Who Killed Mary?

I came to Hazard when I was seven. I lived with my mother. My father married her and when she got pregnant, he took all the money she had and ran away. This is why we came to Hazard.
Hazard is a small town in Nebraska, it's population is not more than 80 people. Everyone knew in minutes we came from a town nearby and what happened with my father. All the eyes were full of prejudices.

I started school with the other twenty children in town. I sat next to Mary - the only person who ever looked beyond the shell and saw the man in me.
Three years passed since I met Mary. We went out almost every night to walk by the river and we watched the sun set. Mary liked to watch the sun set and I liked watching her. I sometimes saw the sheriff's car parked on the road and I felt his prejudiced eyes in me. Everyone said that nothing good is going to turn out of my friendship with Mary.
I remember one day, we were on the grass under the cool shade of the trees and we dreamed how one day we were going to make a boat and sail down the river to escape from Hazard. Then Mary smiled and kissed me on the cheek.

No one understood how I felt for Mary. No one cared until one day Mary disappeared.
She came the previous day and asked if I wanted to go for a walk. She knew I was down with a flue the week before. I said no. She offered to stay with me to keep me company, but I declined again. I remember she took a scarf from the coat-hook and put it on her neck. She told me she was going to go for a walk by the river and the scarf would make her feel I was next to her.

The next morning someone knocked on my door. I opened and saw the sheriff's badge. He told me Mary never came home since they saw her in my house. Then arrested me. I saw the people of Hazard whispering and their eyes filled with worries and blame.

I was sitting at the police station and listening to the sheriff's accusations. Then one of his colleagues came in and told him Mary was found dead in the river. Strangled with my scarf. I remember I started crying and the sheriff hit me. I remember I was dragged in front of the whole town to the car and forced me in it.

We were on the bridge over the river. Where Mary's body surfaced this morning. The sheriff wouldn't stop cursing and hitting me, and I wouldn't stop crying. I fell on my knees. I put my head through the bars and looked down through the river. I saw Mary's face, her smile...
I felt the bullet entering my chest. I looked one last time at the river, at my Mary... who killed you?

21.05.2008
Replica

Gravity of Love

"Try to think about it ...
What’s the chance to live your life and discover
What it is, whats the gravity of love"

The storm was coming near. Black clouds were threatening the crystal blue sea. The ship was slightly rocking from the waves. The lighthouse behind them was too far and now looked like a tiny star in mid-day. The next lighthouse was a thousand miles away from here, in a land no one knew.

She looked over to the foamy waves. Something was telling her the storm would be hard and long. This was not going to be her first, nor last storm she would endure. She closed her eyes and let the wind weave the smell of sea in her hair.
Her heart was telling her this time she had to trust it fully to endure the storm. She was going to follow the trail of past storms to get out of this one.

It was all a matter of deal between her, the ship, the waves and the clouds. She had seen how a storm, similar to this one, destroys ships of others like her. She knew the experience of survival was the key. The experience of survival and trust in the heart were the key to the gravity of love, and it would help her in enduring the storm.

Few were the people who trusted their heart to lead then through the storm and she was one of those few. She knew that always in the eye of the storm there is a lonely dove, who would lead you through.
She looked up to the darkened skies. They were close to the storm, close to it's eye. And then she saw it - a pale spot on the sky, the white dove was flying over the ship and showed the way.

- Let's go then, into the eye of the storm...

To the white dove in all my storms.

18.07.2008
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Thoughts of a madman...

