One cold night the full moon’s blaze burns
The children tremble and pray, taking turns
The sky bursts its heartbeat into buzz’n thunder
Black turning into whistling metal, going under
My sweet baby, there’s only blood for your baptize
ready for bed, after the noise and havoc slowly dies
Stay in your cellars, a howling beast is out tonight
It’s something beautiful, deadly and cruelly bright
The night shivers with autumn stars
Highways packed with abandoned cars
Dark and deep silence solidifies into absence
shifting days and nights back into balance
Wishful thinking, being covered in leafs and mud
Meat and saliva, sweet baby, this is bad blood
Money is one sinister god I used to prayed to
Me, the kid with the broken heart and faulty hue
Struck by the currency of freedom and power,
It’s not my conscience, but my hands I scour
That’s me, on the day I was born, with a black halo
eager to meet my maker, without value or credo
In the night, I dream of ‚never enoughs‘
I dare you, try’n grab me by my scruff
My god grants, gives, takes and demands
I refused and he took me to the bad lands
I’m praying to a different god now,
That’s me, giving her my cash cow –
Me, the sinister kid with the broken briefcase
Smiling, the lens sticking into my happy fat face
promises and cash spilling out, unto the masses
This is me laughing, crawling to a party of chances
I can’t stop the itching, watch me rehearse bigotry
Media, my goddesses, free me from human dignity
(this is a part of an ongoing project, inspired by my weird and stubborn grandma)
Where were you, when I turned to stone?
when I froze, white and empty to the bone
No angel led me on my path to the throne
Now I’m queen of pain, so leave me alone
Where were you, when I burned to ash?
I couldn’t stop, bleeding out in a flash
An angel led me to my bed in the trash
I called it home, my never healing gash
Where were you when I changed my hiccuping heart?
scavenging for happy memories, tearing time apart
A word led my blackened wings to an unwanted start
And the angel turned his back, fearing this part
Where were you, when I had nowhere to turn?
when I survived those I trusted, happy to burn
to light the way into the blue, dashed and stern
how to drown in midnights, I’m about to learn
There is no such thing as magic. Not anymore… Real magic is extinct.
I haven’t seen any since… Huh, I can’t remember since when. Funny. I haven’t seen any real magic in an amazingly long time- at least one thousand years, or more. Come to think of it, it’s nearly two thousand years.
I remember Alexandria. Wait, no that’s not right. The last time I recall sensing magic was in the Middle Ages. I didn’t suspect that it’d be the last time I see someone cast a spell. It isn’t been a good, nor a very successful one, more of a petty attempt to hide money. The man, some filthy carney, speaks the words sloppily, as if not knowing what they meant.
I was disgusted by his attempt- such poorly woven multiplying spell grafted upon a basic privacy charm. I think he tried to equally multiply and to hide his money, but it backfired on him. Badly. That’s what happens, if you pour fresh pigeon blood over Mandragora roots and mermaid scales, before allowing the full moon to shine upon the ingredients. A spell is like a plant, you can’t just put one on top of the other, you have to wait, so they can grow together. Magic is a living thing, having its own will and its own needs. I’ve always thought Romanies had good instincts for the cycles of nature, and for magic. Obviously not this one…
The spell made his silhouette look like a huge burning shadow. That was before leaving his circus caravan and being mauled to death by two horrified wolf dogs . The man had some hilarious last words: “Not dying, abracadabra.”
If I had known, that this was the last magic user, I would have done something about that spell going wrong.
Then for a time I’ve been following some promising individuals around, alchemists, illusionists and also some scary looking old women. Despite the public opinion, they had not an ounce magic on them. I tried children next. Nothing. You cannot imagine how boring things get, without magic. My last straw were the black cats. Cats always have something peculiar about them, but nothing magical, to my disappointment.
I thought about meddling with the tides of magic, crossing the paths of darkness and light. What I got out of the equation was: war. Don’t get me wrong, I got nothing against some human tears, blood, and despair, but it’s only a cheap substitute. Nothing tastes like magic. Nothing else is able to satisfy my appetite. I have tried everything else.
The tiger folded his paws, cuffs slipping, showing monograms on his golden cufflinks. It made him look more elegant and sophisticated, then before. Peterson shuddered. The bureau was huge, bigger than his house. The white marble topped table was impressive, his boss enthroning the big black leather chair looked like a king holding court. And he sat on a wooden chair in front of a man, who could snap him in two, probably only with the power in his left pinky… His tail twitched nervous, licking his lips didn’t help. Peterson tried to hide in his hide, as he felt his boss’ eyes burning into his skull.
“Peterson. Do you think, this impresses me?” The tiger snorted and laid his ears back. His golden eyes pierced the weasel sitting in front of his desk. “Do you think this is ENOUGH?” The growl in his voice made the glass of the windows tremble.
“…No? Sir.” The weasel trembled too, eying the door. “Sir? May I suggest Chef Michaels prepares you an early lunch?” Peterson tried to save himself from his boss’ rage. He knew he fucked up, and the numbers were more than awful. But that didn’t mean, that he had to die for them. Hopefully… The tiger popped all claws on his left paw, and tapped the marble tabletop impatiently. He leaned back in his office chair.
