I had been writing since I was 7. I loved it.

Short stories, poems, large tomes of

words and description. I could write about anything. Give me a character and I
could write his monologue.

I wrote something - with a beginning a middle and an end - until I was 18. Eleven
good years of world creation and magic. Even still, I have begun and left
unfinished two or three "novels" which I return to frequently with the affection
of a blocked mind letting its open-ended tear drops flood the page.

To me, these are like unmarked graves. Only I know who lay beneath the dirt
because it was I who buried them. A snicker befalls me just before the smirk fades
unto a frown. Eyes wide and empty, I wonder. Where did these friends of mine go?
Why did they leave?

Fragments burn at the edges of the fray. Up, up, up, the fire goes.

My mind is made wide at the illumination of linguistic perfection. It boils so

close to the surface and just before I get the chance it fizzles into nothing.
There's a big nasty brick wall in my way. Ominous, gleaning, and grinning at me
with folded arms across her chest. "You won't live up. You won't write it, and you
won't share it either. Forget it. It's not yours to command."

"But it is! It is!" Like a child I jump up and down, pen-in-hand reaching for the
upper-most edge of the wall. I can make it if I try.

********************************

CREATIVE WRITING EXERCISE NC17

This is the tomb of the lucid sky deity. He and she, she and he nudges me softly
and gently shoves me over the edge.

"I'll show you something," She says, appearing to me like the Goddess Aphrodite.
Full of love and seduction, with supple breasts and open legs. I gasp with mouth
agape. Who is this beautiful creature floating before me in glorified sexual
prowess? How can I contain that sick spatter of drool dripping down my lower lip?
My grasping reflex, like a baby's yearning for a suckle, clenches hard. The nipple
perks up between two fingers, the middle and the index. I'm squeezing now, IT'S
MINE AND I WANT IT! GIVE IT TO ME, GIVE IT YOUR ALL! Beneath my palm the lissome
bosom crumbles to dust.

"You're going about it all wrong." The voice glares at me between the blinds of
the shadows creeping at my edges. I sit back and clench the arms of chair, hard
beneath my sore ass. I'd been sitting there for hours.

"How? How can I go about it 'wrong'? Is there even such a notion or is this merely
something we've created? It is the logical conclusion of our language - which is,
to separate with duality the terms of that which 'are.' It's so 'wrong' that I'm
DYING to get fucked! I just want to feel something. Anything. A passion created by
my own suggestion!"

"Passion is not only born from your primal animal urges."

SEX

It was a man's voice now. It started to fade into existence. "Passion can be
painful too. And, it can be creative."
"Fuck creation. Just fuck me! Pummel me with your hot sticky fucking. Just do it.
It's all I want. I'm dying inside. Just do it."

"And dying is exactly why you'll get no pleasure from me." His voice is stern in
comparison to my sad whimpering and yearning for orgasm. Just let me go, old man,
all over your face! I'll show you who rocks this world.

"You can't rock shit by sitting on your ass," he reminds me, "There is no action
in stagnancy."

"Fuck you! I just want to feel. There's no point to this crap, nothing but our
senses. You know that, don't you?"

"You once believed there was more to life than that, my friend."

"I'm not your friend."

"That's exactly why this is painful to you. You just want to eat it up, use it,
and throw it away. Even knowledge finds a closet to crawl into, leaving only the
meaningless surface bits of your interests. Can you even explain yourself?"

The prismatic realm of the Lucid Sky Deity starts to wash over me, a flood of
confusion and now anguish. All thoughts of orgasm are haulted at the gate as I am
thrown overboard into a sea of altered states.

He's right. I can't explain myself. I have been stagnant and apathetic. Words come
and go and I am left with the understanding of nothing. I can check out wikipedia
if I need to answer any of the important questions.

The deity appears to me as fire, as insects, as demons, as blood, as torture. I'm

shackled now, not to a chair but to a board. Again the tingle of the kundalini
snake brushes gently over the sacral. There is a chance of illustrious passion in
the pursuit of pain.

There is none in my voice though. It is still, solemn, and somber. The words
materialize in monotone "Abuse me. For the love of fuck, abuse me."

I can sense that this insectual deity is rolling is beady eyes at the monotony of
my request. Another request for gratification. When will the lesson be learned?

"OH GOD!" I cry, praying to whomever will listen. The demon has thrusted a burning
iron poker into that anxious spot beneath my rib cage. A little to the right,
please. A flood of thoughts enter through my side and crawl like cockroaches into
the sludge of my brain. I really haven't been doing anything with my life. I sit
and I observe but I create no results with my observations. Testing is weak when
only halfly played out. I have lost the game.

"Shut up! Stop that incessent whining. You think anyone gives a flying fuck if you
feel sorry for yourself? Cry me a river while you listen to the symphony of a
thousand tiny violins stroked between my fingertips. No. One. Gives. A. Shit."

It's mocking me. The deity is mocking me. Making fun of me. Playing games with me.
Looking at me. Judging me. Treating me like the dirt I am. Like the dirt I am!

"Didn't you hear me the first time? No. One. Gives. A. Shit."

He's just trying to manipulate me. If she didn't care, she wouldn't be stabbing me
so harshly in the side, forcing me to move. What if I don't want to move?
"Well, if you don't want to move, my friend," She says again, voice soft and
beckoning, "than you are an agent of death. While you have never lived, you never
will."

Another stab to my side, and this time a twist. The pain is almost too much to
bare as the hot flood enters my mind again. A headache. I'm fucking dying, I know
I am. I'm dying and I'm scared too. I don't want to die! When I die, there will be
nothing. Nothing but... nothing... Nothing but... nothing. Nothing but..
nothing.... nothing.... nothing...... .. .... ......

This time she plunges the poker up through my ribs and into my heart. I'm giving
up. Just let me die. I don't need the gratification of my senses when this pattern
of thought extends so conspicuously the searing pain that blisters against the
periphery. I'll never amount to anything anyway, so why bother fighting. I'll just
let myself go.

I let my eyes flutter to a close.

"Don't you get it?" She asks. There's another twist of the iron. "When I say no
one cares, I mean no one cares. Sure, they care about YOU but they don't give two
shits about your complaints. All that brings is a fragmentation of yourself.
You're cutting yourself to bits and digging your own grave. Those people, the ones
who you're worried about? If they care to bring you down it's because they need
someone to climb over. What does THAT matter? It shows that they are weaker than
you. So fuck em'. Let them know that you are you and you deserve this place on
Earth."

What about my friends? They're manipulating me. Playing games with me. Showing me
that I'm worthless because I sit on my ass.

"Hmm... No. You're showing yourself that you are worthless because you don't like
that you sit on your ass. Just get up."

Easier said than done.

"It takes work. Start with love. For yourself."

She pulled the poker out of my body. I felt as it was removed from my heart and
rattled against my ribcage on its way. She pulled away the shackles from my
wrists, from my ankles too. My flesh was raw in rememberance of those bounds. She
took both of my hands into hers and helped me from the table. "Stand up." she
said, as my feet touched the cold of the concrete floor. She gazed into my eyes.
That beautiful aphrodite once more. No sign of demonic presence whatsoever.

How can I trust this image?

"Trust in yourself." She kissed my eyelids, my cheeks, and then softly my lips.
"Now leave this place and don't return until you realize that all is love deep and
valuable. Without it, you are left with base urges and surface thought. You can do
it."

I can do it.

[[Finished or not? I don't know. You tell me. Creative criticism is welcomed and
encouraged.]]