Archive for freedom

The Imposter Steps Out

Posted in Fun stuff, Poetry, Prose with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 18, 2018 by beautifulimposter

There are few times that The Rules permit my touching the mortal world in any appreciable fashion. So, when such moments do arise, I must admit, I do approach with a certain gusto. Only my best, inky blackest, long tail flowingest coat will do (I’ve only the one coat really, I just will it to be fancier and slightly more sinister) as I walk out of The Tower With No Door, my boots scrape out an almost jaunty tattoo on the cobbles. The weight in my pockets tugs at the corners of my lips, my hands dipping into my pockets, fingering their contents, rummaging through until I grasp the box. It’s going to be a lovely day.
The Real folds around me, the Borderlands fading, trailing in whispers of strangeness. It’s a bright day, golden, early spring I believe, vague haloes of green hovering around the shapely, nude limbs of the trees, a rich jade mist rising from rich black soil. I seem to be in a park, some kind of open area with footpaths and trees and little benches. People flood and flock, whirling, almost grounded starlings in coats and scarves. Some sit, enjoying the bright but weak sunlight, wrapped in a fragrant fug of steam from cups held just below their faces so that their breath gets tangled in it. It is all too perfect.
I stride with purpose, pulling out the small casket, a shimmering four footed little beast that gleams like beetle wing case, purple-blue-green. I reach the rough center of the square or commons or whatever, watching, anticipation jumping nervous cat like from my shoulder blades. I set the box down reverently on a little table marked out for chess, fingers twitching as I manipulate the mechanism to open it. It’s very complex, I fumble with it a moment in my excitement. I would curse it’s tricksyness, but I know it needs be thus, don’t want it opening randomly, which it most certainly would do if left to its own devices.
The lid springs open, yawning out a rainbow. Within, flashing very strange glimmers are embers, coals, white hot, seemingly made of every single color and shade, some you’d know, others you’ve never heard of nor contemplated except in your stranger dreams or if you’ve hit your head particularly hard when they might flash momentarily at the edges of your vision. So lovely, crackling there, alive, wild, expectant. My breath catches, oh how I love this bit, I truly do…trembling, fingers itch crawl forward, digging in to my trove, writhing beneath, feeling the utter oddness. Imagine dipping your hand into fire made of water, it’s like that only not at all. I gather two fistfuls, great big bunches, holding my hands at my sides, tilting my head back, eyes closed, nostrils flaring, shivering in delight.
I let out a self indulgent whoop, tossing my hands to the sky, fingers uncaging, the bright gledes scattering, little crumbles of madness showering about like sparks. The set things afire, crackling blazes of bizzarre flames. I watch as it spreads, licking hands, turning hair into crowns of twisting strands, blown up by weird winds. Randomly, a passerby pirouettes, their feet alight, eyes flashing surprised delight as this touch of madness moves them. Songs break out, laughter, tiny bits of personal strangeness flow outward. All of this is wonderful, but I wait, I watch, for the best part. I see a spark nestle into an eye, the iris contracting, shimmering a very, very different color. This is it, the subtle change, oh yes, the shift. They look about, everything new, every single thing just a bit different. There is fear and wonder and exultation etched on thier features. Now, forever, this one will see the whole world how no one else sees it and will paint it, write it, sing it how they see it and it will change others too.
I cannot help but laugh, spinning in place, grabbing more, moving off and trailing madness like glitter. Never too much, never in one place lest the fires consume, that would be a horror not countenanced. No, with care, with prudence I spread the breadcrumbs of insanity on a spring day, setting the whole world ablaze with dreams. Tee hee…


The Birds Will Still Sing

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 17, 2018 by beautifulimposter

Birds sing because they want to
While I am sure there are other
More scientific reasons,
Purposes of biology and evolution
I see no better reason,
After all, wouldn’t you sing so
If you could?

Therein lies the beauty I think
Song for the singing
Joy and revelry for simple being
Hymns of sun and wind beneath wing,
A chorus for bright bead eye
Turned skyward and flying dizzy.

Too many envy birds thier freedom
Hence cages, it sooths bitter heart
To see such wildness cloistered
As if we too locked up song and blue heaven,
Unaware or perhaps just denying
That they will sing and dream regardless.

I for one take comfort
For as rock crumbles, pride falls
Ash and smoke rise in choaking cloud
They will be there, mad charlatans,
Ragged finery ruffled, still pinwheel turning
Still singing, above it all
In the forever blue.


