I guess I’m back.. Or Today’s Random Thought.

After hitting a low point, clawing myself out for a few months into the light of the “real world” only to detonate myself and a few innocent people around me (not literally for those that might be frowning or gasping in a concerned way), I’m back here “blogging” and reading other people’s “blogs.” Melodramatic opening, I know. Sorry, not sorry. I’m at the bottom looking up again and wondering how the hell do “normal” people do it? (Begin “Appeasing Statement.” No offense to serious bloggers. I’m not implying that the blogging sphere is necessarily “the bottom.” Just that I end up here when I personally hit “the bottom” emotionally. End of “Appeasing Statement.”)

Time for some self reflection, poetry and art to cheer me up, bolster me for the next big failure of my life. Haha. Damn is it hard not to be self-depreciating. Maybe I should take one of those courses that help you suppress your “id” and become one with the world around you. Hard not to see that as willfully guzzling the poison that up until recently you’ve only been sipping. Do I sound like I’m whining? Don’t answer that, I might be forced to come through the screen and slap you.

Some random thoughts I had to get out. I’ll post some poems over the next few weeks if anyone cares to read them, doubt they’ll be much good but they are, shall we say, therapeutic.

Sorry you read this thinking it might be entertaining, but then feeling as hollow and disappointed as a child leaving a cut rate amusement park with nothing more than sticky hands and a ragged teddy bear missing an eye to show for your efforts when you reached the last few sentences without even uttering a single amused grunt.

Cheers,

Megan

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Anything Please, a (Horror?) Short

DISCLAIMER: Graphic violence, some may find disturbing. Please keep this in mind if you chose to continue reading, though I doubt it’s any worse than your average TV show. (Walking Dead anyone? Num num.)

This is a short story that I started working on 9 months ago and rediscovered just today. The ending is cheap I know, it’s still a WOP… mostly because I have no idea where to take it from here, especially after losing it for so long. Anyway, hope you enjoy regardless, and as always, I welcome comments.


“Anything please.”

“Fine. We’ll go with the broken finger, let’s say.. the sixth one from the left, counting from your pinky.”

“Fantastic.” I spread out my hands in front of me. They rested like miniature pink sausages on the chilly metal counter top. The spindly veins fascinated me.

“One, two, three,” he made a show of counting each digit starting from my left pinky, touching lightly, “four, five,” the blue plastic gloves he wore left traces of fine white power, dusted like ash on the fine hairs of my fingers, “six.”

“Ah, here we are. Ready?” He grinned at me. I couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark round glasses he wore.

I shivered with excitement. “Ready.” My shoulders tensed. My fingers spread further apart. Tendons jumped up from their fleshy beds.

Bending from the waist, he reached below the desk separating us. His hand explored an area I could not see, his chin hovering near the edge of the desk. His nostrils left damp circles that appeared and receded with every breath. After a moment he withdrew a hammer, made of the same shimmering metal as the surface my pale hands now flexed upon. He examined it momentarily, testing the weight, feeling what texture he could behind the gloves and opaque glasses.

Satisfied, he rose up, over six feet in height, muscles coiling, hammer high above his head- and brought the instrument savagely down upon my finger, sixth from the left, counting from my pinky.

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Green and Golden Snake

written 6/26/2015

by Megan Blaney aka wiedienacht

eye closed

The green and golden snake is hanging

Upon the basement stairs

It whispers to me softly

I can take away your cares

I’m the end you’re seeking

The hollowness you’re feeling

Can’t affect you here

Underneath the stair case

Between the spider’s webs

Near empty cans of paint and

Forgotten dolls with no heads

I push away the whispers every time I go

Down into the basement

To stow or fetch my clothes

But the wear begins to show

Perhaps I should relocate

The green and golden snake

So he no longer bothers me

But that would be like losing

My best company

Ode to California, Our Sinking Garden

written 06/26/2015

by Megan Blaney aka wiedienacht

I stand on the fence posts
Splitting ties with ignorance
Reckless hope for what I don’t know
Brought me here, but won’t let go
Chokes desire instead, with harsh fingers
Wrapped ‘round my throat

Tongue twisted, mind muddled
Eyes clamped shut, still light hisses through
The fringes of soiled eye lashes
Fingers clasped tightly together
Afraid to peel away and discover
The emptiness they hold in one another

Crows caw caw craw
Single notes of haughty reproach
Chasing me further down this hole
I’ve dug out for myself, overnight
Pushing aside the roots and moles
Dirt mixes with blood

Under my nails and clumps
In my hair, I’ll never get it out

The fence posts above my head now
Rot away against an indifferent sky
Beside abandoned soil skimmed fields
Belonging only now to sticks and
Drought hardy, hardened bugs
Feral dogs and guilty cats

Stalk amid the long dried stalks
Hunt starving snakes and
Worm riddled mangled rats

Feast of Flies

written 6/08/2015

by Megan Blaney aka wiedienacht

Sit for your feast of flies
The unborn dies
Rests its weary head upon
Your unopened thighs
Maggots squirm
Lies hide behind
Jagged teeth
Grinding stone, pallid bone
Flesh tears away
Withered, exposed
A tired bell tolls
A cracked fist
Juxtaposed
A painted white flower
Stand, quench your thirst
The unborn bursts
Inside, twists and writhes
The unborn dies
In circles of endless unlife
A feast for flies
Constant, unearthly cries
Fester behind
Tired unseeing eyes

“Slow Down” Tentative Title, a Short Story

    I wrote this over the past couple days. It’s a rough draft, as such it needs a little work. Feel free to offer comments, suggestions, corrections, or just read for the pleasure of it. (For some reason, the formatting is not working properly and paragraphs aren’t indenting like I want them to. I had to put a space in between each paragraph, and even that didn’t work at first. I apologize for the appearance.)

