Just Another Haunted Hotel Room Story – FINAL

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

The pack of cigarettes is still here, untouched.

«- Is this a fucking nightmare once again?!»

He tense up, waiting for something to happen. A couple of minutes passed without something happening excepted for a dull silent.

Jack look at the ceiling, the smoke stain looked like a rabbit, like the first time he entered the room.

«- That’s… the fucking sign!»

He waited another five minutes. Nothing.

With a little bit of anxiety, he looked back again at the ceiling, still the same rabbit form.

The author fell asleep without noticing it. The fire alarm woke him up.

«- This is a nightmare! You’ll not foul me this time!»

A knock on the door and the voice of the young hotel clerk rose along the horrible alarm noise:

«- Mister, you have to exit the room, we have a fire here!

• Ah! You stupid motherfucker!
• Sir please! This is not a drill! Come out quickly!
• Yeah! And the giant snake is as long as my cock!
• What… this is not a joke! Yes, ladies and gentleman, leave through those stairs and gather to the front desk!
• Is my fucking bitch of a wife here by any chance?
• No! Sir, come on quick!
• Of course, that’s definitely what’s a liar would say!
• I can open the door for you and then, you’ll have to make a run for it!»

Jack was smelling the fire and started feeling the heat.

«- Very elaborate nightmares! You fucking… I don’t have words for this shit! And I’m a writer! »

The door opened and the young man passed his head through the doorway:

«- Ok, now I will leave, you better get the hell out of here! Because it’s gonna be… well, hell ! Come on sire, I’m leaving. If you stay well… God have mercy on your soul!

• Fuck off! Let me alone Sonia! Where are you dumb bitch! Come on! Make this nightmare end already! Or make it more original! Jesus! A fire? How creative!»

The only answer was the fire swallowing the wall in front of him, making the same noise as the wind during a storm with cracking sounds added to it.

Jack took his notebook to write about the aesthetics of the fire when he noticed the pack of cigarettes untouched. He looked at the ceiling to see the smoke mark looking like a rabbit being devoured by flames.

This was real.

«- Fuck me! Jack you stupid fool!»

He took his notebook, let his trousers and grabbed his laptop, that was about to be destroyed, not without burning is hand.

As he ran outside, the roof started falling and he would have been a dead man if the hotel clerk didn’t grabbed him and pushed him toward the stairs.

After joining the other clients gathered in choc in front of the desk, Jack coughed, his lungs were suffocating him.

Red and blue lights flashed on the tired and anxious faces.

«- Sorry kid, had a weird nightmare and thought that… y’know.

• Well, it’s probably more than a nightmare that you had. You probably sleepwalked, you are the one who started the fire!
• What are you on about!
• I saw you using a deodorant and a lighter and running around yelling non-sens words!
• What? No!
• I saw you too you crazy asshole! Said an old lady.
• I… no! It’s a dream! You are my bitchy wife aren’t you! »

Jack punched the aged women in the face. The patrons restrained him until police arrive and took him to the nearest mental hospital.

Today, Jack still thinks that he is stuck in a nightmare. His goal is to go back to that hotel room to wake up.

The only problem, the hotel doesn’t exist anymore. In fact, it was an abandoned motel.

Jack was found by the police half-naked, screaming and yelling, alone in front of the burning abandoned building.

Jaskiers

P.S. : JOYEUX NOËL À VOUS TOUS !

Publicité

Just Another Haunted Hotel Room Story – Part 2

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

A childish fear, he thought to himself.

He opened the door of his room. A smell of cigarette hit him directly. He stopped smoking two months ago and this smell will not help him forget his longing for a good smoke after the stress of the traveling. Thankfully, he had no cigarette in his pockets to taunt him even more.

The room had that uniform pale brown color, a two persons wide bed, a night stand with a phone, a lamp and an ashtrey. Facing the front bed, a TV stand with a top notch television and multiple drawers. A wardrobe next to the bed et next to it, a bathroom with a toilet. A picture perfect basic motel room.