“This will not suffice, Peterson. I’m disappointed with your performance.” The claws pierced the paper stack Peterson just brought with him. With a careless gesture he swept the stack to the floor. “Pick that up, Peterson.” The man swallowed audible.”You know what? Leave it. You reek like a dead dog. Have you been rolling in dead dog?”
“Uh, uh… nyes?” The man hurried to get to the door, and to close it as fast as he could behind himself. The tiger smiled an amused smile and punched a button on his intercom. “Sally, darling, please do come in, and brighten up my day.”
“Yes, Mr. Burke.” The female voice chirped through the line. The tiger got up and out of his navy blue blazer. The snow white shirt was fitting him perfectly. He loosed the golden silk tie and unbuttoned his collar. His right ear twitched. Sharp clacking sounds were approaching the door. “Ah, Sally! Please come in, come in.” He opened the door for her. Sally had both hands busy with holding and oversized bath brush, a pillow filled with catnip, and a box full of life mice. Mr Burke hugged her and lifted her from the ground. Sally thrashed a bit, then gave up, when hearing Mr. Burke’s purring.
“Sir? Mr Burke? You know that it isn’t professional, to have your toys brought to you, if you are upset,” she asked in his shoulder.
“The CEO of such a company, worth multimillion dollars in arms business, is supposed to be awe-inspiring, terrifying and mighty impressive.” She lessoned him. “Shall I have Chef Michaels prepare lunch?” He shook his head and let her very gently touch the ground. “Ready?” She wiggled the pillow a bit before she threw it into the furthest corner of the bureau.
„I got you a blanket, so you won’t freeze.“ Steve smiles and hands Tom a grey woolen cover.
Already half undressed, Tom furrows his brows. He stops mid motion, shoe laces around his fingers. „It looks scratchy. I’m hungry, and it’s freezing.“ He looks at Steve’s face and stops again, irked. „Don’t stare like that!“
„Like I was a piece of cherry pie. Stop that. It’s awkward.“
The blanket flies to the autopsy table. „I just can’t please you, huh?“ Steve smirks. „When did you eat the last time?“
„Six hours ago. As you told me to. I’m hungry. When this is done, you owe me! Not only dinners and lunches and lots of roast beef! And steak. You owe me big time.“ He throws his left shoe to the door. „And roast potatoes. Oh, and pizza. See? Goosepimply. All over. God! Tell me, everything’s going to be okay.“
„It’s going to be okay.“
„Everything prepared?“ Tom swings himself onto the autopsy table uneasy. Looking around in the morgue increases his doubt by the second. Steve can’t let him doubt the experiment. He is the most important subject to this experiment. He is the only subject.
The table seems to be really cold, he shivers slightly and folds his hands over his bare chest. Suddenly his gesture seems inappropriate to himself and he changes posture, forcing his hands down.
Steve pats his shoulder. „No need to be nervous. You remember everything?“
„Yeah… Why did I let you talk me into this? Tell me again. When did I say yes to this?“
„Hey! Are you going to be a sissy about this? We are pioneers. Our names will go down in history! We’re gonna be famous! Stars!“
It didn’t help. Tom looks unconvinced. „Relax buddy, I checked the defibrillator twice. We talked about this, remember? I got you a doctor on stand by. Decker is just a door away, waiting for my call. He’s on duty today.“
„Who? Decker? You mean dickweed Decker? Are you kidding me?“ Tom sits up, all tense pulling the ECG electrodes off of his chest. He starts shaking his head in disbelief. „Are we talking about your medical backup? I mean, MY backup? Please Steve, say you are joking.“
Steve rolls his eyes. „Why? He IS a doctor.“
„-And an idiot! He wouldn’t find my heart, even if it crawled out of my chest and tried to bite him! Steve, I got a bad feeling.“ Tom’s pleading eyes lock on Steve’s face just for a moment too long. He can’t stand the look and turns away.
“Don’t say, you are backing out on me. Not now, Tom! Not now!” The words get pushed through gritting teeth. They dissolve into the strained silence around them.
“Are you listening to yourself? Do you know, what you demand from me?” Tom buries his face in his hands. “You ask me to die!”
“No. Technically not!” Steve nods. “Okay. Okay! I know. I know. Sorry, sometimes I am a real jerk,”he pauses. He has to very careful now. His only test subject is about to scrub everything. Everything he worked so hard for, all the money he bribed Dickweed with, for nothing? Actually, it isn’t necessary… For a moment he ponders, he could force Tom into this, all he needs is chloroform, or laughing gas, and a plastic bag… When the crunch comes, he’ll knock Tom out, and do what is needed to be done. It would be way better though, if he does it voluntarily. “You will not die. I promise! It’s only coma. We discussed this, remember?” He throws a look at Tom. He sighs with relief, he caught him, and now he just reels him in. “Don’t you think I’m nervous too? Nothing will go wrong. People lived through these things.” He swipes his hand above the monitors,”and now we have the chance to prove the existence of the soul, and it’s capability to detach from the physical body.” Tom looks at his toes, and nods slowly. “Now lets get you some iv accesses, and the dream juice flowing.”
Steve knows better, than to look at his best friend. The crushing trick his face makes, the hurt radiating from his eyes, the disappointment, Steve isn’t able to take that in. He knows it. He needs to focus, this is too important to be tainted with mixed feelings.
Tom surrenders, with a soft, barely audible sigh.