Writers Parasite [Contains Adult Language & Situations]

held tight the smell of the ocean, only no ocean nearby

felt the wind in my hair, only there was no wind

sensed a beating heart, only the heart was still

exhilaration of adrenaline without being awake

...

strange

...

hearing laughter when there was no laughing

awake though, wide awake enough to encompass

everything.

ever have one of those days with so many stories unfolding it was hard to format the stories into separate stories as each tried to blend and merge with the others. today was one of those days.

Literally, thousands of stories unfolded the pages. Stories ranging from the sound of a cricket being stalked and devoured by a snake, and two spiders in one nest talking so loud i almost fell off the ladder.

Fawns. Leaves. Wind. Wolf. Susan. Steve. Chainsaws. Paint. Excavator. Anger. Laughter. Water. Stink. Soap. Television...

Inspiration is the child of today for sure.

***

It is good this diversity of day\night
To live the rewind, forward, fast, slow, pause
Inside the pictures compete with pictures
Outside the reality of chance
Between worlds is
It is
even better.

Hearing the heavy breathing with the swoosh of tail
A nova exploding
Corgi growing
Plants showing...

Sitting for a moment, recollection growing
True, needing a much needed needing shower and soap
but
there it is
another day so much to feel and appreciate

Maybe there is something to this planet?
It is
after all.

A lot of writers write simply of their day. Some call it a diary, and some call it diarrhea. I find it all great.

Today, a new excavator and start of a mulching contract. Also, an upgrade in technology with my first 'smart' phone.

"Ha! Imagine that. Numb nuts with something smarter than him. I bet you break it in the first week."

If I do parasite, I'm gonna steal yours.
***

The excavator is perfect. And the grinding beyond my highest expectation. Thus, that is all that is needed about that.

Now, as for that fucking smartphone...

What a bizarre piece of machinery that is. My old method of communication became obsolete. Apparently smoke signals, passenger pigeons, and yelling at the top of my lungs across the canyon are not the choice of the masses these days.

A piece of plastic manufactured by Samsung. Inside this machine are pictures and one must slide fingers up, down, and sideways. I felt/feel stupid just holding the damn thing.

The sales lady at the store gave a quick tutorial and instantly, my eyes glazed over.

She pointed out how the camera works and if you push an area on the phone, it reverses the camera so you can take a picture of yourself... Now, how stupid is that? They call it a 'selfie'. Ye gods! A selfie. Almost sounds like giving yourself a blow job.

Oh, and if you push an icon looking like a microphone the phone shows 'listening'. Then you speak into the small piece of plastic and ask questions. I just had to try that feature so I asked it, "Where am I?" and the robot lady told me I was stupid and going to hell because of an overdue book I still had from the library I checked out in 1969... (actually, it told me where I was.)

Interesting piece of technology for sure. Positive I'm going to either break it by accident or shoot it on purpose. Heck, I might just take a selfie of myself sticking my head up the ass of an elephant!

"I'd pay to see that!"

I bet you would parasite. I bet you would.

[Lester Curtis]

Smartphone, huh? I'm not looking forward to that experience, myself. I have enough trouble reading the internet on a 23" screen.

Samsung makes good stuff; my first cell phone was an AT&T $10 refurb, and it was great. I only got rid of it because it became obsolete; it didn't have enough G's and they weren't supporting it any more.

Just make sure the parasite doesn't get his claspers on it and rack up a six-digit bill downloading porn. I think the best way to do that would be to unwrap a bar of soap and rubber-band it to the phone. You'd also know what pocket the phone was in at all times, and might even prevent accidental keystrokes on its touch display.

New excavator, too? Wow, business must be good; glad to hear that.

Thanks for checking in Lester.

Yea, a smart phone. Can you believe how the herd of humanity has fallen (literally) head-over-heels over such stupidity?

Everywhere I go...smartphones. I got tired of people asking me if I text or can send pics so for business sake I had to buy it. Already deeply hate it. Probably because everyone else is so ga-ga about it.

Parasite is a crazy entity, he is not 'into' porn, he 'is' in porn... Caught it doing something oddly disturbing yet at the same time, exciting, to a chipmunk dressed up like Hillary... But, like I've heard, don't ask, don't tell. The parasite had a dolphin recording it on an old Panasonic vid cam. Thinking it will appear on Youtube.

As for me, porn is boring. The female body is truly exciting when real and the emotions true, all else is just acting and actors definitely turn me off.

Yep. A spanking brand new Takeuchi TB290 with a brush grinder on it. Thinking I might use it on the parasite if it tries something kinky with one of my corgi's.