Love... we all crave for it and we hope to one day find it. It is the thing that moves our lives and makes us feel complete. It is the thing we give and hope to get at least a tiny bit of it in return. It is what gives us wings. What is love, truly?
We walk the long way home just to get hurt by the ones we love. What illusions did we have for this person? What did we see in him? Our own reflection? Reflection splitting in two...
The people we love find all seven ways to keep us near. So near, that when they reach out they could touch us... they sure know how to grow the seeds of love. But can they... can we feel something more than lust?
We let others, the ones we love, steal our will to live from us. We let then crown us and then kill us.
"Love is a little death between two little lives, nothing more." These words burn my mind every time I close my eyes. The words of an artist...
And when it is all over? Then we are left ti exist for ourself, for the hope that someone would give us life again.
Our life suddenly gets out of control, out of our own control and is dependent on a feeling... on an illusion. We always give a chance to eternal love and we always die when we hear the words "This is the end."
Say the words I want to hear again and again, but don't expect me to believe in them like before. Burning and all-consuming love is the only reason.
Nothing is free. For every moment of happiness and feeling of completeness we suffer countless moments of despair, tears and helplessness. Just when we have lost our wings, when they had been torn away from us, we deny love and die. Love is killing us, yet we crave it. We give and get nothing in return.
Such wounds cannot be healed, so come... come, come, come...
We deny love, we deny it's existence, we deny ourselves, we oppose to our human nature with the only purpose not to die again. And just when we thought that we would never love again, because we decided not to, we end up on the same place where we said to ourselves "Never again!", and we're screaming "I'm in the same nightmare again!"
Again we have let ourselves be someone's toy...
And again we are too weak to say it is all over...
Again and again unconsciously we end up here where we denied love and we walk over our own promises, ready to give one more chance to eternal love.
Say the words I want to hear over and over again... lust is the only reason to be here. Lust and human nature.
And when I look into your eyes, I say "Take me again..."

"Take me again..."

Thank you to the remarkable poet Tony Kakko for the wonderful words written in 2004.

Blinded No More

17.10.2007
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Sing Your Song For Me

- Hush, everything will pass. It’s just a storm. Come, I’ll shelter you. Come, I’ll protect you from the storm. I’ve seen it all before and nothing changes.
She cuddled close. She felt him closer than ever. Because he caught her when she was falling. Because he was keeping her from falling again. Because now he was sitting next to her, on the cold sand and was watching the sea with her.
- Nothing is changed, just me. I change with every storm. And nothing seems the same no more… nothing. Just the rusting leaves in the forest where the trees sing.
He looked back to the little forest they passed through some time ago. That small forest which was his world and where he could escape everything… but not from her. Because the trees sang her song. Sang her song for him.
- Sing your song for me. Sing it, like you always did before. I love it! – he looked her and smiled. – Come on, sing your song for me, please.

“Sing your song for me, like you always did before. And I will be waiting for you here, on this sea shore, where nothing will ever change…”

She smiled back and started singing. She was singing quietly, so that just they could hear the love ballad. She was singing for him. She was singing her song for him.

“See I don’t think I need to feel
just as long as you are here”

She stopped and lost herself in thoughts for a while.
- So funny, isn’t it, everything’s been done before, yet it feels new to me once more. That “I’m here”, those words…
- The breeze in the forest trees singing your song for me. Will you sing your song for me always?

31.03.2008
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Sleep

She woke up. It was long before dawn. Tears in her eyes again and her heart was beating franticly. And it was not even morning... she felt the anguish settling in... and again all she could do was show it the way to her heart and leave it there.

He was sitting in the corner opposite her bed and was watching her. He wanted to lie next to her and to hold her, do heal the hurt behind her eyes and in her soul, but she wouldn't see him... she never saw him except when they met in her dreams.
"Hurry up, don't fall behind, fight! Don't fall behind and let them take control of you! You need to heal the hurt behind your eyes and chase away those fickle words out of your mind... fight..."

She was laing and staring at the ceiling above her. Thinking... and crying. Pain...
She felt sleep creeping in and surrendered.

He made a step forward and the light from the street lamp fell on him through the window. Another one, and another, and another, until he reached her bed. He put his hand in her hand and looked at her face - serene, almost happy. If, at that moment, someone could have peered into the room he would have said that a strange shadow was over her and nothing more.
"Sleep, sugar, let your dreams flood in like waves of sweet fire you're safe within... sleep, sweetie, let your floods come rushing in and carry you over to a new morning... sleep..."