He let down his luggage on to the floor and laid in bed, looking at the roof stained by years of smoking.

One of these spots looked like a rabbit.

Smoke stains are likes clouds, perfect pareidolia materials. He took out his notebook to write that thought down. The writer learned to write down every thing that inspired him directly as to not forget a good idea that could help him in his futur writing. He never really used the notes he putted down in his journal, it was more of a little obsession, just in case the inspiration decided to take a leave from him creative mind.

Curiosity pushed Jack to open the bed side drawer, see if there was a bible. It’s a curious thing to put a bible in hotel rooms he thought to himself. It was not the case in Europe, it was something typically American. Forcing God into your life, guiding the lost sheep back to the Lord’s herd. He wrote those lines down on his notebook before opening the drawer and discovering a tiny black leathered bible and a full pack of Camel cigarettes along with a lighter.

Torrence heartbeat increased for a bit. There were, in this drawer, God wisdom and the Devil sweet temptation.

He took the bible and opened it where the little strip of tissue served as a bookmark.

He read the first line that caught his eyes :

(Luke 22:40)
When He arrived at the place, He said to them, “Pray that you may not enter into temptation.”

He sighted, looked at the pack of cigarettes, took it, turned and smelled the odor of tobacco before putting it down like it was burning his finger.

Sometime, life work in mysterious ways, like God, but it also have frightening coincidences that make you question existence in its whole. Jack was in deep meditating state, wondering if life was nothing but a simulation, a cruel game, lead by a disturbed man.

He got back looking at the roof to discover that the rabbit looked like a bird now. He moved his head to see if it was a change in his position that made this metamorphosis but it wasn’t.

How strange is the thing controlling us. Why does it seem that sometime, he takes a particular interest in you for a moment and giving you the hardest, cruelest and strangest time of your life ?

Sleep started to ask for its due. Jack took off his trouser and his old leather jacket, rested his head on a pillow and started to dose off.

He started having one of those strange and scary dreams where you wake because you felt like falling off a cliff.

Jack raised up from his bed immediately. He remembered reading something about those kinds of terrific dreams. The brain dropped some kind of adrenaline’s type chemical in the body, because for a moment, he was thinking that the body was about to die, or something along those lines.

It marked, once more, that room with a dreadful feeling. Something was wrong here. After what happened back at the Monclar hotel back in Colorado, the writer knew that there was some strange and powerful power out off our understanding lingering in there. Only peoples who face those strange power know that you shouldn’t mess with those entities.

Jaskiers

Just Another Haunted Hotel Room Story – Part 1

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

Jack T. had landed in Los Angeles, California, at 3 AM from a red-eye flight from Seattle.

After renting a car, he drove south, toward San Diego, where he had a book signing session on the afternoon for his last work, « Travel With A King ». Not his proudest nor his masterpiece. It was a book with no soul, just for the money.

Since this incident in this fancy hotel in Colorado a couple of years ago, he didn’t felt that the writing mojo he used to have was still there. It disappeared in the fire, along with his favorite typewriter, that good old Adler, his loyal comrade since the beginning of his writing career had disappeared. He also lost his wife and little boy. They aren’t dead, they just don’t want to see him ever again since that dreadful day.

On the interstate 5, driving while Jim Morrison sang lyrics that matched the present moment about driving down a freeway after midnight, Jack felt the heavy weight of sleep affecting his eyelid, therefore his driving. He decided to not taunt the devil, and to stop at the first motel with available vacancy to catch a shower and sleep.

After passing the camp Peddleton, he arrived at Carlsbad where a motel with a view on the Pacific Ocean was available.

He parked his car and took a quick look at the hotel. It was a reflex of his job, he used to think, to take time to watch how things looked and made him feel.

This hotel had nothing really noticeable. It was a regular motel, on three level. The picture perfect of an American west coast hotel. No balcony, doors aligned on three levels directly accessible from the outside. You could stay and watch every tenant going in or out of their room.

