some of the latest works in the collection
Deep, deep thought
I was intrigued to find out that what sets us Humans apart from Beasts and mere animals is our inability to want what we need.
- Florin Muresan
I’d rather Lose the Right Battle, than Win the Wrong Victory.
- Florin Muresan
Oh, that Common Sense
Common Sense is very Uncommon
- Florin Muresan
There Is A Fear
There is a fear in the darkness
A fear that makes crows scare
Passengers mutilated in likeness
For a purpose beyond the fair.
People in dissaray, glaring so bright
From another world, built out of sight
For a stallion of breaches
In the core of the sea where the Siren preaches
In stains of blood a song of the ages
Down, down, in the old rusted cages.
There’s a story with no title
There’s a story with no title, that no one ever read.
On a bookshelf filled with dust and dreams, it lies on aching dread.
There’s no title to this story, for the title is long gone.
The abyss waits for its redemption, like an everlasting song.
It’s a story you can’t read, for the title makes it weed.
It’s just like all the others, appearing in a time of absolutely zero need.
There’s no story to this title, no action, no beginning and just nothing here to learn.
It’s just a story like no other. With no title, no meaning and it’s just absurd.
Lost In A Story Of Personal Vengeance With Oneself
A lot of us are broken,
A lot of us leave in fear
For gratitude we hold no token,
We run scared from things that never really appear.
They twist the kinded soul
Like gusts of wind from kindred spirits
Resembling thorny pieces of charcoal
They fall with darkness and no merits.
Never again will they ever regain
The great white-headed beauty they once held
Only because they can not retain
The Power they had.. for now it is jailed
In their prison of hatred, doom and anxiety
So when they smile at you, you feel they are dead
You cry in lonely revery for their striking dread
Swearing upon an ice-cold star that you will seek propriety
The End of Slumber
When the bards sang their song,
We knew the timing was wrong
The days had passed out to the past
The decay was coming fast.
Hearing riders, four in their number,
The world was beyond its slumber
As things trembled in the world,
The question remained: what did we do of what we were told?
Good morning today,
My yesterday’s self is still in dismay
The sun it turned all up and down
In this endless quest each day I drown
For times they are always a-changing
Rolling their dice while destiny’s clinging
To the soul of today’s sorrow,
Trying to influence your taste of tomorrow
You’re my favorite drop of tea
*this one is dedicated to my wonderful wife, Andreea.
Life is just amazing when you are around
Nothing feels as perfect as when I hear my favorite sound:
You jiggle and you laugh
I can’t ever have enough.
I can’t, I can’t ever have enough.
I will never feel homeless
Because you’ve always been my home
You can really have me breathless
Like when we kiss beneath the Dome.
You’re my crazily redhead
You’re my favorite drop of tea.
I will never see you sad
Not even when I try poetry.
I love you this Christmas season,
And every Christmas from now on.
You and our cute baby are my reason
To keep staying.. Here under the Sun.
Oh, and we’ll keep playin’ here under the Sun.
Chapter 2: 40 Seconds of Unholy Glory
The man like a demon traveled to dark outreaches of space. His mind was facing an imaginary colossus.
“this was all shit.”
the night winds repeatedly seemed to curse his name, the name of the man with the eyes of a demon.
He didn’t know who said those word, nor did he actually care.
The world had mocked him good this time. Oh, yes. Very good indeed. He was Hell’s and Heaven’s bitch now.
While he was consumed by random thoughts which, while completely true, made no sense at all, the cat was observing that cursed Simpleton. What was he up to?
The cat moved its tail from here to there. It was intriguing. The Simpleton was upset (UPSET!, for crying out loud) at something. Which meant the Simpleton could be used, if the right buttons were pressed. The cat started purring, a long resounding purr of utter joy. Heaven fell. Everyone in Hell was in Heaven trying to rape and gut any sacred being they could find.
It was a moment of joy. Hell could be taken, since there was no one claiming it then and there. There were two great parts in all of this : God (yes, the cat was quite sure He existed) made the Heruvims truly awesome and mighty, even Gabriel… Which meant months of resistance, maybe years, til Heaven would be taken anyway. And it could play a Simpleton in its paws.
Now there was only the part about the man with the Eyes like a demon… And it’s old mistress who had scorched skin, as if a volcano had birthed her.
He felt she wasn’t truly changed, even though her texture suggested otherwise.. But then again he had been completely wrong before, while thinking he was in France, and all the while being in hell. So much debauchery and prostitution could’ve had anyone fooled. At least the cat thought so.
