The Ballad of a Puppeteer

"I've got time to think about the beauty of a
thousand variations of the beating little wing
of a humming bird suspended in the aspic of the world."

The puppet master manipulates his characters in a sophisticated fashion, A classic red dress designed to twirl as the strings make the beauty prance. The puppet master pours the total of his efforts into a dead end passion, The stomp of tiny white dress shoes as strings force the prince to dance. The puppet master long ago fathomed his wonderful story would surmount, As wooden marionettes cross the stage in a one, two, one, two silent count. Under the moonlight in the loft of a tower he works through the night, Worn through years of use, do you think you can't imagine anything so lonely?

Time keeps dragging on.

Irrevocably yours,
~Chiko.

Zombies vs Ziggurat

I have awakened, coming to the realization that we undergo the equivalent of a Zombie Apocalypse annually on the exact same calender date. Fortunate for you, it is solely once per year instead of every night which these things emerge from the depths of their lairs.

Dawn marks the moment of their appearance, zombie-like underlings salivating at the mouth, tattered disguises and bags to tote their mass captured loot. Instincts tell these devils that their fodder lies within each house. Homeowners try in earnest to deter the buggers with skeletons, jack-o-lanterns and other assorted variations of voodoo hocus-pocus; how vain it truly is. Behind locked doors and closed curtains I hide deep within the confines of my dead house. The dreaded knocking announces their arrival and demands. The weaker-willed vagrants leave my front hall way void of their callings, while the more persistent dare to knock again.

In my ziggurat I could survive a dozen fort-nights, enduring wave after wave of zerglings, yet that would be tiring. On this damned be night I lay in wait, dog by my side and ps3 controller (with dual barrel semi-auto shotgun loaded on COD WaW of course) in hand, for the minions to be summoned to return by the parent beast or else the break of day chase them away with blinding light.

I move forward for I am Legend,
~Chiko!

Technological Age or the Age of the Unaware?

It has been noted through generations how offspring are generally more accustomed to the advancements in the current era in comparison to their parents who preceded the inventions' ingenuity. I had concluded that my generation was one to be particularly fond of personal computers, their programs, management of user defined delegations and perhaps even manipulating system properties to suit their preferences. The other day, I was sad to find this was not as true as I once believed.

During a specific class(which shall remain nameless for the sake of those who do chance to read my deluded rantings), I was surprised at the difficulty a mac presented to a number of pupils in regards to creating a folder system. The assignment was the first and presumably the most simple in contrast to those in the not-so-distant future. It asked of us to create files in folders, in folders with fellow folders, in a larger folder that grouped with other relevant large folders, in a parent folder, in a directory on a server. If one was to write out the address of the blank file located amongst those 20 or so folders, it would have looked like so:

server\directory\parent folder\general folder\category folder\sub category folder\uranoob.docx

I don't know if it was organizing the files inside a cascade of folders or the command C versus file>edit>copy within the controls of a mac, but something perplexed the quite minds of my peers. I do admit that my Jimney Cricket (the guy in my head you met a year and a half ago, for those who have read my older posts) was snickering at their tribulations.

I digress! I shall depart before my own convoluted whims produce a certain disdain towards my skewed opinions; and before torches and pitchforks (wielded by none other than the people in my section) yield me the hunted.

Lest we forget, I shall be famous one day!

Lastingly Yours,
~Chiko!

No Gods or Kings, Only Men

Kings in green, kings in gold,
Kings who live to be so old.
Mothers cry, while soldiers die;
Since kings just sit on their thrones.

I see a king who wears a crown; wears a mask; wears a frown.

Kings be bold, kings be brittle.
Kings are made to do so little.
Because all the kings horses
and all the kings men,
Are obliged to do his laundry again.

King of the castle is such a hassel,
~Chiko \^^^/

Message in a Bottle

I wish I could pronounce my words but hesitations are too shy.
Oh my dear love, to stutter and stammer all the reasons why.
So instead I cast my latent letter out across a murky sea,
For when you walked away, you stole a piece of me.

Remodel, everything has been done.
La la la la la la la la la la.

No one has a face left to blame,
~Chiko =/

Perpetual Ebbing

Right or left? What sort of question is that! Any good old fellow would know proper etiquette is right, Mr. Jameson, you shake hands with your right hand.

A simple little English custom such as this is one that quite intrigues me. You can tell a good deal about a person from the quality of their handshake; first impressions do make lasting impressions, after all. From how fully they grip your hand to the firmness of the shake itself, there is a lot to be read about a person's sociability. A confident, well rounded bloke would firmly hold your hand and give it a few solid shakes before concluding the greeting; A more timid person might only briefly clasp the tips of your fingers in a weak mannered sort of way. I myself prefer a good hearty hand shake when introducing myself to a new person, to show I have confidence in the potential of a future acquaintance or friendship with them.

Oh old English customs, how you dwindle in today's contemporary society!

Woefully yours,
~Chiko.

the Shrewdness of Evolution

On this fine, overcast day, I present the topic of the essence of writing; something often argued about. In my opinion, there is no proper or incorrect way to write. Some writers are pompous and perhaps a bit too heavy with the icing, while others are exact and straight to the point.

Personally, I enjoy playing an eloquent field; spicing up my poetic works for the jazzy minds of artists. I illustrate my thoughts through words, instead of utilizing words to plainly depict black from white.

The evolution of mankind and the human brain has noted a decrease in complexity. Each generation exhibits a lower level of intelligence and higher simplicity. Convenience is the life style they are brainwashed into, quick and to the point, forgetting to smell the roses left by what I would even consider a higher civilization in comparison to today. Forget Shakespeare and Aristotle, forget cursive, forget half the English language. This is how we live today, leading lives of ease, devoid of creativity and wonder.

Shame on you, mankind, shame on your laziness.

Nostalgically yours,
~Chiko .oO)>

Tornado Warning

What a fucking coincidence. My "Weather Eye" application flashes red, notifying me of a tornado warning. Who would have known that the Weather Network could predict pathetic fallacy. I should have seen it coming.

I slam the door and leave the building. 15 minutes later, thunder claps and rain leaves the sky. Hours later after the fact, my music cannot drown the distress from my mind. The rain still echoes in my ears, clouds crying in agony.

In the words of an overly popular, lets-laugh-at-others-misfortune site... FML.