Fire... a big wall of fire surrounded her. But she was not afraid of it, she felt sweet intoxication of the glow of the flames.
Nightmares jumped against her, smiling wickedly, but when they reached the flames they were gone with screams. Then she heard someone's voice whispering "Sleep, sugar...". She looked around and saw him - he was her friend, but they met from time to time and just in her dreams. He was standing on the other side of the fire-wall and the heated air was twisting his image. She reached out for him. He stepped through the flames and was right next to her.
"Sleep, sugar, let your dreams flood in like waves of sweet fire you're safe within..."

They found her body the next morning in bed - her face serene, her hand as if holding someone else's hand and a strange shadow on the wall behind her.

”Day after day, fickle visions - messing with your head…
Fickle, vicious!
Sleeping in your bed, messing with your head - fickle visions…
Fickle, vicious!...

Sleep, sugar, let your dreams flood in - like waves of sweet fire, you're safe within…
Sleep, sweetie, let your floods come rushing in and carry you over to a new morning…”

Sleep
Poets Of The Fall

Replica
14.02.2008

Woman/The Porcelain Doll

This was originally something I wrote in a really hard period for me when all the people I thought cared for me proved that they don't actually give a damn about me. This was when my back then boyfriend just cheated on me and we broke up (for a different reason, just for the record) and suddenly I felt left out alone in the middle of winter with no one to warm my naked body. This is a contribution to all the women out there. Not all female human creatures, but all women. The original dedication of The Porcelain Doll was to four people, one of which was me. Two of the other three proved to have fooled me and turned to be a fake plastic doll instead of a porcelain one. I forgive them for all the times they cried on my shoulder and for all the times they didn't let me cry on theirs because they were "busy". I forgive them for all the problems I solved for them and for all the problems that were never solved for me by them. I forgive them for letting themselves become too blind and forget the person who was there to help.
The whole idea is divided into two parts - first one is called Woman and contains the lyrics of Maroon 5's song Woman. For me, this song describes the best way what a woman should be like.
The second part is called The Porcelain Doll and it is a story that came from nowhere, yet it seemed to fit in my mood perfectly. It was a matter of a couple of hours work to find the perfect words in which to put my feelings and let everything out. The original story had an explanation of the whole plastic/porcelain doll thing which I am now not going to publish. I did it back then to make it clear to every single girl friend of mine to understand the falsity she possessed.

Woman (part I)

If I'd be so inclined to climb up beside you, would you tell me that the time just isn't right?
And if I should ever find the key you hide so well, will you tell me that I can spend the night?

Leaving your smell on my coat, leaving your taste on my shoulder... I still fail to understand what it is about this woman...

If l could bottle up the chills that you gave me, I would keep them in a jar next to my bed.
And if I should ever draw a picture of a woman, It is you that would come flowing from my pen.

Leaving your clothes on my floor, making me walk out the door and, I still fail to understand what it is about this woman...

Helplessly melting as I stand next to the sun and as she burns me, I am screaming loud for more.
I drink every drop of liquid heat that I've become - pop me open spill me out onto the floor!

Leaving your smell on my coat, leaving your taste on my shoulder... I still fail to understand...

Leaving your smell on my coat, leaving your taste on my shoulder.... I still fail to understand what it is about this woman...

Maroon 5 - Woman

To be continued...

03.02.2008



The Porcelain Doll (Part II)

The lights went out. The key turned twice, then the metal bars in front of the door fell and there was just silence. She was in her box staring at the ceiling - sky blue with huge white and pink fluffy clouds. "What a beautiful descision for a toy shop! When I was a child the walls were wallpapered in green and pink, and the ceiling was white... how much the world changed from then!"

