I'll have to dig around, rewrite things that I lost, write more and post a few more things. I'm glad you liked it.

Here is another work fresh off the printer today, dark and rich with depressing imagery and painful retrospection . . . Ooohhh! . . .

The One I Cannot Forgive

My house lies in a wood land haunted and corpulent
Alone as I am
Its sole inhabitant
In the dead of night
Demons flit from door to door

Rapping, crying to be let in
They know
Though I never told a soul
I stand upon the threshold
In impotent defiance

Will I survive?
This unbearable night and still more to come
Burning with the fever of wounds forgotten and ethereal
They've come for me
And I stand upon the threshold

Talons of ice laden branches
Rake at the portals of my abode
Adrift in a nighted sea
The gods of my childhood
All seeing and eager to feed

I stand upon the threshold
Prisoner of the Abyss
That threatens to tear me away
On a howling black wind
Of madness and regret

Alone all my life
No one dares draw near
Somehow
They all know
What I am

Still burning
Poised with Sinews tensed
Gripping a great cutting blade
I move
As if possessed

In desperation I open the way into the living darkness
My blade arcs and strikes deep
As if of its own accord
Fallen upon the threshold
Lies the defiled shell of a child

The only other one who knows
Who reduced me to this existence
He was shunned
Driven away to somewhere deep within the wilderness
Yet he did not perish

Bitten by the frost
And wild things
Lashed by the hoary branches of Harlequin Trees
Blinded by the absence of light and the brightness of pain
The forest no longer giving him shelter

He found his way back home
Seeking acceptance and forgivness for sins
Committed in the early dawn lit hours
Weaknesses and failings that I could not abide
Within myself

This child
Was forced to be the scapegoat
For fears of rejection, inhumanity . . . Inadequacy
Inside, I know that he was just a boy
Yet I cannot forgive or accept him in spite of who he once was

I found vodka in my refrigerator! All is right with the World! . . . I think . . .

Oh dear lordy! Your poem made me cold, and anything that causes an effect is on the right track.

And now I want to know what Harlequin trees are!

So I'm thinking trees that hang down in points like a jesters hat?
Or, thanks to the lovely google toolbar, Christmas decorations!

Heh, let me know what you make of this: my weekend.

