Manson's Trites Blog by 276695
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276695's blog: "Manson's Trites"

created on 10/08/2006  |
In an unprecedented move today the Supreme Court of Omnipotent Creation, granted Cain a new trial. Gabriel, representing Cain, stated that new and astounding evidence has been brought forth. Cain, the first born of Adam and Eve, slew his brother Able, in the turmoil that followed an offering to Jehovah, gone awry . A poor dirt farmer, Cain offered Jehovah: “...fruit of the ground”, while his brother Able: “...brought of the firstlings of his flock and of the fat thereof“. Jehovah, apparently a carnivorous fellow, admonished Cain and refused to eat his veggies. Upset over his brother’s one up, Cain tried to speak to Able. The story goes that while they were in the field: “Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him”. Cain, the first born of Eve, and fraught with the responsibly of bringing the first pain of childbirth upon her, has pleaded self defense. “Able was always mommy’s little boy” Cain stated. “He always got what he wanted, and dad (Adam) just let it happen.” Cain said. “I was suppose to be the shepherd , but no, Able wanted to be one. So mom took my sheep away and gave them to the little bastard, and handed me a shovel.” Cain went on to say. “Well he was a spoiled selfish brat”: said Cain. “If Jehovah only knew what Able thought of him, he’d shit his heavenly robes.” Cain went on. “ The little bastard mocked him all the time” Cain said. “What he didn’t know was precious Able was a mean two faced son of a bitch! Literally” says Cain. “Mom was a whore and we both knew it.” Cain’s tone rising a little. “Her and the serpent had a thing going on since the apple fiasco” he claimed. “Able wasn’t even my dad‘s kid, and I was gonna let the cat out of the bag, so he attacked me“ he went on. “ . “I wanted Jehovah to know about his, precious little Able” he said mockingly. The trial is set for later this year and Jehovah could not be reached for comment. Omnipotent Press writer: John Manson
Lady luck Current mood: calm Category: Writing and Poetry This piece is a song I wrote some time ago, the music reminds me of Aerosmith. I like the structure in that each line has a rhyme and the end of each line rhymes with the next line and in succesion with all four lines in the verse. Chorus One roll of the dice, better think twice. You bet it all, win or lose One look in her eyes, and you'll realize lady luck is the master of fools Verse 1 Gonna take a ride on the other side, lay down your bet Twice you burn and you never learn, try to forget Wise is the way but you always stray better pay your debt Tomorrow you pay for the life of today with bitter regret Be careful what you are spending Cause you must repay what they're lending Fear for the stench and decay Tomorrow's the day you repay Verse 2 Paid your dues thought you'd never lose,but you cannot decide Gonna win it back on the color black, never knew she lied There for the dance and a second chance, and your captains pride But the deal's been struck by lady luck, and there's no where to hide. Be careful what you are spending Cause you must repay what they're lending Fear for the stench and decay Tomorrow's the day you repay Chorus One roll of the dice, better think twice. You bet it all, win or lose One look in her eyes, and you'll realize lady luck is the master of fools Bridge Yes I can hold on to better days ahead I can remember those days And I can cling on to the things she said But I must be rid of these ways Chorus One roll of the dice, better think twice. You bet it all, win or lose One look in her eyes, and you'll realize lady luck is the master of fools


I don't burn no candles for tomorrow I don't waste my time on yesterday I won't show no pity for your sorrow Seems to me you like it that way You don't know the paths that I walk You can't understand the things I say Its true what they say talk is talk And you don't really listen anyway. I won't bare my soul for the likes of you I don't like the games that you play I won't sing praises for the things you do Yesterday is gone give me back today. I wont listen to your claims of power I won't pick you up off the floor I will laugh at your pain as you cower And your spells don't hold my mind anymore. Now I'm living my life according to me Making my strife thats the way it should be I don't care if you disagree Cause I'm livin my life according to me.


Jack Current mood: amused Jack was nimble and Jack was quick, but he never quite cleared the candle stick. And ole Mother Hubbard looked in her cupboard and cried. A penny saved is a penny earned, ashes to ashes and we all get burned. Little Jack Horner sat in his corner and lied Cause he never pulled plum from a cherry pie, seems funny to me that we never asked why. And little Miss Muffet who sat on her tuffet returns. She brought her curds and she sought a way, she shot the spider with the ole bug spray. Now the spider once beside her, lies in the grass and burns. Life is funny and life is cruel, when nobody plays by the golden rule. And ole King Cole and his merry ole soul, hijacked a ship to the Gulf of Mexico. London bridge never fell down, just a game kids play on the ole school ground. Penny for your thoughts seems pretty cheap, when the questions they ask are mighty deep. And a pictures worth a thousand words. Jack fell down and broke his crown, now his storys makin money for the same small town. When Jill got ill they say she never had a chance. Romeo and Juliet two love birds we will never forget, was it true love or just another bad romance. We say our vows for better or worse, now theyre just another line in the second verse. A brand new bride can not hide her pain. Cause he packed his bags and he went away, left with her best friend the very next day. Now the gifts and the cards and the picket fence yard remain. Life is funny and life is cruel, when nobody plays by the golden rule. And ole King Cole and his merry ole soul, hijacked a ship to the Gulf of Mexico. London bridge never fell down, just a game kids play on the ole school ground. Penny for your thoughts seems pretty cheap, when the questions they ask are mighty deep. Story books and nursery rhymes, remembering the best of times. Fishin poles and skimming rocks, rolled up pants and mixed matched socks. Do you remember when, you spent the night with your best friend? Teachers taught the golden rule, and we all played jokes on April fools And a pictures worth a thousand words.
