mumbleghoul-blog

[mumbleghoul-blog]

Palimpsest

Shocks and rockets have called upon those unholy

To dwell on my eyes and within my hollowed soul.

Too little man - nay, too human to behold the horrors.

So I bid farewell to you the saints, and my belovèd

Yet greet the grim of pleasant void.

Bloody palimpsest that once held my vows,

Now you preach my forfeit and written cowardice;

For these battles won’t end, but surely I will.

To you, my dear, I must apologize,

This means my bullet has won.

-Love.

[mumbleghoul-blog]

Forbidden Fare

Feast on my tongue but spare my teeth.

Make haste with my flesh; let my bones weep.

Raise your goblet and drink from my heart.

Dismember my being then tear it apart.

Man’s forbidden fare from dawn to dusk:

Dine on my slain eyes but leave the husk.

Forsake the scraps of my carnal remains

So that my paramour may know the pain.

[mumbleghoul-blog]

Wrath of the Lamb

Mahdi of Man, and Messiah of mine,

The last deluge is nigh.

Cleanse my soul and strip my sin;

Throw me into the light.

Fire and flames were fed to me,

And alas, I devour the divine.

Gabriel’s trumpets and Great Tribulation:

Signs of seven seals broken.

Horsemen and the Lamb’s Wrath,

Lord, please, show no mercy.

[mumbleghoul-blog]

The Siren

Mellifluous siren, O thalassic soul,

I drink from your chalice

Of Circe’s catholicon:

A nubile nectar

To quench my thirst.

For your lecherous seas

Have thickened my blood

And stolen my wisdom

[mumbleghoul-blog]

Great Gatsby Alternate Ending

Up until now, I believed Gatsby, the man whose actions were exempt from my judgement, was an immortal. It never once occurred to me that he, a man whom I saw as an omnipotent god was bound to the same inescapable fate the rest of us are. His magnificent ambitions and his dreams were nothing short of pure and the light he illuminated on our lives delivered us from evil, but for poor Gatsby, it cost him his own life just to live. A fallen angel.

That dreadful day the air in my lungs felt different, as if it were thinner, tasteless, and empty, the skies stood still and the sky remained gray. The sun did not exist on that horrible day. I had spent the dark morning with Gatsby, enjoying a coffee with him in his enormous study which was dimly lit by a candle he kept next to an open journal in which all the pages were left blank and neglected.

He had his butler bring him his coffee black, with no sugar. He told me he wanted to enjoy the taste, now more than ever. He took a small sip and burnt his tongue, he looked up and smiled his damned smile. He wore his mask like a thief, stealing our lives and leaving without a trace. Unknowingly I smiled back at him, he quickly looked at the floor and began to speak.

“Nick, old sport, I received a call from Daisy earlier today, before you arrived,” he gave a nervous chuckle under his breath, his eyes still eerily fixated on the ground. He spoke softly, “She told me that she didn’t want to see me, Nick, that she thought it best if we never speak again.”

I sat there for a couple of seconds, looking at him as he rubbed his temples, still looking at the mahogany floorboards of his study. I did not know what to say so I waited for him to continue. In that moment I knew Gatsby had become like the rest of us.

“Old sport...what do I do now, without Daisy?” He began to weep, taking his handkerchief and drying his abandoned eyes.

“Gatsby,” I struggled to find my words, “there is more to life than Daisy, if she doesn't want you then it is her loss. You’re a great man, Gatsby.”

After another eternal moment of silence, a moment I wished would last forever, he took his eyes off of the floor, he looked directly into my eyes, this time not projecting joy but rather consuming it and turning it into his own anger and gloom. “I’ll be ok,” he said. I believed him.

I was at work when a received a call from his butler. The whole day I was too distraught to even consider making a living. The sound of the phone ringing made me jump but the words I would hear next stole the soul from by body and left it somewhere far, cold and alone. I hope I find it someday.

“Mr. Carraway, I come to you with horrible news.” His voice was hollow. “We need you here right away, I will explain when you arrive.”

Without even replying I hung up the phone, hearing a faint voice telling me to hurry as I slammed the phone. I raced back to his mansion. I was too late however, we all were.

When I arrived, his servants took me out of my car and led me to Gatsby’s study, I wondered if he had stayed there all day. They were so alarmingly silent, I felt it in my blood and in my bones, my whole body ached with suspense. Inside the study it smelled of metal, it smelled of iron, but it was faint for the air was still thin, now more than ever. Beside the limp carcass we once called Gatsby, was a medic, with a look in his eyes that people seem to only have in our nightmares. The sun shone through the clouds and illuminated the blood which filled the room with crimson horror. God was playing a cruel joke on us.