Purring fondly, the cat fell asleep.
Very few screams were heard that day. The Simpleton was sad. Deeply sad.
“It was all shit”, he kept repeating.
There was no more color. No more sound. This place used to be Magnificent. It was his playground. He just had to press all those metal structures inside the puny human. Puny human made Simpleton sad..
There was no color. Papa Simpleton warned him there’d be days like this when greed would take over. He never expected to make the Devil ugly man so happy. He hated Devil man. And he hated when Devil man was happy.
Now he planned to do things to Devil man. Worse than puny human did to tiny beautiful lady. Devil man made him destroy his own playground. Papa Simpleton said this was manpinu… Man-pi-nu… Mapiminilation. When devil man made Simpleton do what Simpleton not want.
“Simpleton miss playground!”
The cat started moving, and the man like a demon could’ve sworn he heard it laugh.
His torturer lay on the ground with hands on his head.
And the girl…. Oh the girl.. Such rare purity.
He knew what he did. He knew why he did it. It felt good. And now the Universe was punishing him. Badly.
He felt a cold chill down his spine and the volcanoes smoldered as ugly pixies with the teeth of Death appeared. They eyed the man.
But they sure as hell didn’t. Their trail of grotesque movement, that made you think of a dead ox splintered in two pieces and their odor that was making itself felt more and more as they were approaching, left the man feeling a strong disgust in his frozen mouth.
They started being thrust into his skull, while blood was pumping out of it. You never died in hell. Not for more than a few days. But he never expected this sort of torture.
A fireball came scurrying up through the air and landed itself on the head of the man, burning all those little abominations that were pumping blood out of the man’s skull, and laying it to waste on those rocks of desperation. The Unholy mage quickly grabbed the neck of the man, hit him in his stomach and started sucking at the blood that was still being dripped.
At the taste of blood, he became greedy, turned the man upside down, cut a long line in his thigh, and in 40 glorified seconds drank up all the blood that was pouring from the man’s veins.
He turned to the Simpleton, who was still standing sad on the ground, with hands raised to his head, uttered “Cheers” then turned back into a swarm of pixies and left.
The man like a demon was dead.
C1 – The Man With the Eyes Of A Demon
A man like a demon sat in the long black chair.
There was no sound. The cats in the room kept quiet as their tails tried to analize the approaching doom.
Then the man screamed..
All hell broke loose, and as one of the cats later recorded, the devil himself was there to witness the cries of the man. And he was happy.
It was fun for the cat to even consider that, but the large grin on the devils face could never indicate otherwise.
A bolt of steel cracked open the man’s skull with a cringing sound. It was not pleasant. But then again: nothing here ever was.
There was no blood coming out of that skull. But another bolt of steel was definitely going in. The pain, the rage… The suffering, they were all there in those horrid cries. A simpleton in the room cast a spell of Inner Sight, which started to display what the man like a demon was thinking about in those moments.
What could any human being be thinking about while those metals were cracking their skulls? What could they possibly be thinking about when pins were thrust into their eyes, and they began bleeding from every inch of their head?
The procedure was always dull. And it was always stupid. The cats could never really grasp why this part of the process ever came in place. But the devil himself was there to witness it this time. So something good must come up on that weird old display made of smoke dark as the heart of desperation.
Yes, the cat wanted to be impressed by something. Its tail betrayed it during those moments. It realized that being there could turn from great pain to great pleasure. There was always the curiosity of that girl. That one girl sent from Heaven, up on those great sunny hills. She gave it milk. It was happy during those old times. And she never demanded anything. She was a curios sort though… Perhaps a bit too curios.
Suddenly the stream of thoughts ended in the cat’s head. The little girl. The little girl was there, in the smoke, standing bare-footed on a cold rock. She was wearing a white dress and the hands of the man like a demon were touching her from below and curling up the girls thighs. If it wasn’t certain until now, it was no longer the case: the devil WAS happy. This DID make him grin and this was NOT a waste of time for the cat.
As a two-handed sword was thrust into the chest of the man, he didn’t think about the pain. He felt the pulse and the warmth of that fragile body and the wet fluids from the hand that was now very up the girl’s dress. The smoked image showed him with mad obsessive eyes, as he was moving his hand underneath the dress and the pleasure he felt as the wet sensation turned from a newly found nuisance to something that he wanted to feel forever and drown his head in.
The little girl took no pleasure in this. Nor did she stop him. She was too preoccupied with studying his eyes. Those demon eyes.