She was six when one sunny saturday afternoon she was on her walk with her grandparents and she stopped and stared at every porcelain doll on the shop's windows. Every time she would ask for a doll, but her grandmother said she was too little to possess such a fragile and expensive thing. Then, the girl with the short dress in champagne color and matching gloves wished to be turned into a beautiful porcelain doll. She wanted to have their skin, their big eyes, red lips that never lost their color, those perfectly arranged curls that never needed combing or redoing, the wonderful dresses in different shades of beige, pink, blue, green and red...

The next day she woke up in a pink box in the middle of the toy shop. She looked straight in front of her - she was is the biggest toy hsop in the town, on the center. She saw people passing by the window and stopped to look at the lovely doll. She saw her pale reflection in the window - her skin was porcelain, smooth and shiny, her eyes were big and green, her lips full and red, her hair as she always dreamed, in curls, and her dress was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
A couple of days later, a young woman stopped at the shop window, and like everyone else, looked at the doll. Then came in and bought her. An hour later she was out of the town, in a small mansion. She supposed she is pretty and she would stand out in the humble living room they put her in. And she was right... every time someone came to visit, he alyaws marked how beautiful the doll is and some of them offered a price. But always did the lady say the doll was not for sale.
When she died of old age, the doll was still in her box, on the shelf above the fireplace. The lady's heirs sold her to the antique shop for a remarkable price and she was again at a shop window.

Porcelain dolls were very rare and valuable therefore. Now the dolls were made out of plastic - a material which was lighter, cheaper and harder to break than porcelain. But the plastic dolls were so fake - hypocratic faces, frozen in a smile showing their pearly teeth, huge eyes with painted black dots in them to imitate light, plastic hair that just by the time the doll was on the windo looked like they hadn't been comber ever, dresses with no decency... and still no one bought the porcelain doll.

One morning, long before the shop keeper came to the shop and a while after dawn, a young man with glasses stopped at the window and started at the doll. His stare was piercing throught her and made her feel strange. He was watching her, tilting his head to one side, then the other. Then he looked at his watch, took a cigarette and smoked. He stood there until the shop keeper came to open. The two spoke briefly, then the young man came in and bought her. It turned out he was collecting porcelain dolls and she was the last to be produced. He paid for her an enormous price and proudly took her home.
There she met other porcelain dolls, all to the last in their original boxes and put on a stable stand.

Every night he took her from the little table in the livingroom and carried her to his bedside table. He always put her straight, facing him and watched her until sleep overpowered him. Then she would watch him sleep and knew if she were human, she was going to cry. She was falling in love... her porcelain face never changed, nor her hair, nor the dress, but she felt changed forever. She remembered the afternoon when the man came home, grabbed the box, held her tightly and whispered "I love you."
Years went by, he aged and remembered his porcelain love less and less. He found a woman of flesh and blood, fell in love with her and stopped saying to the doll he loved her, he even stopped looking at her. she had the feeling that if now her face stayed whole, she was going to live forever... or at least until someone by mistake didn't break her...

His wife left him two years later. She said his most beautiful doll keeps staring at her, as if blaming her, and she couldn't take it no longer. She never called again. He spent his days at home, thinking about her, screaming her name in the nights when nightmares came to him. His heart was broken...

One morning he woke up and saw her porcelain face - her eyes full of love, lips as if smiling. then he remembered his wife and got mad at the doll. He put her in the darkest corner of the kitchen to not look at her, but she always attracted his attention. Then he took her and went in the yard.
He opened the box and took her out of there. Looked her straight in the eyes, just like when he first saw her years ago on that shop window. He kissed her porcelain lips and let her go.

She flew. His kiss was still burning on her lips. And then she felt the hard asphalt under her and heard the sound of broken porcelain...

05.02.2008
Replica

...or how people choose to see the world in black and white… (part II)

“I stare the eyes of a man alone,
a man I used to care for,
a man I used to know.