Half asleep yet wide awake,
~Chiko -_-

Oh Dear Alice

Tick, tock, goes the cat clock.
Quarter past my life, I've got nothing to say.
A little blue dress, intended to impress.
Half past the hour, there goes another day.
Suede shoes, directed towards bottles of ooze.
Minutes past sundown, a different game to play.
Mister white rabbit, running out of habit.
Freckle past the hair, what time is it anyway?
Twinkle, twinkle, little bat! How I wonder what you're at.
Verdict past the sentence, don't dare to disobey.
You're nothing but a pack of cards!

We're all mad here,
~Chiko[<3]

Something Miscellaneous

Nothing is certain.

A street light, paint splatter, wine glasses, egotistical behavior, dog food, laminated bristle board. Digital disorder is the new alphabetical order. Classifying objects into categories is increasingly more difficult as technology advances. With programs like iTunes, the user can choose a method of categorization that suits their needs relative to their likes, dislikes and content; metadata becomes very descriptive and variable with indefinite limitations.

Returning to my Borges list, an object so certain as street lamps is as ambiguous as dog food. Plus, who bothers to notice the differences between the street lamps lined in a precise row in broad daylight as their mind whirls with information? Prior I would have stated "not I!", yet that would contradict this robust idea floating round my head. On my routine travel to my joyous workplace (the agitation provoked by the children I coach there finds me in a rather cynical mood), on a day that discovered me tuneless(an event that seldom occurs) my melody-free mind wandered my surroundings and found interest in a street lamp. I pondered, how bizarre! What interest is there in a utility so common place, especially when it lays dormant during its off-time? Good question. For now, I must say the interest to be found is that one normally would not find interest in it.

Hurray for conformity heresy!

Bwuahahaha,
~Chiko!

The Weekend

I'm just working for the weekend. Time in, time out, day in, day out. Is that all there is to life?

Speculating cause and effect,
~Chiko;

PS. Happy birthday to me tomorrow.

WARNING: Reading this will give you Cancer

By Dr. Augustus Ignatius Peruvio-Vilanculous (AKA Chiko)

DISCLAIMER: THIS ARTICLE IS HAZARDOUS TO YOUR HEALTH. MULTIPLE STUDIES HAVE SHOWN THAT READING THIS ARTICLE IS A DIRECT LINK TO CANCER. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

“Cough. Hack, hack, wheeeeze, cough!” A lengthy list of symptoms; fever, persistent cough, swollen glands, difficulty swallowing, hoarse voice. A brief diagnosis concludes you are inevitably dieing from your currently undetermined ailment. Originally we hypothesized bovine spongiform encephalopathy, but tests results returned a solid negative from the lab. After a second, more precise examination, we speculated the chances of your illness being the globally feared severe acute respiratory syndrome. Again, further analysis yielded negative results. A third series of evaluations revealed a shocking conclusion, having tested positive for malignant neoplasm. We regret to inform you that yes, you have infectious cancer teaming under your skin.

This article has been designed to provide acute information covering the pandemic of cancer to the world. This disease causes groups of cells in your body to display an uncontrolled growth. Non stop, they are dividing beyond the normal limits of human cells, intruding and destructing the adjacent tissues. There is a possibility the cancer cells will spread to other sections of your body via lymph or blood.

Any organism, not excluding humans, animals, or even plants, will acquire cancer. As detrimental errors build up in the cancer cell and its progeny, the cancer gradually arises. Cancers are caused by abnormalities in the genetic material of transformed cells. These abnormalities are due to the effects of carcinogens, such as radiation, infectious agents, tobacco smoke, or chemicals. Errors in DNA replication may also result in randomly acquired cancer-promoting genetic abnormalities. There is a high probability your mother purposely transferred her genetic errors into your DNA when you were conceived, aiding you to inherit the cancer from your father. The shame to think they loved you so!

According to multiple studies done nation wide, almost anything you partake in will lead to the developing of dreaded cancer. A large quantity of artificially produced beverages, instant meals, and superfluous activities have a high rate of cancer exposure. Processed meats contain traces of cancer cells buried deep within the layers of delicious, fatty goodness. When consumed, your body herds the genetic abnormalities and imbibes them with your own erroneous cells. For each can of red bull you ingest, thirty eight cancer cells transfer into your human body, decreasing the time until you contract cancer by one point three percent. Tobacco products increase the amount of cancer within your body by a total of ninety percent. Tobacco smoke contains over fifty known carcinogens, including nitrosamines and polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons. It is estimated to be responsible for one in three of all cancer deaths in the developed world, and approximately one in five over dramatic deaths worldwide. The other four are a result of attention-starved drama queens. Each cigarette contains fifty eight percent cancer contaminants affecting your lungs, larynx, head, neck, stomach, bladder, kidney, esophagus, and pancreas. The tobacco companies are practically pumping you chalk full of cancer. The tobacco epidemic, a rise in the number of smokers worldwide, is an organization striving to promote cancer through tobacco related purchases. A recent University study also deduced that microwaved movie popcorn will give you cancer. The micro waves emitted through the front door of the machine during the heating process pierce through your skin, heading like torpedoes to your cancer cells, activating the dormant cancer. The popcorn kernels are infused with cancer while being heated, and ingesting the popped corn embezzles the cancer further. Harmful UV rays are as harmful as described by scientific experts. Sunbathing, tanning beds and picnics all include over exposure to sunlight. A ten second trip from the front door of your homely home to side door of the van is a cancer exposure beyond fathomable proportions. Not a single aspect of human society, culture and life is free from the risks and dangers of cancer. For your protection, a state law is being enforced entailing each product that contains cancer to bear a disclaimer stating so.

The opinions of inadequate journalists on medical research papers have led countless to believe that numerous entities are 'not direct links' to cancer, providing society with false hope for survival. This is a government issue article backed by very accomplished experts. Any and all statements produced by media stations are hereby declared incorrect. Cancer is terminal. I repeat, cancer is a fatal disease with zero chance of avoiding and a negative twenty nine percent cure rate.

We have devised a solution to combat the viral spread of cancer. Composed of specially designed air filters, virus resistant nanofiber material, and stylish UV protective Plexiglas, the Cancer Hazard Suit is the sole protection against Cancer. The Cancer Hazard Suit has more perks when contrasted to the common cold-resistant Life Bubble, as sported by Bubble Boy. This splash guard coverall has serge seams, zipper front closure, attached hood and everything proof gloves, mask and boots. When worn properly, the Cancer Hazard Suit is completely air tight with permi-lock zippers to prevent cancer from leaking into the suit. Once closed, nothing can enter and nothing can get out, protecting not only you from outside cancer elements, but quarantining your variations of cancer from loved ones. All Cancer Hazard garments combine the toughness of TYVEK fabric with a quality coating of polyethylene.