At the desk, a young man raised his head from his phone as Jack approached.

« – Welcome to the Mo’Hotel. In need of room? He said in a atone voice.

• Well… yes. It’s say on your billboard that their’s vacancy available. That’s why I’m here.
• Yeah… so?
• I’ll take a room buddy.
• Alright. Sea side view?
• Yeah, why not.
• It coast more with a view on the sea.
• Yeah, give me a room. I just want a good night of sleep.
• Room 313, the third floor. Here’s the key.
• Thanks.
• It’s 35$.
• Yeah, alright.
• Also, it’s a weird room.
• Sorry what?
• It’s a room with… things.
• What are you on about?
• Previous clients complained of noise, knocking on the door. They found their clothes and stuff in a mess, things displaced and weird things like that.
• Well, that’s sound fun. Do you have some creepy weirdos as client lately?
• You want my opinion?
• Yeah…
• It’s a ghost! It’s been going on for a bit now. Every time I have to go in this room, I do a little prayer even thought I don’t believe in God.
• Jesus! You surely know how to ease a client!
• There’s a weird feeling to that room. You’ll probably feel it.
• Alright. I just want to sleep, maybe a few hours of sleep will not disturb anything that linger here.
• Well, I hope for you. I’ve seen your face somewhere but I can’t remember where I saw it. Are you famous or something?
• No. I just write on papers for a living. Anyway, good night buddy.
• Yeah, good luck… night mister.
• Thanks! »

Jack started to think that hotels weren’t his things. Everytime, something weird happened when he rented a room, one time, it coasted him his mariage.

As he climbs the series of stairs, a feeling of dread took over his body. Every cells in his body was telling him to leave.

Jaskiers

This someone in the mirror (A short story/reflexion)

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

Have you ever had this curious sensation, when you look at yourself in the mirror and wonder who is it that the glass is reflecting?

Of course, it’s you. Here you are, this is you, physically at least.

You move your head, you realize that you’ll never have the possibility to see yourself with your own eyes, you need a mirror or a photography.

This is a curious and powerful moment. Everything that is happening, everything you lived through, every damned second of you life have been happening in that head, that head reflected by the mirror. This is you, your physical entity.

While thinking about this curious feeling, your thoughts lead you to the infinite of space, the universe.

You realize how futile the human body is compared to the apparent endlessness of our world.

After this weird feeling, which started to become an overwhelming one, you are confronted with death.

Am I really alive? Is this really my reflexion in that mirror or what I think I look like? Is it someone else? Am I really alive? What does « alive » mean? Living? I can see my face, it’s physical, my existence take it’s form in that body of mine.

And what if I die? Am I already dead? What if it was all a lie? What if this life I’m living is just my imagination? Do I really understand that I am real?

As you asking yourself those hypotheticals questions, imagine you see the reflexion in the mirror moving, reflecting you, but it’s start to move on it’s own, it is not reciprocating your movement but live and act on it’s own accord.

Imagine that you follow the movement of that reflexion.

You are becoming the mirror.

You are the reflexion now.

You’re in the wrong side of the glass, if there ever was a wrong side.

What are you really when your one true self is looking at the mirror?

Other than that, when your independent reflexion leave, you are nowhere, in a place where existence isn’t real, imagine space but you can’t move and at the same time you’re drifting slowly. You can see but you see nothing. You only really exist when the other you present itself in front of the mirror.

But let’s go back, you are yourself now. The reflexion in the mirror is living its life.

It’s something frightening to see your body living a life of its own. A feeling of loosing control slowly overwhelm you. What does your body do? What’s life in this reflexion for the other you? How do you think you’ll feel? Like this is not really you? This other body that look exactly like yours live a life that is completely different from the real one. Yet it’s your body that you can see. Is that other physical life completely at the opposite of what your current existence is? Are you the same entity?