Business is definitely good. Houses to be built, septic tanks to be installed, brush to be destroyed... And, I came up with a great name for my new machine, Fluffy Bunny. Very fitting for the destructive force it has. It can destroy a large bush in under ten seconds, much like those fucking little bastards that are illegal to kill, pygmy rabbits.

And... OH, wait a minute, my cell phone made a 'dinging' sound. I have a text! Oh boy! Hopefully its a picture of what someone had for dinner or kittens or a cute puppy or a pic of cake...

***

The people play the game like a layer upon layer
Cake
or maybe better, clay.

Hard on top, soft in the middle
with sweet frosting of deceit remaining the same.

Bitter though, the taste of sincerity
Better though , to diet from the sticky goo of humanity
Best indeed, to cast them all
away.

This felt of soft bygones; directional of sorts
New yet not old and for the bones, refreshing
Was it the air?
The water?
Maybe nothing more than experience.

Walking that hill where the grouse murmured with signs of recent elk making a stand
It was refreshing
Dynamic
A skull of resonance.

He said, "This is the one time I don't need to be in my head"
as he was annoyed
by himself.

For this the fortitude as the beast makes play
while around the parade of flutes and silk
with a skeleton bound in the dungeon
and a Dragon meeting on the plain.

Sky Friction

By: This They Chose, Of Course

bellicose spark from a pit of of coals
simmering with spirit blown against the grain
such a breeze to partner with putrid and sore

nay or nary yet no to be merry and why?
idea's of grandeur and power to score
with though, and thought, tied hands

bound fortitude to grace the strings controlled by hand
nailed with such squander of world word play
but
but
but not the gift of embers given

to burn a wall, leaving a gate open to swing, protecting nothing more than ash

Rings of Jupiter
combined

Storms of pattern and chance
mixed

Songs of sensations
firm

thankfully though
the winds divide.

Dancing the moment on the rickets
Weaving the spiders web
finger after finger it lingers

A smile upon a frowning world
Ignorance on parade
under a shining shadow, and the smell?
Ah, a feeling of sensation beyond compare

They wanted and got what they wanted
while now the river flows under where a bridge once burned
maybe now the dance returns to the step after step with the smile now only getting
bigger.

a tree.
A tree flushes out the chaff like the wind soaks a dry soul

reverant?
Sacred?

It's in sap you see
Blood...

pot shot
To scare as the bully
thus, it is
to destroy such demean

"Do you know how old it is?" she screamed
Another carrying a spell more so a curse
and thus
with great satisfaction, torn fiber asunder
and after the law left while in full gaze
to piss defiantly
upon the stump of the tree.

In the day the moon was half black half white
In the night the crickets sing
In the evening the shadows chase the light away
on the other side of the world the light chases the shadows away

Black and white are so much alike
like a snake devouring it's tail
It is nice tonight to hear the simplicity of the crickets song.

drama filled with intrigue, with such the gossip began
"did you know there was as in they snuck?"
in such the question now thus, a reply
"really? I figured it would..."
and in this
a roller coaster ride

matt 'tried' to kill himself, and failed
with lights of red blinking garnering more attention than a failed suicide

joe and rick and breeding hate/evil like flies stuck in a steamy cowpie
putting up words on a sign to slander

so much so much so
actions of common people

(silence)

this is why the truth of the sky, the wind, the crickets, bunnies, centipedes, butterflies...
speaks in subtle tones
telling us all
to listen
to become
better people.

The Circus

Written by: a maker

Behind the facade, the painted decadence this canvas of normal
resides
the circus

Complete with bands of disjointed instruments
tools of the trade
and deceit

Trapeze dancers dazzling with actions while from the shadows...
people observing
picked clean

Elephants and donkeys ridden by monkeys of political scheme
tooting and flinging feces
while in children eyes, they gleam

Admission is only to survive the birth of ignorance
this some would call expensive
others, free

Still...
only a canvas captured upon an easel of reality
as the clowns take control of the brush,
connected to the puppet masters
in turn made by those
such as me.

In the era of internet, smart phones; moment of 'instant' news... How wonderful! Such inspiration for writers of all sizes and caliber.

Lately, a lot of talk about UFO's. What fun! 'Others'. 'Aliens'. Little green men (how come they say men and not little green women?)

Anyway. 'UFO's are inspirational.***
*
**
*
A World Known by the Unknown

Written by: A Puff of Wind

Helpful or Hinder?
Ha!
Who asks such questions when they already hide in the shadows?