Containment plans have been put in place, for your safety, and are in effect immediately. Each person, upon completion of this informative pack, is to transport to their designated Culture-Dome. Bring only what is needed, as this will be your new quarantined residence. Persons have been grouped based upon the characteristics and severity of their cancer. Thereafter, each person will enter the decontamination room for a total wash down. Following those instructions they are to don their numbered Cancer Hazard suit. Upon completion of these specific safety protocols, each person is free to operate on their own conduct within the confines of their Culture-Dome.

- END TRANSMISSION

And Otherwise...

(this is the post script I wrote for my Writers Craft anthology)

It seems the joy of writing our wonderfully satisfying parting message has befallen the likes of one such as myself. I shall put forth my most sincerest efforts to avoid your cliché post script of “We had a fun year, will miss you all, hugs and kisses, yours truly.” No, that is not at all my style. Its mud icing on a dirt cake, nothing appealing or excitingly tasteful about it. Also, it would be a stain on my reputation as the sardonic student who consistently returns the gibes to our witty and nonetheless caustic teacher. Perhaps I lack the inspiration or the proper mindset to write a heartfelt postscript piece. But, it almost seems befitting that I am the master behind this particular work. I like to call myself a human thesaurus, but words might not be enough to describe the many adventures of my fellow linguistic entrepreneurs. From chatting to composing, our individual minds, as unique in physical and alike in essence they are, synced to create masterpieces such as the one we devoted to our beloved Curtains.

We endeavored to aid our teacher in discovering the miracles and anomalies of his newly acquired iPhone. The shiny black electronic inspired the theme for this very anthology, as you may or may not have noticed. Despite the passion, even the greatest of inspirations can lose to the vicious monster we dubbed Writers Block. For every obstacle set before us, from sestinas to villanelles, we worked independently and cooperatively to accomplish victory. On a side note, I believe Writers Block is attempting to squirm into this very masterpiece, but I digress. We suffered confusion in disrupted environments; apparently other English classes thought not of us as they rearranged our desks on multiple occasions. But no challenge was too great to heed our creative writings. Through sleet and snow, sun and storm, we weathered up hill both ways!

The white horse’s leap over the fence lead us on our journey through the course. Rather than telling our stories, we showed our stories to our audiences through words. We could spin a tale in as short as 55 words, or produce satires whose length numbered in the thousands. As your stereotypical class would, we gawked and booed over every amounting assignment, but fulfilled each task with originality and dedication. Now, I shall avoid any concluding statements; such as “Let’s continue to follow the white horse on our path to becoming wonderful, successful, creative writers!” Why follow the white horse when we can follow the white rabbit? He has the time of day, if you are quick enough to catch him. So let us leave him alone and come forth from the rabbit’s hole to break the barriers of ingenuity!

Yours Truly,
Chiko.

An Old Flickering Theatre Reel

I saw a red ball cap.

No one else wore a red hat, or any hat at all. I thought that peculiar. With your back to the screen, I sat on the very top right of the theatre, fourth seat from the right wall. Facing the screen, my friend sat on my right and two and a half empty seats to my left (my empty bag of popcorn sat taking up half a seat). During the course of my over enthusiastic, popcorn-infatuated gobbling, a few pieces missed their target and fell to the floor. I laughed at the poor fools whose duty it is to clean this mess. I pondered tossing a few more pieces on purpose, it would help keep those theatre workers employed. I am a sincerely cruel person. I watched an odd, oldish couple sit in front of me. How awkward they looked, I guessed they were re-enacting dates from their teen years. I mused myself, although partially agitated, with the pairs and groups of people pondering the availability of the three vacant seats to my left, despite the rows of unfulfilled seats beneath my particular location in the theatre. One intriguing girl positioned herself in the middle most of the three empty seats. She leaned over and found it necessary to interrupt my important conversation to inform me of how her two friends would be joining her shortly and how the other two empty seats shall be designated to them; I vaguely recall her insinuating the relocation of my depleted popcorn bag, but her friends failed to show and to my left the Empire Theatres bag remained. The lights dimmed and I discovered myself wishing I could go to a movie where the lights turned off (when there was actually a difference between on and off, not these fancy dimmers) and the movie projector made loud reeling noises and flickered momentarily like a bug colliding with a a bug zapper. The projected movie on the canvas would flash 5-4-3-2-1-0 and the movie would start. Oh, how it must have been in the olden days. But I'm stuck in this would-be-then sci-fi advance theatre, how boring. I leaned my head on my hand and my eyes traced lazily down my silhouette to the blue-cushioned arm rest of my theatre seat. A pang of memories came flooding back. Months ago, myself and him sitting in a theatre not unlike this one. His hand entwined with mine. His excuse: he’s cold. My thoughts: a lame excuse. My pathetic attempts to disguise my overly-happy smirk fell beyond me. I can still remember the contrast in temperature between his hand with mine, each of his cool fingers resting firmly in the grooves between my knuckles. Our arms, twisted in a vine-like embrace, oddly comforting to have the warmth of his soft skin touch mine. I remember the innocent actions which sparked fire within us; a squeeze of a hand, a movement to close the already nonexistent gap between us. Now, I think inwards of myself. I want nothing, miss nothing, love nothing. I do not feel regret or remorse, upset or disappointed. The void that is not a void within me is neither broken nor empty, and definitely not full. My mind loops like an old movie reel, “I miss him, I want him to return”. But honestly, I do not understand why. Why would I think those thoughts if I feel infinitely nothing?

I hate movie theatres.
~Chiko.

Junebug

I lay on the ground watching beetles scuttle past,
While winds tickle the underbellies of leaves to dance,
And a cloudless sky appears so vast.

I find my mind distracted in a trance,
Of shimmering sequins, soft silks and satin,
With hopes to find cloth with qualities which enhance.

Self conscious girlies who wish to flatten,
Burly bellies with pleated layers or frumpy ruffles,

On dresses bought and imported from Manhattan.

Hot damn those tricky chocolate truffles.
Who lured me to distort my girlish shape,
Now I remain here while my guy friend shuffles.

