Paranoia.

Happy news every-no-one! I'm actually re-discovering my passion for writing, and for fiction nonetheless. Here's something I started and finished today. At this point in my travels, this is excellent progress. Pitiful that I've come to the point to say that, but still, relative excellent progress. Striving to improve, take care,

Paranoia. 


She had become great friends with Paranoia. He accompanied her almost everywhere, but became especially talkative when walking hand in hand with the dark. This evening had been no different than the rest of those blackened November nights, save for the heavy silence that hung over the streets and weighed down the trees. 

Paranoia was waiting for her at the end of her shift. Tonight, he leaned against the dumpster that she fed sticky boxes and cigarette butts all day long. She hurried past him, hoping he wouldn't see her and she could forget about him for just this one night. It had been a good day; she had even let a boy catch her attention. Her eyes brightened as she remembered his smile and the way he laughed as he dropped the coffee she had poured for him. She wondered if he would come into the cafe again. 

But Paranoia decided to interrupt before she could think of how to offer her name. She jumped as Paranoia exaggerated the sound of a cough that echoed off the porch of a house. She drew her eyebrows together and took longer strides. 

This ritual was always the same, but tonight she was determined not to let Paranoia dance around her feet. She had to take control. 

A street lamp flickered above her as she turned off the main road and forced herself to take deep breaths and slow down her pace. 

Silence and Paranoia chatted in harmony of the abandoned streets. They hollered at her that the town was draped in silence, save for the muffled car engine that was approaching her from behind. 

She ignored Paranoia when he told her to turn and look at the car. As the car passed, she instead told herself that she should feel nothing but comforted, since the car was a pricey looking silver BMW. She couldn't help but wince, however, when Paranoia pointed out that the car turned down the street that would bring her to her home. 

She soon reached the corner and was relieved that the moving car was nowhere in sight. Paranoia grabbed her shoulder as she passed underneath a low hanging branch, but after stifling a gasp she was able to contain herself with much greater ease than previous nights. She felt confident, but protected her courage by keeping her eyes focused on the simplicity of the ground in front of her. 

She didn't hear Paranoia when he told her of the car approaching behind her. Instead she heard what she would say the next day as she introduced herself to that boy with the smile, and the laugh.. 

                  "My name is..."

Her words slammed dead into the inside of her forehead and dropped like rocks to her stomach as she watched a silver BMW roll slowly past her moderate pace. The sound of the tires sliding over the damp asphalt pierced the silence of the night as Paranoia held a flare in front of her face.

She told herself not to look into the windows that Paranoia told her were tinted, and instead kept her stare facing the cracks in the pavement. She shivered as the car finally seemed to leave her in the distance. 

Paranoia asked her why the same car had passed her twice, and in his alarm did not hear her explanations. 

But it was then, as she lifted her head on que and watched the BMW slowly park within the darkness between the street lamps in front of her that Paranoia let out a screech. 

Her instinctively accelerated pace gave her no time to reason with Paranoia; her eyes bulged and watered as she saw the lonesome figure, leaning against a silver BMW. Paranoia screamed in her face, tugged on her heel and begged her to turn and run, but a new voice had entered the scene. 

Terror now paralyzed her thoughts as adrenaline kicked her pace into overdrive and she sped towards the presence. 

                     Saltwater leaked from her bulging eyes and her teeth clenched so hard that her jaw began to ache. Terror's 

                                      inhuman moans distorted 

the panicked commands of Paranoia, and the voices in her head blurred 

                                          to a chorus of mania. 

As her body became parallel to the pricey looking, silver BMW, the 

                                                                                              mania swelled to

                                                                           a blinding volume.

Paranoia writhed in sorrow and dropped his flare, igniting the 

                                                                                    chaos in flame. 

She could no longer hear her own scream as cold hands approached 

                          and 

                                                    seized her by the elbows.

talk talk talk

Hi again, No one!
Anyone out there? Never mind, I can just sit here, assuming that this blog is reaching somebody as I feel productive like an accomplished writer.
                                  What an entertaining thought, "productivity"...Here on planet Canada, it's summer time. Apparently this means I have no energy. Whatsoever, at any time, ever. I am a blob of blonde goo wilting off of a decomposing log into a puddle, deep within a Scandinavian forest that no one will ever bother to discover.
           Deep eh?
You're probably looking at your computer screen while sneering and thinking, "ew, bitch thinks she's funny or some shit."
                                              Just read the damn poem.
That's all I want. In the mean time i'll live in ignorant Canadian successful bliss, signing autographs on the back of my notebooks.. repeatedly...
The title and subject of this piece combined with the extensive rant I've included here provide for some pretty spiffy irony. That's all I have to say.

Talk Talk Talk, 
   Why must we talk so much? 
Do we really have
                 so much to say 
that it surpasses the need for action? 

I see you love to talk, and to have your 
    opinions known. 
                   But have we 
ever thought, that perhaps all our 
             talk, simply dissipates
as hot air into the smog? 

With all this talk we're built up so high,
as our voices battle 
                    towards the sky. 
We discuss our beliefs, yet then sigh with 
                  relief as we 
tip our hats to another 
                 problem solved. 

And better still is when we 
  protest and scream whilst 
      living in luxury
that our government is for the dogs.

Would you still so heavily speak 
of unfair tax
between sipping wine from 
a crystal glass 
if you knew of the ignorant stench 
that rises from your tongue? 

You have not been to Hell and back, 
Hell will not be frozen by your arrogant 
     talk of empathy and your lack 
                                 of
                                   tact. 

No, your talk heeds nothing, 
save for the illusion that you're  
               helping somebody. 

But alas we still 
      chat, avidly catapulting 
our ideas into space - their 
               absence of gravity 
reflecting our lack 
     of ambition and grace.

Change begins when we talk, but 
does nothing when we 
                    talk 
          without 
                  stop. 

And as the world cries we forget 
     to refute the lie that said 
that something ever came 
                from nothing.