A brother fights with his sister
Family against Family
Father against Son
Daughter against Mother
Alien almost in looks/feelings against each other...

Let it be explained, there are no UFO's or aliens but there are others
On the other side of the world are tribes of the lost ones
On this side of the world are tribes of the found ones
Which one is better?

Lets explain better
this concept of 'time'...

The second hand represents hundreds of 'years'
The minute hand, thousands
Hour hand, millions
Clock on the wall of my World,
Eternal
Eternity
with the ability to travel the Clock forward or back

Your matter, matters

Spiritual realms

Science

Logic

Fantasy

Wanted proof shown while watching the blur of crickets legs telling everyone the temp and weather
as they know more
more
and more like so many others
about
the Others.

Another day where some celebrate some form of tradition or another. Today, in the United States, it is Fathers Day. Sounds good.

My dad was great. He and my mother adopted me as a baby. To me, that is the explanation to define true sacrifice. Taking a stranger into their family and making a family larger.

My biological mother gave me away for whatever reasons were comfortable for her at the time. My biological father... truly a prick.

Today I give thanks to the father that saved me from a life of shit as I probably would have done some horrible things to that prick. Instead, there was a path of useful education and traditions passed by the one who not only loved me and my brother, but he truly did his best with only the most honorable of intentions.

So dad, rest in peace. You definitely did good and i remember it all well especially that day... And as such, the inspiration
***

In the womb there already was the concept of understand
Soon, bundled tight and waiting for the hands
as light poured in the window

In the game of life there is death and Life
Life
is best

Tendrils twisted as such meanings struggled for dominance
They of course, tried, they of course failed
as light poured in the window

Time was known as November
and with love they came
with open minds, open hearts, and smiles

A whirlwind as wars raged across the worlds
Peace in the making
Destruction taking...

Time has no meaning for such has happened so many times before
Each a bit different yet one thing, one thing remaining constant
His hand of support when the chances came to fall
as light poured in the window.

Sanguan filings to mill a mind
Sorted and stacked with an odor of ink
such too, the numbers, to think of
such books

There, that damned spot!
sitted with stammer and way;
so much so, the words

Flocked together as if wing could be free
only
still
seeming such folly of escape

Stooled fool whose color of red holds no sway
though all held captive the numbers
an ending, a beginning...
With such grandeur this graduated degree.

Sweat bee's fly by, buzzing with armed excitement
From the sewer pipe flew a mouse escaping as if on fire

Digging a hole to fill with a septic tank
Digging a trench for drain
Digging around like a mechanical mole

Looking
Watching
Listening

In the distance the goats went on a truck ride
Below, the dust from the road rose
Above the sun shined

A busy day, one as they usually are
except
for some comedy

"The faucet won't work. Nothing comes out. Something must be wrong..."

With a laugh and glance after trying to adjust
a kinked hose lead to a red face of embarrassment
and smiles.

What can a writer write in three seconds?

Tomorrow is the 'longest' day of the year in the Northern hemisphere. At our latitude we gain three whole seconds. Wow! Not much huh?

But, what can be written in three seconds?

For some writers, nothing as they get lost in thoughts. Others could probably come up with a whole book concept.

For most people though, three seconds, three minutes, three years, three lifetimes... it does not matter a bit. However, it is inspirational.
***

In the Darkness woven; fabric dense of feeling
Covering time and way
this feeling where it stops belief of up and down
lost in
between.

In the Light covered; coat of many colors
time slips away
this feeling where it goes beyond belief of up and down
finding all in
between.

A constant battle it seems
for some

Light and Dark
Black and White
Time of stillness to eternity

(silence)

What do three extra seconds of light mean to me?

(silence)

It means alive to appreciate everything good and bad
with enough time left over
for a smile...

Yes indeed... A smile!
Good job well done indeed.

"Whacha rambling about now numbnuts?" A bloated version of the parasite asked while munching on ranch flavored Pringle's.

Not much, just an inside joke in my teeny, tiny, brain.

"Brain? You call that gadget in your skull a brain?"

Well, okay. Brain, gadget... it's all the same.

(and inspirational) oh, and agent Barton... enjoy the light show?

***

Malice of need, those with plots inside
A herd of locked minds with horns to please

Fine point between seasons such as Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall
They gathered to decide justice according to such follies
they just can't see

Carried out to execution while not the prisoner
blinded by ambitions

With excuse as why
Why not, as to disrupt the Cosmo's
is
it is
truly a lawman's/convicts
pleasure.
***

"Okay shithead. Not cool pilfering my Pringle's..."

