I don't know how long it will take, but I know it will be soon, and so I lay my head down on the cold snow-strewn pavement, and wait for my last breath.

Some fell to their knees to worship her.

............................................................................

An old woman walks down the street of a crowded urban street. She is dressed in rags of faded tartan and pulls a shawl around her shoulders to ward of the blistering cold of this winter's night. She is shabby and shoddy in appearence and her gait is that of one bent over with age. A few people look up from their steaming cups of coffee but dismiss her as a homless. "Not my problem," they told themselves to ward of feelings of guilt. She sits down in a dismal alleyway and curls into herself. Lying in a fetal position, she seems to be murmuring something. Again and again, the same words.

It was around twelve at night when she put out a palm, stroked the earth and said "you take good care of yourself now," before she breathed her last breath. And there it happened, unknown to all the people around, bustling to get out of the cold, too absorbed with their lives to make a mark of a noteable moment in the history of the planet; the Death of a God.

PEACE OUT

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// 11:09 PM

The Problem With Mermaids (or the erotic tale with an unexpected ending)
by Zee bo Bee

There she was, staring at him like a creature out of his primal fantasies. "This couldn't be more perfect," he thought to himself. "Look at her! Part human, part fish...part Goddess. This is just...perfect!" And it was perfect. She opened her arms and beckoned him into her warm embrace, and he would have, except he had a fear; fear of drowning, fear of sinking and more importantly, the fear that man has of dying alone in the dark depths of the ocean, his lungs crushed by the immense pressure around him. A death that can surely end with nothing but soundless screams and the icy bite of frost and chill witnessed only by the cold horrendously disfigured creatures and fish that can only inhabit the depths, hiding their ugliness from the world in a land of constant darkness.

But she called his name and he found he could breath. She touched his inner thigh and he found that he could float - though, admittedly, not as beautifully as her. And, when she undid his buttons and pants, all remaining thoughts of death and pain, of soundless screams and cold were washed away form his mind like sandcastles at high-tide.

And so, in his rapture he loved her and she loved him back. She swam around him in glittering scales of green and blue, her blonde hair framed her face most beautifully and she said in most dulcet tones "let me please you, let me love you." And, most naturally, he agreed.

They kissed and touched and enjoyed the feel of the other's body upon their own. It was quite a new sensation for him, feeling her slippery scales rubb across his nether regions but it aroused him like nothing in his life had ever. "How cool is this?!" he kept telling himself "Wait till the guys hear about this!". And they would. But for now, the couple kept on sinking, deeper and deeper in ingorant bliss both figuratively and literally. For with each fathom they passed from the surface, so did the mermaid lower her luscious coral-lips to a part of his body.

When they were skimming the surface, she kissed his lips. When they reached they ocean shelf, she kissed his neck. And so on it went, as they sunk deeper and deeper into the ocean, he, ignorant of the natural sights around him; of wondrous corals and multi-colored fish, and she, devoid of the inhibition or shame so common with our human females. From his neck she went to his chest. From his chest, she travelled to his navel until finally she reached the point where, as the pirates say, "X marked the spot!"

And he had never recieved such feelings before. The mermaid serviced him. But more than pleasure him physically she pleasured him emotionally. "You have never lived," he decided right then, "unless you've gotten head from a mermaid underwater." And it was true, and the couple floated for almost an hour in such position in raptured bliss. And when he was reaching his breaking point she stopped all of a sudden and said, "wait!". Confused and frustrated he raised a questioning eyebrow. But she placed a delicate opalascent finger on his lips and said "If you are going to do that, we must do it properly."

"You know," she quickly added, noticing his questioning expression "the ACTUAL way!" and he was immediately filled with thoughts of fully consumating his relationship with the mermaid. He wondered if he should mention the matter of "protection" and not having any rubbers on his person at the moment, but eventually thought against it. "Nothing that would potentially kill the moment!" he decided. "I love her too much and I must have her now!" And he looked at her straight in her beautiful sapphire eyes and told her so.

"But wait a minute!" said the mermaid in her melodious tones. "I have to prepare." And so, because he felt that even human girls would need to 'prepare' and that mermaids should be no different, he acquiesed, and in a swirl of silver bubbles and glittering scales she dissappeared behind a clump of kelp. He could not see her from where he was standing, or rather, floating but he could hear her voice. She was humming and moaning and purring in a most erotic manner that his 'interest' was sustained and finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she peered out from between the kelp coyly and said "I'm ready!"

And so she was. The man advanced to his aquatic lover, each stroke of his muscled arms pulling him closer to her lithe body draped ever so slightly within the clump of kelp and when he finally got there he regailed once more at the sight of her beautifully pale, nude breasts and lusted for her once more. But what was this? Surrounding the mermaid were pearls, beautiful and opalescent like nothing he'd ever seen before. "Surely," he thought to himself "this must be the fabled Treasure of The Mermaids, and she has decided to give them to me out of love." And so he mentioned it and so she said "yes, my love they are the greatest treasures of the mermaids."

His curiosity satiated, he focused his attention once more to the mermaid but as he rubbed his body to her she pulled back. Surprised he asked her if anything was the matter. "But haven't you done it before?" she asked him with a more-than-a-little-bit-shocked sort of voice. Confused, the man could only shrug and attempt his advance once again only to be refused once more by the mermaid.

"I can see this is your first time having sex with a mermaid," she said, not unkindly. "But we cannot complete our relationship the same way you do with mortal women. Ours is a different way. Better." And the sailor, in hearing this was even further aroused with naughty thoughts of what sort of new and unexplored positions he might partake with his lover. "Then enlighten me my love," he said. "Teach me!"

"The Treasure of the Mermaids..." she began but was cut off

"Alas, I could not care for pearls as their beauty, though otherworldy as it is, pales in comparison with yours." said he, trying desperately to contain his growing lust.

"But they're not Pearls!" said the Mermaid in a shocked voice. "They are the eggs I have laid that are awaiting the arrival of your seed! Quickly now, position yourself above them so that you may spray as many of them as possible lest your seed is washed away by the current!"

And his face dropped and as positioned himself over the gleaming, glistening pearls, or eggs as we should rightfully call them now, he realised the extent of his stupidity of expecting any intercourse with a mermaid. For mermaid, as beautiful and seductive she may be - though she possesses the softest and smoothest skin, the luscious most luxurious lips and the prettiest most enchanting breasts - is, when all is said and done, a fish from the waist beneath!

PEACE OUT

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