A Little Big Dream

Once upon a time there was a very troubled boy and a very special girl. The boy lived on one side of a big island and the girl on another smaller island very far away.

Every day the boy would day-dream about a girl who would come and start a new, happy chapter in his sad, miserable little life.

And by night, he dreamed of this very girl.

She was, of course, the most beautiful girl the world had ever seen. Her eyes sparkled like stars reflected in a clear mountain creek. Her skin was as clear and soft as the sand on an empty beach in the early morning as the water receded back to the sea. Her voice was unworldly. It was both as sweet as sugar and as exotic as a forbidden fruit. She was everything dreams were made of. Which is why when the poor boy awoke it was always with a frown as he found she was still just a dream.

He went on for several years wishing and praying to never wake from his dreams, to be with this perfect girl every night forever. But he knew that was impossible. She was the only thing to put his mind at ease yet he could never truly be with her.

Eventually he took solace in other means to drown out his terrible past. In order to cope with all his ill-fated feelings and his troubled demons he would take to the stage, he would forget his worries by becoming other people.

Whether he was the dashing hero who had to save the damsel in distress, the bumbling buffoon who distracted from the sadness or the bedeviled villain stirring evil — he preferred it all to his own life.

Soon he began to forget it all. His worries, his troubles, his entire history of darkness and depression. He forgot everything.

He even forgot that special girl from his dreams.

He went on to become a completely different person. Eventually his talent to act was discovered and he even left behind his home. He finally erased the last link to his horrible past. He became more famous and more loved then he had ever thought was possible.

Until one day…

At the release for his newest, best movie yet he noticed a woman, a reporter in the crowd of flashes. For a moment he was reminded of the stars. For a brief second he could smell the sweet, fresh, beach air. He blinked as he walked the red carpet and she was gone.

As mysterious as she was and as quick as she had come and  gone…it was enough.

The former troubled little boy who now had everything he could have ever wished for had an enormous empty hole somewhere inside him.

And he had no idea why.

As a result all the problems and worries and troubles of the past started to fall out of this hole. Only because he had forgotten them all, none had any labels. Now he was haunted by nameless and faceless ghosts.

He threw himself into his career trying to put it all behind him but no amount of pretending would mask his pain, his yearning for something more.

Then one day, he had an interview with a young, aspiring journalist…

The first thing he noticed was her voice.

Sweet as candy it penetrated his ear and like a melody lifted from him all his fears and all his worries. they talked for hours longer then scheduled, but just about his career, but her’s as well. They talked about their childhoods, home towns and before the boy knew it he was even telling her about his special dream girl.

When t he night finally turned to early morning  the young, beautiful reporter thanked the boy for his time.

He frowned despite his best efforts and said, “I guess this is where I wake up, to find out it was all a dream?”

She smiled and kissed his forehead replying, “It doesn’t always have to be that way.”

The boy suddenly jerked awake, still young, still troubled, still living in his home. All of his life from the moment he was discovered up until meeting his dream girl really was just another hopeless dream.

He walked outside to see a group of people gathering around a poster for a real Hollywood movie audition. Then the boy remembered that beautiful, sweet girls gentle words, “…it doesn’t always have to be that way.”

The next day, instead of going to the audition the troubled boy boarded a boat to take him across the sea to a small little island where he would find a very special girl.

The Invisible Ink:
Very simple tale here, I don’t have much to say about it. =) I hope you enjoy it. Sorry about the infrequent posting lately, I hope you’re checking back occasionally! I do have stuff written, just not typed up. =)

Apathy & Neglect, There’s a Difference.

No, I’m not neglecting Visible Inks or providing you all with some form of brief entertainment or, in my wildest dreams, enlightenment of some sort. I’ve actually got quite a few pieces written, the only problem is…I did them old school, on paper while at work. You may be asking yourself why that matters. Allow me to explain.

Very rarely do I plan anything I write. Writing for me, is very similar to acting. It comes from someplace deep inside me, someplace rooted firmly within what I can only describe with a metaphor. Imagine, if you will, opening up a 24 pack of Playdoh and tossing it around on the floor. The next step you take is to roll up and mash all those colors together into one, singular piece of Playdoh. After rolling it all into one big sphere you then proceed to mead and mash it in more until the original content is no longer perceivable and all you have is one new, very complicated, mixed…well, ball of Playdoh.

I don’t know how well that worked for you, but when I write and act I don’t start the process with logical thought, or a well laid out plan. Both require very skilled acts of intellect and a deep concentration and understanding of the art, however, for me before that there is a very basic, emotional and in a way primal connection to the material. I don’t begin with an outline or a flowchart or anything of the sort. That’s all too boring for me, to see the story planned out, even in a very skeletal form completely turns me off to the idea.