A lot of things happened after that. The smoke screen showed the man falling deeper into lust, and the girl just crawled underneath the man in every way she could just to keep her gaze into the eyes of the man like a demon.
Then the smoke screen vanished, as the man finally died from all the crazy metal bits and pieces that cut through his body.
A roaring laughter crushed the ceiling of the place, and the cat had to run for cover. When it was finally safe, the devil was gone. The other cats were gone, the simpleton was gone. But the raped girl was now right there in the room, crushed under some of the rocks.
“They never told me this was hell” the cat whispered to itself. And then it just walked away from that room hoping never to see it again.
A man with the eyes of a demon held a little girl in his arms. Neither one of them were dead.
The simpleton felt a rush of yellow color striking through his heart as he recounted the events of the previous day again in his head. He was happy that he finally managed to create a smoke screen.
He always thought yellow was the color of happiness. It was the only thing he could associate happiness with. Usually, there was not much happy time around these dark corridors.
The man turned the girl’s head.
Her eyes had turned yellow. Her skin had become scorched and the purity of Heaven was lost on her now.
She was now the girl with the eyes of a demon.
And Heaven lost that day.
Power was all up for the grabbing, and while the simpleton was happy with his foolish magic, the cat was anxious to turn this to its favor.
You Never Dream
Moving through time like this, in this dangerous period is exciting. I’m starting to remember how we finally turned all of you into new-age slaves. Wait, this part here. It started it all:
If you never dream you are never dangerous
We’ll always own the power, you will never get to us.
I’m happy that you’re not, you are just a dot.
I form the line, everything I want I got.
Power […], for me it’s so easy to abuse,
Coz you never read between the lines, you always lose.
Never read a book, never care about the truth,
You’re just so damn busy in that silly business booth.
You’re not a slave yo, coz slavery’s gone.
But don’t think for a minute the concept changed, son.
It’s the same thing, same Triple OG foxes.
Ruling the world and your mind while you pay them taxes.
For us, it was always easy. All we had to do was find better ways to communicate the horrible things we were up to, and make those dummies agree with everything we said.
When the Julian Assange event came by, I was afraid.
My reality was in flames, like in a mongolian raid.
For a damn long minute, all of time seemed to stop,
I couldn’t hear my heart beat, it was like a mic drop.
Stood still, waited ill, couldn’t tell how I feel,
after which one of my brothers got ready for the Kill.
Without his VISA, MasterCards and PayPal,
We could finally get him, I started to yell.
All hell broke loose, we didn’t go to jail,
We shut WikiLeaks down, showed the world it was frail.
Now I sit with my banjo, drink Martini I relax,
Stop listening to this, I own you, Pay your tax.
[radio chatter:] Then, the renegades stood still. A blow had been dealt to them. Little did they know that the un-touchable Pirate Bay was next. Oh, Sweden, you succumbed.
From the Orc Song:
greed wrath set me on a war path
hunger theft I will end the blood bath
Chaos, Death, War and Thunder
I will kill these elves with my own dagger
No honor I scream as my cries to thee
Feed the horror of my dreams
Nothing’s what it seems
I can’t end my thoughts in these gulping blood streams
All Hail to the Tiny Minds
Nathan: That horrible, horrible fool!
Jakob: SHe got you all worked up, didn’t she?
N: How could she not? That little, feeble minded idiot. If I were to explain to someone what Ultracrepidarian means, I could save myself the pain and just show a bloody picture of her.
J: She does talk quite big, doesn’t she?
N: Perhaps to make due for the tiny little thing she should be using to bake that child already. Anyway, not the point.
J: Is there a point?
N: There always is, mon ami.
J: How come you didn’t say anything to her while she was discussing her intellectual preoccupations?
N: Intellectual: Pff! This is the biggest problem with these tiny minds, really. Sometimes I wonder how their brain works. I’m quite certain, nonetheless, that I wouldn’t see a complex painting if I were to browse their synapses, for there aren’t too many neurons connected at any point during their tiny lives, in their tiny minds.
Personally I’ve been shocked by an Eminovici character a long while ago, while I was reading how one of his characters couldn’t find the slightest bit of happiness in the midst of all these little minds. They were feeling a strong complex against the far superior intellect of that smarter being, so everyone just tried to shut him out, and he remained lonely and cold. Now, my dear Jakob, I’ve learnt that the point here is not to dumb down and start advancing on a quest to reaching a state of Tiny Mind, but rather to cloack one’s genius, in order to peacefully live with these creatures.
J: So basically, the one with the higher intellect was still but a mere fool in your opinion?
