The Massacre

13 03 2015

The wind it swirls today.  The leaves have barely died, yet they are already stripped from the trees.  These outward adornments no longer distract and the varnish is gone.  All that is left is tatters of images floating by my face.  The wolves howl, the guard dogs roar, and there is no silence to be found… the wolves are incredibly hungry, and they love nothing more than the taste of sheep.

The massacre is colorful, and few seem sad — other than the rancher and his family.  Come one, come all and see the spectacle as the hounds tear each other to shreds.  One acts from instinct, the other from training, but the blood is all the same.  I watch the fight from afar and I know that I should want a winner.  But as the fight drags on from dusk until dawn, all I can think of is the breeze.  The wolves think of nothing but their hunger.  The dogs think only of their duty.  Both find the other to be a villain or a monster from the depth of Perdition.

In my mind it’s so easy.  One step off the ledge, drop in the center, and try to bring a calm to the fight.  I feel that I see the problem and the solutions feel simple, but part of me knows they won’t listen.  I have thought and contemplated, among these drifting leaves and wanting to take the plunge.  I walked to the edge of this jagged cliff, and I heard a small voice say, “don’t jump.”  The struggle inside: to fall on that knife and try to make the hounds stop — and I know I’ll be torn to shreds — or to listen to that voice that whispers again, “don’t jump.”  My foot extends into thin air as I fight for control… to lean or not to lean?  To step or not to step?  To fall and be torn apart in the name of peace or to obey and be safe while feeling useless?  And the voice insists to me, “don’t jump.”

The howls grow louder and the carnage more visceral as the blood begins to flood the street. A mob is now cheering and taking bets against the factions. A drunken roar follows every blow like a boxing match gone horribly wrong. The wind whistles around me, who is balanced so precarious, and threatens to make my mind for me. But oh, the noise. I can’t even hear my own thoughts anymore, replaced by the sounds of bedlam. And suddenly over the sound the voice shouts to me, “DON’T JUMP.” Silence.

My mind returns to my own control, and I realize my own posture. My foot returns to the ground, and I step away from the ledge as it all comes back to me… the one who owns the sheep is the shepherd, and I am no one’s hound. All that is left is a shake of the head and my own wondering at the shepherd’s non-response. Today, I am alive because of a small voice.

I have thought and contemplated. I have pondered, inquired, wept and pontificated. I walked to the edge of the cliff and I heard a small voice say, “Don’t jump”. Though I have listened, I always wonder… what if I had?


My Trip to Derpington

10 03 2014

“It’s putrid!  It’s worthless!  It will never mean much!”  The familiar words ring out down the hall.  Some weary traveler came to visit and has been greeted by the customary, generous hospitality.

Welcome to Derpington!  Situated in the Depression of Potential between the picturesque Mount Preposterous and the River Pretension, this quaint little town welcomes any and all who would like to stop in and stay a while.  The mayor of this hard-to-find-yet-impossible-to-leave little hamlet is none other than Derpy McDerpson — indeed, he is the fifth generation of McDerpson to hold the position since Derp the Greater founded the town, lending it his name.  It is at this point that we must tell you that Derpington has a look all it’s own.  A very square place, indeed, being some half a perfectly square mile in size — leading some to theorize that that is why Mayor McDerpson singlehandedly passed a law saying that buildings could not be taller than 3,748.8 feet tall… and then built City Hall to exactly that height… and ordered the 241.2-foot dome removed from the 4000-foot cathedral

In Derpington, everything is “just so”.  The windows are all made of four 8″x10″ panels.  The walls are all straight.  The head on the beer is always a perfect half-inch.  Mayor McDerpson himself conducts regular reviews to ensure the quality of Derpington — “It promotes tourism!” the mayor declares, “… and it adds to the quality of life!”  Mister McDerpson is a very well-off individual, indeed, as many people come to him seeking his wisdom and opinion… and even those who don’t are well aware of what it is.  The man, the mayor, he is a foremost expert in all things — that is why he is the mayor, after all.  In his attempts to better society, the mayor may give you his most precious guidance and advice — maybe to help you see the light, maybe to help you avoid wasting your time.

“Our buildings are finer!  The parties are livelier!  Our jokes are funnier and adventures more rambunctious!  If you don’t live in Derpington, you are probably trying to get here as fast as you can!”   If you walk the streets of Derpington, you have no fear — crime is for lesser cities.  You won’t be bothered by beggars, no one needs anything of you.  The bars are well-stocked, the dining is impeccable and the view — AH! the view! — the view of the surrounding country is stunning!  The rolling hills are the brightest green you can imagine and appear afire in the deepest and most vibrant red of the sunset… “The finest sunset you will find!”  The mayor will remind you.