No, when it comes to writing, I simply begin. I usually have some type of instrumental music on, I close my eyes and try to focus all I have on a singular emotion or act or idea and then I just write. In most cases I never know whats going to come next or what is going to happen, as I write the story it’s like reading something for the very first time. It’s exhilarating.

Now, allow me to meander back to my original point — having already written several tails or poems down on paper the excitement isn’t necessarily gone, it’s still very present but in a lesser capacity. I then struggle to re-write, or in this case re-type it. This is also the eventually bane behind things such as trying to revise my own work, or re-write it in any way. I know whats going to happen, and re-vising or re-writing reminds me too much of ‘English’ classes where creativity was normally snuffed out in return for a kind of uniformity.

Don’t get me wrong — I’m working on it. The first chapter of Orphans I re-wrote several times and what I ended up with I absolutely love. It’s difficult for me to do, but I am working on it.

In short, my friends, I’m just being lazy. The pieces you have to look forward to, however, if I get a sudden spark of motivation is as follows…

• No Rest, II-VI.
• A Little Bit of Nonsense, Part 2 and 3.
• Orphans, Chapter 2.
• A New Tale of Catch Kingsley.

I do believe that is about it. Again, my apologies.

Wonder of my World

As the Moon starts its night behind the hills,
And the Sun begins it’s daily climb toward the sky,
You’ll open your eyes, turn to your side,
I’ll kiss you sweetly on the nose and whisper, “Hi.”

Because I’ve been far to the West,
Where the Mountains reach high.
And snow tipped peaks far in the sky,
Offer a majestic reach to the uninspired eye.
But I let out a huff and climbed down with a sigh,
As the Mountains compared to you were hardly a sight.

Traveling still I turned to the East,
For peace with the forests, trees and bids in full chorus.
The deeper I ventured the more tranquility I found,
But I always knew my way back to you.
They were nothing compared to the serenity abound,
When I lose myself completely to your eyes.

So instead I went North,
To the Aurora lands and shores.
Beauty brilliantly preserved in ice and sparkling snow.
But I shrugged at the scene,
Because I’d laid eyes upon it before.
Every morning on your face,
Every afternoon in your smile,
Every evening in your touch,
And every night in your kiss.

I sought to travel South,
Over the seas whose vast splendor
Capture the hearts of men over and over.
But my heart was already in someone’s hands,
Compassionate and gentle.
The Waters of the World never stood a chance against you.

So I’ve done all there is to do,
And now I’ve come back
To the One True Wonder of the World…
And that’s you.
I’m done with farewells forever.
From this day on it’s “Good morning, my sweet.”
And “Good night, my love.”
–Eternal.

The Invisible Ink:
In a small way, this is sort of a ‘sequel’ or at the very least a ‘response’ to Farewell Forever. Mm, no, neither. We’ll just say it was inspired, what with using the directions and such. Since this one is very specifically about love and the other was more aimed at Farewells and Death. Anyhow! Yes, simple message here — when you’re truly in love there is no greater beauty in the world then waking up next to that one person you cannot live without.

No Rest, I

Prologue.

This is a story just like any other. It begins with ‘Once upon a time.’ Unlike most other stories with which start the same, this one is full of wicked intent, malicious acts of blood and gore, evil transgressions and bursting at the seems with treachery. This story which takes place once upon  time is not what one would call a fairy tale. It is most certaintly more along the lines of a Devil’s tale.

Once upon a time in a dark, cruel city there lived a grim faced man. His past was ripe with regret, remorse, hate and pain. To many mistakes stacked high against his raped conscious. Slowly tallying up, closer and closer to the edge of a rain slicked precipice. It was on this particular night the man would thrust into the secret underworld of wicked demons and bedeviled souls. A world known to very few and a fate suffered by all who perceived it.

This grim soul would learn this night there truly is no rest for the wicked…

“You’re certain it will work then? All preparations are complete?” asked a man.

“It’s all been repressed. The stage is set. Once underway there will be no room for regret…” answered another.

“Yes…very well then. Initiate stage 2 of Project NR.4.TW,” said the first.

A Little Bit of Nonsense (I)

Part One, You May Begin

Green-leafed trees fill the park lined with pedestrians,
They watch the Cat-Twins play Frisbee with skill,
Despite their obvious superglue handicap.

Nevertheless, small bears with herbivore dentures,
Spring up amongst the potato patch!
They walk hand in hand, best of friends,
With blue stick birds — whispering Chinese
To cats with stingers who spin webs to carry human skulls.

“That never happened!” …you just don’t get it.