Written 5/28/2015

By Megan Blaney aka wiedinacht

     “Slow down, “she said.

He drummed his fingers against the wheel, then squinted down at the speedometer. “I’m only going five over.”

They’d been driving for over two hours, and had at least that to go.

“We’re not out of Worcester yet.” She bit at her nails, crimson red, inch and a half, $30 with a generous tip at Nail Top back home. “It’s a heavy cop area.” She looked out the window. A cyclist in a tight red bodysuit tried valiantly to come up along side them, but failed. She watched him for a bit in the side view mirror.

“Who says that?” He asked, putting on his blinker with a lazy flick of his hand.

She replied as he slid into the left lane, just ahead of a truck adorned with some landscaping logo, a grinning sunburnt face hovering over a lawnmower. “Says what?”

“A heavy cop area.” His eyes shifted to her briefly and a half grin flit across his face. When she didn’t respond right away, he slapped a hand to her thigh. A gesture meant to be playful, but was just a little too forceful.

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Last Night’s Dream

original photo credit www.hotrod.com

original photo credit http://www.hotrod.com

I had a dream last night. Some people like this kind of stuff, find meaning in it. I’m not sure if I do, but dreams can be an entertaining break from the monotony of my life.

Some background first- I used to live, oh I mean, work at a credit union in the mortgage department. I was there for four years- longer than that in various positions within the CU, but about four years in mortgages. I had a pretty nifty boss, but boy she let you have it if you stepped out of line. I respected her for that. I no longer work at the credit union, for reasons unrelated to anything in the following dream.

I’m back at work at the credit union, my boss Lydia (not her real name) is at her desk. Only it’s not the credit union, it’s her home. And it’s not a desk, it’s a kitchen sink. Only, it is a desk, too. Sometimes. My little brother is also there, somewhere. I have a desk of my own, along the back wall of what must be a kitchen. There’s counters, tiled floors, bright lighting. But there’s also filing cabinets, and I’m pretty sure half the room was a forest.

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Let’s Have Us A

little chat

written 4/27/2015

by Megan Blaney aka wiedienacht


Why do I feel worse now

Isn’t this supposed to be a cleansing

Of air

A release of some sort


The beginning of my recovery

As it were

But I don’t trust you

I keep my secrets

Close


I lied


I will reinvent you into someone who

Can know me


Am I

Hiding

Using this as an opportunity

Not to face


This gnawing this hunger inside me

Tearing me open from within

This heat searing inside

Inescapable

But I don’t want to

I can’t

So


Let’s just forget we had this little chat

Better

For you and me both

That way


Well at least

Better for me

I don’t know you

Anyway

Insipid Thruths

written 5/9/2015

by Megan Blaney aka wiedienacht

What’s that I should gather

From your inflections

Your insipid connotations


Cough sneer

You can thank me later

You laugh and slide closer

Further away

At my side only when convenient

More often worming ahead

Drafting me like a piece of flotsam

In your wake

Wake up I tell myself

Daily, heading my advice

Only when the chorus of wails

Around become unbearable and I drown

Them out and my own

Incessant whisperings beseech me

And I can listen peacefully

You stare listlessly beyond

Focusing on a pale spot near

My left shoulder, livid eyes

Never look toward me, only past

Tendrils of once savored feelings

Now soured and rotten

Bind us still

Here together

Your words keep slipping past me

Enticing cloying honey

Vivid bright surfaces I’m meant

To understand but

Hidden truth surges under

Tipping up, striking through

Dark strong currents, forceful rancor

Iced over masked with concern


Here take my hand, you say

And I know I shouldn’t

But I take it anyway

Mildly Frustrated? Or something of a confession.

Can anyone tell me why I have (for example) two views and eleven likes? It doesn’t make sense to me. Why like something that you haven’t read? :/

Anyway, I wanted to post something different today. I’ve been putting up a scattering of poems that I’ve written, mostly because I think they reflect the stage of my life I’ve been going through. Now I’ve decided to throw up something of a journal.. And wouldn’t you know it, I can’t think of anything to say… So…

This is strange for me. I’ve always been a private person, so this decision to blog surprised me a little. Why share things with a world you’d rather close yourself off from? I guess I can take a little comfort in knowing that most people on this site appear just to breeze through, arbitrarily liking and following you in an attempt to induce you to do the same. Haha. Only kind of kidding.

I’ve been diagnosed recently with depression and anxiety. I suppose I’m in a rather wide, crowed boat. I think something like 121 million people worldwide have been diagnosed with depression, and something like one in ten people will suffer from some form of it at one point in their lives. (You may want to fact check me, I’m relying on my increasingly faulty memory to recall those figures.) Some may find that comforting. We aren’t alone, after all. I find it nauseating.

Maybe I thought that sharing my progression through this illness (and hopefully beyond it), albeit in a somewhat distanced form, would be therapeutic? I don’t know. I’ve begun (yet again) to doubt my decisions. I suppose the best thing to do would be to continue and see, wouldn’t it?

This isn’t what I intended to write about. See what happens when you don’t set goals? 😉

Anyway, signing off for now. I have a warm bed and blanket calling my name.

(Also, what is a slug? Besides an oozy garden creature. It’s under advanced settings, and I can’t find it in help.. probably because I’m lazy.)