19AD8 | A Short Story: Unedited
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A Short Story: Unedited

A Short Story

*This story is entirely a work of fiction.*

Often times, people neglect the importance of a projected illusion, occupying open eyes with closed eyelids, the more vivid one dreams, the more cinematic of a meditation one experiences while resting,

One time I found myself resting at a rest stop blanketed with fog only viewable through the hazily-harangued, hue of poorly budgeted streetlights… bleakly perpetuating an atmosphere of dismal observance, negligent to my peripheral, I continued onward,

The cobblestone and copper roofs, tarnished green from the withered time caused me to realize that this journey was not one of the present, but one of the current times as seen through architecture of the past. The vernacular of graffiti permanently pressed upon was an easy dialect of me to understand, given the constant and consistent dilution of sand through the hourglasses, oddly conceived and measured from the nearby street vendors.

I found myself in a symphonic harmony for the first time in a while, with the log piles filling the wheel-barrow, onto it’s next destination with the enthusiasm of an exclamation point.

The ashes dusted the sand

A grim horizon was later planked with the authority of a sunset

A dimly lit scripture lit my mind like a Shakespearean tragedy, a play, or a play-on words, or a theater, left lost for words,

For we can’t win, unless in our minds, we were prepared to win, no one is ever prepared for what happens next, only those that are disciplined, know what to do next.

So I,

Found some,

Free time,

Free mind,

Oh no,

Hello,

Or hellhole,

Who knew that a better world,

Would tenderly unfold

The masks of faces were grotesque with sheer negligence to the occupational hazards of currently living in this world

Then I,

Rather,

When I,

Decide,

To,

Perpetuate what is alive inside,

It is too deep,

For the average Neanderthal to conceive,

A brief moment to breathe…

Do I need to beg?

Do I need to say please?

Anyway,

Back to the story

   A couple stories up there was a girl, her name was Rapunzel,

I bellowed up,

This ain’t a fairy tale, bitch, let down your hair,

How the fuck you expect me to climb up there?

I echoed up the primitively paved concrete tower,

The petulant moat, without a boat, was a pleasant surprise because I’m a good swimmer, as the oxygen grew dimmer, the more I swam, the more I began to realize, the mission,

That I am,

The orchids from the lily pads created quick support, sometimes it is beauty, that is necessary, to see, in order to carry on,

When I landed,

There was a girl,

 Who made me focus on her eyes,

She said her name was Medusa,

And that I had to win her over,

Like the luck of finding a,

4-leaf clover,

A clove cigarette I smoked,

Before I spoke:

Wheels spinning like the spokes of a new tire,

Even if I’m tired,

I still wire syllables.

Like I’m writing in cursive,

To be rather,

Simply – said.

Anyways,

Back to the story,

I found a notecard in my pocket, instinctively locked,

Which I found to be peculiarly odd,

Odd is similar to an anomaly,

The amalgam of inherent pattern,

Still had my believe,

While it may be locked,

A quick pick of said lock,

When the pins organize,

Unlocked:

Becomes unnecessary.

So I,

 Continued on my travels, like an unraveling thread,

Bled some,

But survived more than that,

Still I bet on myself, like the house always wins,

Windows windex’d

Made what was once perplexing, easily indexed like the catalog at a library, properly ran by hereditary beings,

Seeing things clearly, although slightly blind,

The curtains…. Diminished,

Free from needing to find a key,

I found more keys,

Than I could ever need,

It’s interesting, when you’re looking for something… you never find it,

But when you’re lost,

Somehow,

Somewhere,

Someone,

You’re always found.

Although…

When found,

You’re still lost at times,

During those times,

The hard times,

Replenish,

The IMPORTANCE

OF

THE

MIND.

Don’t mind me though,

I don’t know much,

I only know touch,

Too much to think about,

Too much to feel,

Burdensome…often.

The feeling of abandonment like an Orphan,

An oracle will rise,

Somewhere amidst all of that

Brutally bullied, he will be,

However,

Higher than everyone,

He will always be.

Give thanks to a prophet,

That chases no profit.

Beware of a prophet,

That chases no profit,

Pocket filled with anecdotes,

A smile dimpled with the antidote,

A laugh only felt like the sounds from a stethoscope,

Hope,

Joy,

Pain,

Raise,

A more mindful,

A more impactful range,

Of consciousness decision making,

Anyways,

Beware of fear pressed upon idled minds,

Administered from the usual abuse of power,

For it is found too often in this parallel, paradigm world,

I was walking through an enchanted village, it had hills in the distance that could be seen for miles, a common sight to the regulars, but to the voyager,

Well,

To a voyager,

It was a sight for sore eyes,

Those that are blind, with prescription corrected vision,

Have four eyes,

The third eye…

I was walking through an enchanted village, it had hills in the distance that could be seen for miles, a common sight to the regulars, but to the voyager,

***DONATE SOME MONEY MOTHERFUCKERS, TO THOSE THAT HAVE NADA BECAUSE OF A BOTCHED RESPONSE TO A VIRAL CRISIS ***

Artistic representation of the land was viewed through a tiny lens, like the field of view from a protractor,

In other words, if the angles are right, you see a different point of view.

The rain fell like angrily,

Which made me feel like my journey was still incomplete,

The incompetence of that point of view,

Made me temporarily equipped with a lackluster potency,

The potion I see,

When all other devotion flees,

Is just you and me,

Starring at a rearview mirror,

Pedal to the metal,

Like the gas was cheap,

My sleek sneakers treaded politely through the puddled, muddy waters found in the street,

How could one always expect to be able to dodge what’s real from whets the fake?