What if that reflexion start noticing you and realize that you are his reflexion? Do you think you would talk to each other? What kind of questions would you ask to that other you? What kind of question will he ask you?

Imagine seeing this reflexion of you passing through the mirror, touching your face.

You can join them or let them join you.

What will be you decision?

What if life was nothing but a very long and painful hallucination? A farce? A joke? A simulation?

A simple, yet sophisticated, reflexion of you own thoughts?

What if since the beginning, you don’t exist? Never was and never will be?

Your physical being is just a reflexion. From a mirror, a photography, someone eyes. You only really exist inside your mind. So, should we really put this much importance towards apparence? Shouldn’t we trust what we feel instead of what we see?

Our world is inside our minds. Individually and collectively.

Jaskiers

People are strange (A short story)

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

Letter received and diffused by The New-York Pines after the gruesome discovery of a dead body in Greenwich Village :

Greetings New-Yorkers and to the whole wide world ;

I discovered that I must be a strange fellow since my art wasn’t recognized the way I thought it would be.

This is annoying to put your heart and soul into something and seeing it end up being a disaster.

Maybe because people are strange, or maybe this is all me. I’m confused…

I’ve carefully choosed my subject and the scenery. The message that I wanted to share with the world completely falled apart. Nobody seems to have really understood my work, my art. I have put a lot of heart and effort into it. But people don’t seems to appreciate this art of mine.

It was beautifull, at least from my point of view.

Carefully hanged on an old telegraphic wire linking two building, hanging in the air and crossing a busy and scenic commercial street, there was exposed my masterpiece, for you all to see.

A torso that I, the « misunderstood artist » sculpted and carved into the most noble components. A component that no artist ever use, or very rarely.

Just a torso a real human torso, suspended in the air in the same pose as the Christ on his cross.

It took some time to do this… finding the right materials, the place… It took some thinking to hang my art piece in the right place. I won’t really go into details, a magician keep is secret, and so does the artist.

What kind of message I wanted to vehiculate ? This is the kind of questions no artists should answer ! Let it to your audience to build their own opinion. Why does the artist always need to explain his work ? It’s too easy if we revealed the true meaning of our art ! Let the individual to make is own assumption. That’s why art exist : make up your own minds, find the meaning, your personnal one.

Does a piece of art always have to make sense ? Hell no ! It have a meaning for sure, unconsciously, we give it one when we’re creating it. Personally, I let my instincts take the wheel of my creativity. Can’t go wrong if it is from a feeling deep within my soul that my art come to life.

But, like I said before, people are strange. Jim Morrison used to sing about this. He probably knew how strange it was to be an artist, a successful one, and seeing all those peoples, fans, journalists, critics, others artists, criticizing your work and at the same time your life. Wich is stupid !

Let me give you and advice : you have to differentiate the personnal life of an artists from his work. Those are two completely different entities.

And as for the way an artist express himself, one should not judge them to harshly.

Of course I say that in my own defense because I know that I have traumatised peoples by hangin a real human torso in a middle of a busy street.

Lessen, it was an experience, yes a awfull one but I did get reactions !

Next time, I’ll kill the guy in front of your innocents and pathetic eyes !

What I did was art. And it’s a disrespectful to call me a narcissistic and perverted killer !

I have made New-York a trend Again ! I’m the new Andy Warhol !

I am a king maker ! That is the name that I want you all, fucking maggots, to call me : The King Maker !

Sincerely ;

The King Maker.

Jaskiers

Tributes to The Lizard King # 5 | It’s all Over

The « Tributes to the Lizard King » series is my hommage to the poems and writings of Jim Morrison.

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

Today, it’s all over.

We buried the

Unknown Soldier.

Lighted a candle,

nourished the fire.

Walking in the desert and

Step on a wire.

Trip in the sand, and…

Fell in love with a witch

and her magic wand.

Slowly she raised my hand.

Til’ the heaven stop the hell.

That’s what’s she told me.

Did she loved it?

