Livid Dreams chapter 4 (final intermission)
[the following stoy is based on a true account of the author's nightmare. Names of people have been modified to protect the individual's right to privacy. This is a random work of fiction, any resemblance to characters living or dead is merely a fragment of the author's subconscious, tortured mind]


Talking about the causeway, it had become the filthiest within local jurisdiction. The drains reeked of expired ammonia and eggs with down-syndrome embryos. The only form of pride came in the form of jaggernaut cops who hunted down illegal immigrants like hyenas. Corruption was a relative commodity, if you knew who to find (and ususally those kind hid themselves real well), you would have no worries leaving this goddamned island alive.

But Shiva always knew how to look for that someone.

I laid low below the window of his car. I have never been so scared in years, with all my guts of steel, my reckless rebellion, it all just shattered in front of me. My eyes shifted to the man in front, he was talking to Shiva and Axl. He couldn't seem to see me, even though there was a huge poster of my face pasted just outside his office.

"Yeah, I think it will only stall those regime-loyalists for a while. I'll be honest with ya, he's only the dumb lamb led to the slaughter."

"No worries Mr B, we'll have him stashed away once we're out"

I saw the window wind up, and I felt the speed again, the feeling that made me forget everything that happened.

We finally reached Axl's getaway villa. It was an old retro bungalow built in the middle of a jungle ravine. It was bewildering to think that this place could be self-sustaining in such an environment, but it was cosy and warm inside. I was tired, and my head was spinning. His floor was dusty, and I felt like I was walking on the beach.

"Sorry dude, we don't have basic housekeeping here, but hey, everything else is here, even your personal stuff...I had them all brought over."

"Thanks..." I walked up the stairs into his room. There were many dye cast vintage vehicles on display in the shelves. Axl kep a modified pentium computer, to prevent unwanted hacks and spyware. He could track everything from here, without anyone spying on him. An inbox message flashed repeatedly on the screen. It was Sasha, and I'm not sure if she was considered his wife.

"Ya stuff is over there, you might wanna check if they're all there."

I never had much I considered worth taking anywhere. A couple of books and a laptop was enough. This included the scrap book titled 2010. It was a year worth remembering, when I still held onto the dreams that I now lost. I opened the first page, the one with a photo of me and Caroline.

Caroline, the most perfect thing that ever happened to me. I never deserved someone so simple and beautiful. She was unlike those materialistic bimbos, who lived off my wealth like vampires to blood. She went her own way, with her own kind of style. I broke her heart many times, but she never failed to wait for me. I remember holding her bleeding body by the road on our honeymoon. Our car had swerved off the cliff, and she had no time to react. I could hear her whisper the final words, with the ring on her finger covered in my blood.

"I'm sorry...."

I blamed myself for not saying those words to her, for not being the one lying dead on the road. She never deserved this. She was taken away, leaving me with wounds that never stopped bleeding.

This was taken just days before it happened. We sat on the steps of the palace, and only now did I notice the man standing in a corner behind us. It was the same person who killed Tiffany.

That man was me.

Livid Dreams chapter 3
[the following stoy is based on a true account of the author's nightmare. Names of people have been modified to protect the individual's right to privacy. This is a random work of fiction, any resemblance to characters living or dead is merely a fragment of the author's subconscious, tortured mind]

In the ancient legends of the Vedas, Shiva was the god of destruction. The Shiva I knew in this century did not require a paradigm shift from that identity. He taught a clean cut dude like me the art of smoking coccaine, and his deft fingers could make could turn cola cans into nerve gas. I firmly believed he should have become an enginner, instead of majoring in media studies with me. He was the dynamite prodigy who became a professional con-artist. He drank baileys and dug trance for inspiration, and he made mazes that upgraded the IQs of rodents to triple digits.

The government tried to censor him. Ya knoe those beaurecrats, they scorn whatever they can't have or can't produce out of their shit system.

Never ask me how I got out of the steel cage. It happened way to fast, with Shiva blocking off the security systems. The doors were opened wider than the legs of a prostitute and I ran out straight into the open, but I was never as fast as the media. The city lights and billboards had my face splashed all over. I had the fame of a wanted criminal, and anyone who tried to offer me asylum would be branded an enemy of the state. The cops reacted yet again, and CNA called me the island fugitve. I ran down millenia walk, with detectives and reporters on my heels. I became an outlaw superstar, and for once..a simple game of cat and mouse just turned into everyone's favourite reality show.

Shiva told me to head straight for this secluded coffee shop in the suburbs. It was early in the morning, and all those foreign workers were having their breakfast there. The only thing that resembled light was the glare in their eyes, but there was no TV and no radio. You could only hear the sound of untensils. I went to the toilet and stared in the mirror.

