Lyrical Musings an emotional journey via train of thought

Slim reached the scoop into the feed bucket once more, bringing out another handful of feed and scattering on the ground at his feet as chickens moved closer, pecking up the dried pieces of corn and seeds. One squawked at another as she apparently drew close for the first chicken’s taste but Slim hardly noticed as he went on dishing out the morning’s meal; his mind was still on his dream.

He finished up, replacing the rusty pail and scoop along a shelf above the feed bin, skimming his eyes over the cows who seemed to be content as they chewed their hay – ends sticking out of their mouths comically – and then the cud it produced. Slim had already milked the cows for the morning and the creamy product was cooling in the farm’s bulk tank, which often seemed much too big for the amount of milk the cows actually produced. Regardless, the cows would remain content, swishing their tails behind them, until late in the afternoon when Slim would milk them once more.

The farm was smaller than it once been, and it has once been something pretty grand, Though Slim. According to Mrs. Anderson they’d once had sheep, horses, pigs and turkeys, not just the cows and chickens. Slowly they’d had to either butcher the animals for food or sell them off in order to make ends meat. Slim knew the last of the pigs had gone only a few short months before he’d arrived. He imagined it was a difficult thing to do – saying good bye to the animals – even if they were only livestock, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson must have grown attached to some of them.

The farm was also in worse condition than it probably ever had been. Slowly, Slim planned to fix that. Today he would work on the picket fence, less apart of the functionality of the farm than the wire fences which surrounded the pastures and land but that wasn’t its purpose. It was a now-off-white picket fence meant more to symbolize the farm and its lands, though it did do a bit to set it apart and establish boundaries, especially in front of the house near the driveway and road.

Starting at the front, so that as the day moved on he’d be out of the line of sight and away from any cards which might be using the road, he began repairing the fence. He hammered and pulled nails, salvaging what wood he can and adding flat pickets from the surplus pile he’d found in the barn a few days prior. Though the fence was more complete when he’d finished the front side, it still needed a fresh coat of paint and Slim didn’t know where any of that could be found.

As he moved his way around the farm, the white picket blending in one with the other and his movements becoming robotic, Slim’s mind once again drifted to the gruesome images of his nightmare. He’d had many nightmares since that day, but none so horrific as the most recent one. It pulled as his heart in ways he could not imagine and he could not deny his guilt, though having his past actions confront him in such a manner was still unnerving.

Slowly, he finished his work around the property. As the sun rose higher in the sky, his supply of new pickets dwindled. The back wall of the fence – parallel to the road – was a simple barbed wire fence, so he’d be able to skip over that whole side as well as most of the south side of the fence which was also wire fence which curved outward but he had nearly the entire North wall of fence to finish so he began nailing together remnants where he could. Though he wanted to do a decent job, Slim didn’t feel particularly ambitious. Besides, even if he wanted to finish with new pickets, Slim knew it wouldn’t be worth it to bother Mrs. Anderson who wouldn’t have the money to purchase more, anyway.

He worked his way further back, then trailed the outskirts of the farm, along the wire fence, making his way to the North boundary of the lands. It was ane easy enough task as the farm was only about a quarter mile long, now, and contained roughly half the acreage it has once occupied. Slim tried to block the images from his mind and focused on the natural scenery which surrounded him: fields, the forest to his side, birds in the sky flying past weightless clouds of white and it helped, for a while.

Shortly, he reached the last wall and began working his way toward the end of his job, back toward the road. He nailed loose boards back into place and occasionally replaced pickets which had fallen free completely. He guessed that while someone, probably Mr. Anderson, had taken more care of the upkeep of the fence near the house and road, that person hadn’t been as conscientious about the state of the fence toward the rear of the property. Slim pried nail loose with the claw of the hammer and reused them when possible. He didn’t want to be wasteful nor did he want to carry dozens of rusty nails back in his pockets either and it didn’t pay to leave them around for someone to step on, though he doubted anyone – besides the deer – came around here often. Here and there, Slim could see animal tracks – rabbit and deer mostly – and sometimes small areas of the fence almost seemed chewed through. Not surprising, he thought.

