Month: March 2019

Nightmares are also dreams Part 22-interlude

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Actionable intel has a short shelf life. The raid group is set up in the surrounding area outside one of the Circles primary collection points. It’s a long haul truck stop. It’s both the first stop on the road to hell and a step deeper into misery.

That the snatch team has been missing for a few hours now and it can be expected that the news of this has begun to filter out through the network makes this a potentially dangerous situation.

The forward team scurries from truck to truck checking each against our manifest. No truck will be leaving unsearched but these specific ones have been identified as either belonging to a circle member or to one of their customers.

The radio squawks twice indicating all teams are go.

The men and women in black tactical gear stream to their predetermined positions. The sound of cloth against cloth nearly eclipsed by the soft wind.

The entry team tosses a flashbang in through the door and wait 3 seconds to enter. The flash of light serves as the signal for the team’s to lock down the trucks and the primary team enters the truck stop. Presumably some of these people are innocent but the operations order calls for the remediation of any hostile actions to be dealt with harshly.

The soft sounds of hushed gunfire and muzzle flash indicates some have chosen to fight.

The trucks are taken without incident. Two victims recovered and two hostile silenced.

The persons in the stop are taken into custody and their identities are confirmed. We match driver to truck then search each truck with each driver. We find for are being used for trafficking and take the drivers and helpers into custody.

The victims we take to the protected zone and ship for treatment and rehabilitation.

We search the other trucks and find evidence that two were there for Trans-shipments. Those drivers are taken in as well. The rest are let go after the teams exfil.

All told 3 hostiles dead, 100 victims recovered, and the next link in the chain uncovered. The management of the truck shop has been identified and we will be visiting them soon. For the rest we have their ledgers and computers.

—End report

Fun fact?

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Fun fact about me: I was going to another room to read my book and I went to plug my phone in for charging. I wasn’t going to use it, I was going to read. But then I thought, “But what if I get a idea, how will I write it down?” So, here I am writing down a little story about needing to be able to write things down instead of reading my book. #writerslife

We poets are weird people

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I hate the way that beautiful has come to mean pretty. Beautiful should be more than physical. It should refer to the totality of the person. Not merely physical but their mind, heart and soul.

I hate that when I say to someone, “You are beautiful.” It is interpreted as me saying pretty. If I had meant pretty, I would have said pretty.

This is probably me just being weird poet about word choices. It’s just that I choose words for specific reasons and to have those reasons subverted to lesser meanings is infuriating.

She who wakes my darkness will dwell forever in the light

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Slip into desire
A breaking wave
A falling drop
Life disappears from the margins
Clawing into dreams
Holding onto purchase
That what may be in dreams may hold on
Long enough to be real
Conscious mind
Knows roads closed
Paths overgrown
Still a heart says maybe
Igniting kindling
Fires of need break
All thought but….
All thought fled
Replaced by maybe
Maybe and please
Your hand in mine
Never to part
A foolish dream that can’t help but live
Knowing the contours of a heart
Hands Pressing into the maze of you
Broken mirror hopes
Each reflection another chance to lose you
Each chance I’d take
For those few whiles you are mine before the end
Our jagged
Our broken
Complimentary pieces
Fitted together too late
My heart waits eternal
Saying someday
Saying wake beside me
In my arms
Safe
All hope lost
I know, I know
I fail, I fail
There is no thought that doesn’t contain you
My heart so foolish
To love and love and love
And never
Ever
Forget
That thin glass shard
Saying yes, yes this time

An I could not endure heaven, I thrived in hell

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Hells offer us safety that heavens do not
Life is a ongoing study in the loss of innocence and joy as one peace or another is cut away or slowly ripped out of us. In a hell we know the parameters. There will be horror, there will be pain, there will be fear. And very occasionally, there will be rest. And we will find the steel to endure in those seconds and minutes of peace.

In a heaven, having experienced both loss and being self aware, there is always the wait for the moment when it is ripped away. For the loss of love, joy, and safety.

It becomes that we choose to endure the hell. Because the thought of one more lost heaven destroys us more thoroughly than this endurance of durance vile.

What twists, what turns, what burns, what knows

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I want you filled with me, consumed by my will, by your shame and pleasure. Knowing that I will take care of you in all the ways you dream about in your dark heart. Knowing that at times I will break you with kindness and love even as I bruise you and blood you as your deep desires twist and beg for. You are mine. Wake every day knowing that you are owned. That you are desired. That there is someone who is willing to burn and be burned in the pyre of you. Do not despair of my kindness. Of my deep well of love. Think not of only the soft and light that I speak of. That of my actions to care for you. Remember, that until you give explicit consent, the beast of me is shackled. But know, it waits, it sees you and we hunger.

Last chance to close my eyes

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I have the easiest time connecting with people who read my writing. Because in my writing, with how I write, there is no place to hide. If you are afraid? Write it. Feeling something? Write it. Thinking about anything? Write it. It’s all there. Years of me. Thoughts and feelings. So people come to me past all my defenses and pretenses. And I think are probably surprised. Because all that writing is just me. Without exaggeration, but at a distance. In person it’s more. Without the intercessor of the screen or the page, how can it be helped but to be even more real?

The state of things

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I don’t do well in the vacuum of knowledge. Not knowing why’s and reasons and thoughts eats away at me. “I’ll tell you later,” in all its variations is a cancer eating away at me in the narrow dark before the first rays of light. Or the variations of actions taken with no explanation as to why. Both cause their problems.

I know that I don’t express it. I know that I accept what information is given and keep going. But what else can I do? Demand more information than they are willing to give? Life isn’t so easy.

And I find myself in a predicament where my skills and experience is not easily seen. And I’m not the best when confronted with questions I haven’t thought about. Unless it’s asked by someone I trust, then it’s honesty and Intuition. So how do I sell my skills which are not evident by degrees or certification when I need a few minutes alone to formulate a response.

I don’t know what to do. I keep going forward with the gnawing feeling of impending failure and the thought that success might be just as bad. Looking for a way sideways or out but not finding it.

And still, those thoughts that more information would make me feel safe permeate and batter defenses which isolate me even more.

……..

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Retreat into silence
Into noise, cacophony
So loud that one disappears
Into oblivion
Sinking deeply
Screaming silently
No one hears
“You’ve got this”
Head in hands
Who hears

Torn Asunder 9.3

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