I can’t tell.

I loved her two time,

One for tomorrow and one for

Today.

It’s all seem to far away,

like the Beatles and Yesterday.

Life is a bet,

to no one’s,

we owe debt.

Baby we gonna be alright,

because we learned how to forget.

As the sun we’ve been waiting for,

Set.

I need to go away,

We are just wanderer,

on planet Earth.

Just flesh, eyes, nervous systems and beating hearts.

Cancel our subscriptions to the

resurrection.

They’re is but one direction,

one thing we will all go through,

you know what I’m talking about.

I leave you, remember me, flamboyant,

no encore.

Followed her in the wood.

You want the world,

Now !

Scream, act bold,

scold because they scorched

our beautiful sister.

As the world go round and round,

we going numb and dumb.

Nobody want to fight in the front line,

for a wicked politician.

Good news !

The hitchhiker is dead !

Peoples flock the street,

but I feel dread.

This was me, the all time !

I had this thirst for love I could not quench

I’ve fallen down.

I can not stand.

Because this is the END.

—

Jaskiers

Tributes to The Lizard King # 4 |A Killer awoke before dawn

The « Tributes to the Lizard King » series is my hommage to the poems and writings of Jim Morrison.

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

Wandering in the darkness

For a moment.

Approaching the light and another.

The hitchhiker full of hatred

Realize he is nothing less than dead.

A cold summer rain

A warm winter snow

in the blanket of ice

He took his final bow.

What happened ? His everything allright Pam ?

Young people still dying for Uncle Sam !

Jim !

Nothing have changed.

Put in some pill, cure my brain.

Of disease

with ease.

Coughing

I’ill stop drinking tomorow morning !

That’s what’s the doctor said.

How much did I paid ?

Cheap drugs

Grave dug

Père-Lachaise

Next stop.

The girl in the window

Still won’t drop.

How they will spread hateful inks

Puting on the paper my weirdest kink.

Always alive

For death I strive

One day I’ll dive

for one last night.

With my pal.

Cosmic Girlfriend

Witch and devil

Is this the end ?

Game ! Took a bet !

Dead body in a bath

mother, father, let your kids avoid the draft !

Beautiful friends, look for a cold blooded lizard

Instead of a scamming wizard.

In few decade will come a friend

destroying the establishment from the inside.

And a bullet In his brain

That will be all he gain.

Everyone carry their pain.

Perverted, divergent generation of unholy saints

Singing for the redemption of…

I’m glad you came.

When I do it alone darling

I feel such a shame.

This is not the same.

Can we stop that game.

Boring end of a day,

an other dead corpse

an other death for hopes.

Oh captain I feel sorry.

Why so much disdain ?

Mistrust ? Why do they deserve

a bullet in the guts ?

Why Am I here ? What’s my worth ?

I will finish my days

with my mistress.

I’ve sang about the scream of a butterfly

Fly,

high,

a life unchained, untied.

Freedom for all.

The real one.

Don’t listen to your president

he too, kill innocent.

Exhuberent, arrogant.

All of them,

adamant,

lunging,

Clinging for power.

Humanity ? For that it’s over.

They send your child

to the slaughter house.

When they should be hanging out

in a road-house.

Dead generation

Forget the past.

It’s their turn now

To turn the tide.

A table turn

the forest burn

kids with gun,

They’ve got the fund,

to wage their war.

But none for them,

by the side of the road,

abandonned again.

The hitchhiker

modern Charon

Cross the river

it is shallow

everythings seems,

so hollow.

How the place you’ll go !

Fly high

Come down

to drown

and die.

You fell of the boat

their’s no one above

Neither below.

How the place you will hurt

Boots full of dust

rifles full of rust.

The killer of the futur,

will taste an other kind

Of lust !

Lost !

Mother ?

Yes son ?

Nothing, I’m moving out, moving on !

Buy the times this message reach you,

I will be long gone

because I alway awoke before dawn.

