Thinktank II (or "To Know Thyself")

Knowledge of oneself is paramount.

If you do not know who you are, how can you hope to relate yourself to others?
If you do not know what you like, how will you decide what to do?
If you do not know why you do things, how can you expect to achieve happiness?

It is only when one masters knowledge of oneself that one can hope to form relationships with others. If you do not know who you are and what you want, what hope do you have of finding someone to compliment you?

Prosepoem II (or "Nosferatu")

They had planned it so perfectly, yet it had gone so wrong. The two are dragged into the throne room, beaten, bloodied, and weaponless, their once magnificent armor now rent and torn. They are pushed to their knees, unwilling supplicant to the Dark Lord. He stands over them, his sharp, gloat of fangs looming above them. He drinks deeply from the golden goblet clutched tenderly in his outstretched hand. Red wine? Hardly. The emptied goblet thrown callously aside, the Nightstalker glides towards his prisoners. This close, they see the power in his eyes, the strength bristling in his yet-dead flesh, feel the stink of a thousand thousand lifetimes of hate, despair, and agony. His voice is cold. Halting. “Your plan failed”. He states – matter of faculty. “Do you know why?” The Umbral Creature’s eyes dance with malice. He turns. Gestures. A figure enters the room. The prisoners lethargy suddenly dispelled by renewed strength of anger. “She fought at first” he drawls. “But I eventually… persuaded her to see things differently.” A clawed hand stretches out, casting cloak over shoulder in a grandiose gesture. “Come here”. Inexorably drawn, the red-clad female approaches. She slides in next to him, nimbly extending into the waiting space between his arm and side. The fearsome claw slides down, resting easily on her hip. “She’s mine now” laughs the Lord of Terror. In utter delight at the disgust and contempt of his prisoners, his second claw caresses his captive’s face, moving down to her neck. Lingering, lingering on her neck. “Come. Kiss me.” The thrall leans in, eyes closing seductively, one hand bracing herself upon his back, the other roaming his fearsome chest. It stops over his heart, clutching the fabric of his exquisite regalia as she pierces his haunting features with her lips. The prisoners sit motionless, numbly suppliant at the wrongness of the moment. She draws back, admires her lord’s once-noble features, a smile playing about her face. In the span of an instant, the coyness is gone. In the span of an instant, beautiful features twist with hatred and contempt. The Duskbeast’s eyes widen, too late! Too late! Her hand, is glowing and before he can even express his incredulity, his surprise, the glowing shard of her hand pierces his breast. The light extends, piercing his back, a sword of light in a most unholy of sheathes. She pushes, and the Prince of Darkness falls back, dagger of radiance piercing his heart. “Go to hell” she spits.

Thinktank I (or "Loves")

There are three types of love -- friendly, passionate, and companionate, and they must occur in that order.

Without friendship, one's relationship has no future.
Without passion, one's relationship has no drive.
Without companionship, one's relationship has no legacy.

He who loves before falling in love, loves long after love has faded.

Prosepoem I (or "Dianna")

They find themselves on a bed. They grin and smile each other, their hands yearning to caress the other, to sculpt each other’s body, to discover one another. Yet they are not alone. There are others in the room, chatting and joking around with each other. The two snuggle closer, chatting in excited whispers, attempting to tune out all others in their room. At once, all other voices fade as the two leave the natural world behind, completely lost in each other’s eyes, the smell of each other’s hair, the smooth curvature of each other’s flesh. With a resounding clash, the door smashes open, revealing another friend. He joins the merriment in the room, but also brings the news that despite the late hour, their room is quite loud. Self-conscious now, the two leave the room, looking for somewhere more private to consummate their new found love. The girl leads the way – she has done this before, she knows what she wants and where to get it. The boy walks behind her, continually altering his distance from her, going ahead, than behind her. His attempts at stealth do not work, it is blatantly obvious the two of them are traveling together. Yet this late at night, no one is in the halls. No one is around to chastise the two or bring embarrassment to the boy’s face. The girl strides purposefully forward, leading the boy down a long passage whereupon the material of the building abruptly changes. No longer are they standing on linoleum with plaster walls. They have entered the student clinic. He has never been here before, and finds himself looking around blankly. The girl leads him around towards one end of the facility where there are tiled basins – 4 feet off the ground, with centers slightly depressed. There is a couple already in the basin directly to their left, and the boy’s face runs hot with anticipation. The girl climbs into the basin, covers herself with the blankets, and coyly invites the boy to join her. The boy grins sheepishly as he begins to follow her – he has brought no protection. Though he knows what he wants, his sense of righteousness prevents him from pursuing his preferred method of expressing it. As soon as he is in the basin with her, once again hands go exploring, forms are hugged tight, smiles plastered indefinitely on the barely-minted adults. A strong, resounding voice echoes the lover’s alcove and a large, meaty man appears. He pays no attention to what is happening in his basins – he drops a small package in each of the occupied basins, his eyes remaining fixedly upturned the entire time. As quickly as he appeared, he is gone, and now the boy smiles in earnest. He turns towards his lover, who flashes a foxy smile back. The world seems to turn upside down – red and blue beacons of light go bouncing off and around the tiled walls, flying from the girl’s fingers, seeking the halls from whence the two had come. At last the foreplay is over. The girl opens her mouth, still smiling. “Come."

I sit bolt upright, breathing heavily and extremely agitated. It is quite a long time before I can get back to sleep.

Lament III (or "Nervous Litany")

How do I get a girl to love me?
How do I let her know I care?
How can I tell if she yearns to see me?
And if she does not, stave off despair?

How do I know if she finds me boring?
Does she sigh and nod or just walk away?
How do I know when she's just being friendly?
When she winks, grins, or smiles at me what do I say?