As the road came into clearer view and the sun was dipping lower into the sky, creating a colourful sunset across the horizon, Slim neared the road once more. It was free of traffic and quiet, except for the sound of a lone cricket chirping periodically, waiting for his friends to join him as the night set in. Finally, Slim rose and brushed the dirt from his pants, though the knees were probably stained for good. He hooked the hammer in the carpenter’s loop on his pants and headed back across the yard. Though the fence was done, for now, time had slipped away from him and he still needed to milk the cows once more before day’s end and clean the barn.

He tossed a few handfuls of feed to the once-more hungry chickens and let them squawk over their claims as her hurriedly headed back to the cattle and began hooking them up to the milking machines. The cows were used to the routine and more than a few were annoyed that he was late as coaxed them to cooperate and slipped the cup over the utters of each cow and let the machines do their work.

Soon, the barn was filled with the wrring, sucking and humming sounds of the machinery as Slim grabbed a shovel and began soon the scraping of metal against cement also filled the air as he shoveled the manure from the main walkway into the grates on either side. Slim next pushed a broom over the floor before finishing up by spraying down the cement with a pressure hose of a sanitizer solution, finishing up just in time to unhook the milking machines from the cows and lay down a fresh layer of straw for the night.

And so it went. Between milking and feeding – the fields were all sold off or weeded over by now – Slim would fix things. It was never much, just a squeaky hinge here or a broken door there. He patched up areas of the barn roof he could access easily enough, fixed the mailbox so it stood erect once more, and secured the stoop at the door of the house. Occasionally Mrs. Anderson would comment on the work or request something to be done but she was always humble about it, as though she should be the one to feel indebted to Slim and not the other way around. Things began looking better than they were, but not as good as they once were. Slim was motivated but not overly ambitious and the daily tasks of a farm were often enough to exhaust one.

dear world,
has it really been so long since ink graced paper? since fingers tapped keys in a pattern of linguistics – words falling after each other to form sentences, almost as if by themselves. have i neglected you this long out of my own so-called lack of inspiration or has it been fear keeping me from meeting you eye to eye once again?

can i not write as well if there is a smile upon my lips rather than tears streaming down my face – salty streams burning my flesh – and a knot within my throat upon which I choke? is it really so necessary that i be tragic or merely perceive myself as being so in order for words and phrases to lay themselves out in my mind in an emotionally charged pattern of speech?

or do i simply feel no need to shout it to the world now that i see life as worth living? could i honestly forsake myself so? do i have it within myself to cut my successes so short? so overlook all that i have gained rather than which i have lost and can do without?

perhaps s.o.m.e.d.a.y
though whether that day is today, i do not know
i will feel the need overtake me once more
raging in, powerful and deep
threatening my own internal combustion
able to steal the very breath from my lips
and self preservation will drive me
to release it all onto paper
or text onto screen
and my chest will rise and fall once again
cavernous and silent as all returns to normal
the moment passed
the emotion absorbing back into vein
like nutrients to a soul
feeding once more
building up that torrential downpour
of feelings-over-which-i-have-no-control
which will once more beg for release
and i will have no choice
but to acquiesce

to converse with you
in a tongue not native
to share such thoughts and desire
as to bare my soul
for you to look inside me
just once, only once
would be e n o u g h
for you to understand
to grasp that unkown, the whatever-it-is-that-keeps-me-going
to express all the bits and pieces
that i cannot seem to put [into] words
perhaps there is time still
for me to be heard

this is love
devoid of chocolates and roses
without the makings of a hallmark card
this is love
brutal
and angry
and passionate
full of inner turmoil
the likes of which ive never known
this is love
to which no logic can ever be applied
headstrong and emotional
this is love
the not-so-out-the-ordinary
everday and typical
this is love
twising and turning – a raging river torrent
sometimes against the current
this is love
real and strong
rarely unconditional
wholely untamed
and entirely consuming
this is love
that i do not control
the effects of which can be so staggering
yet this is love
that i cannot resist

for the first time, i felt inescapably human
no better though certainly far worse than everyone else
lost and confused as the world went on
spinning, out of control, all around me
i felt as though i had failed you
shirked my sacred responsibility
to be the one who supports you most
i felt as though i made you pretend it didn’t matter
but i knew that it hurt you still
and it didn’t matter if i knew how i felt
how i felt didn’t matter at all if you didn’t know
and you didn’t
i hadn’t said or done anything to show you
and all my actions said
completely the opposite of how i felt
and i apologize
you see, i was torn between what i thought i believe
and how i thought i should act
and there could be no greater pain than knowing you didn’t know
and worse still, the hurt it must have caused you
as if i would have noticed
i was all about me and this relationship had always revolved around me
though i preached “us” and “we”
i was still all about me
and for once i could see
i could open my eyes
and it was then i knew
there would be no worse possible fate
than to fail you
so I won’t