N: Well, of course my dear man. Being stupid or being smart are nothing in this spiteful, clever world that we live in. Plus, what I’ve seen is that most smart people actually are quite stupid and they can’t achieve the same levels of happines as the tiny minds do. There are many superior minds (in my opinion, obviously) that are worse than these tiny minds and their tiny intellect. Really, if I am to say, I think that buddhist monks are smarter than both tiny minds and superior minds, because they can grasp the simplicity of life itself and become one with who they are, rather than invent certain stupidities that have no meaning whatsoever.
J: Such as tiny minds do.
N: And superior minds alike.
J: So, is that why you let the tiny mind go off so easily?
N: Yes. I was also quite the fool to even mention that I’m a writer and she is not. For it does not matter to show off who is more knowledgeable. It is a rash argument that holds no value either won or lost. Pride is a foolish little mechanism installed in the Core Operating system of human beings. No wonder it’s deemed a sin, and a deadly one at that. What pride could I possibly have from proving to a tiny mind that I have the superior intellect? I would’ve just scared her off and made her drop out of her fantasy world. That would’ve ruined her happiness, and since I have no tactical reason of doing that, why should I? I take much more joy from analysing and studying how her tiny mind reacts to the world and what amusing lie she tells about herself. The greatest moment is when she even starts believing in those lies.
That’s how the tiny minds work, and it’s still a funny wonder to me. I enjoy being in their world every now and then, just taking pleasure in analysing their behavior.
J: Well, she did publish two aticles.
N: haha! I’m so happy she even got to that part. All it did was show me how little she actually knows of the world and the meaning of things.
J: So you wrote this post to secretly get back at her anyway?
N: Of course not, my dear boy. This is just to keep a reminder of why I actually like being around these little minds and their preoccupations. It helps me keep sane, and it also helps me feel a lot better about myself. What it really does though, is it reminds me of why in life one should seek out meaning before form. For form is something that is easily destroyed or ripped apart. The Essence: well… the essence is everlasting.
But until then: All Hail to the Tiny Minds, for they amuse us and we live in a time where low intellect and animals are simply things that we adore.
I, the writer of this wretched text, don’t care about explaining the Nathan and Jakob characters. Read “To Breach Reality” and find out on yer own time.
A Glimpse of Valhala – Currently Un-Edited. Don’t Complain
“So.. this is Valhala!”
The wind blew by with fiercesome force. Some tiny bits of blood and pieces of gutter flew right before his eyes, followed by a muffled scream he couldn’t even hear anymore.
“Fucked be the Gods.”
“Yes, I’m in Valhala!”
The wind blew by with a quite exquisite force and some toes that were covered in fresh, smelly blood flew past. They were followed by some horrid sreams.
The blade in your hand shatters under the might of some creepy looking blunt weapon that hit its surface, making it vibrate itself to mere shatters of steel.
Your neck is opened wide and a disgusting stream of blood flows right out of it. You try to clear your head and…
“Cursed be thy name!”
A gust of wind hits your face with a cold spike of pain that makes your teeth feel like cracking down under the mental pressure you’re facing.
You take a long look at the bloodied iron spike in your hand and you think of thrusting it into your neck. Death, real, actually life-ending death would be welcome.
“You worthless crap-bag!” Someone yells behind you.
The bones on your back all break as an iron fist gets stuck into your spine and you lose all air…
“Join the army, they said. Your brethren count on your support, they said. So where in the Nine Monstrous Acid-Spitting Hells are they?!!!”
AAAarrrggggghh!!!! you scream out loud while subtly losing your mind. What’s left of it anyway. You’ve never felt like this until then. But then again, who are you?
“I bet they’re all cozy and warm at some academy, or influencing the world at large. Should one man suffer so much for those dim-wits?”
Your stare fixes upon a new weapon, the likes of which you haven’t tasted yet and you start thinking clearly: “I need to focus on that”. Obviously, since I am still here ranting on about what you’re doing, you’re not really doing your best.
Oopps.. heads up!
Well, heads down I guess. The flaming blade hits the bottom of your neck and blood explodes.
Again. You’re here again. I’m hear again. He and she and every fucking body is here again!!!! Arrrgghh! I can’t stand it. But well.. I don’t honestly care.
You, on the other hand, you care because it’s your life (even though I’m not trying to go all Bon Jovi on your sorry ass).
“They should be so proud I’m here in Valhala. Such a great place.”
An arrow is shot at you. You’ve lived this scene for so many times already, your instincts force you to duck and they even ..