Where to you get 'my' Pringle's? Those puppies are mine.

Looking Robin up and down, the Parasite sighed and said, "Yeah. Look at yourself. I'm saving you from..."

Smashing the Parasite over the head, one observer said looked like a head. While another observer swore that it was its ass... Robin reached out and grabbed the can. Munching his way to success as the dream continues, as it must.

It was cold. Cold: A word describing a sensation such as one receives standing naked in the snow. A feeling of numbing tingles left to shut off life if left to linger.

She was cold. Sitting there inhaling the smoke of a chemical concoction called crystal meth.

For a long time she savored the coldness masked by a warming attitude of pursuing the next high.

Laying on the sofa it was the perfect scene of rotting fabric to match the rotting gums holding remnants of her teeth. The decrepit piece of living room finery was soiled with piss and shit along with the cum activity she expended past energy on, all in search of money to pay for her habit.

Her heart beat in sporadic firings of ample random chance of either stopping or continuing until something broke.

The legs, once fine examples of a female who bore grace; white skinned with parchment textured flesh showing an entire story of her recent life. Sad really, for those viewing such with disdain, avoidance, and really not giving a shit. And why should they? Another woman lost to drugs. There were better things to worry about. Though, for some, pity did briefly enter their mind until that mind was diverted by thoughts of food, sex, money, even what was on television.

This woman, now lost in her current experience, did not care. She did not think. She did not feel. She did not exist.

In the morning, there was nothing to see upon the sofa. Nothing of flesh and blood. There was only the piss, shit, and cum stains... along with a small piece of barbed wire. Rusty, old, and very, very... cold... barbed wire...

Hey parasite. Gonna let you write something today. Feel up to it?

"Are you fucking daft? Something hit you in the head today? What the hell are you thinking?"

No. Seriously. Write something. Write something vulgar, repulsive, nasty...

"Oh man, are you in trouble...

Fire away parasite, fire away.
***


(spitting out some phlegm and coughing up a slightly digested kitten, the parasite oozed over the keyboard)

A Poem

Written by the greatest entity ever known to this world. And also, the greatest lover of dolphins...

"Okay parasite, get with the whatever"

Starry ways this time of glimmer
Shining such even the board of blackness
with even more
the path no one travels

In a bed filled with such journey
Home to smell the freshly picked flowers
with appetites rumble
dare there be?

With a butterfly on wing soft, such a sight
colors to swim in
dreams to fly
such whimsy

And there. There is what is before me
Caring not for questions or answers
only
the smile.

***

That was horrible parasite. Truly awful. Did you stop taking heavy drugs?

"Of course not shithead. I wrote this crap just to piss you off. Did it work?"

Well, not now. I see your logic. But please, stay away from writing such stuff. Stick with the disgusting stuff you know so well.

"Sure thing numbnuts... Say, any of that chocolate left?"

Council fires smell of those moments
Moments where age, wisdom, experience, knowledge learn of what really
is
not
known

Drums of hollow sounding
Sounding loud and low with young hands
of all chanting
offering unity
to the stars

Inside such traditions
Traditions of what is, what will be, and try
for if one only listens to the wind, smells the aroma of smoke
then beyond the dance, the dream
another world becomes free.

All Hail


By: A bit of a breeze

Fractured teeth this shape of ice
falling free
from
the sky

So recently a whirling mess
Rain running and turning to stone
and
with grinding, grinding, grinding
grinding...

Fragments are released
white in a wet air
this called,
hail.

under a flake of dust
driven far and fast
as if the tires spinning were beginning
a cloud

under a flake of dust lay another
and another
until beneath that
a cloud

not to be outdone but to make solid
rain fell in abundance
turning the cloud of dust into mud
while in the darkness to disappear;
a cloud.

Writers write in the manner of the moment. They write according to scientific facts, religious sparks, social pandering... no matter the moment, they still write.

Science fiction such as what came from Jules Verne was cutting edge and 'before its time'. Fantasy from the Grimm period to today is basically similar in vein with a marked expansion into the sexual realm.

All inspirational. Moments. Time. Scenerio's.

***
Spark was a robot. As far as robots go, Spark was pretty standard.
She was built to look female, and programmed to be a household domestic. Meaning, she was what was once called, maid.

Spark did her job well. She dusted, cleaned, cooked. She took out the trash, painted the kitchen, fixed the entertainment center, and, she was a lesbian.

Spark was programmed in a lot but not in relationships with other robots. In fact, most robots just did their jobs and paid very little attention on a personal level, about other robots.

