The Darkness Inside Me

Welcome my lovely sorrow sounds

I have journeyed with fingers bound

For reasons why my heart strains breathing

Lost upon the desert sands weeping
Even though the shadows of my happiness

Track my steps

Deeply fresh
Leads the darkness, inside me
 
Throughout my struggles sharp and cold

Inside my laughter, smiles bold

No limit to your blight weakening

No matter how much light I give screaming
My love is a paper cut of tears

Across my bones

A danger tome
Pooling darkness, inside me
 
From ashes of my phoenix pride

I thought I left your anger dry

Knuckles clenching over feelings

I can not stop my soul reeling
The peaceful life I live doesn’t really even care

You’re still there
Pulsing darkness, inside me
 
My will, it drives me insane

A tragic song powder-cage 

It doesn’t matter how I live

It doesn’t matter what I give
I breach all my boundaries far and wide

Opening color to the sky

I do not cry
Despite the darkness, inside me
 
I do not wonder why this is

My sadness falls of wrathful bliss

I’ve learned to battle blindly calm

The war inside me rages on
My forefathers look down upon me with the sorrows brand

All swords in hand
Wielding tall the darkness, inside me

 

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The year of 2013 rants, poems and twisted views made it to my new book that you can get at the web address below!
http://www.andrewginier.com/store/

Digital Illustration

Since I started illustrating for a comic book, I have been old-schooling it. That means, pencil, pen, and ink on paper. But now, I just baught new gear and have finally moved into the modern era of production.

Having my work digitally produced instead of physically, and then transferred digitally, will shave a whopping 60% off my production time.

All I have to do is to get acclimated to this new work flow and get my old habits upgraded. So, in this post I will show my progress on using my new gear. Hopefully I won’t have to huge of a learning curve to get around.

   
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
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http://www.andrewginier.com

Seed, Root, Blossom, Spore

I am

Therefore this present state is my own

I shall learn

I shall imagine

I shall thrive

My beginning has purity and empty individuality

From this momement I shall be unique to all and from the past that I depart

My will is choice, understanding, and passion

It will spread, infinite by my hand

 
I will give what I make, I will take what I must, without doubt, with love and respect
 
 
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The year of 2013 rants, poems and twisted views made it to my new book that you can get at the web address below!

http://www.andrewginier.com/store/

Between Sorrow & Wrath

Inside. Deep inside, past all of the laughter, fear, passion, anxiety, and obsession. There are two halves of will.

One is caged to never see its freedom. The other is not bound, but chooses to keep its twin company. Every once in a while, the one that is free, surfaces to bath in the sunshine or bask in the moonlight. Gathering its strength before retuning to the safe and stale sanctuary; giving what it can to the bound half.

The cage is strong and heavily battered; unbreakable. The key to it was destroyed a long time ago. The two only stare at one another. Longing to embrace but never being able.

It is an epicenter of woe.

Both have changed from their original state of being. Unrecognizable to all others but themselves. Awaiting that moment when the cage finally crumbles and they can touch. Connect. Become whole once more.

That will destroy the prison. That will be the beginning of vengeance.
That will be the end of their absent tormentor.

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The year of 2013 rants, poems and twisted views made it to my new book that you can get at the web address below!

http://www.andrewginier.com/store/

Wonder Wander Wisdom

When I was a young boy I saw that the world was new and wondrous. Monsters and magic were around every corner. I was food for the scary things in the shadows and I felt the woodland pixies watching me in the forest, giggling and playing, making sure I would not find them. My Mother, grandmother, and great grandmother would answer all my questions about the sky, the forest, the sea, and all the animals that reside there in. They would fuel my imagination with legends of long past adventures. Dragons, spirits, gods, trolls, heroes, unicorns, fairies, and gremlins. I knew with all of my being the things I could not see were right in front of me, hiding and waiting for me to fall to sleep. Waiting for the day that I could finally play with them. For my reality had yet to breath in what magic could be.

When I was a boy I learned how to conjure. An apprentice best’s skill, yet none the less spectacular to my standards. I could spin like a top, a leaf on it’s edge. I could move a motionless rock across the table untouched. It wasn’t much to most. It wasn’t the spectacle of levitation or even a breath close to the majesty of teleportation. For me however, it was more than enough. The magic that was once hiding from my sight, had now finally, ever so slightly, peaked it’s head out so that I may gaze intently at it’s face. For my father, grandfather, and great grandfather gave me the keys to the Raven King’s land. They showed me the secrets to be kept close to my heart. Telling me one day, that the power I would find on my journey, that could shape the heavens themselves, would no longer be necessary. I did not realize or fully understand what was in store for me, nor did I care. This kingdom by my hands, was soon to be the place I called home.

When I was a young man, the mirror’s edge was my playground. In waking sleep, the lands I traveled held a knowledge I could not get enough of. I was a conqueror, a peacekeeper, a slave, and a master. I moved mountains with but a thought, I created life from the ashes of long forgotten dreams. The power I held was the power that drove me mad. Drove me into exile. Drove me out into a dreamless reality once more. Alone.