Posted in Poetry, Social Commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 26, 2018 by beautifulimposter

In light of recent events the company finds you Superfluous to current needs,
Redundant, a dangling appendix full of bile
Waiting to be pruned, we hope
This won’t cause offense and is meant in
The fullest sense of positivity and current
Political and social correctness in just
The right amount for the climate of public
Acceptance of the period.

We do regret to inform that this means
Immediate termination with extreme prejudice
So if you will kindly swallow the enclosed
Arsenic capsule and shuffle off your mortal coil
Forthwith and with alacrity it would be demonstrably appreciated
As we could use your meat suit in our exciting
New recycling program
Which should provide some comfort
As in your obsolescence you can still find a purpose
In fattening up the next meat sack in line.

In conclusion, we the company do hope
To end our partnership on a positive note
Being that we are positive that everything useful
Has been wrung from your bones in the most
Efficient way possible, a complete rendering
By which we have profited immensely
Whilst you have been left
Holding the bag.

Sincerely, Management


Posted in Poetry, Social Commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 14, 2014 by beautifulimposter

My voice will be a fist

Coiled, knotted tight

A bright point of rage

Knuckles splitting bloody

Across the brittle bones

Of indifference, smashing fear

Laying low hate

In a whirlwind howling raw outrage


From now on

I’m standing in front of tanks

I am the fuck you

Burning on the tongue

Of the ones under jack boots

Choking on their poverty desperation

No way out last desperate swinging

Out into streets slick

With bitter mother’s tears

Dropping thunderous

In the spaces left by the loved dead.

I’m burning in the square

Knelt, a light etching

Shame onto onlooking faces

Behind the riot masks

You fuckers will watch me

I will pin your eyes

To the ugly underneath your pathetic hypocrisy

Look, watch my flesh wither

It’s what you deserve

Feast on the pain, on the helplessness

God dammit you will listen

I will make you

Hiss of greedy flame

Whispering in your coward ears


I am us

We are mad as hell

We will rise like the tide

Where you charge

We will wash away all that you’ve built

There will be only wreckage in our wake

We are the mighty disenfranchised

The sound of our footsteps

Will crack marble facade hollow justice

We will not lie down

Here we rise up, rise and rise again

Our teeth around your neck

Until we hear the crack.

Remember this,

Never forget this

You sit above us

Because we hold you up

Our backs are weary

When we shrug at last

When you are cast down

Lost and wondering

How your mighty hand

Could be so defied

There are more of us

Than there are of you

In the end you are alone

A speck

Leading the charge of futility

Against the breaking waves.

Lord of the Dance

Posted in Music, Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on June 10, 2014 by beautifulimposter

I am a dancer

In secret, when no one is looking

My limbs twitch and shake

Graceless angles framed

By carelessly flung knees and elbows

Clumsy marionette

Clump thumping soft shoe shuffle.

To music or in silence

For even in silence

There is music

Blood in vein pulse beat

Breath rhythm throat singing

Leaf wind orchestras

Jazz complex tempo raindrops

World moving moves me.

A madness, a fit

A seizure of ecstasy

Lost in the losing control

Limbs describing the arch of four winds

Or crashing waves, swaying reeds

Spastic monkey man fire leaping

Ancestor hunt miming

Caressing lover’s curvatures.

A tune from childhood

Hums in my blood

The only hymn I ever took to heart

So when no one is looking

I worship

I open myself to joy

My body transformed

Into perfect instrument

Forgetting all restraint of clay

A madcap magpie

Catching fire bright and bold

Dancing along night’s edges

Dancing so the light comes in.

Something My Daughters Reminded Me Of

Posted in Fun stuff, Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 7, 2012 by beautifulimposter

I took my daughters to the park this afternoon and as I was watching them run about and play a memory of my own youth came back to me, which was the main inspiration for this piece.  I remembered how when you were a kid, if you grabbed the corners of your jacket and held your arms out straight and apart behind you so that the fabric was taught between them, you could fly.  You could start running and just feel as if the ground was actually falling away from your feet, run until you were giddy with the speed and for all intents and purposes you were soaring over the woods and fields and lakes.  It was real for you, just as real as the gravity you seemed to defy.  I write a lot about dreams, and about the sense of wonder because I think these two things are vitally important and are lost so easily as we are battered by the tides of every day life, of bills, work, relationships, politics, and all the little ways we can be reminded of how cruel, hard, and arbitrary all of what we encounter in this existence.  As I watched my girls and enjoyed my own reminiscence I was as always struck by how magical a thing the mind of a young person is, that it can encompass so much belief and joy in the simplest things, transforming them into acts of adventure, of such completely exuberant life.  So, when we came home, these words were there, waiting for me.  I think that they are a fitting addition to the one year anniversary of a site dedicated to my professional dreaming and I hope that as you read them, you too out there may be reminded of running with your jacket behind you, or whatever other acts of wonder you might have committed as a child.  The last thing I feel I should mention was that there were three songs as well and their effect on me that were lesser inspirations for this piece, “Take To The Sky” by Tori Amos, “Learing To Fly” by Pink Floyd, and “Given To Fly” by Pearl Jam.  I dare anyone to listen to any of those and not think they might take wing.  Now, without further ado, here it is…



