Cosmic girl

This is based on a few things. Tonight I felt sadness and decided to let it take me. I also found the perfect song to inspire me to write. And finally it is based off a dream I had when I was just a little boy. Enjoy:

“Yet another night looking up to the stars. Just sitting here waiting for you. My cosmic girl. When you first came to me I was just a boy. Why did you come to me? What did you see in me? How long were we together before you returned to your celestial home? You left with the promise that you’d come back for me one day. But now all these years later where has that promise gone? So much has happened since you were here. I had to change to survive the world you left me in. Cosmic girl, would you even recognize me? I learned all the things daddy couldn’t teach me.

I learned how to hate and fight. I can rage and bite.

I became cruel in order to live. But am I alive if I have nothing to give?

Cosmic girl I loved you the moment I saw you. You showed me your heart and told me soon you would crush it in your hands to disappear. I watched you do it. You hugged and kissed me then died in front of me. You turned to stardust in front of me and rose to the night sky. And my eyes have not left that night sky since. For 27 years I’ve watched the constellations hoping you’d descend back into my life. My world is full of liars but you couldn’t do that. Could you? So many lonely nights have passed waiting for you. Cosmic girl did you lie to me? Or did the pure and happy boy you promised to come back for die long ago? Who am I now?

Always searching for something more. Spiritually begging like a whore.

No words can express like my fists can. I beat meaning out of my fellow man.

Mommy didn’t show me this. I had to adapt to this environment. And now here I am still waiting for you. Would I even love you now? So pure and shining like the heavenly bodies, would I know how to love you? The boy that was me knew he loved you instantly. So why didn’t you take him then. Why didn’t you take me with you then? Cosmic girl here I am still waiting for you. Looking up to the stars tonight begging to be a boy again.”

-CL Fuqua

Void

Have you heard it? In the dead of night have you felt it? You are laying restless when a quivering begins. Not a manifestation of your body but in the house. Of the house. A rushing fluttering about but not as from the gentle brush of a butterfLy’s wings. More like…the wings of bats? Thousands or no, millions! They do their work making my walls come alive with a rhythmic pulse not conceivable by the minds of men. It is a guided rhythm. This does not brIng me solace however, because I do not know the source or the destination. It just is. I once scraped the recesses of my soul and Gathered enough courage to get out of bed and investigate the extent of this force. The house is dark as it should be. All the accouterments I’ve acquired are still in their place. But the sound! It’s almost as if it will burst through the walls of house and mind and violently take me to darker places still. I never found tHe source. I didn’t really want to. After passing through the hallways and finding every room to be as I left them I quickly hurried back to bed, like a child. I desperately wrapped myself in the safety of bed sheets. Perhaps you’ve experienced these strange night happenings as well? Surely…surely I’m not the only one! Just wait for iT one deceptively winsome evening. Stay awake longer than you were meant to.

I believe there’s a Void

A great nothing comes to call

An inky blackness roams the halls

It reaches through time and space

It cares not for love’s embrace

Why it wants me I cannot say

Will I be consumed or simply obey

With each passing hour light dies until day has waned

And with night’s dark we see our knowledge is feigned

I believe there’s a Void

I believe in the Void

It’s come again. Here we are again. This time I feel the pull of destiny. I am still frightened beyond comprehension but I won’t run this time. There is one place I never looked. Whether subconsciously or consciously I knew it was in there I would find the source. The Basement door. How appropriate. I make my way past all the rooms knowing them to be unaltered except with the sound of beating wings. I drag my finger tips along the walls as I slowly walk step by step towards the basement. I feel the vibration through the walls. It’s tangible! That same haunting rhythm pervades… The soft pale glow of moonlight oozing through cuRtains and windows is the only form of a guiding light. Just mere steps from the door. The beating is growing louder! And more numerous..maybe a millIon fold! As if whatever is behind this door is aNticipating me! My trembling hand reaches out for the door knob.. I grasp it violently to stop myself shaking. It doesn’t work but altogether the sound ceases! The walls are dormant once aGain. The only sound is the doorknob rattling as my nervous sweat-soaked hand squeezes it. It’s odd how intention-ed the most mundane of actions can becomE. A simple turn of a doorknob. It is flippantly done without a second thought every day. But this night I turned it with everything I am. I hear the metal pieces sliding and feel the soft click as it opens ever so slightly. I let the door slowly open itself and myself to the darkened descent of basement steps. The moonlight impotently illuminates just a few steps before the black shuts it out like a wall of ambiguity. I stand theRe frozen in place just waiting….waiting for anything. A sign, a sound. Something! Just nothingness…. Wait! What is that? What is that?

-CL Fuqua

Dancing for Dionysus

Full moon shone all about

Chastity void within and without

Pretty girls all flowing in white

Mockery of all that is right

Dancing and twirling to the beat of drums

Losing themselves to the hypnotic hums

Giving themselves to the god of wine and sex

The dying and rising god marks them with the hex

Swimming uninhibited in unnatural delights

Blinded by the flood of ecstatic lights

I drink them in until they are used up

I swallow them like wine from my cup

Innocence and purity can not hold you down

Dionysus is here to give you the crown

Scream for unholy pleasure scream just for me

Scream until you’re dead for the world to see

I’ll love you ferociously and make you bleed

I”ll take your soul which you no longer need

I will have you drunk as your being is in crisis

I will kill you with pleasure for I am Dionysus

-CL Fuqua

The “why” and “what” of this blog.

I thought it best to start this personal blog/website with an introduction for any potential readers. Being introduced to the writer may help you decide whether the written works are worth your time or not. A dear friend advised me to create this website because I have grown weary of publishing my stories/poetry on facebook which finds a readership of perhaps 1 person every now and then. So hopefully this has the desired effect of exposing the stories in my mind to a wider and more dedicated audience. What kind of writings are you in for? Well I can honestly say my writings like myself are a bit of a paradox.

ME: I am an Eastern Orthodox Christian, lover of fall/winter, the macabre, HP Lovecraft is my literary king, I enjoy certain types of horror media, musical tastes span classical/orchestral, heavy metal, new age, electronica, rock, select gangsta rap, film and videogame soundtracks, Orthodox and Catholic chant as well as neo-pagan folk, coffee is always a good idea, cats are best, and my Harley Davidson is my therapy on two wheels. As for myself I have been told I have a dry sense of humor. I am not the brightest bulb when it comes to intellect but I am sharp as a knife when it comes to witty conversation and smart remarks in general. Well I think that’s enough about me. What can you expect from my online stack of writings?

MY WORKS: Mostly poetry. I don’t write as much as I used to mainly because the timing is just never quite right. I am usually feeling a burst of inspiration on my way to work but by the time I am free I have forgotten or the inspiration has passed. A shame really. I also like to write the occasional short story. And historically speaking they’re usually horror stories. It just seems to come so easily. Some of what I have written has at times shocked even myself as far as subject matter to be perfectly honest so I must put a READER BEWARE from the start.