An Ode To A Fast Car (Tracy Chapman Inspired Text.)

I was just a boy before I’ve met you.

I remember our first day as lover. In you flat, with your friend, I often felt out of place many times in my life but you made me fell welcome. This wasn’t easy for me to spend the day with you, at first I thought it would be. I was wrong, simply wrong. There is thing in life that doesn’t need explaining, like that feeling I had with you. If I could describe it, I would say that your love was my home. I haven’t had to force myself into playing a role, I was just myself. In fact, a better self, you had this effect on me, the only thing in the world that cured me from my mental illness, my demons, my fears, my sins. No need of pills or chemical treatment with you… well no, in fact, love do a weird chemical thing in our brain, that lead to happiness.

So there I was, with you and your friends, that were about to leave and all I could think about, is the night, our first night we would spend together. I was anxious for the night, but also looking forward to seeing another side of your love. I hoped I would enough for you.

We both talked about living with each other, so early in a relationship. The wise men say « fools rush in » and we were fools, but full of hope and of love.

That first day, we managed to visit some flat to live together. We hadn’t had much money, being together under a roof was already luxury for us.

Remember, that dusty old flat that we visited. With those creepy neighbors, telling us about how awful it was to leave there. We knew we wouldn’t leave there, but that feeling of a maybe, a future, together was so strong that we visited another flat. Same as before, we couldn’t say it was a roof that we would have above our head.

Then, a friend of yours wanted to see you, you and your new boyfriend. I was fine with it, as long as I was with you.

She started looking for trouble in the thrift shop we were in and we decided to leave her alone, in her mess.

We ran like fools, you with your high heels, your arm tucked under mine. I let you decide our escape route, we couldn’t stop laughing at the simple thought of your friend finding out we left her alone, with a pissed off shopkeeper.

And then, two straits dogs came toward us. They just looked at us and ran away. It was a sign to me, you, a dog, a home and that all I needed.

How could have we thought life would have kept us together? Happiness, some say, come at a cost. What do we had to pay?

I was in the light with you, I was ready to get up, no, better, rise up for you.

How could have I known that the car would not stop? How could I have known that somehow, this random car would take you away from me forever?

How can I live with your scream of agony, for mercy, for help, forever roaming in my mind?

I don’t thing about retaliation nor justice.

My soul wanders in the dark now, until we meet again.

Sorry wouldn’t be a word that you would have like for me to say to you.

I will hold on to your memory, your love, your light that I will search all my life.

Never, ever, I’m sure, I will meet someone like you.

But I know, deep down or high up, there is a place waiting for us both, and not a miserable flat.

We could call it heaven, if being with you is what’s waiting for me at the end of my road.

Jaskiers

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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

Somewhere In The Middle Of Nowhere (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.

You know the saying : searching for a needle on a haystack?

Well, I am the needle, and the haystack is hundred and hundred of miles of snow, and I doubt someone will ever try to look for me, ever. They’re absolutely nothing except a gigantic blanket of thick white powder.

See, I’m an explorator, this isn’t my first time being all by myself, far, far away from civilisation.

But how the heck did I landed here you might ask.

Have you ever heard about the Dyatlov Pass mysterious incident?

If not, here the big lines for you : a bunch of experimented explorators take upon themselves to explore a deep, snowy and, of course, deserted area of the Oural in Russia in 1959.

Those guys never came back. When authorities finally decide to go search for them, they found a ripped tent, bloods, naked dead explorators, some badly injured, one near a tree with shredded feet, he probably tried to climb a pine tree, and the others are ether dead or missing.

They’ve investigated the area and they can’t explain what happened. A wild animal attack? No trace of bites nor lacerations. Lost? No! Like I said, those guys where experimented.

One of them going haywire? Probably.

Why naked? See, when you’re in serious hypothermia, something happens in your brain that make you loose your mind and confuse the coldness with hotness. And, in your tormented mind, you strip yourself from all of your clothes to try to cool yourself down. And you die. I’ve heard from survivors that hypothermia wasn’t the worse way to go. Once you lose your mind, the departing is painless. And, you know, the snow and the cold weather keep your body intact. So if you die in that way one day, your loved one will found your body preserved (if the snow hasn’t melted because wild animals and Mother Nature will feast on your body) and know that you departure was relatively peaceful.

Nah! Don’t thank me! I see the positive side of things whenever I can!

But wait, let’s go back to the dead explorators. What about this guy, found with atrocious injuries?

Well, this is not a normal thing. Did one of his comrade did this? Did he do that to himself ? Your guess is as good as mine.

During the investigation, some people living near the area said they saw a green light, a big one, flashing in the area where those poor dudes were supposed to be.