It's strange what shit like that does to you. Axl was right, it all came crashing down too fast, like a wheel that spun outta control, with nothing to stop it. I wondered if my identity was erased, if the rest of the folks were paying any attention, even if they saw my face everyday, everywhere. The cold water stung my face, like crude oil mixed with paint. It only made me feel dirtier.

"How's the going ma brudda?"

Shiva's reflection. I had no doubt it was him, the semi-nasal voice, the african dread locks, facial piercings and frizzled goatee. The only man I knew who was born out of this world.

"Bad...and what on earth is this place? Can't even locate it on the book"

"Not supposed to...that's how it works. Anyway, we're taking you across the sea, where its safer. You will have to hide on a bit while we locate the imitating perpetrator.'

He brought me to where his car was. Axl was inside. It reminded me of our college days again when Shiva burned rubber on the tracks every time he took the wheel. According to legend, he burned his speeding tickets to prevent any road accidents.

The car ran at 160 down the the highway. It felt strangely soothing, tranquil and for a minute, everything just faded to black.

Livid dreams chapter 2
[the following stoy is based on a true account of the author's nightmare. Names of people have been modified to protect the individual's right to privacy. This is a random work of fiction, any resemblance to characters living or dead is merely a fragment of the author's subconscious, tortured mind]

2 days of interrogation, and the blue bastards finally gave in to my demands to have Axl brought in. They showed me a security camera of the corridoor, of her coming out of the suite again. So it seems she was out to meet someone in that state, and it wasn't even me, until a man walks from the direction of my room, dressed in the same clothes I wore. He pins her to the wall, they start kissing, and he fondles those natural tits of hers, before moving up to her neck.

She seems to slow down, then I see her beating frantically against his chest, like a frightened cat. His grip is hard, and her hands stop moving after a few minutes. That girl was strangled.

He takes her key and drags her body inside. They zoomed in on his face the moment he steps out, and I saw my own face on the screen.

I couldn't say anything, and I did nothin but kept numb at everything. They had me, I was sure. They could even get my identical twin whom I never knew, to murder someone I screwed the most during the prime of my life. Glaring lights, virtual starvation, and I told them they wouldn't get anything without Axl around.

Talking about Axl, the eurasian punk ass lawyer was every uber-babe's neo classical lover. He and I were born fuckers, but he had an international appeal. He only had latinos, spanish, brits and american divorcees engaging his services..with all other freebies included. But he was sly, and it was his most lucrative asset. Imagine getting aquitted for drunk driving when he represents himself in court... and you will know what I mean.

He arrived, and I told him everything, like a mad canine who forgot what he was barking about.

"Dude, that should hurt'' he giggled.

"Get me out of here bro, some muthafucka's pushed me to a corner" I ground my teeth in agony. He knew it was serious, it was just him to play it cool.

"No way of bail man, but no worries....you play the fugitive and I will get Shiva to cover your back. Taste it dude, your world's falling apart after a long long time."

Livid dreams chapter 1
[the following stoy is based on a true account of the author's nightmare. Names of people have been modified to protect the individual's right to privacy. This is a random work of fiction, any resemblance to characters living or dead is merely a fragment of the author's subconscious, tortured mind]

Ok,I remember now, her name was Tiffany.

Yeah, she could strut her stuff on the red carpet anytime of the day. One look at her and you knew she was a nympho with money on her mind. She had a string of men before and after me, but yeah, we hanged out. Once in a while, when yours truly itched and she was in a complimenting mood, we didn't mind hitting the sack for a testicle blowing cowgirl shag.

On the day of infamy, I had a free invite to the resort off the coast. It was one of those hedonistic government projects my parents used to rage about before they lived in the grave. Spiral staricases with gambling halls and loud mixes of electronica. The conference room was on the 15th floor, so I had to take the elevator fro the lobby.

So she came out when the doors slid open, her arms locked next to some caucasian beefcake. She was surprised to see me. It was the usual, few minute 'how are you getting on' kind of shit. She told me she quit her job as marketing executive to embark on her new post as project director of the minds that developed this casino. We changed name cards, and I watched the elevator close in on the curves of her posterior. Diabetic memories hah....

The meeting ended at 11. As usual those old men of the ruling aristocratic class wanted us to feature the glorious past of these vices. I stood outside my hotel room and lighted a fag. I wasn't in the mood for anything, not even alcohol and sex.

I heard the sound of keys from the end of the corridoor. It was Tiffany again. She was kinda swaggering, obviously dead drunk. She gets horny under such conditions.

She grabbed me by the collar and smiled at me, looking every bit the wasted bitch she could ever be. I got dragged to the door of her suite. If it was any other day I would poke her until she screamed. But tonight, I wasn't up for all the sins in my life.