Oh my, oh dear, fleeting time attempts to escape,
While fittings, hair appointments and makeovers take place,
Perhaps I could just hide this gut with some tape?

My final choice is a golden green gown lined with lace,
But to match the shoes and jewelry costs me double,
Twenty thousand worth for one night to embrace.

That blue back beetle bursts my bubble,
I forgot that I chose not to attend prom.
Nope, I'm just sans constricting trouble.

Decidedly yours,
~Chiko!

Chasing Cars

Cars race past along the street.
Tall buildings linger over me.
Street lamps light my walking feet.
My shadow is my company.

Tall buildings linger over me,
When barren allies remain dark.
My shadow is my company,
This night is cold and stark.

When barren allies remain dark,
The wind rustles through the trees.
This night is cold and stark,
In a city devoid of life to see.

The wind rustles through the trees,
As shadows devour the light.
In a city devoid of life to see,
Might a person fall from great height.

As shadows devour the light,
Cars race past along the street.
Might a person fall from great height,
Street lamps light my walking feet.

Casually yours,
~Chiko?

Spring is Weathered Christmas Lights

Spring is Christmas lights stapled to a Cullen drive house mid April. The yellow red green, yellow red green, yellow red green pattern wired to the eves tracing the outline of the brown roof. Their colorful pods are shaped similar to the budding newborns of revived forests lurking outside your window. The height of laziness during this season is not forsaken by growing plants, unlike the unseen occupants of 68 Cullen drive. Like an early blooming flower, the Christmas light embellished house stands out from among the street of properly seasoned homes. Without a sign of summer or fall to weather the lights, they stand strong in the changing seasons.

Cheerfully yours,
~Chiko.

Ode to the Fear I Fear

Leave me be!
The terror that quakes inside my bones.
Sending shivers down my spine.
Let me go!
The deadly grasp around my throat.
Causing difficulty to breathe.
Leave me be!
The thoughts that shake and stir.
Do not seek me from the shadows.
Let me go!
The hold upon my free will.
Let me speak this justice.
Leave me be!
The possibilities that brew within my mind.
Those things that can never happen.
Let me go!
The hesitation in my motions.
There not be a lacking courage.

Be gone henceforth into the night!
I shall not allow such an awful fright!

~Chiko.

My Bridge to Nowhere

So I’m here alone, again, the Shatterday after. A whopper of a Tsunami. What’s the deal? He calls me up saying “Hey There Delilah” intending to play those stupid Love Games. I wish I had a Map of your Head, cause you’re going through The Technicolor Phase. I see the Jigsaws Falling into Place. I see you complaining that you’re Broke and Out Of Money, yet you still spare the change Fur Elise. Maybe if you went Straight to Video I would not be left a Snakecharmer and you’d see the Sparks in the Dark. I was wondering if you think I’m a mess, my crumbling resolve spilling my Requiem for a Dream into a vast abyss. What is the point of this? The escalating waves of anger has my hands reaching back for my Celebration Guns resting in their holsters on my leather belt. No, I just want to become clear: See you Space Cowboy.

Drumming to a tune all my own,
~Chiko<3

The Jazz Juxtapose of Paper dolls and Mahogany

It is the middle of January. A dreary and desolate sort of environment lurks outside my window. It’s quite dark out. Five in the morning yields an unfathomable black coldness. The silver silhouette of the mahogany tree rests center line amid my view, almost ghost-like, contrasting the bleak sky. The lifeless branches snake through the air and disappear into nothing. Perhaps I can pass the time this way: one, two three, four, five six… No, surely there are too many branches to count and too lacking of light to see them all. Yet, here I am fully awake and conscious of my still surroundings. My clock reads quarter past five in the morn. The dull ticking noise emitting from the second hand is repetitive, perhaps vaguely irritating, yet eerily soothing at this moment in time. Further past I hear the fridge humming like a drone off in the distance and what I might possibly identify as the whisper snore of my slumbering dog. A habitual routine has me awakening my speakers as my day commences. In light of the occupants of my house, I keep the volume low this early. A light jazz tune trickles out the speakers filling my ears with relaxed melodies. I find myself staring at the paper slotted in my printer. Paper dolls will occupy my time. A multitude of ways to fold them, shape them, color them and dress them. I could juxtapose the rough winter environment or mirror a cliche image of beauty. So many ideas, so much time, perhaps I'll just go back to sleep.

Five is the magic number,
~Chik5.

My Life is as Colourful as My Brush

I'm an artist, I wouldn't do anything but paint the world for my viewers to read. The deep blues in cold caressing streams that flow, slosh and stagnate within my mind when I spin woeful tales. Or the exuberant, excitable greens that bounce and bound with glee as my own excitement builds. Spiteful reds that rage with a passion so intense that it bursts at the seams as I communicate my tribulations. So many beautiful colors fleck my palate. I dip my brush in the expressive colors and drag it across a canvas whiter than white as I depict my minds image for you.

Diversely yours,
~Chiko.

I am a learn'd writer!

A word is a word, why should it matter what version I use? I shall not lower my standards because others have no motivation to raise theirs! I hold an almost nonexistent need for a thesaurus. I do not use a word I recollect without enough knowledge to use it in proper context. All words within my vocabulary are learned from a span of books I've read and studied. For shame, then, goes my education!

Big words are not big, just uncommon or unknown in comparison to everyday slang. Would my works drastically differ if I switched to commoner's language? What is wrong with the way I speak! So I read more, and perhaps at a higher level than you, of course my vocabulary would be broader. If ever so slightly, but slightly enough apparently! Because of this, you call my attempts "too much" and over the top. I never deemed myself a perfect writer, yet you undermine me without adequate reason.

Do you not find it antagonizing to see the same word repeated a thousand times with no substitute for a similar? Even now, the multiple uses of the word "word" pangs deeply within me. What human does not search for praise and appreciation? God forbid once in my life someone tells me that the quality of one work is impressive! Would do good on my self-esteem, you know. You tell me to not be so hard on myself, yet batter me with insults pertaining to my style of my writing. As a result, I can barely voice the desire to name myself a striving eloquent writer, but I must not be as "big words" are too fancy for such an ordinary girl.

Fuck you all,
~CHIKO!

Limerick Season

#1 – Blind Date
There was a stranger I've yet to meet,
Who upon my sight was quick to greet:
"Oh my, pretty Lady!” in a way quite shady.
I was quick to make my retreat.