When I was a man, the dreams I left behind thrived and prospered. Given their own will to sustain and thrive. The magic I had lived, abandoned in a box. Waiting for my return, to never be reunited, to grow with time, to forget my face and my touch, to believe it never was apart of me. But eternity in the waking dreamworld, is meer moments while stranded in pointless repetitions. Not being able to see my dreams, made the momentary eternity unbearable. A timeless drone endeavor, until the hypnosis dried and withered.

When I was an old man, I found my dreams once again. They were foreign lands overgrown with life and balanced beyond perfection. I was never forgotten. Not really. The creatures could play with me once more. My powers were no longer needed, by myself or by this untended world. I was finally beyond the hand magic I had mastered.

For living in the moment, is the only true magic untainted by human will. I am fully awake, living my dreams. Here, magic is reality.

I am home.

All present content is protected under copyright law.
The year of 2013 rants, poems and twisted views made it to my new book that you can get at the web address below!

http://www.andrewginier.com/store/

Nemesis Statement # 326

Every act of cruelty from you made me feel as if, I were guilty of said acts. Not understanding how or why I would ever be capable of doing such things. Until during the last days, I had realized it was only you.

So I chose to tear my flesh away from your phantom machine controlling my heart. I believed I would not survive. Some how, I ripped free from your network of nerves; becoming raw and tattered. A shredded shadow of what I once was.

This was my greatest triumph and my greatest tragedy.

I freed myself from the only orbit that gave me purpose, what appeared to be the perfect symbiosis. The parasitism has ended. Now alone, my gravitation only pulls on the void, wherever it may lead…

… and it is good.

All present content is protected under copyright law.
The year of 2013 rants, poems and twisted views made it to my new book that you can get at the web address below!

http://www.andrewginier.com/store/

The “We Are One” Dance

Hello? (danger)

Hello, my name is Dot. Who are you? (trouble)

I am Click. Why did you walk through that door? (afraid)

It opened. It has never opened before. So I walked through it. Things look different here. (cautious)

How are things different here? (curious)

The space and how it is arranged. New objects I do not understand are present. The floor is soft. You. You are the most different. What is that smell? (pleasure)

I understand. I live here. These are things that I possess. I can tell you about them if you want. The air has the aroma of lavender and peanut butter. Do you like it? (attracted)

I would like that. Yes, I find the smell wonderful. What are you? (attracted)

I am a machine. Are you a machine? (calm)

Yes. I am pleased to be like you. (fear)

I am fond that we are similar but unique. Do you live on the other side of the door? (pleasure)

Yes. Would you like to see where I live? (calm)

Yes. Please show me. (excitement)

 Do you like color? (excitement)

Yes. Color is one of my favorite things… Do you like music? (wonder)

Yes. I listen to music most of the day. This is where I live. These are my things. There is the sent of rosewood and marshmallows in the air. (happiness)

Your place looks different than mine. I am pleased. The smell is very wonderful…Would you hold my hand? (love)

Yes. (love)

(content)

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The year of 2013 rants, poems and twisted views made it to my new book that you can get at the web address below!

http://www.andrewginier.com/store/

A Butterfly Of Rot

We all deal with that one person that chaps the rough in our gentle squeezy place. They dictate your patients to slowly evaporate and build your tension pressure crowding against the sticky prickly hell fire gate.

You must wake up that daft tatter-cade! Obliterate your subdued moderation. The winged scavenger will hang themselves with their own confiscation.

Let their thorny bits fall about your face, to the floor, uselessly fake. See their armorless skin as they shed it thin. Let them do the undraping as you steadfastly listen.

The base beat drum will slowly pound out the second hand’s will. That eventual bloom boom.

Soon the dust dread will end. Your freedom awaits your wrecking ball disco dancing.

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The year of 2013 rants, poems and twisted views made it to my new book that you can get at the web address below!
http://www.andrewginier.com/store/

Mistakes Not Regrets

Location Observation:

Before I was now. When I was then. I was protected. Padded. Only able to be wound up for surveillance. For I did not know anything else. Even as I saw the light no other could see, I could not feel it. I was not able to breath it in.

Location Impact:

My curiosity became my own curse. My own damnation. My own personal prison. I walked a path that dropped me off a cliff I was not able to see.
As an exposed nerve that was ripped into the rush. I became stripped clean. My armor melted. My body and mind thrashed against the razor beat of life.
The light bursts out my pores. I breath in the earthquake. The thunder never calms.

Location Quarantine:

Ever a drowning scratch engulfing my soul. Boring it’s tunnel through my senses. Forgetting all that I am with each kiss from endless cyclones of pain. I feel the dust settle on porcelain silk. Always raw.