I put my boots on.

Father ?

Yes son ?

I’m not the one,

searching for honor.

Neither glory.

Don’t you worry

Mom, dad.

I’m glad,

thanks to you, a decent life I had,

reality hit me hard.

Nothing,

meet me at the psych ward !

—

Jaskiers

Tributes to The Lizard King # 3 | Rising your Mojo

The « Tributes to the Lizard King » series is my hommage to the poems and writings of Jim Morrison.

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

Lit a cigarette
In front of the audience.
Hit it once
Throw it on them.

Flamethrower
In the trenches,
Audacious !
Going over the fences.
Government lies are denses.

Valse
Tango
Spanish
And Flamenco.

Bulls love mouvement
Not the color !
Smell the blood
Iron odor.

Open the Doors !

travel, jump on the floor

no feast, again ?
No friends
No honor.

Bedroom full
Of books.
Trying to plant some
Roots.

Hangin on to something.
Check the noose.

Give him boose
So he can leave.
On the loose.
He cannot choose.

A freak accident,
By the side of the road,
Dead Natives Indians.
White Americans are
Guilty.

They said ;
Careful !
They’re a killer on a road !
You know the form of his brain !
Tried to change him in vain.
He want to inflict pain.

Hotel money sex and alcool
Hangover as an hyperbole.

Cigarette ashe burned my crotch.
I have to find another dealer
Another dope,
To float my boat.

Tell God
Face Satan,

He’s got himself,
A face, one of a goat.

Watergate,
Call Deepthroat.

A missing colony in Roanoke.

Soft balls, eyes.
hard bones, hole.
Die.

She just want to sleep with some guy.
He just want a relationship.
Church, mariage and
Everything.

How boring…

Guns on the night stand
gonna make the night end.
Note of Achille last stand.

Walking on one leg
shooting with one hand.

The other to busy,
Making provocative gestures.

Yesterday, far away
A Beatles is dead
imagine, song wrote in bed
For a protest
by a millionaire
it’s business
long hair
Man.
Really dont care.

Another shooting
Hitchhiker in the wilderness
Black tharp
Bullets
Cobain brain
Sex drive drained
clout gain
When the music start again.

Daughter of the storm,
birds feeding their offspring
Worms.
They’ve feasted on your dead body.

Morning glory.
Take good care of my wood.
please lady of the street
Be good.

Yelling compliments aloud
head in the clouds.

Give me one ! Please
put myself at ease.
The old men is wise
your thighs, my prizes.

Tight squeeze.

Reflection on the tempo
no mirror
Check ego.

Valentine, oh Valentine !
Officers, I’m innocent !
They started it,
stamping elephant
wear some elegant
cloths.
For you are the galant.
Bed sheets, a talent.

Lucy in the sky with diarhhea

way done bellow.
On the receiving end,
guess a color,
said yellow.

Submarine
Nuclear
missile. Launch.
Being eated alive
by a brown bear. Lunch.

With me you are
You
Tomorow we’ll be good.

But tonight
I’ve met a maniac,
Who think the hear is flat.

Walk on the moon
the dark side
of her. The bright
Influence the sea tide.

Tidy little bedroom
tank crew go boom.

Met the witch on her broom.

Patriarca
Pater Riot

Pussy,
super ball.
An invite
welcome home.

The same rhymes,
the same time.

Kill a men
Don’t go to prison
attacking a demon.

Stay with mom
leave us alone.

Quote on quote
Broad on Broadway’s sidewalk.

Take it, see you, shit sister.

Kneeling for the anthem,

Welcome.

Go home

you are a dead.

Mouvements and conflicts
In our eternity.

Leave
Live light show
making it flows.

Foes full of flaws.

Old papy pays the fine
With rusty Diamonds.

Stay easy and calm
Reproduce.

Scream at the wall.

Great lf the sea

make out the scenery.

Boddah
Woke up !

When ?

Foremost, tomorrow,

Forward, too hard.