This wasn’t the first time they saw this flashing green light over there. And strange tales have been plaguing the area about what was behind this beam of light.

Military experiences? It’s Russia after all. they need to test their future death weapons somewhere! Every country as their own little testing ground for their weapons of mass destruction tries.

Those strange phenomena were occurring since a while back, from ways before the creation of weapons of mass destruction.

Those creepy tales where the reasons that this area was never explored.

What are those tales about? Strange creatures, strange noise… and like everything humanity can explain rationally, we blamed extraterrestrials beings.

And your truly narrator, respected mountain climber, explorator and all that jazz got caught in some stupid project.

Which was ; let’s try to understand once and for all the reasons of the death of these explorators.

We have gone, myself and five other adventurers, to fulfil this mission, sponsored by a big energy drink company, to solve these mystery.

At the beginning, all was fine. This isn’t mountain climbing. Just walking in deep snow for miles to a designated area, wich we reached.

While prepping for the night, we’ve heard this deep humming sound. It was resonating in our body.

And then the green light.

Screams. Of terror? Surprise? Excitment?

Well maybe, I remember swearing profusely until… I only remember being surrounded by green, a warm feeling and… nothing.

Until I woke up here, in the middle of nowhere. I have no clues about what happened to me or my pals nor where I am.

As I wrote those lines, I’m feeling very, very warm.

Too much warm !

I’ll take my cloths off, and go back to writing after cooling down.

I feel at peace.

Jaskiers

Waiting For The Sun In L.A. (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.

Ophelia lived in a downtown L.A. Her dreams place to live in.

Since very young, she wanted to become something. Someone different than her mother and father. All the kids got dreams, and a lot of them wish to become a star, a singer, an actor. Being worshipped, being rich, living in a huge mansion. Then they grow up and reality strikes their little beliefs and put them back into reality.

For some, the dream still holds firmly in their mind. They don’t want to give up, not now, not while they are still young and have time to progress, learn and work for them. It often take an early calling, a long-time practice to become successful.

You also have to make connection, travel to the place where the important peoples lives and hang out.

That’s what Ophelia had planned. She could sing, dance and act. She was an attractive young, white girl, blonde hair and blue eyes. She had success in that little conservative town of her in Minnesota. She discovered at this small town how powerful the power of beauty is, especially on men.

She took advantage of few of them, but this was for a good cause. She would not forget them once at the top of Hollywood.

The young women borrowed money to pay for acting class, acting turned out to be more complicated and subtle that Ophelia first thought. She kept working hard, but never had the feeling of self-satisfaction. From her own perspective, her progress in acting wasn’t satisfying. She still had her look for herself, the thing that will gave her Hollywood on a plate. At least that what’s Ophelia believed. Hollywood was the sanctuary of body-worshipping wasn’t it ?

She took up singing class too. She was decent at it, her hope for fame raised even more. Why not become a pop star ? Their’s singers that aren’t that good but still make a career for themselves because they have the good the look and an attitude.

Continuing on her quest to find her real calling, Ophelia borrowed even more money for dancing lessons. She knew she would not become a dancer, and nobody really considered a dancer a star. It was just to better herself, give herself more tools to succeed.

She had boyfriends. More or less, she used them for money, and they used her for her body.

Once she gathered enough money to go conquer the West. Ophelia drove to Hollywood, ready to own the entertainment industry.

Her beauty gave her access to powerful men. Powerful men that gave her a flat in that downtown L.A. where she’s still living in as you reading this.

After false promises by those men, the young women decided to hunt for fame by herself. Going from casting to casting to never having a call back.

Until her good star intervened.

One day, some men in the street asked her for her contact information. He needed someone like her for his project.

Arriving in the studio of that mysterious artist (or businessman) the aspiring actress had to undress in front of the camera and have sex with him.

And she did. That’s how Hollywood worked right ? Nothing new in having sex in exchange for a part in a movie. Plus, she came out of there with a good amount of cash ! This was probably the start, finally, of her career !

Execpted that this sex session ended up on internet. Without her consent.

And the businessman contacted her again. The returns where insanely positive ! The public wanted more of her. More of her nakedness having sex in front of a camera.

She took the opportunity.

Ophelia became a star, a pornstar.

Her family cut ties with her, she was alone. Alone but making money. Not rich thought.

She was famous. Kind of.

Was she disappointed ? Yes.

Did she felt trapped ? Not really. Porn stars have become regular actresses and singers after finding stardom in the porn industry. She will use pornography as her springboard to stardom, the real one.

But people only saw in her the pornographic actress.

She was in fact trapped.

Ophelia still live, hoping for a miracle that will probably never happen. But she’s got hope and nobody can take this out from her. Not you, not even me.

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