Museum

They want to destroy what I have collected. Creations culminate in a collation of those things most precious and beautiful, but the evil ones do not appreciate this. They who are invisible to my mind desire destruction thereof. I can run, and I do; I flee for hours and hours, but no matter how far I propel myself I am strung back by the spawn of my psyche, a boomerang that vacillates between distance and sensation. How can I save my loved ones, how can I preserve my prizes? Indeed my subconscious is altruistic in the extreme, though my armies fight for me whilst my back is turned. Oh I do long to return to the time of peace, when I wandered the halls of my vast mausoleum and exhibited the existential enterprise as a matter of philosophy. Of pride.

A Series of Questions Regarding Human Nature

In what way do feelings and emotions differentiate themselves?

On one level most emotions incur pleasure or pain, but is this the only difference?

Why do we not simply consign all emotions into one category?

Is there a significant difference between emotion and feeling or sensation?

What is the distinction between logic and emotion? Are they not simply differences in thought?

Is thought the epitome of human intelligence?

Is sensation equal in desirableness to intellect?

Is thought simply an extension of sensation, making all experience human?

Distance lessens sensation - does sensation lessen distance?

Are emotions and thoughts differentiated through objectivity?

Modulation

Lyrical modulation belongs to the frustrated conquerer.

Semantical modulation belongs to the frustrated conquerer.

Semantical modulation frustrates the conquerer.

Literature modulates for the frustrated emperor.

Literature modulates.

One Girl Moshing

I stand onstage
Alone
In front of thousands
Millions

Emotions astir as I fool them into thinking
I never meant to
But it had to come true

All the people who don't know me love me
But those who know believe

All who don't know me trust me
But those who know me run

They fear me,
When they hear me,
They kill me,
'Cause I'm still me

And though I feed this pressure
With my foolish immature ranting
I still look down and see on the ground
A single fan still standing

I hear the words she speaks to me
All the things she screams at me
There's nothing I can do you see
To ignore the one girl moshing

There's one girl in the mosh pit
She's the only one at all
She's standing, dancing, running, yelling
Banging on the wall

She's cooler than cool
And hotter than hot
But what she thinks I am I'm not
And so she follows me again
To the beginning
Or to the end

What do you say to the one girl moshing?
What do you do to make her leave
What can convince her that you're not worthy
Of anything you receive

This is the sound of one girl moshing
Strange
Deranged
Totally insane

This is the sound of one girl moshing
Eating her heart out
Just to hear you sing

This is the sound of one girl moshing
It rips me apart every day
On the outside I scream for her to leave
But on the inside I want her to stay

She's not perfect
But neither am I
And who is, nowadays

I just can't stand that she's loving a lie
A person who can't make up his mind
So confused...

She can't console me
She can only hold me
And stand there in the line
Waiting, waiting
For a signature
To add to her collection

She'd sacrifice so much for me
Or is that what she thinks
She crouches before the final song
Like a wildcat, a lynx

She leaps up on the stage
After all the music's gone
Her voice it stings
The tune it sings
The pitch it rings
But it's all wrong

Because she thinks she knows someone
But he's all but gone

Will he ever come back

I really don't know

Until then I have to just go with the flow

I can't seem to follow

This wake in my mind

So I'll ride the surf

Till the end of time

And hear the waves splashing

Hear my heart throbbing

And the sound

Of the one girl moshing

Trite

"The ambassador is here." The reedy-voiced woman ended her message with a cold metallic click, and representative Ingo Dominguez straightened his tie before calmly standing to greet his guest. He underestimated the time it would take the ambassador to travel from the receptionist's office to his own, and so he spent a few long seconds tapping his foot on the carefully polished hardwood floor. The similarly-paneled wooden doors slid apart in absolute silence as an aged Asian man gingerly carrying a briefcase stepped through, his patent leather shoes striking the floor with an unusually sonorous sound. Offering his hand, Ingo momentarily wondered whether he would be expected to help the man to his seat, so fragile was his stance.

"Konichiwa Ambassador, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance. I trust your lift ride was comfortable?" The small man nodded and smiled blankly before producing identical sets of earbuds from his breast pocket. As he returned the man's smile, Ingo cursed inwardly. The ambassador obviously still spoke his native language exclusively, as was the case with many postmoderns: at least the ones still clinging to life. Reluctantly he accepted the proffered earpieces and the small box to which they were attached, hesitating for a moment before recalling how to use the archaic device. Into each ear he inserted the small, round electronics, and gestured for the other to seat himself. Ingo turned his back and allowed a small grimace to flicker across his face before returning to his characteristic charming smile. The eggshell shaped chair sighed slightly as he sunk into it, and he cleared his throat before speaking.

"As I said before, I hope your trip was relaxing and enjoyable." There was a slight feedback in his ears as the other man equipped himself similarly before responding.

"Naturally it was very pleasant." The metallic sound of the computer-generated voice was nowhere near as unsettling as watching the ambassador's mouth move seemingly independent of the words being filtered into Ingo's ears. "I expect you are eager to get talking?" Had he not been upset at the inconvenience the device was causing Ingo might have allowed his mouth to twitch upwards in reaction to the poor translation; as it was he simply leaned forward and pushed a folder across his desk.

"This contains all the information we are willing to release to your government at this time regarding the wells. Location will be divulged once the transaction is made final."

"What is the cost you are wanting?"

"Twenty three K." Ingo needed no translation to interpret the pained expression that sifted into the ambassador's sandy, wrinkled face, a face that was now staring out the window behind the desk.

"That is a difficult thing to say." More feedback in his ears as the translator tried to convey the heavy sigh that wracked the elderly man's body. "We are not a prosperous or affluent nation sir, it is difficult to say." More staring, this time his eyes peering beyond the window and the office into the past. "It is sad how we have fallen, to be bartering for oil like KSHHHHHH." Static burst into Ingo's ears and then faded.

"I'm sorry, but that price is non-negotiable: we have many other potential buyers who are willing to pay what we ask should your government decide against the purchase." Ingo's eyes met his adversary's, and for a moment he felt genuinely sorry for the decrepit figure hunched over in the ill-fitting chair opposite his own.

"Why must the world be ruled by absolutes...where is our freedom?" Trance-like, the ambassador drifted his fingers over his briefcase before opening it. The folder coalesced into the case, guided gently by the man's aged fingers. "Thank you for your patience" said the cold, monotone voice as the man's lips moved. He stood to leave, and Ingo quickly removed the earbuds, careful not to let his elation show. When he stood he moved with bewildering speed to return his manacles to his captor, one last handshake offered in final farewell.