First Forest, burn.
Familiar with the boss
But we hate him.

Ate.

Wink.

School called
Let him in.

Fallen
Dragged
Killed.

Holy war,

All in the
Film Noir.

And whiling to be reborn.

No renaissance.

Take your Time.
Reverse the big flow.

A sail laid on the sea tide.

Cancer diagnostic,

let me die.
For what.
Rested my case before and again.
Peaceful resident
Adamant and conscientiously resistant.

I let myself drown into the sea.

We are from another realm ?

Nod your head yes
And I’ll say no.

Go away demon of the night
Yesterday I rested
Today once more,

So let me go !

Your evil dance.

Demonic chance.
See you after.
Today.
The sun is up.
Ghosts throwing up.
They couldn’t handle
Their last cup.

Bye now
World of non-sense.

To never and ever.

Good sight.

For a good bye.

—

Jaskiers

Tributes to The Lizard King Series # 2 | Turn On The Lights !

The « Tributes to the Lizard King » series is my hommage to the poems and writings of Jim Morrison.

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

The music as ended, get up and turn on the lights.

Slowly, my eyes will burn.

Onward !

Let me rest
Fight my inner demons
Unrest.

Outside the window,
Hear the tempest.
Invasive thoughts,
Unwelcomed guest.

Heavy burden, get of my chest.
your finger tips
Run on my skin,
The devil and his jest.

In the never,
Go west,
In the wilderness
thick bushy forest.

Turn on the lights,
Let’s make it bright !

Since the music’s over,
Watch out for the Hitchiker,
Faceless shadow,
Mean, rugged, you disgrace !

I’ll tell you,
When to
Put it off

Because my dear

Death…

it’s not the end
The dark feelings, the bitter,
Bend.
Once more. Over. We’ll do it again.

Just a beginning.

Pass the chemical,
for the American pastoral
Not a country for the Royals.

Let’s go back, to the Grace.
Dear Father, they’re sinner.

To the moon.

All above
A watchtower
No joker
Tell dylan
No tambourin man !

Come again come again !
No ! Next Time.

Right now,
Still need to gather
That mind of mine
thinking about that
Surprise gathering
unlocket it
Took of my hat.
Ready for
The blow-back.

Poor Ophelia, you said it.
The gambler hit.

All in
Chance are
One to five
I only have
Luck this time.

And you, angel,
Wipe out the Dust
With those fairy wings
wind gust.
Throught the Windows
Again, Hitchiker looking for.
Making Widows !

Still, it’s not the time
come
And talk. It will hurt
less
lizard hard eye,
bedroom a mess.

Bring in no priest
banned books all over the place.

Watch for every step,
gain distance from me,
Go away from you.

Still up
mine almost there
Their’s time to spend
life to waste.
no shackles

on wrist.
Welcome, this is not a test
put on weight. The robber
got no vest.

He’s always heading west.

Thunder rolling in the east
maggots and yeast.

Always the same,
Repeating storys
of mother crying
of machins, gunning
Killing,
Bombing.
Rising mister ?
Mojo willing !
Tasty !
Well, billing.

Money for nothin’
The Killer on the road
Gunslingin’

Hooker of my street
Corner.
Hustling with J.Edgar
Hoover.

Over. Not.

Let’s tie another knot !
Hear an other note,
go down and up.

Shining through sherif !
Show, shiner, shining
First photography
aliby !
No you honor,
I’ve condessed
I killed him
jury’s in horror.

Again the window !
Supected spectator
Spectacular and
Sceptical
illusions are not opticals

In my youth
Vigor
Optimum
Continuum
Momentum
Ridin’ bum
Numb
Thumbs press her gum.

Pentobarbital delirium
Til death tear us apart !
Glad to hear from them
the sect
The guru
Solding your gem.

What’s life but a game.

Lights are off, didn’t notice it at first
back at it,
last to run.
Lead the fun
cow-boy empty your gun.