#2 – Local Carney
There was an odd man who wore a funky hat,
Resembling something like Ethel’s mangled cat,
He waved his wand,
Then said, “Fish in the pond!
And win this dancing naked mole rat.”

#3 – Food
GLaDOS thought she was clever.
Assumed me to be not. However;
I cannot deny, that the cake is a lie.
And the cube is forever.

In rhyming succession,
~AABBAChiko

This is Insignificant, at Most

Among the most common place archives building lays a book. It's decrepit pages withered and worn by oily finger tips. If I recall correctly, if you travel along to the fifty seventh column in and the thirty fourth row down, search the third shelf from the bottom, proceeding from there to count to the ninth book from the left in the 'S' section you will arrive at the resting place of this infamous literature. I presume it is still leather bound and dust covered. It's significance may render equal to the dried moth husks one would find decorating the dingy, off-white window sills of said library.

But I digress, during your meandering through the countless books screaming for your attention, you obviously happened upon this one and chanced to flip to page two hundred and thirteen. That story, my uninformed friend, is this one. I am not here to discuss religion (god forbid another atheist publishes their explicit commentaries and biases about man's most fatal flaws), politics or the likes. Such topics regularly compose a rather dreary study, in my opinion. Alternatively, I would much enjoy chattering about a slightly more philosophical subject matter (perhaps over tea and crumpets?). For instance, this story (if you can call it that), is a small leaflet in a relatively insignificant book. That book is among an even greater count, perhaps thousand fold, of books whose innards contain dragon & princess fairy tales to scientific explanations of biological functioning.

Without having personally stumbled upon my exuberant writings, one would never have fathomed such a work possibly exists. Their conscience remaining satisfied and untroubled by the absence of my story. Such a pathetic tale, indeed this must be. Woe is me, who squanders my precious time preaching to an undeserving audience. They relish no uneasy feelings or pangs of conscience as to conduct. They possess no qualms about their dishonesty. Jabbering away, discarding my wondrous thoughts for worse. For shame!

I presume, arriving at a conclusion based on the fact that you must be intrigued enough to linger and remain perusing the published form of my inner thoughts, you are most likely slumped against the adjacent shelf, utilizing your knees as a prop for this awkward book as you forge on with your interpretations. Do you think, in the library which you managed to discover me, there is another soul in an identical situation? Hunched over a quaint book, lost in a world not their own, ignorant to their surroundings. Much like you, except for my acknowledging this must have brought your present surroundings and the environment beyond your sights to the foremost of your conscience. Ha, ha! My condolences for disrupting your picturesque, serene state of being. Now I stray to an indirectly relevant string of ideas. What of the vehicles or persons outside the building? Do they stop to think of the lonely human absorbed in a story and how he thinks of their actions? I doubt that. You are alone in a detached world as a result of your decisions and an insignificant story.

You know not who I am, what I look like or where I reside. Essentially, the extent of your acquaintance with me extends only to what you may have gathered from a few brief paragraphs. For all you fathom, I am not real. But! “Cogito, ergo sum“. I think therefore I am. This story is within the realms of my consciousness because I think it so. Your opinion on my existentialism may differ slightly from a previous reader or myself, but alas you cannot deny the impossibility of reality beyond our now created quaint world and plausibility of reality within it. You have been trapped by the proverbial shark whose teeth sank into your mind the minute your unfortunate eyes strained across this page. I now bid thee, fish bait, adieu.

Prevalently Yours,
~Chiko.

Solitude City

Cars race past along the street.
Tall buildings linger over me.
Street lamps light my walking feet.
My shadow is my company.

Tall buildings linger over me,
When barren alleys remain dark.
My shadow is my company,
This night is cold and stark.

When barren alleys remain dark,
The wind rustles through the trees.
This night is cold and stark,
In a city devoid of life to see.

The wind rustles through the trees,
As shadows devour the light.
In a city devoid of life to see,
Might a person fall from great height.

As shadows devour the light,
Cars race past along the street.
Might a person fall from great height,
Street lamps light my walking feet.

We remain in solitude,
~Chiko...

Life in Motion

A weighty ghost strolls through the halls, his silent steps rhythmic to his beating heart. His gaze cast into nothingness, catching the eyes of no one. The commotion and bustle of the peers fluster past him in a sea of surreal detail. The murky sky reflects his outer appearance, but fails to show the explicit color which are his flourishing thoughts. Absorbed in his own fascinating world, his mind wanders. The vast space of the room he occupies goes unnoticed by the ants at tables further away. He speculates that it would take a few thousand bodies, with no space left for the blink of an eye lash, to fill this blandly colored cube to its capacity. The weighty ghost contemplates the running’s of the other drones, if the low hum of their idle chatter adds meaning to their lives. If they, like himself, let loose and ponder the wonders of the world.

Lost in thought,
~Chiko...

Dear American Eagle

This day I observed conformity at its worst. Hollister shirts, flats, skinny jeans, and cardigans. All the students in the building wore identical styles. Any attempts at individuality fell short as a complete and utter disaster. Clashing colors, torn clothing and mismatched, wrongly placed fabrics. A multi-billion dollar industry subliminally advertised through casual attire. Others, in my opinion, they dress out of their age for the environment. Fancy scarves, sophisticated shirt-dresses and expensive looking hair dos. More fit for the office than for class. So spic and span that they seem incapable of movement. Leave that uncomfortable wear for the manikin displays, not our humanly bodies. Slightly pompous figures wore too tight clothing that only accentuated their issues. Slender sticks dressed in fabrics that defined their already brittle and bony shoulders, tiny hips and chicken ankles. The extremes of our culture is unbelievable, emphasizing the misconceptions we hold of ourselves. There is as great a difference amongst them as there is amongst the pixels of my LCD monitor with its contrast dynamic ratio of 20,000 to 1!

I wonder if they fail to realize that their vain attempts to achieve originality and uniqueness builds a conformist cult beyond reconciling(as that is what they would have to do, they're catholic, aren't they?)! It is ridiculous the amount of money wasted on clothing because their peers would regard them differently based upon their choices as an individual.