Meanwhile! A Beautiful Butterfly transforms
Into a stunningly sexual woman through a dream cocoon.
Taking the hand of her lover they soar romantically…
Over to the giant sign of H in the Valley of Angels.
Onlookers wonder curiously at the screams of ecstasy.

The Invisible Ink:
Just like the title says. A little bit of nonsense. It’ll mean some to some and less to others, but the world to one or another. I know this is the most cryptic of my Invisible Inks, but in time they’ve come to be a part of the piece itself, and I don’t know, I feel like if I explained this one to deeply it might loose it’s appeal. You’re more then welcome to try and decipher it yourselves though if you so wish. =)

A Return Indeed

I’ve started to re-acquire my taste and dedication for writing. The negative things in my life are now a lot more positive and therefore I have a reason to scribe. There are two pieces in particular you will see within the next several days. One is a short story I previously mentioned, it will be episodic in its reoccurring nature. However, each installment will be brief — see the Tall Man for a guesstimated length. The reason for this is because I’ve started writing it in a very poetic and melodic fashion. I think this works on two levels; the first being it sounds very nice, eloquent at times. The second being that this very sensation of eloquence and beauty is the exact opposite of anything that this short story represents. It gives — I think — a very precise and enjoyable juxtaposition to the overall composition and presentation.

The other debut you’ll see is going to be a series of poems that will quite literally be a little bit of nonsense to most, if not all of my readers. That is not to say that it won’t be enjoyable or that you won’t get it in some fashion. If you’d like, perhaps an augmented albeit slightly in the other direction idea of what may be coming your way, please read the love song to some rock.

And no, I’m not trying to compare myself to TS Eliot. The meaning\reasoning\whatever behind his poem and that whole idea of subconscious flow of thought etc. etc. is too far fetch’d and complicated for my feeble little college-drop out mind to handle. In fact, the poems you’ll see from me in regards to this post are completely on the opposite side of the spectrum in regards to subconscious thought.

Still, some of you may see what I meant when I say they have similarities.

Only time will tell.

My To Do List

One. Wake up next to you, kiss you softly on the forehead so as not to disturb your rest.
Two. Take a shower.
Three. Get dressed.
Four. Take a few minutes to watch you sleep, reminding myself just how beautiful you are.
Five. Make breakfast. (Read; Order Pizza)
Six. Serve you yours in bed.
Seven. Lay with you talking about Chinchilla’s, Bears shaped like potatoes and kids falling down stairs until you doze back to sleep lazily.
Eight. Repeat step one.
Nine. Go to work.
Ten. Notice how every little thing somehow finds a way to remind me of you.
Eleven. Come home from work.
Twelve. Sneak in and embrace you from behind, like a ninja.
Thirteen. Let you know how you mean the world to me; before my shoes or coat are even off.
Fourteen. Eat cold pizza with you.
Fifteen. Argue over what movie we should watch.
Sixteen. Watch American Idol, X Factor, or some other silly reality TV show; because I know you love them.
Seventeen. Debate over what to name the Chinchilla we’ll eventually buy. Note: Let you win the debate.
Eighteen. Get ready for sleep.
Nineteen. Pretend to fall asleep first, then softly kiss your forehead so as not to disturb your rest.

The Invisible Ink.
Very peculiar format for a poem, I know. But I like it. I’m going to put it away somewhere for future use. Hopefully, one day I’ll get to print it off and use it daily. One day. =)

Clairvoyance

I don’t have it.

I’m guessing you don’t either. Fret not my beloved readers because I can give you the next best thing.

Instead of using some paranormal powers to foretell what’s on the horizon for Visible Inks, I can just tell you! Neat how that works out, huh?

There have been some pretty substantial changes in my life recently. Both physically and emotionally. That’s why you haven’t seen a lot of posts in the past few weeks. In the future these few days will come to be referred to as the closing\opening of a chapter. Yes, that significant.

Some of the results of that are as follows;

• You can expect me to be morbid and cynical (more so).
• You can expect less of the lovey-dovey stuff. I’ll still try to put some out here and there, but there remains little inspiration.
• You can probably expect less poems all together. I’ve found I have trouble writing them lately.
• You can expect more short stories!

And that’s where I’ll stop with the bullets so I can expect on it.

More than being a poet, I love to write stories. I know from my content here one might be inclined to think the other way, but alas that’s untrue. I love the weaving of tales over the creation of stanzas. I love being able to instill what some have called “like a movie” into my readers heads, rather than random flashes of juxtaposition which is what I aim for with my poetry.

Using that as a transition point I thought I’d share with you a couple of the ideas\titles I’m toying around with in my head as far as my short stories go. We’re going to use bullets again here, so be prepared.