For every tear that falls,
a wound grows bigger
into my already bleeding soul…”

“See me running, see me running”

A street. High walls surround me. Walls with not a single window. I see others running beside me. My lungs are burning, feet are failing me, it's getting harder to even move, but I run. Fear makes me go on. Fear of pain... pain of love. And I run...
I look back to see my dear's face and I feel a new flow of energy...

“Today, it's in the air again today, another incident that just went off…”

I can't go on anymore. I stopped, to catch my breathe and he leveled up with me... I felt his lips on my skin, the fragrance of his perfume. I felt the sweetness of the love caress and I stopped my run.

He gave me all I needed. He made me feel loved and... I didn't know what to do...

“Did I act like a fool cos I didn't know what to do,
when you gave me just a little bit more than I bargained for,
a little too much in my hands when my hands are tied
It's the ultimate fling to go frolicking,
licking the muck from the soles of the boots of your pride,
everytime you lied”

“If I deny you what you're searching, do I do it out of fear?
Am I ruling out my reason, killing that which I hold dear?”

If I deny what you are looking for and deny I love you... do I do it out of fear really? Am I ignoring my senses by killing what I hold dearest?

“When you're sleeping right next to me, I know you're the one
So when I hear you calling my name, why do I turn away to run”

When you sleep quietly next to me I realize you are the one. When I lie in your arms, I realize your heart beats for me... then why am I running when I hear you call my name... why am I still afraid...

“Out of my way I'm coming, another excuse before I'll stay”

Out of my way! Don't try to stop me! I won't stay here, I can find an excuse to walk away... I can find an excuse to go out on that gray street, to be surrounded again by the high brick walls and to run until my lungs start burning again. I have to go out there!
I need to take my place where I may safely feel alone. Isolated from the pain, from you, from your eyes, from your smile, from your caress...

”So to save face
I'll hold my place
So I may safely feel alone...”

I know I will tire and I'll stop running again. I'll look back again and I'll see your smile again. And the street would be forgotten, my run would be forgotten. I will be yours until I don't feel pain again and I don't run away.

“Have a little more of not enough
More of what is less but isn't love
Little of the same you're dreaming of
That's enough, that's enough.”

And though I fear pain and disappointment, I'm holding out my hands to you. I hold them out for an embrace. I hold them out for you to shackle them...

“And though I fear these shackles, like my darkness closing in
I will hold out my hands, I will hold out my hands...”

19.06.2008
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Passion Colors Everything... (part I)

- Passion colors everything, you say. Then why are you running? What are you running from?
- From pain.
- Life is pain. No pain, no love and vice versa. You can’t really stop it. And this way you hurt yourself even more.
- Enough of this, you don’t know me at all!
- Don’t I, dear? Was it not me who caught you every time you fell? Was it not me who gave you whatever you needed without you even asking for it? Was it not?
- It’s not about that…
- What is it about then? Tell me, I’d love to know…
- It’s about self preservation.
- Damn you, it’s about you being scared of life! You’re not a teen anymore, dear, take a hold of yourself and open your eyes for the real world.
He walked away without saying a word. He left her there, on the top of the hill and went down without even turning back to see if she’s coming. Fireworks started. They were supposed to watch them together, smiling, their faces illuminated by the colourful little lights. But he was gone and she was there all alone. “Was he right? Is it really all about self preservation? If that night I hadn’t decided on that thing would I be hurting today?”
Tears rolled down her cheeks and she couldn’t stop them. He said many times that passion colors everything and now it was her passion for love that colored her tears black with pain.

He was making his way through the people, not paying any attention to the fireworks over the lake. He wanted to be away, to take off this mask of indifference he’d been wearing for such a long time and look at his real, passion colored face. Was he really scared of life?
Twenty minutes of fireworks. Twenty minutes of no one paying attention to the beautiful passion colored creature crying. Short applause and everybody went away. “I wonder if he sees in black and white. I wonder if someone like him ever sees in color.”