Today I take to the sky

Forsaking bonds of earth,

To climb ladders of light

Gather arm-fulls of firmament,

Falling upwards into heaven.



Today I take parliament with owls,

Commit to a murder of crows,

Bright eyed feathered carnivals,

Of loops and pirouettes in fool’s motley,

Singing free and pure.



Today I will burn bright

I will be the portent for the birth of princes,

Twisting the stars to write new destinies

Breaking all covenants, loosing all chains

So that the multitude will be free

To dance the ether along with me.



Today I will steal all the hats

From the bowed heads of the upright and righteous,

Make mockery of those who take pride in their grimness,

To show others the buffoonery as they chase their hats like black coated monkeys,

That they know no more truth than the dust their own dreams left

To drift in the cold, empty chambers of their reason.



Today I will forget to be a prisoner of gravity,

Let all raiment of my life fall in fluttering, drab rags,

Plunge naked into the deep blue ocean mirroring sky,

Carving the clouds into lewd clown faces

To shock and confound those that commanded

I look only at my own shoes.



Today I will stand the earth on its head,

My disbelief in the “this is so, this is not so” will give me strength,

The proof against all those small, mild minds

That there is no magic,

Because really, how the fuck else do you explain a flying man?


Today I keep all of my promises,

Today I dream of flight,

While tomorrow…well, tomorrow I will dream something different.

Malicious Intent

Posted in Journal, Prose, Social Commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 10, 2012 by beautifulimposter

Ok, so I have no fucking idea what this is but I sat down and let my fingers go at the keyboard like a fat guy at an all you can eat buffet.  This may not even make any sense but I was writing something so fuck you if you don’t like it and that’s all I have to say about that.  For those of you unfortunates who for some reason of mental defect both follow and like this blog, it may not be the best, but it is something new, so I hope it finds its way of burrowing into your eyeballs, gouging out a nice spot in your brain and laying eggs of thought, new, weird, or deviant.  That is always what I want, to if at all possible take somebody’s view of the world like a painting hanging on a wall and just move it a bit to the left and maybe tilt it a little.  Let’s see if this can do that.  Goodnight my tender lumplings. 

The stream of consciousness has a dam put up but it’s about to break loose, free, clear and wild.  A torrent of thought, tidal waves of words rise crash boom it all goes boom.  Dropping mind bombs like time bombs only the explosions cause trauma to the mind alone, fucking up your reception, perceptions change shift crack shatter leaving bloody shards on the pavement of your psyche.  I am done being polite, time to fuck life in the face, get vulgar, ’cause its the extremes that get heard, subtly is lost on the masses, you must get bombastic its not enough to say it when you can scream it, shout, shout let it all out in wind torrent profusion, deaf dumb blind confusion, it’s all illusion this life is all that you can see and it’s just cartoons of mass market production.  Occupy this, right here, right now, storm the beach heads of your life ’cause that is all that you control, turn it around and drive it right down their throats, them that says you can’t or you won’t or shouldn’t but you must, with a raised fist you must stand even if you stand alone and say “I am”, like a nail pinning the universe to revolve, spin fall, your own gravity making mockery of their levity, ’cause they can laugh all they want but the more we take back of our own reality the less real estate they will be able to lend bad loans on, ’cause you can devour the world bite by byte, knowledge voice power to speak the voice cannot be stopped it’s streaming through the ether right now, no matter how many times they change the channel we can be all that there is on so that in watching they will become the medium, because each individual is too large, bigger than whole worlds, the minds of the masses are massive and I think by now we are done being massaged.  The revolution cannot be televised because you can’t see the forest for the trees and the revolution is turning the disc of the galaxy about itself, propelling round and round till we all burn it down.  Drown the signal, bring the noise of anger and angst, rise against again and again till we stand shoulder upon shoulder because even dwarfs on the shoulders of giants are taller than just the giants, we can be the Jacks that kill them all, bring down the titans of greed, sloth, apathy, tear that mother fucker down like Rome burning to Nero’s fiddle.