Dragon slayer Current mood: contemplative Category: Writing and Poetry That they liked him was no wonder. How could they resist? He had spent a lifetime learning how to say these things. Ah, and even the most subtle reaction to his words was not lost on him. He remembered everything. His words could sing the ears and dance inside their heads, striking chords, creating symphonies of romantic thought. And not a single word was wasted. He despised those that wasted words. Words were precious to him. Each word was chosen with the utmost care. And they loved him. They loved his words. They loved the way his words made them feel. The way they made them feel about themselves. He knew the path to the heart well. He could pave a silver and gold road of glimmering adulations directly to the heart. And polish it with velvet rags of hope. Longing rays of hope. They loved him and they knew not why. They longed for more, more ear tickling from this master of sweet drivel. And he despised them. Deep in the very fabric of his soul, he despised them. He hated them for the millions of hearts they had broken with their words. The lies they had told with their words. And the souls they had destroyed with their words. These indiscriminate wasters of words were loathsome to him. Since he could remember he had been sickened by them. His mother had made sure of that, though she never knew. He had always been able to see the insincerity behind her words. He could see the slightest twist of her tongue as this viscous venom passed through her lips. And he knew she was only one of them. Yes, he seen the others as they slew their wicked verbatims about and he would cringe with every word. How dare they toss these poetic trites about. "I love you" ... "I long to be with you forever". How dare they! Not a single word of truth floated upon the whispers of their breath. He seen men, so many men taken in by these lies. He had vowed to himself long ago to slay this pernicious dragon and with his words he did. He used his words to twist their minds and break their hearts and it pleased him so. Everytime he did he would remember his mother. He would once again hear her lethal chants. The very chants that had broke his father. That had taken this gallant man, this strong German, and made a child of him. Yes she had lied and he knew forever that they all lied.
Safe place Current mood: content Category: Writing and Poetry He lays there between the two red radio wagons tilted up on their sides, under the cardboard and wood that finishes his little place. He hears a small propeller plane pass over as he lays in this place. He does not know that forever from this day forward, he will be transported back to this time and this place whenever he hears one of these putter planes. What was he thinking as he laid there? His mother would come and call for him soon. She would see the two wagons covered with the wood and know where he was. But she would call as a mother does and pretend she did not know where her little boy was hiding. He was not hiding, he was just safe. He felt safe there, in this place. The world was out there, outside this place, these wagons and boards. This would forever be his safe place. He would visit these wagons and lay in this sandy place many times in his life. He would hear his mother calling and he would hear the small plane pass over. The sun is shinning and coming through the cracks between the boards that lay across the two wagons. He can hear the slight breeze as it rustles the dry leaves on this warm fall day. What thoughts run through the mind of a four year old boy as he lays in his safe place. Does he ponder the world and the universe. Does he dream of bicycles and dump trucks. Does he wonder what his mother will think, when she finds him here? There are so many things his little mind will not think about. He will not think about how his heart will feel the first time it is broken. He will not think about how the first woman will feel in his arms. His little mind is not burdened with these trifles. His little mind is free, so free. Free to dream, unfurled by the notions of impossibilities. Everything is possible in his little mind. Today he lays in another safe place, not unlike these wagons and boards. His mind once again free. Everything possible once again. His mother is calling him once again. A small plane flies over this place. His wife and children hear the plane and do not know that forever from this time they will be transported back to this time and place whenever one of the putters fly over. This place, his safe place. The sun is shinning and the dry leaves are blowing in the cool autumn breeze. He does not know. What does a person think about as they lay there in this safe place. Do they ponder the hereafter. Do they dream of bright lights and pearly gates... Does he wonder what his mother will think, when she finds him here? There are so many things he will not think about.