Fragile, fragile !
Careful !
When you move the crate
Treatorous creature !

All on board !
Shot vulture !

Nothing is
Against nature,

Except deprived minds like ours.

Good allure…

Ascending !
Descending…
Deceiving.

Producting
Engenering
Ring
Of
fire.

Situation is dire !

Light spray faster than
A startled cat.

Gaining more fat
Bulking.
For the King.

silence, no more chat.
Dear audience
This is the end

Of the act.

Dim the light.

Slowly.

Dazed and confused.

Down the hatch

Once again, dear friend.

Down and out.

Goodbye.

—

Jaskiers

Tributes to The Lizard King series # 1 | Under the influence

The « Tributes to the Lizard King » series is my hommage to the poems and writings of Jim Morrison.

FYI: I am not fluent in English, I’m trying to be at least. Sorry for the potentials mistakes. Feel free to correct me in the comment section.

—

Wrote under influence

Here I am. Once again I have to take this pill supposed to make me feel good. To stop my sadness and to make me sleep.

Let me tell you, I hate those drugs ! My instinct, when I’ve been prescripted them, told me that’s wasn’t a good thing. I should have followed my instinct. After all, this ancient gift lead us, humanity, to where we are right now.

The first time I took them, they tasted like something… chimical. Almost sour and surely not a moment I look up to when I’m going to sleep.

I accuse them of being responsible for a lot of physical problems. Hair failling out from my scalp.

It mess with my whole body but others, them, they all seems ok after taking it but apparently… the problem is me.

So, once I swallow the pills, I was sure that this drugs will lead me to degradation.

Well I have heard many times, from my gut instinct, from the inside.

So I kept taking it… it was something. I took one a few minutes ago.

telle me the worse situation.

How much of pill consumption do i need ?

This pill also bring non-sens.

This is a strange things, what am I seeing ?

So now, I should really understand.

I dread having to take them.

They burn my brain.

Until the sun rise, that cruel mesure of time. A tic and a toc.

This is messing up everything over there. Why do we need sleep anyway.

Doing it’s things, it’s a very good service !

It’s difficult to write under the influence. Why ? Too hard for you to fully understand. Take one for yourself darling.

They want to kill a loyal customer. I wish I could go and see, but I’m on my way to become a zombi.

I don’t understand why I need this… come on. Why don’t you go inside and leave me alone after consumption ?

What kind of subject do you offer me ?

Vision of tree and fake leather.

Where do you wan’t to lead me ?

What do you want to show me ?

What do you want from me ?

Why are you showing me this ?

Is everything ok ? You burn my brain.

My energy you’re draining.

Too much damage ! I’ll finish in the gutters.

Stop enforcing your laws on me !

Segnõr stop ! I’m only daft, don’t wan’t to die yet !

If only my body could understand. I just want sleep.

How heavy is the mind ? How fragil it is. A simple pill !

The forest is waiting for me. I see the tree, green leaves ! I take some for thee…

How romantic ! Lost in my antics’!

Thanks you Jim for your wisdom,

Because know I’m feeling free !

In my poetry !

Unleash the crazy !

Down, my eyes are bleeding. For trying to escape an heavy mind. Can’t even found solace in the arms of the sleeping god !

Why Am I Even (heaven) here ?

Duality of the two sides of my brain. One telling me : give up yourself my dear. The other ? Too numb, to dumb.

I don’t want it ! But I need it ! Duality, this foe ! You ennemy !

Let me sleep !

But you have to do your deed !

Dead.

Writing till my mind shut off.

A gift for you, dear reader. Kind audience.

This is everyday, a battle for wellness.

A pill, and another one. Waking up in the middle of the night to finish the work. And meeting a strange fellow. A mysterious entity took control. Few hours of sleep and he disapear.

How strange.

Thanks Jim.

To the wizard king !

Keep dancing !

I wish I could… tame my music.

Sorry, I need some sleep.

—

Jaskiers