 A comic book type of story hit the typewriter written from my fingertips:

Do you believe in what exists?

Or do you believe in a marvelous story,

Given birth to from the maleficent history,

 Derived from the stories that I’ve heard.

Hello world,

Stan Lee,

Is about to write somen’

Ears start to perk up like deers being hunted,

Not for sport,

But during HUNGER,

This a fictional story, don’t get it twisted, a twister, a tornado, a brew or two, stuff like that, makes ya’lls minds go


WOW!

Or

WOO!

A rose grew from the concrete once,

It also grew from the dirt… once,


Which one, would ya’ll deem to be equally as harsh?

The equivalent is still a sewer to a gutter,

Yet they rise and still bowl a strike,

Maybe 3,

If I find a girl,

That is into trilogies. (dope line)

Anyways, if you talking Star Wars….

I certainly have a story for ya’ll

The force is a bend in gravity,

Used superlatively to represent,

Pheromone chemistry,

  ***AND IF I DIP TOO FAR INTO THIS POETRY, I’D PROBABLY MAKE YOUR GIRL WET.***

I was walking through an enchanted village, it had hills in the distance that could be seen for miles, a common sight to the regulars, but to the voyager….

If I have to destroy hate, with a welded blade,

I’d have to question my integrity;

In my soul… there’s lots of fine print

I can barely read my own handwriting, but when I’m writing…

I was walking through an enchanted village, it had hills in the distance that could be seen for miles, a common sight to the regulars, but to the voyager,

A harness was just a useless invention while trying to intervene,

So,… I found a ladder,

And with each step that I took, each creak from those steps, reminded me of self-reflation,

Like my schizophrenia was asking me like, ‘Avi, what’s the matter?’

I respond,

Nothing, though, I’m chilling though,

With my pillow,

That feels like, insanely, heavy… clouds,

Once I reached and stepped on,

The 9th rung,

I heard an angel, and she sung,

But, being flabbergasted, I fell to the ground, like I had a parachute, and like I had a pair of shoes that could absorb the shock, from the ground.

The ground that I so happened to land on,

Unfortunately turned out to be… turmoil soil,

How distant minds have become, from one and another’s endeavors,

Cadaverous thoughts, filled people’s minds, just for a little extra, or to take extra, from the plethora of normal people.

***Then I stepped in, like my belt weighs in, 9.8 Meters Per Second, Like the Heaviness of GRAVITY, BITCH! (dope line)***

I was walking through an enchanted village, it had hills in the distance that could be seen for miles, a common sight to the regulars, but to the voyager,

Anyways my mass is like an asteroid hitting ya’ll in the motherfucking chin,

Anyways,

I was walking through an enchanted village, it had hills in the distance that could be seen for miles, a common sight to the regulars, but to the voyager,

I call it an enchanted villages because the pillars surrounding important buildings, were designed by trustworthy artists,

Blood becomes thicker when family is triggered through unpredictable tough times

Those that use fear to commandeer spirits,

Are just as cowardly as landfills are used to fill trash heaps,

Reaper talking….

Pay no mind to the cost of a dollar,

For when I holler through a valley,

It’s already become a split-decision,

Weigh it on a balance beam,

On the horizon we saw a promising HUE of light;

Many rifles once demanded orchestrated acceptance of their temperament,

I shook my head,

NO…

I was walking through an enchanted village, it had hills in the distance that could be seen for miles, a common sight to the regulars, but to the voyager,

A voyager,


The JOURNEY HAS JUST BEGUN,

Bells rung in the streets,

And they yelled,

‘Finally, someone real – that speaks!’

And then I felt super dope, like I just got some heroin as a medicine, but I ain’t never done no drugs, I’m talking about all the bodacious beautiful women, in philly we call them bad broads, that give me power because they like how I devour all of the words that could ever be spoken in a poetic fashion, like I’m selling ya’ll some clothes, hold UP let me breathe for A SECOND, GOD DAMN.

Bring me back in,

I meant to say,

Like I’m selling yall some drugs?

I was walking through an enchanted village, it had hills in the distance that could be seen for miles, a common sight to the regulars, but to the voyager,

Even if I had a battery that’s half-charged I’m still feeling like I’m 200 percent above the curve

That’s a power cell to a Duracell where all the playboy bunnies at, ya feel me?

ya feel me?

ya feel me?

ya feel me?

(Some hip-hop, shit, ya dig it, if not, ya still got billed with it, like a pay-per-view channel win with it)

Why I even left the house when I could stay in the house and make so much money that my bitch purse starts to ache,

And all of yall supposed heirs start to flake,

When I step through and dip in your honey like I’m scoop from Frito Lays,

Tamed… never, like I’ve already chewed through every cage,

Like I’ve already made up my mind,

Like I’m decisive, like ya’ll not really used to,

I like this one girl, that I met, she seems…. Unusual,

Maybe we’ve met before,

Or maybe we’ve met after four,

Drinks,

At the bar,

I saw her from afar,

I had to approach her with something that she’s never seen before,

A couple scenes fast forward,

I’ve got to keep it PG like I’m playing Paul George as the Forward,

Once I feel like I’ve got a typewriter or the right type of girl in front of me, my fingers write like I’m writing from my heart, to these girls, for once in my life,

I’ve lived a few times though, so that’s more than once,

Don’t try to joust on me for that type of shit,

My shield look like a fuckin razor blade,

That’s a sunray split into all it’s prism

Definition for the oxford or Merriam edition,

Anyways,

***Don’t try to joust on my chivalry like that just because you don’t respect my skillset, you know what I mean?***

I was walking through an enchanted village, it had hills in the distance that could be seen for miles, a common sight to the regulars, but to the voyager,

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