the night is calm with darkness
the air is heavy with grief
and the homeless man in the park knows
soon he’ll have to find shelter
’cause the weather’s getting colder and
tonight may be the night he freezes
some punk teenagers drive by
laughing and shouting obsceneties at the frail man
they never knew the pain, always have mommy and daddy
to line their clouds with silver – money, cars, and naivete
it’s what makes the world go ’round don’t you know
the homeless man curls up on the bench
beneath the old oak tree
it was the same when he was a child visiting with his father
his father killed in the accident – his mother the whore
who abandoned him nobody knew his story – nobody cared to ask
just as well he’d always think each night
before falling into those dreadful sleeps of nightmares
he was always alone but tonight was worse
it was a bitter, biting cold chilling him to the bone
his old army jacket was worn to the last threads
and he knew soon the time would come
to find shelter lest he freeze tonight
[sometimes he’d like to freeze]

around my finger your love is wound
silvered band with precious gems
– as though one could place
a monetary value on these emotions
a relationship as multifaceted as any diamond
(and my how these sparkle!)
greeting my every passing glance
(and also those which linger)
reflecting not only the light
but bringing a brightness
to my own self as a smile on my face

how is it that you don’t know how you are my everything my reason for being? how is it that you don’t see i wait with bated breath and force my sleepy head to stay awake just 5 more minutes so i can hear your voice? how is it you aren’t sure that i value none, love no one, cherish nothing above you? how is it you don’t feel that i see you with eyes full of respect and that my love for you is the deepest i could possibly know? how is it i could have let you down when i always felt that even if my actions didn’t show you knew my intent, knew what i meant with every whispered word, and reluctant goodbye i thought you’d be sure to see how you mean the world to me but i was wrong then and i am sorry now and i wish i only knew how to express these thoughts my love, my need for you in everything i do

Slim gasped at the sight before his eyes; the body was a mangled, bloody mess and it was difficult to imagine that this has been a living, breathing, laughing human with hopes and dreams and many years left on this Earth, someone who loved and was loved. Now, it was more like a mockery of life and it reminded him of something you might see in a museum or haunted house or, even worse, the stories your parents told you to deter sexual behaviour and drug use. No one would have guessed this atrocity was caused by another human being.

With one arm bent grotesquely back beneath the weight of the body, it appeared that this was not a painless end. The fingers of the hand that was visible didn’t even resemble fingers. Bloody strands of skin hung from protruding bones and tangled around each other; some hung limp where the bones inside had been crushed and could no longer give shape.

Yet, that was the least of the gruesome details. Slim’s eyes traveled the upper body of the corpse, to the head which was hanging at an angle at which no living body, and few cadavers, would be physically capable of resting. The neck, literally twisted around, the skin appearing like ropes wound around each other and the visible side of the face, should have been the side which was touching the ground. Blood ran down the cheek and over the lips, to the ground, from what once was an eye socket. Now, there was only a bloody gouge. Slim shivered as he wondered where the eye might be.

Worse yet, was the chest, or what once was the chest of this person. One would not be able to identify the gender of this corpse from fleshy mounds declaring femininity or the lack there-of. There simply was no flesh which could be discerned by the human eye. Instead, where skin should cover the curve a series of pairs of ribs, several ribs were broken, pried from there so well known position of comfort and force to reach to the sky. The bones, jagged and covered in now-dried blood and tissue were reminiscent of a crown or fence around the chest cavity. Slim thought of Stone Henge, but quickly shook the thought from his mind. This was not some esoteric rock art; this was the mutilated remains of a human being.

Peering over the body, he looked into the gaping darkness, surrounded by ribs, hoping to see the familiar sight of organs, even if they were out of order but there were not there. No heart beat, nor did it lie still. Lungs were absent from their usual place. Where the liver and stomach should have been just visible, there was nothing but blood and unidentifiable tissue, though where was not enough to have been the remains of the unaccounted for organs. A few shards of bone lay scattered in the otherwise empty crater, the only trace of the rest of the ribs.