Derpington is quaint, a perfect mix of city and country.  All the amenities are always in arm’s reach, and you need never see another soul.  Mr. McDerpson has arranged it this way on purpose — “Why would you want to be bothered by all those ‘other’ people?” he asks, “People simply get in the way of enjoying life!  I tell people what they need to know so they can be free to enjoy the really important task of ‘existing’, you see.  If people would just listen to me when I tell them things, they would be safe, free and ‘really’ happy — not having to bother with all that newfangled ‘experience’ stuff and the atrocious PEOPLE that go with it!  Can you really think of anything worse than having to deal with ‘others’ all the time??”
Indeed, the mayor is a thoughtful host: he provides a near-constant stream of refreshment made right there in the Depression — “I prefer to think of it as a ‘valley’…” I stood corrected — and your alarm clock at the hotel won’t go off until after the construction crews have closed all but one of the roads out of town — “It’s just another helpful service to make the visitor’s stay more pleasant!  You don’t have to worry about making decisions here… it promotes tourism!  After all, there is a train to Aspiration every third Thursday after a New Moon at 4 in the morning.”

It’s a wonder that no one actually lives in Derpington, save the Mayor.  Such a wonderful little spot to stay and enjoy the view, this hidden gem of the Depre–sorry, “Valley”.  The Mayor will tell you that most, if not all of the residents are avid mountain climbers, campers or distance swimmers… and, after all, who am I to question Derpy McDerpson?

**dedicated to all the Aspiration-bound**

The physics of silence.

25 07 2011

Just like a fountain pen,
so our tongues run dry.
spitting whatever lays within
we wear out our throats.

No one asks about content,
only if they are heard-
This symptom is indeed dire
And yet all too common.

How can you be understood
if your words have no meaning?
and again we speak too much
yet we say nothing at all.

When will someone stop
when they have nothing to say?
Freedom of speech is nice,
but the right to silence is more.

For what has ever been won
by the multitude of words?
Nations still go to war
and the world is in chaos!

In the quest for knowledge,
we have not found wisdom–
nor have learned restraint
or even how to close a gate.

There is a fire burning within
but only if it is tended.
Most try to put it out
with a constantly flapping wind.


Free Fall

2 03 2011

The wind it whistles away
as I drift through the sky.
I see fires, pines, and pires
with bracken, muck and mire.
The light shines brightly
and my shadow is shrinking.
Smell the fire upon the pire
and waiting for me to expire.
My time has not yet come
Yes, death shall have to wait–
The wind, the water and the fire
the bracken, the thicket and pire
For I am over an ocean
and I can learn how to swim.

{Christian Kane}

Note: written for a friend in turmoil.


21 11 2010

I will not let you twist my heart
No matter how hard you crank
I’m still a little hung over
From the Eternal wine I drank
I thought this was just a fun ride,
But it is hell if I must be frank.
Fail to feel all over again
Yet is my mind then left so blank.

This inflammatory language–
It begs to set the world on fire.
No matter the ways it may be said,
The pervert is bound to the pire.
Though you ever assault my eyes
With the burning and evil mire,
I will ever press on beyond you
Even if or when my soul does tire.


You have become my provocateur-
I will strike back with an image.
For though the earth may yet burn,
I have been set on a pilgrimage.
Canis Paradiso is on my trail
and will cause evil to hemorrhage.
When he sets his fangs upon you
Never will those wounds be bandaged.

Never provoke a hungry lion
unless you are in hunt of death
The last mistake you ever make
Always takes away your breath.
So turn away from your hatred
And finally forsake you wrath.
Best to flee a naked temptress
before it all flays your back.

{Christian Kane}


8 11 2010

Under a million suns have I walked, and over a million miles.  The dust drifts by lazily, and I no longer swat at the flies.  For the millionth time have I died and still not a burial. Every day is a battle I’ve lost though I may never remember.  A million friends have come and gone, but the earth is under my feet.  The millionth breath I take bears a great strain.  I press through a million trials and write plays of a million tragedies.

A million raving fans brings a million expectations.  Where there are millions of dollars, a million bribes are taken.  A million hearts will break in the next million seconds– but in front of a million witnesses we are all acting fine.  A million locusts are perched outside my window– the produce they have eaten could have fed a million.  Their grins are opened wide and their fangs are glistening.  With a million shouts of “Apollyon!” I wonder if I’m enough to go around.  Ten million apologies for a million offenses, and still a grudge lingers when the millions are counted.

A classic story, this man versus a million; but the millions haven’t seen what is really inside me.  A million vipers war with a million angels… but the millions of them are within one of me.  A million ghosts watch from the ceiling, cheering me on my way… but a million demons watch as well, waiting to snag my feet.  A million footsteps are behind me and ten million more are to come, but I must ask… are they all in the right direction?

{Christian Kane}

Magic Mirror

4 11 2010

Mirror mirror on the wall,
show me of my great downfall
Can there be a sight so sweet
As that of my soul’s defeat?
My flag is that of surrender
given over to this terror
This image makes my heart shiver
Hatred flowing like a river

Mirror mirror on the floor
your tricks became such a bore
I’ll leave your shards in a heap
You conspire to crush the weak
You are broken, magic mirror
I will throw you in the fire
Down to hell your lies will go
Finally I’ll be left alone.

{Christian Kane}

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