Unsympathetically yours,
~Chiko.

the Truth Behind the Matter

I have arrived at the conclusion that society, to state it vaguely, is stupid. I am appalled at the combined ignorance and delusions that surrounds humans as a whole. In my biased opinion, religion is one main basis of conformed bliss. The unexplainable gets acclaimed as a work of god, the supposed creator of our world. Fear of truth drives humans to avoid questions such as ‘Who created the creator?’ or ‘Who designed the designer?’. When a yes or no question is posed they proclaim their reasoning’s as if their choice was incorrect. They have yet to realize that their supernatural overlord is man made, an ancient faction of our reformed governments. Merely a tool in manipulation and control.

Silence is an aspect never to befall the room without visible tension. Silence is golden, but duct tape is silver. Ah, there are such times where I crave a roll of duct tape infinitely. The uses are innumerable, although apparently it does not work on ducks! Anyways, in society there are personalities that demand attention. They enter a room, in complete disregard of ongoing conversations, and blatantly shout out irrelevant points in order to conquer the attention of every individual in their vicinity. These people are the ones where duct tape would be beneficial to us most. The chatter and banter is worse then nails dragged down a chalk board. They object to every fact, blind to the difference between a fact and an opinion. Their commentary is far more conceited then that of the peanut gallery, turning all conversation to revolve around occurrences in their day. Each statement uttered from their lips is a hyperbole at it’s worst.

Stupidity breeds stupidity, a loop that builds exponentially. We have yet to witness intellectual enlightenment. I have come forth from the rabbit's hole, leaving society behind in the abyss of which is their ignorant delusions. Much debate and discussion is redundant with the lesser of our species. This is one case where fighting fire with fire will conjure much failure.

Overly frustrated,
~Chiko!!!

An Ode to the Fear I Fear

Leave me be!
The terror that quakes inside my bones.
Sending shivers down my spine.
Let me go!
The deadly grasp around my throat.
Causing difficulty to breathe.
Leave me be!
The thoughts that shake and stir.
Do not seek me from the shadows.
Let me go!
The hold upon my free will.
Let me speak this justice.
Leave me be!
The possibilities that brew within my mind.
Those things that can never happen.
Let me go!
The hesitation in my motions.
There not be a lacking courage.

Be gone henceforth into the night!
I shall not allow such an awful fright!

Diffidently yours,
~Chiko?

My Degenerate Knight in Shining Armor

Oh classic curtains on the wall,
Your deep, crimsons pleats spark a fire in my heart.
Your voluptuous curves and rumples touch me like a dryer sheet.
The ripples in your body mimics the blood that flows through my very veins.

Oh my vibrant string Romeo,
A tug on your pulley-device reveal bountiful rays of sun.
Exposing the beautiful bustling world I crave eternally.
Along with the hopes that symbolize my dreams and desires.

Oh knight of veiled red armor,
Your translucent opacity lovingly protects me from the blinding light.
The faded patches reveal the pain you endured for my sake.
Toss your burgundy glow across the room for me to bask in.

Oh masterful tapestry of woeful woven fabric.
I envy your ambition to match our true colors.
Ancient filth clings to you worse than a stage 5 clinger.
I see through your fabric like I see through your lies.

I hope to never have the chance to discover you taste like plums.
I dream of using you as a blanket during a winter storm.
To fondle your silk like fabrics against my face.
It is the east, and the curtains block out the sun.

Aberrantly yours,
~Chiko!

Mandylion Deathwish

The world presents itself as a savage beast
Rapid changes reveal immense intimidation
Internal apprehension prevents spontaneous passion.
Functional schematics transition to the subsequent stage

Rapid changes reveal immense intimidation
Vexations are minutely manifesting fears
Functional schematics transition to the subsequent stage
The Heart's shadows devour sound thinking.

Vexations are minutely manifesting fears
Derogatory dreams and delusions form the plague
The Heart's shadows devour sound thinking
Leaving death to dig in thy dead hollow skull.

Derogatory dreams and delusions form the plague
Causing corruption writhing amongst emotion
Leaving death to dig in thy dead hollow skull
Organophosphates disrupt redundant transmission.

Causing corruption writhing amongst emotion
Faults initiate doubts amid personal anarchy
Organophosphates disrupt redundant transmission
Hence resulting indirect communication errors.

Fearful of the paradoxical theory of change,
The world presents itself as a savage beast.
Despite fleeting constitutional contradictions,
Internal apprehension prevents spontaneous passion.

This is the end of all hope,
~Chiko<3

Help, My Heart Keeps Beating Like a Hammer

The world as I know it is rapidly changing, and will be over the course of the next few years. As immense and scary as that may appear, I think I shall reflect upon it as much overdue. Although, currently the amounting stress has me judging otherwise.

Seemingly, the entire functional schematics of my habitual routines are morphing as I transition from one life stage to the subsequent. I look forward with excitement, despite my internal apprehension. As much as I anticipate the divergence in my education path, there are other aspects I am unwilling to relinquish so easily. You might wonder if I would digress, but for now I will retain my secrets unto myself and for that, my dear reader, I apologize.

My vexations are, or so I think, minute fears manifesting themselves via derogatory dreams and delusions. Once again, I shall place myself in the hands of time to alleviate my distress.

Till then I bid thee adieu,
~Chiko?

the King's Sestina

In a kingdom far away reigned a mighty king.
A majestic castle resting on hills of rolling green.
Sunlight reflecting off the fortresses’ smooth white stone.
The village below bestowed on him an unrequited love.
His ignorance blinded him from signals sounding a fight.
The consequences of his decisions would be death.

This ruler was a man who thought himself to surpass death.
Not born of a noble descent, he sought to be king.
To achieve his dreams his was willing to fight.
Greed deceived his sights with an array of vivid greens.
The self absorbed brat took for granted his mother’s love.
His childhood heart of gold sadly turned to stone.

Villagers labored to build their nation from stone.
Sweat and tears poured forth, slaves worked to death.
The man was undeserving of their faithful love.
Yet thereafter remained dedication to the king.
For they were paid with lands of unbelievable green.
Passionate civilians who were too humble for fight.

A neighboring emperor dreamt only of fight.
Plans of flaming arrows and assailing stones.
He proposed the grass on the other side is greener.
For that the emperor would trade life for death.
Anything to cause fall to the benevolent king.
His heart was thought too small to love.

War was his sole desire and his single love.
His adviser prophesied a destiny to fight.
Stories to tell of the emperor who conquered a king.
Riches to be gained more valuable than gold stone.
His cities unworried by future tolling deaths.
For only then shall they possess the greenest greens.