As his eyes focused, Slim noticed several somethings extending upward, almost beckoning him in. Startled, he peered closer, realizing that they were, indeed, beckoning him closer. Four distorted fingers curled back slightly, as though they were waving him in and a thumb lay eerily fractured, away from the rest of the hand. The hand, he thought, belonged to the arm which was behind the body. The hand, he gasped in horror, penetrated through skin and muscle of the back and taunted him.

Slim stepped back quickly, turning as he doubled over in horror and shock, hands on his thighs and his body convulsed. And then it came. Vomit poured from his mouth, seemingly endless, first covering the ground and then layering upon itself. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes and streamed down his cheeks, falling to join the mound which was quickly forming on the ground. As soon as it started, it was over. Wiping his eyes and mouth, Slim stood once more, glancing back at the body.

“My eyes must be playing tricks on me,” he thought, dismissing the thought that he’d seen something move near the toe of shoe. Remarkably, there was no blood there but slim reckoned there might not be since most of the injuries sustained were toward the upper body of the corpse. He saw it again. Perhaps there was a bug crawling over the bloody remains. Bugs thrived on dead creatures and he imagined soon there would be many more partaking in this feast. And the animals. If someone didn’t move the body the animals would soon come to take of the flesh. They didn’t care how gruesomely their meal died, just as long as it provided them with some nourishment.

Slim was growing increasingly uneasy and didn’t know what he should do. Move the body so it would be hidden? Contact someone? The latter wasn’t any good because he was in the middle of the forest and it would take hours for him to hike out and then sometime after that before he’d reach anyone’s home, let alone town. Even then, he couldn’t guarantee that he would find his way back; he was much deeper than he usually went in the woods.

Before he could make up his mind, Slim saw movement again, only this time it was much larger than an insect. His mouth fell open as the corpse rose up to a sitting position, slowly but surely elevating from the ground, with no help from either of the hands. Blood poured from the body and the empty chest wound, more blood than there could possibly be from this corpse, despite its perverted lacerations. The mouth slowly formed into a crooked broken tooth smile. Blood flowed from there as well.

Suddenly, a disturbing scratching voice filled his head. Slim knew it was from the corpse, but the lips stayed frozen in the life-mocking smile, one eye not more than a bloody hole and the other rolled back, displaying only a murky grey globe. Still, he knew this thing was looking at him, talking to him and dread filled him as he heard the words it was speaking.

“You did this.”

Before he could manipulate his lips to form words whether to scream aloud or plead his innocence, Slim’s eyes widened in terror as a rush of red overtook him. Blood filled his open mouth, rushing over him, filling his lungs and stealing the last breath.

Slim gasped, bolting upright in his bed. Sheets fell off him and sweat glistened from his forehead and the bare skins of his arms. Almost panting, he could hear only his heart pounding in his ears. He shook his head, as if to physically remove the dream’s image from his mind.

Glancing toward the window, he imagined it to be just before 4 AM. The clock would be going off in less than thirty minutes but instead of stay in bed, Slim decided to make the most of the extra time this morning. Besides tending to the animals and the yard as well as cleaning the barn, there were more tasks waiting to be completed. Slim hoped to repair the back stoop and door, something which Mr. Anderson had intended to do for years, or so said Mrs. Anderson, but he never got around to actually doing it before the “incident” as she always called it. Slim assumed it was either a heart attack or a stroke. Either of those could incapacitate someone much like Mr. Anderson currently was, although he could understand why a woman her age would be hesitant to actually say those words out loud; it was partly naivete and fear that speaking them would cause her husband worse damage and partly hope that his current condition wouldn’t be permanent.

Stretching, Slim slipped his legs out from under the covers, his feet landing flat on the floor, and rose from bed. He reached for a towel draped over a chair which sat behind a small wooden table, across from the bed.. Both table and chair needed a bit of fixing up and Slim planned to do that soon as well, he thought, bending down to pick up a well worn pair of jeans and a dirty wife beater. Slim shook excess dirt from both of them and pulled the jeans on before draping the shirt over his left shoulder, grabbing a dirty, broken pair of work boots and pulling open the bedroom door to exit.