How will I find a girl who loves me?
Rather than someone out for some fun?
How will I manage to pull together?
Just to risk being crushed, cruelly undone.

How will I know if wie'll stay together?
Will we get along smoothly or not at all?
How do I stop her from getting quite angry
If I won't stop and talk, or give her a call?

How can I hope to plan for the future,
When truth be told I'm still haunt'd by my past?
How do I start my long side-tracked journey
To find someone to love at long last?

Lament II (or "Bad Habit")

You're becoming an obsession,
a mistake I don't want to repeat.
But how can I help it if you're kind, nice, and beautiful
(not to mention) unbelievably sweet?

You're becoming a beacon of virtue
that I'm compelled to live my life around.
Yet I know in my heart that for all of my troubles,
I'd just set myself up to knock down.

You're becoming a goddess incarnate.
I worship the ground on you walk.
You dredge up in my heart these unmerciful feelings.
Ah, if only your temptations I could block.

You're becoming a fantastical creature
that I somehow think I'll control
to make you love me, to make 'our' life perfect,
to make both of us happy and wedding bells toll.

But I see your life's already perfect.
You're in love with one who loves you.
It's time to face up to my loss, my chance came and gone
my obsession is fading--
______ lets forget this whole business and continue our friendship anew.

Lament I (or "Bitter Revelation")

I want a girlfriend, who's cheery and sweet,

A girlfriend who’s friendly to all that she meets.

I want a girlfriend, with sharp wit and spunk,

A girlfriend who’s crazy for me, not some hunk.

I want a girlfriend, who’s buxom and funny,

A girlfriend who’s cute without lots of money.

I’ll have a girlfriend, who follows me ever,

Who’ll tell me stories and jokes that are clever.

I’ll have a girlfriend that likes to do what I do,

Who’ll play as an equal and, hell, win a bit too.

I’ll have a girlfriend with good virtues galore,

Who’ll be sensitive, discreet, kind, and more.

I need a girlfriend, who’ll hold me close,

Will whisper sweet comforts far longer than most.

I need a girlfriend with a welcoming embrace,

To render sympathy, and dry tears from my face.

I need a girlfriend to hold me quite tight,

Who’ll rock back and forth and proclaim “it’s all right”.

I need a girlfriend who’s more friend than girl,

To find one like that I’ll must search the whole world.

Dreamsong III (or "Shicksal")

Moon-song spun a shining path, and starlight lead the way,
Lambent stones led ever down to the lake of fate and dreams.
Standing, searching, on the shore arose a web of what could be.
And reflecting from the lake itself, cascading lights and gleams.

Strange it was to look and see, which ways your life could come to be
To see one’s life set in such stone, arouse a wrenching plea.

For not all paths, the lake did clear, the biting truth it showed,
Was only which would never be, no matter how things go.
So while one was free to travel murky sides with mysteries to find,
The mirror future of the lake itself would never come to know.

I traveled there that blinding night, to peer into that lake,
No interest in those shadow-paths that I was doomed to take.

I stood upon that brilliant shore and cast into the water,
To find you standing next to me, holding hand and hand.
Bitter tears flowed up, for ‘twas not fun for one to realize,
The dream you’re chasing simply cannot be, no matter what you’ve planned.

The saddest truth – one never knows exactly what will come or what will be,
Yet one must leave that shore of dreams to seek their destiny.

Dreamsong II (or "Der Tod der Engelin")

Effulgent light dawned through the night, the eve the angel came.
She was clothed in white and grasped a silver, moonlit chakram in each hand,
She bore a swirling mane of golden hair that framed her wispish crown.
On wings of golden light, she floated on, high above the land.

The gentle soul could not comprehend the carnage that was wrought,
“It is as if the ground itself cried tears of blood”, she thought.

Drifting slow through cold, night air, not a soul was seen.
But what was this! The shadows moved, one soul endured the strife.
As the angel came down from high, the sad, old doctor turned his head.
“I fear you’re too late” he bitterly said. “Too late to save a life.”

“That will not be” the Angel seethed to he, “for one thing this, I know,
That never too late to spare one his fate, or change back fate’s cruel blow.”

She left him then and went alone to the crumbling church nearby.
There she knelt, and knelt and prayed, her freshly resolved anew,
Her inner light left her then, dimming her ethereal glow,
Her golden wings grew ebon-black, at what that Angel tried to do.

For as that Angel knelt and prayed, time ran a backwards course.
No more tears of blood, idly spent, no more lone survivors, bitterly warped, the angel sacrificed herself
____ to give them a second chance that they might craft a land with no remorse.

Dreamsong I (or "Traumleid")

The evening sun had barely come to dip below the sky
when I was found at home, alone, wrapped in thoughts all my own.
A knock was heard, I stood up straight and walked up to the door,
no guests foreseen and yet it seemed I was no more alone.

The door swung free and I beheld you standing meekly there,
a gilded letter in your hands, the last rays of sunshine in your hair.

"A gift", you said as I beheld the amber-texted note.
Your hands outstretched to offer forth the innocuous gift.
I stepped back (to let you in), as you placed paper in my hands,
and then you stepped once closer yet -- my thoughts were set adrift.

You caressed my face, you pulled me near, then went in for a kiss,
away in half a second, smiling shyly; mere moments carved such bliss.

My emotions surged, oh happy day, but then my eyes were drawn
to the letter now in opened hand. Yet as my eyes did try
to translated golden words to meanings (one last look to your face)
gut wrenching jerk! For with a start, I sat up straight,
____bed covers fell, no golden note, the kiss not real, Alas, alas! I sigh.

Oh unexpected visitor in this dreamer's head, I sorely
____wish what dreamed could be,
But oh, right now you love another, nor do you see me as a could-be lover
____and so this dream is but a dream of what could be of you and me.