Well right now, I'm sitting at home relaxing and drinking a cup of tea with some good music, I’m sure I will be relieved of at least two of those by the time I finish writing this . . . I'm out of Job-Corp on an unplanned vacation; this all started on Friday night. At around 6:30 that night, I found myself going down the street to the local Hannaford’s (Yankee super-market) wearing my hat and coat which would have looked fine but I was also pushing a Hannaford’s shopping cart, which completely ruined the classy image that I've been trying to present and made me look like an outright hobo. I had agreed to bring the shopping cart back to the Hannaford’s for a good friend of mine who had used it to bring food on campus and had to leave for the weekend. Sadly, the shopping cart does not fit into the story but it is humorous and sets the mood for the events of that night . . . Which were perfectly lowly, sad and ridiculous . . .
I was going to the super-market not only to return the cart but also to meet a few of my friends there. You can see who most of the key players were if you look at my thread "People I know" in photography on Darkforum. I was going to meet John "Cock-blocker/ Private Twinkie" Morrison and Nate and James who were there to pick up some refreshments for a little party we were going to have out in the woods that night and we were going to meet Monkee, Jay (The one with a shaved head) Rista and Kelly.
My group enjoyed an invigorating, moonlit hike through the woods to our destination and we soon arrived at the landfill with a pond graced on three sides by rocky cliff faces, Private Twinkie wanted to set up camp on the cliff-face nearest the water across from the one that stood roughly as high as a three story building even though we could hear the others on that cliff, calling to us. I later understood that this was because Kelly was there and when we learned that a certain gentleman by the nick-name of Big-T had tagged along, expressing his desire to purchase and consume alcoholic beverages: Private Twinkie was even more set against the idea of journeying to the other cliff-face and it took Kelly herself coming across to our side to convince him to resign to making the perilous journey . . . It was 10' Below zero that night and since it is one of my talents, I set about to building a fire at the behest of the others who did not know the first thing about building a fire.
By the time I had a good roaring blaze kindled, Kelly was so inebriated that she could barely stand and a few moments later she reached that point along with laughing for minutes on end over and over again. We had her lay down under the blankets that a few had been thoughtful enough to provide and a few of us had to help her off into the brush a few times so that she could relieve herself. At some point; Big-T, who was largely sober was sitting next to her making out with her. At this point, James and Nate mutually decided to adjourn for the evening and John was having similar thoughts even though everyone who was coherent enough (or not busy attempting to take advantage of a situation), begged him to stay; He insisted to both Monkee and I that his nerves couldn't bear it like a soldier afflicted with shell-shock; and went AWOL on us.
At this rate, before the rest of us even knew what was happening, Big-T had Kelly under the blankets with him and we knew that he was still sober over-all while she could not even stand without help. Monkee was walking around the place in torment and I was just tending and staring into the fire, I went to look for Monkee and soon turned back to stop the shenanigans and going's on by any means necessary ASAP. Monkee beat me to it, arriving just at that moment and telling Big-T to: "Knock it off! You know better!" This is probably a good thing as if it had been me I would have made a much more antagonistic comment: Big-T has that nick-name for a reason (Think big-titties), so I would have approached the forms lying like a pair of stranded whales under a tarp and making similar vocalizations and said "So Big-T, I guess that this is the only way that a guy like you can get pussy huh?" That would have most likely resulted in someone going over the cliff. That still didn't seem out of the realm of possibility though, Big-T responded to Monkee by sitting up and pretending to be shit-faced. As he sat up, Kelly attempted to do so as well, however she lacked the equilibrium to even do that and fell backwards. It was a lovely moment, as she whacked Big-T in the face with the back of her head as she fell and he grunted and groaned that she had probably broken his nose. That was the only retribution that I know he has received for his behavior beside the probable legal repercussions for that evenings events. He got up and he and Monkee faced one another between the fire and the cliff-face and for my part, I firmly suggested that if they were going to fight that they at least move away from the precipice. Monkee stood his ground and Big-T reverted back to playing dumb, something that I'm sure is second nature to him. He left after a long while and we were stuck with looking after Kelly, making sure that she didn't throw herself into the fire and keeping warm. We finally had to head back at around 1:30 and as I walked back into campus, headlights illuminated me and I turned to see a safety van . . . My brother in arms had been caught and breathalized and now we were at their mercy. Kelly and Rista had made the tactical mistake of spraying themselves with perfume in order to mask the odor of alcohol, not realizing that this would make them suspect of having engaged in illicit activity. Jay, Monkee and I reeked of smoke, (My coat still smells slightly of it) and so they were pulled aside while we were merely forced to admit that we had been camping. The rest of the weekend was a whirlwind. John, who I have come to see as a little-brother left the center of his own accord in part and I was there to see him off. The rest of my comrades have been dragged into these events, even those who were not there. One of my best friends was forced into telling who had brought the alcohol, even though the center was able to obtain security footage from Hannaford’s that showed who had purchased it. Leading me to believe that they are attempting to use divide and conquer techniques on my band. Big-T dragged Adam and April into the conflict by accusing Adam of spreading rumors. We are all sick of this and stressed from it as you may well imagine. It doesn’t help them that I am unable to be there to support them with my firm, unassailable nature as I was searched on Sunday night and forced to surrender a multi-tool knife that I had accidentally brought back with me from home.
I took the opportunity to write a statement for the safety officers on the events that occurred that night involving Big-T and Kelly. Only to have it thrown in my face and the names of those that had cared for that evening stained; when Safety asked Kelly about the incident, she claimed that what had nearly occurred was consensual, even though she had been in no position to give informed consent. The next morning, I was rousted from my bed at 5:30 in the morning while still in my boxers and told that I would be leaving for home and that I would have only a half-hour to pack my most important belongings. I must say that I enjoyed the trip in spite of my worries and fears for my dear friends. I rode with Nate and enjoyed his company on the bus-ride through the New England sea-board until Portland and then I went on to the truly Lovely city of Boston, where I almost wanted to stay, before rounding back to Concord and being picked up by my beloved Mother to arrive safe-and-sound back home in my mythical castle in the woods. What bothers me the most is that all could have been well, we could have spent the evening huddled around the fire laughing at Kelly’s drunken-antics while we tended to her needs and kept her safe: John wouldn’t have left to be caught by safety and he and I and the rest would still be at Job-Corp laughing about this, chances are all to good that he will not pass the review board that I will face on Thursday and he is gone for good. . . All because of one wretched lecher of who I have heard rumors that he was bragging that he would be getting laid that night, all because of that one fat fucking Bastard. . . I find myself looking at the various implements that I have acquired over time and wishing that I could have the opportunity to play a few rounds of Golf with the gentleman’s knee-caps using a good, heavy, blunt instrument; such as my blacksmith’s punch.
In a case of sad irony and loss; John, a competent artist, was hard at work on a portrait of yours truly when he left, saying to me by way of explanation that he could not afford to stay as his mental state would not allow him to remain on center any longer and watch someone who had committed such an act get away with it.
The portrait commissioned under my discretion and designed by myself; would have showed me in a forest of Beech, Birch and Oak, sitting upon a throne made from the broken trunk of a mighty fallen Oak. With wings possessing feathers formed as leaves from a Beech tree, feral attributes and disposition in my appearance, my coat in tatters with moss growing upon its fringes. And fine twigs seeming to sprout from my very hair as if forming a pagan crown, fierce talons and fangs would be upon my fingers and lips. My glasses would no longer be needed and would be seen to my left, lying half-crushed upon the ground and yes . . . of course my Spider Hordes, storied and symbolic; would be represented as well . . .
More and more, I find that part of me desires to fully take on this form as a Daemon Spirit of the Forest; to cast off my humanity and live as something that is both more and less then human. For the more I experience and see of this World, the more I fear that my words, no matter how well I conjure them; will not be enough to protect my kingdom of ideals and those that I care for and who share in it.

Your weekend is too long, please shorten it by at least 60%.

A lot can happen in two days dick-weed.

So then do less, quit spending so much time at this "life" thing.


....did I read that wrong, or did you guys go camping in a landfill?

Who wouldn't? But I'm afraid being a hermit is as close as one can get to being a Daemon Spirit of the Forest.

They're not, only practicallity can do that.

Blimey!
Well, I read it all, and so am wondering how you actually feel about leaving if they kicked you out forever?
And when were you due to leave anyway?

No need to worry about much of that now . . . I'm going to miss seeing my friends every day.

That sucks the biggest donkey balls hun.

Those must be some big balls . . . Good thing mine are bigger.

I really got around this weekend. I found two really great locations that afforded some great visuals to be photographed, I'll post a few in the photography board . . . As soon as I can decide what I want to post.

All this talk of 'big balls' is making me gag....

You Love it . . .

Well . . . Here we are, I finally bothered to dig around for a picture of Adolf Flanders . . . Now you can clearly see why I gave him that nick-name and yes, it is common on campus.