He quietly moved through the hall and then the kitchen, to the back door, carefully making his way over the broken boards of the stoop he had plans to fix, and across a few feet of yard to a wash basin he had set up on a board over two workhorses. Although Mrs. Anderson was hospitable enough to offer him the use of almost every amenity of her home, Slim liked his basin outside. The crisp morning air always felt cool on his skin and smelled fresh, like grass and trees and clean air, something one didn’t often experience in the suburbs that Slim used to know. Slim turning the knob of the faucet and listened and water began to run through the dark green garden hose, out through the end of the hose which he held in his other hand. He quickly filled the basin with icy water, listening to the birds chirping sleepily overheard. Dunking his hands in the water, he shivered and reached for a bar of soap lying on the board next to the basin, water dripping from his hands, darkening the wood’s natural rings and lines.

As he washed his hands, and then face, Slim thought about the day’s chores. He didn’t mind tending to the animals because chickens, unlike humans, never exchanged knowing glances amongst themselves when he entered the room and the goats were more than happy to nibble on the carrots he distributed among them and bleated softly when he would scratch them behind their ears. The animals never gave him any trouble; although, it wasn’t like he had to face any of those glances or knowing looks from people, either. He was a long way from home and while some were wary of a stranger in their town, most accepted him as a quiet man who didn’t cause any trouble at all. Maybe they just thought he was down on his luck and while that was partially true, he didn’t mind if that’s what they thought. It was better than everyone knowing he was a murderer.

Aldetheiss sat on the park bench, dark hair cascading down her shoulders and around her arms which hugged her legs, pulled up to her chest. She was obvliously to the paint which was beginning to chip and peel beneath her. She was not oblivious, however, to the people frolicking around her, the bigs singing in the trees, and the sounds of city life outside of the park. Before she might have thought of it all as air wave pollution, noise, but not now. Aldetheiss had a new view on the world, she thought, as she watched a group of boys playing football a ways away. A darkhair boy tackled another one with lighter hair, who was much smaller built; she held her breath expecting the smaller boy to say or do something to initiate a scuffle, or at least appear angry but after a few friend slaps on the back, the boys were back to playing their game. While people might be a little preoccupied with themselves, it wasn’t because of their egos or ignorance, rather it was simply existance, survival, however different it might be from Darwin’s definition. Man could no longer build his own house from the trees outside and fish or hunt to support his family, while his wife tended to her garden and watched the children. Life was much more complicated and as such, so was surival. Survival meant education to obtain a career in order to earn money and in that way provide for one’s family. survival sometimes depended upon social status and celebrity. An outsider might mistake this for greed or something more sinful than that, but all it really is, is survival. From the distance, one might mark this as disregard for mankind or selfishness, but in her short time among humans, Aldetheiss had come to realize that most were kindhearted and would help out another soul if it was in their power to do so. Besides, when one dedicated one’s life to helping others but in return sacrificed one’s own life, it all too often wound up in lessening the value of everyone’s life. Only by being the best one could be, could one help others and this was certainly not greedy nor selfish. Sure, some humans were greedy, selfish, vile, corrupt and all around evil, but you can’t judge the whole by the actions of a minority. Aldetheiss knew that prisons and other institutions were full of criminals “serving their time” but she speculated that many of those peple fell into those lifestyles for lack of anything else to do or anywhere else to turn. Were everyone given a better chance, had they stumbled upon better luck or had they someone to teach them right from wrong in the first place, these places wouldn’t be quite so populated. Unfortunately, after many of those poor souls would be released, a majority of them would wind right back up in the “slammer”; once behaviour like that becomes second nature, it would be difficult to try to change, Aldetheiss surmised. Still, the majority would good and kind souled, willing to help out others, even if it wasn’t just for the sake of being good. Aldetheiss had seen just as many return wallets and she had seen purse thieves. There were those who lived by the cliche “fingers keepers” but there were also men and women who were eager to return others’ possessions and, in times of need, families and communities pulled together to help eachother cope and survive. As Aldetheiss gazed out at the park, she saw a young couple walking hand in hand, pushing a stroller. He smiled at her as she looked lovingly down at the babe who, Aldetheiss imagined, grinned and cooed at the attention. No, it was not noise pollution or corruption which Aldetheiss saw now, it was life and life was well worth living she thought.