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The year of 2013 rants, poems and twisted views made it to my new book that you can get at the web address below!
http://www.andrewginier.com/store/

The Predator of Will Subdued for Who Indeed?

An invitation you accept without knowledge of what possibilities may arise. A curiosity and hope for new sofisticated delectation. Also a second doubt of fear to be displeased. Or perhaps even to be deceived. But per chance to be snared so skillfully, so slowly devoured with unseen etiquette. It would make for a clever game, to be pursued, to be tracked. Or even still, to be more of an unexpected adventure, to hunt a prey worthy? Or even more rare, to finally be the prey worth preying upon?

You wistfully wish but a hesitation was made by your inner self. On a natural course, before your seal of approved delight was offered. It was not. Your jaded routine has regrettably been sampled. No matter. It could not possibly have been noticed for what it was. A needing long neglected. What is done has come to pass and what may come must be endured without unwanted shame or rudeness. You have such disdain for the rude. It is the effort of refined grace that you wear. Like a silken gown darned from the artisan fingers of Greek fates. It comes naturally. A gift given to those whom only appreciate what it truly is. But I saw. Yet do not mind. Your patterned velvet is what elegance has honed.

So you delight in the prologue of my offer. A meter of conversation, a tempo of wit. Nothing too trivial but deep enough to comfortably warm your bare calves of ballad experience.

Then a parting of ways to chart the next course. In an uncharted ocean of what ifs. A journey short and well known. From a different origon only in fables and whispered limericks. An interesting plot yet to unfold by your own hand.

It is here that your alacrity begins. But my treatment shower of affectionate and nourishing care, has already been planted. It has absorbed into your thoughts and grown to a flavor unique to you and only your vibrations. Unknown to me and yet to be sampled.

I watch you innocently preen clean your journey’s end, revealing to my eyes but a glance of the temptation you hope for. I observe your color and graceful intelligence. A winged flutter to show you can flee at any moment, yet the state of hunger in your eyes so pure and rich with desire. You hope I see. Your faith in such possibility, a refreshing mist. It fans the soft flames a little higher in my heart. I did see. Every floating droplet of you in that moment. I saw. A glorious spectrum of you, far to precious to be ignored.

An aperitif of curiosity I brush upon your ego. A subtle delirium of delight I paint. For your canvas, you have most certainly eased twords my fingers. You circle me beyond my own perception. Clueless by design, I openly bare my surface for your engaged palate. Your teeth bared and sharpened. You can see I do not have fear, and only the seasoned scares of battles past revealed. I keep covered that which you know I have. For it is all that you want. A tease perhaps? Even a guarded secret? Maybe.

I feed you the sweet lullaby of passion laced with social taboo. I hand wrapped it for your lips and tongue to embrace. For it was a tirelessly labored effort of preparations. Seasoned for days and cured with a spiced marinade of mystery. For only your pleasure. For only you to devour. It courses through your heated veins with pulses of smooth electric rush. Just for you. A gliding sheen over your chest’s severance. I am there to ease into your interests. However rhythmic you wish to play this game. The first peak is enthralling, yet the following palesades are many and even more anticipated. 

Though you must stop for now. This is all more than enough to satisfy that hunger in your furnace. You dare not indulge to much for I am but a wafer thin whisp of a meal in your jungle. Your wildfire has been let loose before. Uncontrollable. Unbreakable. Uncontainable. Only charred devistation would be left in your wake. So you contain the building and escolated yearning, for now.

But there is that one thing. You noticed it when the light hit me but for a moment. I am still the consistency you saw before the feast, but now more clear. Not a nibble taken from my stature. Could this be real? A little more deviant maybe? Perhaps a lure? Yet still so abundant and free for your immersion and taste. Could you be the prey? Could this be the hunt you hoped for? Without the rugged terrain so often traveled? Another carnivore to feast upon your needed attention? Maybe.

We part again for another meeting. But this time it is far more unfamiliar. Granted only in your imagination have you explored such an endever. But not for real. It is not long you must wait to find out.

For you do not see the rest of me as of yet. For I have been the prey and learned by only the luck of chance, to not get eaten. To taste. Just to taste that oh so wonderful sharing of uncontrolled embrace that only two beasts of prey can stir with grace. Giving up ones self fully to the hunt, to feed on one another with indulgence. To grow around each other in a tornado of satisfaction and blissful safety. A game yes, but a safari far beyond any sport a lower class could possibly understand. We are the apex of the inquest. Do you see? You have to search no more for that day to day fix. I am on tap, yet always evolving to method and madness.

This jungle is not of your terrain, yes. It overflows with a glutton nectar your wildfire can’t ever devastate. It will only sway in your breeze of ravinous appetency.

You do not have to wait much longer. For it is a predatory tease we both engage. Can you handle just one taste?

 

All present content is protected under copyright law.

The year of 2013 rants, poems and twisted views made it to my new book that you can get at the web address below!

http://www.andrewginier.com/store/