Troops marched across land to the distant greens.
Hardened souls who lost the ability to love.
Condemning innocent villagers to their deaths.
Warriors of destruction who only knew to fight.
They killed people, burned fields and toppled stone.
All on the path to the opposing king.

A violent fight left only blood stained stone.
The king stood overlooking remnants of his kingdoms’ greenery.
Regrettably he realized forsaken love as he approached his death.


Oh woe is you, my king,
~Chiko...

Has February Been Fraudulent?

It's the last day of February. Be it the same day in a different month, we would not be in such a predicament. I am intrigued by how the calendar was designed and assembled eons ago, by lesser (and at the same time, greater) scientists and philosophers, with such an imbalance. The second month of the year falls short two to three days in contract to it's brethren! Although every four years (and why do we have leap years anyways? Which reminds me, why do we still have daylight savings time when it has become redundant with today's technology?) it only falls short one or two days.

February leaves me a feeling of incompleteness, like I've been robbed. Two days which I could have utilized in a productive manner to prepare for a bustling month of March. A domino effect ensues and BAM it's June. I'm graduating, switching jobs and the world comes rushing in my face. That lost 48 hours could change the entire course of my supposed "destiny", or coincidences based upon resulting choices and actions.

It leaves me with one of those hypothetical trains of thoughts. What if I had an extra day of work? Make more money and that extra bit of cash then could have saved me later when finances became tight. Or, what if I had an extra day to finish that project? Perhaps then I would have finished it on time and my mark would've been salvaged (not saying that I procrastinate to ever end up in that situation, merely hypothetical possibilities we're talking here). Now what I really would like those extra few days for is gaming! Finally beating Assassin's Creed or Little Big Planet, or completing Okami (my favorite all-time game) again.

Alas I say that dear February, you fall short.

Romping off to play video games,
~Chiko!

Cogito, Ergo Sum

If I could decipher the entities outside my mind,
Then I would not need to sort fact from fiction.
If I could determine the fallibility of my senses,
Then I would not question your validity.
If I had not discovered Descartes’ theory,
Then I would not think these thoughts.
If what I imagined was figments and fractions,
Then surely therefore I could not think I am.
If I could deceive myself of my fears,
Then I would live my dream for eternity.

Pondering if anything besides myself is real,
~Chiko<3

The Psychosomatic Nature of Man

The chorus of a song written by Prodigy played back through his head, “I’m a fire starter, twisted fire starter.” He walked casually amongst the mighty trees, his scratched brass-colored Zippo twirling in his hand as he hummed the tune. He clicked open the lid to his trusty sidekick and knelt down to hold it against the parched undergrowth of a dieing tree. The aroma of naphtha swirled in his flared nostrils. Unable to resist his urge any further, he flicked the flint wheel and watched intently as the orange flame licked over the arid leaves. A crackling noise began and grew increasingly louder as the fire spread. He stepped back to admire his latest masterpiece. The vicious flames engulfed the foliage, emitting an ominous amber glow from between the trees. The intense heat pulsed from the raging fire, warming his pale skin. Grey smoke plumed up from the forest as if it were the spirits of the trees writhing in agony. White and black ash escaped the flames who reached infinitely upwards, floating down in a pathetic attempt to blanket the charred timber carcasses. Fading embers lay scattered on the ground, the blood stain of nature. Chuckling, the man strolled away from his malicious deed.

Are you a fire starter?
~Chiko!

Do You See What I See?

To see the world from another person’s height would be similar to walking the world in another person’s shoes. I am closer to the ground. I stop to smell the flowers on a late afternoon stroll. I notice the ants scurrying along an invisible line, the beetles amongst tall blades of grass and caterpillars that nibble on leaves. I amuse myself with foot prints left in the mud as I walk through remnants of yesterday’s rain shower. The pebble bouncing with a tick-clack as I kick it down the sidewalk. I relish in my surroundings that only I could see. I beam up at my companion, his warm hand intertwined with my own, delighted with what I see around me. He is closer to the sky. He sees the wind tossing locks of my golden-red hair in swirls. He watches the sparrows performing pirouettes through the air. He notices the obscurely shaped clouds floating across the bright blue sky. He stops to pick vividly colored fruit from a tree for us to share. The subtle jump in my step creates a smirk which tugs at the corner of his mouth as he tries not to laugh at my joyous antics. I want to see the world through his eyes but cannot take for granted what I see with my own.

Enjoying life,
~Chiko<3.

Roses Are Red, Bananas Are Yellow

Fruit and Flowers

The afternoon sun dances across the metal sink as it bursts through the white trimmed window. A curved glass vase sits perched upon the window sill. Nine candy-red roses soak their feet in day old tap water. Their pale green stalks cut short on crooked angles three days prior. Dew collects on the interior of the crystal vase and casting beams of shimmering light around the kitchenette. Upon closer observation, the delicate silk petals are flecked with off-white and pastel yellow markings. The traditional romantic flower symbolizes the fresh and everlasting passion between the two occupants of the modern apartment. Contained in a silver basin to the left of the picture-perfect roses, a variety of fruit lay waiting to be chosen as a mid-day snack. From delectable bananas to mouth-watering apples to succulent oranges. The taxi-yellow bananas are ripe with hints of lime green resting on ridges that run the length of the fruit. The Macintosh apples gleam bright red, dripping with flavor. Fluorescent green patterns marking the peaks of them. The sporadic glimpses of the over-sized oranges reveal days in age, faint tan creases scar the tangerine-oranges' hide. Despite the slight aging, the oranges pop out as the fruit of choice, victim to the next consumer who enters the scene.

Craving fresh sliced oranges,
~Chiko.

The Human Heart In Just 55 Words

"He's just toying with you!" She yelled.
"You know nothing about him!" I screamed in agony.
"But I know everything about you." She mocked.
"Do you even care?" I murmured.
"As much as you do" She said, placing her hand on my cheek.
Then my eyes welled up and I turned away from the mirror.

Good old WC assignments.
Inspired by Revenge Is Sweeter by The Veronicas,
~Chiko<3.

Battle Between Men

Two elderly men sit engrossed in silence.
A quick motion from the first’s arm. A light clank.
“Hmmm” escapes the second’s pursed lips.
Moment of hesitation then he flicks his wrist. A soft clink.
The first’s furrowed eyebrows crease his forehead.
His hand outstretches in exaggerated movement.
A dull thud of a wooden figurine.
Checkmate.

Done the days' homework,
~Chiko.

