With a voice lacking compassion. Benevolence is overrated. The bombers flew over the holy land. Just a child, looking up at the oblivion, damnation profession. Confessional, the pews are empty as her porcelain stained tears spilled. Rosary. Jesus Mary Child. Grown up, her words echo the silence.
Forty five minutes and seventy-nine months. People think of him like the hatter, though he’s nothing more than the white rabbit – steering into the flow with eyes sewn shut to cancel out the light. Burning red, fading hopes. Vacant. Disinfected. The father’s abortion spilled. Seed stained. Utter the words and the prayers. Count the beads upon his fingers. Each one, a sexual thrill rises through him.
Father forgive me. I’ve not sin enough. I’m the ballast, charged with solemnity. Take in the cannibalistic flesh, drink of the blood. Praise them. Happy are those who bash the little ones upon the stones.
Lips of jasmine. The light has faded. The star burning out. Expanding. Withstanding. Commanding. Stellar view. She knows that suicide is just a symptom of feeling nothing worthwhile. The funeral ballerina twirling to the waves of the dirge.
Suicide is but a symptom of its dying grace. Left shattered upon the altar of our greed.
A few years ago, I created a character named Donovan. I breathed a very painful history into his soul. I drew the breath of life from the lips of his mouth. However, my character never developed much. He just teetered and vanished. Sometime last year, I resurfaced my notes on his characteristics and realized he was a killer, not a drug dealer as I originally intended. Question remains whether this character is a villain, the boogeyman for a hero, or if Donovan is the hero of the tale. The anti-hero like Dexter Morgan, who preys only on the wicked. A vampire like Lestat, who only feeds on the blood of criminals. There are several passages for my character to take, and each of them traveled down before.
A killer – regardless of his being good or evil – lacks a conscience. That’s where I find a problem for my Donovan. He feels too much. His reasons for choosing death is his fear of it. For him, death is a trade. He’ll be burden like anyone who is laid off – or, in his case, arrested – though given the choice, he could leave it behind – it’s a possibility I toyed with. Still, I haven’t worked on anything for Donovan. I have thrust him in the midst of any scenario, of any story. I’ve created an arch-foe for him, but I don’t know if he’s really the foe – as I still haven’t figured out which side of the line Donovan stands.
Another character idea I’ve toyed with is that of a book hunter thief – what’s a book thief but a professional book hunter? He isn’t really carved out well enough and lacks a name. The only things I know about him is that he’s cocky and intelligent – one would have to be, don’t you think?
I hope with summer dawning – meaning, I’ll be back at work at the stadium in no time – I’ll have more time with my thoughts. I’ll be able to figure shit out. In the mean time, I’ll just write my notes and figure what paths to take my new heroes down.
I have a poetry reading to attend tomorrow. Its theme is Mother’s Day. It’s an early Mother’s Day reading. Of course, I’ve known about this before the tail end of April. I procrastinated on working on a piece. And now I have nothing to read tomorrow. Then again, I do. I have two pieces that deal – not explicitly – about motherhood. Plus the stories given to me by my followers over on Tumblr. I think I can save face on this. Who knows. My only hope is that I can get El Senor out of his hiding place.