He was in the bathroom – same old full of color bathroom, but he was seeing black and white. He looked in the mirror and took off his mask. Here and there some color appeared on the walls, then everything became colourful.
- Passion colors everything, dear. It really does. Even with this mask of indifference it colors you with the colors of sky and rain and sun and love. I’m just scared to show it.
He was looking at the reflection in the mirror smiling at him and then it started talking.
- Do you actually believe yourself? Do you really believe that you can make passion color-blind? It’s just an illusion, this mask. She knows it is. YOU know it is. You cannot escape passion, no matter how much you run away from it. You may hurt her, but she will come back. You will be passion colored again.
- I can’t be, not in front of anyone else but me.
- Passion colors everything. It’ll color the mask of indifference very soon and you won’t have a choice, but to keep the colors and add new ones everyday. Passion colors everything.

"Passion... it lies in all of us... sleeping... waiting... and tough unwanted, unbidden... it will stir... open its jaws and howl...
It speaks to us... guides us... passion rules us all... and we obey. What other choice do we have?...
Passion is the source of our finest moments... the joy of love... the clarity of hatred... and the ecstasy of grief.
It hurts sometimes more than we can bear... if we could live without passion maybe we'd know some peace... but we will be hollow... empty rooms, shuttered and dank... without passion we would be truly dead..."

30.05.2008
Replica

To everyone out there who try to hide from love and passion. To two of my closest friends and maybe to a rock star.

Illusion/Delusion

I’m surprised at the way the mind of a single man can work. It can generate dreams that, in turn, generate the hormone of happiness, or stimulate your organs to produce liquids.
The thought that a single tone you hear can bring is really an amazing ability of the mind. It’s an uncontrollable process, the evocation of a day dream or an emotion. Whether we let it spill in every direction it wishes or we set the path it goes is up to us from there on.
The mind could be controlled if one wished to control it. Or, it could be left in a complete disarray, it could be led into an endless labyrinth of the thoughts, feelings and emotions one holds.

With this ability, a person is practically able to satisfy himself in every possible psychical way. Even some, or should I say most, of the body needs could be satisfied for a certain time. The mind can make you smile and feel up in heaven, feel loved and important just with the single thought of being in the arms of the most beautiful person of the corresponding to your orientation sex you have ever seen in your life. The mind creates the illusion the senses take as reality. It makes them see the person, makes them smell his perfume, taste his skin and feel the warmth of the flesh.
This same mind can destroy everything with just a little twist. It can show us an apocalyptic scene of loss, of what seems an endless suffering and pain, of a sea, salty from the tears we cried. The mind can make us see just darkness if it wishes.

I caught myself day dreaming the other day. It came unconsciously, while I was listening to music and it seemed that I didn’t take the effort to stop the flow, so it was already spread far too far. But I didn’t want to end it at the moment I realized I am a prisoner of an illusion. I was feeling happy, I was smiling, I felt good. I felt like a person on drugs would feel when he took his dose. I felt and saw the world around me in much more color, in much more bright color than before, much more energetic. I was, however, taken out of my day dream as soon as the battery of the player died and it took me some time to replace it with a new one.
I felt as if I’m a junkie who couldn’t get his dose today, nervous, seeing the world in dull and boring colors. I, then, realized how the mind can be one’s drug. I realized that inside, every single one of us is a junkie, we just refuse to realize it, because, again the mind, has already created an image of the homeless junkies with black circles under their eyes, with their torn clothes, begging for money, or stealing, just to get their daily dose and we do not like this image.
We prefer to see our humble personas as a person who has no obsessions what so ever, a person who is noble, a person who is courageous, brave and valorous, wise and knowing all. We prefer, once again, to be fooled by the mind’s illusion of the self.

I wonder do we ever see who we truly are. I wonder if we are brave enough to open our eyes for the illusion the mind creates and see the dark side of our mind, heart, soul and the dark deeds we consciously or unconsciously do… can we see beyond the light into the dark?

Replica
01.07.2008