"Sorry babe, not tonight." I took her wrists away from me, the frown visible on her flushed complexion. She definitely felt offended, especially if she was the one swallowing rejection pills.

"Fuck you" a whisper blown into my ears, a diabolical smile, and the door was slammed into my face. I went back to my own suite, like a beaten saint who conversed with the Devil himself. I thought. I read my fare of Descartes, and stopped to think, only to pause and sleep.

A violent knock on my door got me awake with dry eyes and numb feet. I felt like killing her for such adamant persistence, but it turned out to be the cops.

"I sorry sir, you are now a suspect in the murder of Miss Tiffany Lee, you are to come with us now for further investigations."

I was in a daze, but I was sure I never had telekinetic powers. I remember talking to a live drunkard, not a dead one. What the shit was this all about?

21st century darlings, and the relativity of time.

I stumbled upon an old friend's online profile, and I saw the pictures of her little girl. She's small, cute, and from what I reckon, barely the age of 3. It is heart-warming yet thought-provoking, to know that someone my age has embarked on the ardous and captivating journey of parenthood, where reponsibility, duty and sacrificial love become more compelling in life than ever before.

After a while, I paused to contemplate on my world, which in a metaphor, is in existence right over the other edge of hers. A place where I still struggle with emotions, expectations and ambitions, but in retrospect they are are ever so trivial and temporal, as compared to the commitments and burdens my friend has to bear.

Time, no matter how far away it has left me physically, was always beside the shoulder of my soul. I've realised that others have taken on lives that are detached from playful enjoyment., while I continue to be frustrated with immature musings. It's always about me, my social life, my future, my Muse, my family. The world revolved me, and it took a mother my age to reflect the foolishness of my idolatory and indulgence all in front of my face.

As for her, I think its only about the girl, the girl's food, the girl's clothes, the girl's education...and the girl's future.

23 years...time to take life seriously, because others have done it a long time ago

Love, glamour and entertainment

I dream of taking my Muse down the red carpet, when I am literally at the top of my game. She holds her poise, the grand envy in a hedonistic society. She is the incarnation of untainted sensuality, the perfection of feminine charm.

It is easy to make a young girl laugh and cry all at once. I will never be analysed or second-guessed, and she feels safe in my arms. It is easy being strong for her, because I simply know too much about a world I once lived in. There is much she has to learn, before she grows up. By that time, I will still be ageless, and emotions will be so different. The world decides what becomes of us, it always does.

There are a thousand chances that I gave up. It never compelled me to do otherwise, even if all my wit and character would have dictated a radically different outcome. Happiness was found elsewhere, for them at least. Letting go brought solitude, it also made me realise how selfish I was, and just how little I cared.

I hate it when she cramps my style, when she shuts herself up and refuses to talk to anyone. She ignores anything, and if its about her I am attracted to everything. Mystery confounds me and knowledge eludes me. She's no angel, just an older woman who can't give a damn about what's going on. In all honesty, she outshines all the bitches and whores with make-up and push-up bras. Professional class, its elegant, refined and smooth as silk. If she really becomes a shrink, I will lie on her chair and tell her everything.

So after a while, living a decent life with an eventful past, I stop to think if I can be as intense if she was still around, when I was young and dangerous. The memory is scary, even if you realise the amount of fear or passion you brought to her frail emotions. No one buys into such a deal now, even if I still advocate it. The hardest part is letting go, and I've moved so far beyond that point now. It's that brief second, when someone reminds you so much of her, or what kind of person you were in a life not too long ago. Smoke, fire, fights, cops, gambling and playing truant every other time.

That's my love for all of you. Trust me, its nothing much. The older you get, the thinner the threshold of boredom. People fade away even before you think about them. Look at me, I laugh and smile all the time you won't even think I too tired for all this.

Intermission v.4-All that I ever want.

I do not know where to begin, even as I try to walk on the edge of reason. The world has moved on without me, but it is half asleep. What is heartwarming for the past, ends tragic in the future. I've had many dreams, but none told me it would be this way.

It is always about letting go. Once, twice, and you do it so many times you forget what it feels like to be in pain. You stop to consider the possibilities, the road you might have taken, but you know if the road was there before you, there is no point taking a risk in an illusion.

I gave up much, and the little that I held on to just wasn't real anymore. I do not want to whisper sweet nothings into your ear, but maybe that is what I am. Time has slipped away, like sand falling out of my hands. My body aches in the cold, my eyes embrace the darkness, and I feel the touch of ghosts.

Nothing is broken. It just bleeds. You know it will finally stop, but the stain remains. You drew her face with your blood, and the picture was never complete.

I pray for intensity,
to be brave for the principles He has give me.

I pray for passion,
to love and burn while it lasts.