• Orphans; of course we have what I’ve already started and sort of put a small halt on. My Sci-Fi adventure Orphans.
• Corpse; originally suppose to be an idea for a ‘super hero comic’ starring a very dirty, dark, grimy anti-hero. It’ll probably end up just being an episodic series of small stories.
• The Tall Man Saga; I have two more installments of this planned out very loosely.
• No Rest (for the Wicked); this one may need more explaining at a later date, however, it’s going to be very dark, very gruesome, very bloody, gore filled and disturbing. It will have demons, violence, undeath and all that other fun stuff. Similar to Corpse, it will be episodic in nature.
• Honor Amongst Thieves; I actually have several ideas already drew up for this series of episodic (again) short stories. The first 4 or 5 are based in the realm of Sqaurenix’s Final Fantasy XI, one is based in Blizzard’s fantasy world of Azeroth, and another 3 are all original in design\concept. Well, as original as you can get. I actually already have Honor Amongst Thieves series 1 and 2 written, as well as a couple shorter ones which have no specific place in the time line. I’m going to start posting them here eventually when I get my editor back into gear.
• Catch Kingsley; I have another idea to expand on this lovely character.
• Tripp Walkens; this is something I’m not sure I’ll be able to do. It’s a new genre and it’ll be a new style for me. You’ll hear more about that later (possibly).

Anyhow, I think that’s enough for now.

I have some brooding to do in preparation for a night (‘s?) of bad decisions.

Farewell Forever

Farewell forever, I’m leaving you now.
I’m running far away, to the forests in the east.
Farewell forever, I’m finally leaving.
I’m sailing far away past the waters to the west.
Farewell forever, I’m taking off now.
I’m flying far away to the auras in the north.
Farewell forever, I’ll not return soon.
I’m traveling far away past the tropics to the south.
Farewell forever, Finally I am gone.
I’m aiming for far away,
Past the stars,
Past the heavens,
To my haven of Shangri-La.

The Invisible Ink:
We say goodbye more often than perhaps we realize. Of course, there are the ones that are obvious; saying farewell to those who are leaving, saying goodbye to those who we leave. Having to bid farewell to those taken from us. There’s more to goodbye than all of that though. Some people lament farewells, but it’s just the way of life. We move on, we close those chapters. But like the best books and a good movie — they’re never truly gone.

This actually isn’t a new poem. I remember writing this years and years ago in High School. Looking back on my old stuff from that ‘era’ I rarely see anything I like. It’s mostly your usually angst-y, emo-y teen garbage. But, apparently on occasion I wrote something decent.

I know there isn’t really much to it. Nothing real thought provoking and such, but I like the simplicity and the gentle little images it gives.

Originally written August 5th 2004~.

Slight Changes

First and foremost, I’d like to apologize for my recent lull in posting anything. I do have a few things saved up, but which need a few more tweaks or re-writes before they’re allowed any kind of debut to the digital world.

Secondly, I’d like to take the time to tell anyone whose reading this a little bit about some changes that going to be coming soon. Not just in regards to content, but also the overall purpose of the blog.

I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again — writing has always been my biggest passion and if I could make money doing so; I would. This blog was initially suppose to serve in someway as the basis for a ‘virtual’ portfolio, I suppose. I’ve always had my Deviant Art page, but it never really seemed like the proper place for works of literature. Plus, everyone has a DA page. Ignore the fact that everyone also has a blog. Thank you.

Up until now, Visible Inks has only served as a way to display my works of writing. From this point on, it will serve to house various creations of the written variety. Not just poems and short stories — but also, everyday musings or rants. Those I’ve hence dubbed, and un-originally so, News Posts. This is the first.

More so than that, I’ve recently took on the task of designing and running my own Dungeons and Dragons campaign. This is a very big occasion for me and for several reasons. The most obvious being that I get to spend time with people that mean a lot to me. However, creating worlds and adventures for a DnD game takes a lot of effort, in more ways than one. Obviously, imagination is a huge part — therefore I get to write. Presentation is equally important in the actual execution of the game so I get to act.

As a result of all the latter, I’ve decided to chronicle my adventures (and thus my players) through my various sessions and worlds. My plans are, of course, to do more than one campaign. I’ve already decided that each and everyone will take place in the world of Ventoren (a place I’ve created long ago when I first got into fantasy writing), and so with each campaign, each sessions, each player and NPC — the world will grow. For each individual person in my campaign, this might not be that big of a deal. For me, however, it means that with each passing thought and creation it becomes a more complex and intricate design.

End rant.

So, you can expect to see a small section start to emerge and evolve out of that. Overall, I think this will be a good change for Visible Inks — there will be less gaps with no entries and it might even help give birth to other kinds of pieces. Heaven knows I could probably write my own stand-up routine with all I’ve been through as a Service Clerk.

That’s another story though.

Until next time.