Pretend Current mood: cold Category: Writing and Poetry The smile appears on cue now, and only the acute eye can note the slight insincerity. She knows, because she knows everything about him, but she does not care anymore, because the smile is better than the other. And in the most profound sense of irony she pretends not to notice. Her smile appears less often, she has never played the game as well, or maybe she just doesn't want to work that hard. The phone rings and the voice is charming and again she knows, and this voice grates across her ears like chalk on a wet board. No irony here, he knows she dislikes it and never pretends to conceal it. The cards and flowers arrive as do the invitations to celebrate the festal intimacies, and they both know, but the days pass as do the nights. Her ears are rarely tickled with adoring adulations, and sweet notions are buried deep in dresser drawers. The winks they share across rooms are no more than idiosyncratic gestures as are many trites. Chuckles and *vambrants are shared but not relished. Two bodies in sync by routine. Proclamations are made, of this couples undying love, as friends do, and they play it well. The annivereries come and go, toasts are made and the diamond grows in size. He places each new one on her finger, careful now of her frail bones, as relatives and friends applaud. Today even the most unsuspecting guest knows the short smile is forced. He tries but he can no longer pull the facial muscles to render the illusion. Something is missing... it is her. She has taken with her, that which he never knew he had. As she lays in her final sleep the painful realization hits him hard. The smiles, the winks , and the *vambrants were as real as the life that has now past. He cries and not even a fool would suspect the tears, * The word vambrant belongs to the author and describes the short rants that follow jokes told .
Jesus Christ Superhero Current mood: chipper Category: Writing and Poetry You know I often like to think of the things Jesus could do. He was afterall the son of god. Omnipotent comes to mind and the possibilities are endless. Now I've heard the stories about Christ healing people and splitting loaves of bread to feed the masses. I think the coolest thing he could do was walk on water. I'm not sure why he could do this, it seems more like a novelty act than to serve any purpose. I think it would have been really cool if he could have flown. Fying is like the best thing anyone can do that has powers. Jesus sorta had a cape, well robes I guess, but he could have made one. And I think anyone that could walk on water could fly. He could have at least tried. Maybe he could and never knew it. Damn he could have flown away and never got crucified. Well I guess when he turned into an angel he could fly. Maybe thats why he couldn't fly before. He didn't have his wings yet. Well I just think it would have been awesome if Jesus could have flown and I would probably believe in him if he could have. I'm not much of a walking on water person, it doesn't impress me as much as flying. So if only he could have flown just a little... Manson
The Author Current mood: confused Category: Writing and Poetry The Author Tearing at the page once again, the frustration burns deep in his heart. All words lost now. The stacks of romantic novels are of no use. Hope is a flaunting glimpse of what could have been. He lays his head down upon the crumbled papers. The words have failed him. How could she not see? Did he not make it clear enough? Was he too ambiguous? Thoughts racing, as his forehead presses against the drying ink. He feels weak and utterly drained. The words are gone, scrambled like his tattered mind. He had poured every last ounce of himself into this failed plight. He was nothing but a shell, hollowed by this daunting, wasted task of romantic quips. Had she not noticed, was she immune to his gallant gestures of raging fonts. His heart, barely beating, sank heavily in his chest. The stacks of papers sat neatly beside the books on his desk, as did the envelopes. Each page held a piece of his heart, which he gladly offered to her in the only way he knew. Adornments sprinkled upon the pages like daisies in rolling fields of high grass. He spent many lonely nights and countless days pouring and pouring his waning heart onto these pages. All alone he sits, head down, wasted...flailed... sinking, nothing left, nothing left to say. All alone at his desk, with these books, with these adorning, glowing tributes to love, all alone he sits. Wondering and waiting, always waiting, waiting for the time to come. And the tributes lie waiting..waiting next to the books...waiting next to the envelopes waiting to be sent. Manson.
This savage goodbye Current mood: crushed Category: Writing and Poetry This Savage Goodbye I know the feeling that my heart is being ripped out shall pass, yes I know that. I know that the more time goes by, the more my heart will let go. But my heart does not know that. All it knows is it's being ripped to pieces. And it reaches out at the slightest chance, that there will be no need of this goodbye. It beats harder at the slimmest glimpse of hope. But this goodbye comes and it tugs and it tugs hard. It is unforgiving, it is relentless. This goodbye is a savage. It knocks at the door waiting for an answer and the heart beats harder. I open the door knowing the pain will come and it does. Shooting pain, unbearable pain. I walk through the door and the searing pain, once the heart has lost hope, cuts deep to the bone. The heart races, fearful like a child lost without the parent. I must keep walking, walking away from this goodbye, never look back for the heart is still hopeful. The heart is pulling me back, begging, reckoning with the mind. My heart tells me, this can't be, no... we can do away with this goodbye..we must go back. But I keep walking. With each step the heart beats harder. It cries out one more time... NO! PLEASE NO! and yet I keep walking. I so want to go back and resist this goodbye, but I must not. I keep walking. My heart is dragging on the ground now, digging into the ground, crying! I keep walking. I must keep walking. I have a very long way to walk because it is a long journey, away from this goodbye, to the place where the heart will ever feel safe again. Goodbye.
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