< Long PAUSE >
Wow! There you have it. Your instincts even managed to shut ME out this time. Bravo!
Your head is actually on top of your neck this time. Such a delightful feat! You should really kiss your bloody self ‘fer this accomplishment.
You’re actually smiling. Don’t get too smug just yet. Think of why you’re here… Because I have a good sense of why that mutilated body has an iron spike thrust right through its bollocks.
You suddenly feel a cold wind rushing toward your eyes. Tears start drifting across your face and you feel your vision shaking from all the agitation.
The wind is gone. Nobody’s standing next to you.
Wait… wind, and no other psycho left alive, to try and kill ye? Pretty neat.
The smell of dead bodies and opened guts make you think of never wanting to eat again. Yet, all the fighting made you hungry. So blimey hungry.
Such a beatiful jaded eye you have in your hand. You eat it. It slimes down your neck and you feel no pride in doing this. Yet, this is Valhala, so you’d better gulp up everything you can before the other new fighters awaken.
“As great as it gets, I guess! Fucked be Thor, Lokki, the Einherjar! Fucked be Odin and the Yggdrasil. Crashed be that bloody tree with the shitty worlds it holds!”
You’re losing it. Again. But while you’re at it, you still keep trying to remember what got you into Valhala and now that you finally stopped dying so fast, you start thinking about an avatar.
Avatar?! You don’t know what that word means, but you’ve heard it before. You feel it was a big dedication-related thingy.. somehow.
Thoughts are blurred, but yoy try to get them straight… all the while gulping down on the dead people’s remains.
Peisajul Urban al Muncitorului la ABP
Mitocondrii suspendate de urechi de rechini de ciocolata. Baloane de alge plutesc spre revarsari de ape, pleoscaind o broasca la aterizare, ce tresare, s-apoi moare. O splendoare magica de atomi cu fragute, ce fauresc legaturi de smarald cu copaci si vijelii in anotimpuri trecatoare, uitate si pierdute in adancimea timpului nescris.
Aste ganduri ti-ar trece prin cap probabil, stimabile, daca nu ai fi un biet muncitor la ABP.. Nu, n-are rost sa te intrebi pe moment: “ca ce e ala ABP?”. In curand vei ajunge si acolo si iti vei da seama ca e centrul vietii tale, al misculatiunii tale launtrice ‘far de zi si ‘far de noapte. Dar sa lasam balta filozofii de marginea baltii si sa te fac sa gandesti.
Tu gandesti deja. Te incorzi si ai simtamantul intern ca eu am sa te chiar iluminez in vreun fel anume. Nici poveste. Dar, ma rog.. sa continuam:
Ce varianta ai prefera daca ar fi sa alegi intre 2 extreme? Sa ai creierul neted? Sau sa ai creierul plin de transee si adancituri provocate de nenumarate lupte cu intrebarile macinatoare ce apar in mediu si pe care le genereaza masinariile noastre din carne vie si neuroni?
Inainte sa te pripesti, draga muncitor la ABP, as vrea sa iti prezint cazul in care ai avea creierul neted. Nu de alta, dar ca sa poti lua o decizie educata.
Sa dam frau liber imaginatiei: ai creierul neted. Hmm, m-am prins: esti un motan! Da, esti un motan cu creierul neted. Astfel, tu stii doar cand ti-e foame, cand ti-e frig si vreo doua-trei chestii sa impresionezi stapanii.
Te trezesti cu o pofta nemaipomenita de carne de peste. Iti ridici tiptil capsorul din culcusul tau moale de pisoias si te strecori pe sub picioarele de lemn ale mesei. Vezi de acolo faptura ciudata si inalta care-ti da de papa si te gandesti: “hmm, oare papa peste?”
Vioi incepi sa te plimbi pe langa creatura mare din locul de unde apare papa in fiecare zi si iti incolacesti pe langa creatura mare tot trupul tau pufos si incepi sa torci. Stii deja ca astfel o vei impresiona pe creatura care aduce de papa. Este putin rusinos, te gandesti tu in surdina, ca un motan simpatic si frumos ca tine sa se dedea la astfel de gesturi, dar aduce papa in cercul de plastic. Asa ca nu te plangi. Te miauni.
“Miau!”. Astepti. Offf, joaca dur creatura in aceasta dimineata. Prea-bine! Iti indesi gherutele in podeaua de lemn si incepi sa le tragi in spate, dupa care lovesti cu labutele din spate podeaua. Ca sa faci zgomot, si sa ia seama odata acea creatura cu papa ca tu, domnul motan, vrei papa!