I pray for devotion,
to keep the faith in the trials that come

I pray for creativity,
to defy the clutches of reality,
with every breath I take

Zombies

What I heard today drove me up the wall. There is an inquisition and someone tells me he has trouble answering them in my absence. So OK, I am pissed, not deluded. When even the people who matter ever INVADE my life, they are going to get screwed so hard they will need an ass transplant.

It is almost 10 years, and what do all of you expect? For me to SMS on a daily basis and report my whereabouts like some faithful bitch of a girlfriend? Almost everyone is stuck in the same shit. It's the effects of inbreeding. The kind where siblings mate with each other to produce deformed mutants. Yes, that's what we are. Familarity breeds contempt, and not a single one of you are my family even. Is it my responsibility to be bothered, to show concern, to even preach to all of you when in the first place some stubborn ingrates can spit my advice in the face? Yes I am harsh, I NEVER mince my words, and so often have I been reprimanded for it. I detest the fact politics have become more important than honest remarks. Some of you are dying, and I really want to help, but throwing questions back at me only shows how little appreciation I get for my care.

I have been living in an illusion, the fact that I do owe some of you something. Maybe I did, then again, nothing in the past five years has stemmed from the fact I got to know anyone of you. Nothing substantial, nothing worth remembering, unless you are telling me meeting up five times a week for mindless chatter is significant. Let me tell of you now once and for all. In reality, all contracts were broken the moment I waved goodbye at the airport, I knew for once that EVERY SINGLE THING was given to me by the Man above, not childish brains like yours. So from now on, don't claim credit for things you all never did.

Don't tell me bout letting go of the past, or even sayin that once I am hurt and bruised I will come back to true friends like all of you. If you are talking about the present, then all the more what I do is none of your concern. I am not forcing any form of superiority, it's just that I've grown more cynical than all of you might care to imagine. Friendship never works like a cult, and my loyalty has justfied my honesty. It is easy for me to keep quiet, but if you want me to explain why I isolate myself, prepared to get your head severed.

I just want a decent peaceful life. I want to be free to live and love. I am trying to do just that. All of you should do it too.

There is a time to move on,
a time to be nostalgic,
a time to be loyal,
a time to break free
a time to fuck all of you...
because that's the only way

Goodnight

Welcome to the fat of the land

Hey Esther, I absolutely dig your latest entry, it just bitches with all that caustic humour! Please write more of such stuff in the furture yeah?

Let's snap back to present. I just caught the 'non-live' broadcast of Mrs World 2005. Wendy Jacobs sure looks better in person. Getting her skin under the camera simply does no justice, but she can't make the cut to be the highlight, especially when you have a Miss Israel standing around. It's a queer, foreign Jewish fetish. Can't remember her name, and she can't speak proper English, but her nose has evolved into a refined elegant, iconic body-part...with a killer bod. Alright, this isn't getting anywhere. I should stop before I check myself into a synagouge and circumcise myself.

Mr WC (yeah, you turn his name into an acronym and you get the most anal moniker) is a total phallic progeny. He is nothing but a dick. Every tuesday, he chants without being enlightened, answers questions in the most clueless, dimwit way, and tells students how to cheat with prehistoric methods! Oh, so much for the money invested in an australian degree with a lecturer who only wastes it all away teaching you stuff he can't understand. Until now, we haven't got our teaching evaluation forms. I think its because he is afraid he'll lose his job.

I hate elitist elements in class. C'mon, no one here is a rhodes scholar, we're all the rejects of a conventional society with ideas no one appreciates. The latter applies to all my friends I have made in class, who are simply too talented to be recognized. But you bitches ought to open up your craniums and stare real hard in the mirror, cause acting diligent and snobbish makes the whole environment and virus-free air conditioner stink with your pretense. It is revolting, the way you all glare at fun-loving 'salt of earth' folk, who feel inspired to lead a more exciting life than you could ever dream of.

However I am sexually aroused when I look at one of those right-wing extremists. Her bod just bangs, I don't know why. I have been optically raping her every tuesday morning. It is better than listening to WC indoctrinate you with nonsense.

I really feel constricted in tricky situations. I am no born sweet talker, but fortunately I had my best friend, and now my boss as good teachers of the Way. So yeah, I am doing ok, not exceptionally show-stopping, but enough to get girls to remember my name even before I get to know theirs. It's that time in a man's life where knowing more members of the opposite sex has more advantages than hanging out with lonely desperate bachelors. Problem is I realised my skills can only take me that far, anything more than that seems daunting, scary, and it cramps my style. Thus, I have postulated this fine equation, see if you can help me work it out.

What is the sum of:

older girl (approx. >2yrs)+antisocial+p-looks (where p=princess)+BSc

and

younger boy(approx. <2yrs)+social a="ageless)+Undergrduate+P/T">

a) Sensational chemistry

b) Total disaster

All other types of answers are welcome. Later