Gatsby had shot himself. The gun was still hot on the ground, the blood curdling on the barrel. He had put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger, an impulse decision. I stood there staring at his eyes which looked back into the hell he once lived in. His complexion, now more sanguine than ever. The amount of blood which had left his now frigid corpse was mortifying. It had spilled out his nose, mouth, and ears, even tearing out of his eyes all over the once empty journal.

I couldn’t stand to look at it any longer, I took the journal from under his head, his hair was dry with brown blood. The medics began to take his body away. The note was drenched in with his previous life, the red blood at the page filled the silence of the room with its harshness. The paged was illegible except for at the bottom.

“Thanks for everything, old sport. Let Daisy know I will be waiting.” The lacrimation of my mind and soul caught up with my body and I began to uncontrollably weep. I fell to my knees and my tears fell upon the page, extinguishing the rage between the lines of his journal. At the bottom the page was signed, “With love, James Gatz.”

That was the last time I saw Gatsby, our last day on earth

[mumbleghoul-blog]

The Grail

Montevideo, my maidenly mother

Made me a migrant in the moneyland

Plenty of privation provided

Poor patriot patiently persevered

Dedicated drudgery, delightful decoration

Did duly designate a dutiful deftmonger

Solemn success so sweet

Sorrowful sincegone so sour

Woe was once weighty

Worry has worked me wiser

Great gift given and grossed

God’s grace and the grail

[mumbleghoul-blog]

We the People

Oars strike the frozen Delaware

Like the bullets that pierced our brothers.

Rivers of crimson, and tainted warfare,

A noble cause birthed by 13 mothers.

Grey skies weep for our losses,

Patriotic crooning from our starry flags.

Red coats approach, the world’s colossus;

They drop one by one like Boston’s tea bags.

Muskets and bayonets charge to the future

A land of the free in our sights

Triggers are pulled, wounds are sutured

Cleansing our lands of the Hessian blight.

Build upon these graves a great Steeple

To honor those who fought, We the People.

[mumbleghoul-blog]

The Seasons

Deep in the decay of fall,

Souls revived, minds enamored.

Refuge from life’s clamor,

Inebriated with passion above all.

Hasty days and eternal nights

Forged an ardent romance,

Alloyed from ardor, a lovely happenstance.

Divine moments and jovial sights.

Soon winter befell us.

Warmth.

I knew you were the one.

• • •

Admiration did bloom

And the aroma of endearment strewed.

Into our hearts the feeling imbued,

A sweet jubilant perfume.

Soon the air was thick with affection

And humid with allegiance.

A comforting radiance

Warms my skin with adoration.

Summer has befallen us.

Light.

I still know you are the one.

[mumbleghoul-blog]

The Gift of the Magi: Jim’s Perspective

The frost on the car window would not go and the air outside was blue with cold. Jim sat there with his hands on the wheel, his eyes wide with thought. He stared at the watch at the edge of his sleeve, the dim morning light reflecting off the gold and filling his car with gentle warmth. The soft ticking seemed to rise above the busy streets of New York; the clockwork so precise that Jim swore if he listened close enough he would hear his father’s words. If not his father’s then his father’s father, so he held the watch up to his ear and listened for whispers from long ago.

After a while he started the car and began toward the other side of the city. The snow crunched under his tires and the watch kept marching on to the beat of time.

Jim stepped out of his car, his cold fingers feeling the smooth metal and then the rough leather of the strap. He had been too poor to replace the leather. He shoved it deep into his coat pocket, muffling the guilt of the ticking. He knew he wasn’t thinking right but he still went in the shop. The smell of cigars and dampness welcomed him and through the thick smoke he was able to make out a sign behind the counter, “Hudson’s Pawn Shop.” Jim let out a heavy sigh and made his way to old Hudson who had been looking at him since before he even stepped inside.

“Good morning sir, I have a gold watch I’d like to pawn,” the watch was back in his hand, ticking much slower than his own pulse.

“Well let me see it then boy,” the pawnbroker quickly answered.

Jim thought of Hudson as the medium between meaning and material: a kind thief who paid back in empty dollars. He took the watch from his pocket, the ticking so brute that he felt his bones rattle. He set it down carefully on the counter.

The old man puffed on his cigar and coughed out, “I’ll give you twenty.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s the most I can give you kid, I’m sorry.” Jim knew his apology was false and that the watch was worth much more than that. Much more. It was his grandfather’s and then his father’s and now his; their gentle heartbeats living on in the form of quiet seconds. His greatest inspirations who had once lived on earth now lived on his right hand. Jim, however, was not savvy enough to bargain for more money and so he took the twenty from Hudson. He needed the money, he knew he did, and he needed it quick. Christmas was tomorrow and if he didn’t get Della a gift then she would surely leave him. He needed the money and he needed her.

He got back in his car, his breath white in the bleak air and his tears quick down his face. Twenty dollars to bury his father and his grandfather in a smokey tomb. It was quiet.