White Knight

Power. Efficiency. Grace. Words that collaborate to describe such a magnificent beast. The immense power contained within each individual cell. The efficiency in which those cells coincide to perform, like the cogs and gears beneath the hood of a well-tuned machine. The grace found amongst the fluid movement when such an animal leaps effortlessly. To delve further into this entity, we could question the potential ability or the existentialism of self-awareness within the gelding. We can only fathom what sort of spirit resides in this horse. Does it function solely as a pawn, a minuscule piece in our evolution as humans? Or does it obey our every command simply out of a knight‘s loyalty? Lastly, does it aid us in our conquest for greatness and kingship while plotting our demise?

Be it a pawn or rook, a bishop or a knight, this is another piece in life’s game of chess. Each pawn desires to be king. But the top is lonely. The queen is mighty powerful, far more potent and deadly then the king. Yet she lacks the title to control congress. Seen as a threat, she becomes a primary target for the lurking enemy. The underling is taken for granted, being a pawn unknowingly holds the element of surprise. One small step at a time, he advances towards his enemy head on. The white king thinks too far ahead, speculating his enemy to flank from behind, to take more complex routes. Blinded by his own treacherous thinking, he overlooked the tiny black pawn at his feet who herded him over the course of the battle into a corner of the pig pen. The white knight is too late to gallantly leap to the rescue of his king. Check and Mate.

Underdog of the underworld,
~Chiko.

Maple & Me

Early to bed, early to rise. An old saying that I find applies to me quite well. Regardless of when I crash, I seem to have a habit of waking up early. The ability to just lay in bed staring at a light-less space eludes me. Lucky for the dog, his Lazy-Bonez bed is placed in the only room where this halcyon mood could exist and his rhythmic snooze goes undisturbed.

This bright Sunday morning a notably reoccurring whim has me taking advantage of the large windows at the rear of my room. I now realize the benefits of Daylight Savings Time for people such as myself. Between the awkward group of evergreen trees just past the furthest corner of my elongated urban lot, I watch the orange winter sun rise and peek through the bristles as they're rustled in the wind. My white walls amplify the light which pours through my windows and adds to the freshness of my morning. Although the sun spots are annoying while trying to write following minutes of staring at that blinding but alluring ball of burning hydrogen.

Allowing myself to divulge in my mind, I tumble around concepts of stillness & silence. The occupants of my house lay quietly asleep in their beds, donned in probably an odd assortment of late night clothes. These moments of tranquility are what I enjoy most about the consequences of my nocturnal habits.

Alas, I am sad to say that my stomach is getting the better half of my blogging time, as apparently it is of the others' sleep. With the bustling of hairdryers and televisions disrupting my train of thought, the sun has hidden behind the thicker bough of the center tree.

Time to feed the monster that drives me,
~Chiko.

Juxtapose

Time spent studying the an early art movement known as surrealism has a new train of thoughts and concepts being forged. The whole idea of the world and fate in a surreal perspective really perks an interest in me currently. Just think, what if the world as we know it was a total illusion. You're outside of your comfort zone trying to make straight the convoluted dreams in your mind. Are they really viable scenarios or merely pathetic hallucinations formulated by your subconscious to compensate for the petty life you perceptibly lead? Everything becomes a maybe. Indefinite rules the possibility of anything that would otherwise be concrete.

Makes me want to whistle. Stroll down the side walk, hands in my jean pockets, lost in my own thoughts as I question the existentialism of the light post I pass. Which in turn leads to the diluted concept of there being a god. A non physical entity that has been neither proved nor disproved with any sort of solid evidence. Although I am biased and lean heavily towards his or her (Yes. Aside from dictations arising from the humanly fabricated bible, we cannot exclude the possibilities of him being a her) nonexistence.

I pose this to you, can something so close seem feasible in contrast to yourself?

Allegedly, I have provided further fuel for thought.
~Chiko?

Resolve

I know it may be a bit late, but I think I have finally fathomed a decent resolve for the new year.

A multitude of recent conflicts on persons and clashes on opinions has brought some fresh fuel to my mind. I am in complete control of my self. I shall do what I want, when I want, and however I damn well feel like it. No inconsiderate jerk will ever be able to try and push me around again. Not during my life span. Even before now I tended to act on my own volition, careful to be respectful or be mindful of others in relations to my actions and I hold to that now. But dammit, fuck any person who think they can show dominance over me

With that said, I love my friends. To see myself typing that almost feels cliche, but it's true. One should feel proud to have friends who can tolerate their absolute insanity, boundless energy, and quirky personality.

Stupidity cannot win over stupidity, as ignorance only breeds incompetence. Society lacks the gall to stomp out the flame which spreads infectiously. So I am left alone to fight against asinine behavior.

Battling the brainless,
~Chiko!

At War With Work

At this time of night, there are multiple concepts that plague my still animated mind. While my body slumps into a state of lethargy, I squander about the occupants of my mind. With exams quickly approaching, an abundant amount of projects to be polished off and with the PS3 beside my laptop regrettably collecting the faintest layer of dust, I am compelled to make squat all of the tasks bear the front line of my priorities.

I feel incapacitated at the sight of the sociology work who's due dates loom dangerously near. My lack of motivation to complete this semester finds my feet wandering to a room where I stare at the largest white door in my house. I pull open the large handle and feel a brisk wall of cool air wasp by my face as I gaze upon the innards which is my fridge. My whole being is beckoned towards the alluring food, more so than ever. The craving for food has become more a result to comfort my perplexed mind than a necessity for survival. My worst enemy is my stomach and the abyss of which it is.

At this late hour I shall find myself meandering over to my bed where I expect sleep to wash over me like a brick wall.

I wish thee all adieu,
~Chiko.

Untitled

I have been working on this book of sorts for almost two decades. If you can even fathom it as a book, it's more of a weak analogy if anything. Alas, I have concluded that I have dedicated more than enough hours to this chapter, staring blankly at its pages trying to prolong its duration. Although there are paragraphs that have been burned into the depths of my retinas and memories, some I shall treasure eternally and others I whole heartedly desire to sweep under my bed with the rest of the crumpled paper memos and contently residing dust-bunnies. Here I turn a page in a vain attempt to further the progress with this overly-complex novel. With the reminiscing melodies of Pillar fluttering through my speakers and the click-clack of the thin laptop keys beneath my fingers, I shall forge on.

Pending editorial sessions,
~Chiko?