Textual DériveThe Kinetic Phonetics of a Terminal Fool
These are the writings of Savage Henry Lee, known to many as "that guy" or "him" or "y'know". I am... maybe a poet, maybe a loser. Either way, a perpetual happening. ØØØ
I live, I breathe, I write. I feel a need to share my writing with the world. I don't know why, but it just feels better that way. It's a process. XXX
Despite all my rage, I am still just a word on a page.
My girlfriend imagines herself walking dragons through the park. She sees herself as this burly champion of the land, her wrists adorned with the leashes of leather and chain that run to the collars of her menagerie of lizard-like pets.
My girlfriend imagines herself, in the park, with these great, beautiful beasts. They breathe fire and crap molten dark matter. They growl little songs, and chase squirrels up trees.
My girlfriend imagines herself and her pets as being colourful beasts of brilliance. Dark-eyed monsters with hearts made of mischievous gold. Strange, wicked steel-eyed beasts, with thick scales and impossibly sharp claws.
My girlfriend takes a lot of drugs.
Happy Something Morning
There’s nothing more pathetic to me than suburban white-folks who are scared of the devil.
You might think they don’t exist, but they do. I’ve met them. They’re normal folks, from “good” families, with “good” jobs, and yet they honestly believe that somewhere out there, is an antithesis to the will of the creator of the cosmos.
I’m sure not all of them imagine a cartoon imp with red horns and a pitchfork, but then, I’m sure some of them do. Maybe they imagine a tall handsome man with smooth blonde hair, or some sort of hunched, dark-furred beast, with eyes like smoke.
Either way, they’re all crazy people.
I knew a jock once, an adult male, who was scared of me because I wore black and painted my fingernails. He legitimately thought I was in league with dark powers. He warned a mutual friend not to leave me alone with her cat, out of fear I might sacrifice it to my dark lord.
You want to be a good Christian, that I can understand. You want to do right, help people, offer kindness to a few souls, I can behind that.
But if you really think that somewhere out there is a physical and spiritual force that craves evil and corruption just because it hates the all-powerful loving god who created everything in the universe?
Well, then you my friend, are a crazy person.
Happy Easter, and remember, if it comes back from the dead, you have to put it down with a cranial blow.
Thems the facts, folks.
Cry Baby Cry
“Make your mama sigh,” I mutter to myself, steering my jet-pack across the city.
Deep in the dusty subways of the city, the last of the royal family is slithering, laying eggs the size of human-head that hatch into scaly flesh-eating monstrosities with hides as dark as black magic, and hearts as ugly as sin.
My aim is sure and my blade is sharp and my jet-pack is very fast. I am scared, but this fear drives me, drives me on, drives me on into darkness.
The Queen’s got claws that can carve through cement like it was soft butter. The Queen’s hungry for human hearts and the fingers of babies. The Queen breathes cruelty and soft curses, muting the air around her and depriving it of oxygen. Yeah, it’s hard to breathe around her. Her great, bulbous eyes can see through time and space and city walls.
She knows I’m coming.
But my aim is sure, and my blade is sharp, and my jet-pack is very fast.
I meet her in the darkness, of the abandoned city’s abandoned subway system. She screamed for vengeance in a language spoken only by the great extinct lizard who used to rule this land. She screamed for my life. She screamed that she wanted to tear me into shreds. Her eggs trembled with anticipation, still-sleeping lizard-monster-babies dreaming of destruction.
She wants to kill me. She wants to devour me. She wants to destroy me.
But my aim is sure, and my blade is sharp. And my jet-pack is very fast.