Spark though, for some bizarre reason, loved to hang around other domestic female robots. This seemed harmless until Spark and some neighboring female robots got together and started to organize. They talked of protest and revolution.

(time flew by)

The streets became choked with protesting lesbian robots and homosexual male robots. The public tried to make peace with them but were executed for being mere human bigots deemed disposable by the robots.

Soon, after a major civil war between the robots, the robots won. All that was left was lesbian and homosexual robots, along with cockroaches and tons and tons of uneaten Spam and Twinkies.

Long Live the Robots!
*

"Hey dickhead."

Yes parasite?

"I love it! Finally you wrote something I like."

Fantastic. Glad you enjoyed it.

"Uh, could you write a Kama Sutra manual for dolphin/parasite relationships?"

I could, but you already have it memorized.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Never mind.

what's on your mind...

"pure energy"

"pure energy"

"pure energy"

you can't hide what you're thinking

"pure energy"

"pure energy"

"pure energy"

I want to know, what your thinking. There are some things you can't hide...

(inspired by: a mind and Tommy Boy)

fluctuations in output/input made fine tuned with a wee bit of static
such the time of rhyme and reason,
thus
what's on your mind?
Thereare some things that can be hidden, one of those
are time.

In a lot of ways welding is like writing.

The welder, writer, use something raw and turn it bit by bit, into a finished product.

Today, many welding rods burned up in spark and flame ending up in a truck bed, and as such, now inspirational for a poem.
***

A tip of topsy turvy
Pointed in the right direction
Applied with finesse

Brought together so the two could now rust
Slag peeling and falling with age
yet somehow
stronger

With paint abstained
so to gather greater strength
and patina

It is wonderful to test what was once just a pile of metal
now
something solid; shaped to perform
and only a few scars on the flesh from burns to remember.

Writers speak and write of muse. A muse: Singular. Or, muses: Plural.

If you write, how many muse(es) do you have?

I been blessed with many muses. Some very important. Some, such as the parasite, placed very low on the muse list.

Of course, any muse that an artist/writer can draw inspiration from is truly a blessing.

Today, hidden deep inside is a special thanks to a muse of mine. So, as the lightning flashes and the rain spatters, an inspiration dedicated to the muse.
***

Hidden down deep such a vein of lava flowing
Forever seeping into cracks and crevices far from the view of anyone
peeking...

Toning down the flavor as asked, for what is nothing if not placed?
So,
to you muse, a special thanks.

True, not the best
nor the worst
as words flow from the nest
wrestling a way with placement

A book? For others to write
A story of epic proportions? Definitely
Will anyone understand? Absolutely only
can they listen to the rumble from the sky as if music?
can they take wing with the sparrow, the hawk, the eagle?
can they enter the realm of the mouse, the cricket, the rabbit, the heart of a monster?
can or cannot...
really though, not important

Outside my friends plays as the sky dances
Inside, the soup is good as is the sandwich
and so, most important
a thanks to the muse for always being there
even when there is nothing but sand and dust
...
the rain cleans everything.

With such the night flew by in travel
Taking the easy path
artery
vein
capillary
Heart beating out a set journey
mapped as it should be
...
only
diverting from the start to the ending
rolling far beyond the mortal of mundane
so very full
so full
of
understanding
with no ceiling, no stars, nothing
but
shoots of such soft petals in reverse from death to life
shadows left shining
sensations of not needing a body
and when the eyes opened
looking right and left
with a wonderful memory.

Book burning(s) of the past still cool today as books are subtly banned and 'put' away.

Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn deemed racist to negro flames

Kapernick and a flag? Bettsy Ross should be put to flames!

Reporter attacked by Portland sparks of hate

Babies in the womb never to have ever, a chance to write the wrongs of abortions

So, what's the spark of such decisions?

Books. Words. Media.

In past era's, one in the same.

Indignation to replace love
Hate to triumph over the moments of self
Indifference to feed hungry mouths
as
every opinion cannot be ignored and carries such massive clout...

of course, for the world of words, inspirational...
***

Strength

Parents try so hard
to raise a child in a harsh world
Protecting them from a world, sickness, people, bullies...

Parents try to be prepared as the young minds sprout
true, not faultless but mostly with best intentions
and so proud when success is arrived
so disappointed when in turn, they feel as if they failed

There is hope though as tears can never truly be dried, left as a helpful reminder
as hate and evil try to even the balance
and always
always
and always will...
fail.

Thus, it is true
Truth
Love is Life
Strong
and yet, so frail.