Pale Dancer

“Everything is perfect but I can remember when it wasn’t. There’s a strange and uneasy feeling I have regarding those times. It’s one of nostalgia and yearning. What is it about storms and rocky roads that make a sunny day seem a bore? It’s not as if I don’t appreciate all I’ve been given and all I’ve earned in the hard years prior. I most definitely do! I just can’t help but remember this scene. It is burned in my mind even now.

She was there, hair black as midnight and skin paler than the moon in who’s light she bathed. Dancing in her white silk gown, she twirled and moved like something from a hypnotic dream world. She danced for me occasionally locking eyes and smiling. I just sat dumbfounded resting on the seaside bench. Waves crashed and the foam crawled further up the sand before receding back into the ocean’s embrace. The night breeze caressed me with its cool touch and I just watched. Sat and watched the wonder before me.

These weren’t the perfect years. Not by any stretch. My life at this point was turbulent with worry and uncertainty about everything. The pale dancer could mesmerize me but also tore my heart to pieces so many times. A beauty so otherworldly can’t help but bring calamity. I fought and struggled with all my might to keep it all together. Gritting my teeth to keep everything from falling to pieces. Like a fatally wounded soldier futilely scooping his guts back into his abdomen I couldn’t make the separate parts of my life fit. Those were the imperfect times. I knew nothing else so I assumed this was just as life is. But the dawn was just up ahead. Life moves that way. I know now. You just get stuck in a routine but change will come. It must.

So here I am now. It’s a sunny day and I can hear birds singing. I’m at a park bench watching my young child play with her mother, my beautiful wife. They are laughing as my wife swings our daughter round and round. Everything is perfect. And yet….

The scene flashes back into my past. The park disappears taking my family with it and there’s an endless choppy ocean, dark and ominous as the future, only what the moonlight kisses is revealed, and brightest of all is my pale dancer. She twirls away, her porcelain glow entrancing me as we lock eyes. Everything is perfect. So how can I yearn for this moment in time?”

-CL Fuqua

Double Helix

How long has it been, love?

My heart cries “too long!”

My head sighs “not long enough.”

Is everything perfect for you now?

Have all the pieces fallen into place?

Yeah, me either.

You seem disappointed in me.

You thought by now I’d be “free.”

Free of the archaic superstition.

Taking up rank with the Godless sedition.

Sorry but I cannot ever sever the spiritual link.

Not that I’m ever so clever as people think.

I can think myself to death but that’s not why.

I feel the truth so I can avoid the lie.

I can see the demons feasting on your soul.

Defiling you until there’s nothing but a black hole.

Where once was love and joy now only sorrow.

Clawing at moments of happiness to borrow.

That’s why I am who I am.

I vow to be what the demons hate and fear.

Because they desecrate all I hold so dear.

You, my jewel, my life, my inspiration, please fight to survive!

You’re drowning in death and I long for you to be revived!

If you could only wake up and see what I see.

If you could understand instead of pitying and hating me.

I would cut these weary hands off and give them to you if it meant you could fight.

I would tear out my tongue and offer it up if it meant you could taste the light.

I would gouge out these eyes and gift them to you so you would have true sight.

I would make my abode in the lowest parts of hell

If in the highest heights of heaven you would dwell.

Oh Holy Virgin! Please save your servant and hear my cry!

It’s not fair for me to live and for my love to die!

-CL Fuqua

Black holes and blood

It was then at that moment. I can remember the moment, I think. Maybe? I’m not sure who I was or what I was thinking but I know where I’m going. I think I know where this is going. Perhaps? Who can say? Oblivion.

It’s when I dug past the adamantine layers of who we claim to be that I found it. I found the reality at the heart of the universe. Our universe. We had fought, loved, laughed, raged and roared never knowing each other’s true self. But I finally did it. I had to kill you first. I am so sorry about that. I never wanted to do that but I hope you know it was necessary. You would’ve battled me tooth and nail to the very end if I tried to peek inside. But when you had your guard down and back turned I struck the killing blow. Blood poured out of you like a violent river. I am truly sorry about all that.


I started peeling them away. The layers on top came first. They were easiest. The most superficial part that we put on display for the world. You had already removed that once before when we were alone. Because we are friends. We’re friends aren’t we? Just a layer deep and there was more of the person only I knew. Fresh flesh still hot but would turn rigid and cold soon. Now was time to begin the real discovery. I was an archaeologist! I would uncover the ancient ruins that made you what you are. I chiseled away at the much more guarded layer. This flesh would not come off easy but off it would come. Like cutting pieces off a chicken. Piece by piece you revealed yourself to me. By the time I was done with the fleshy layer I was covered in your beautiful blood. I was closer to you than ever. Now was the real challenge. So much bone. It was like trying to crack a diamond with a feather. I’ve come this far. I have to see what is at the center of you, of us, our universe! Knock knock knock, crumbling away here and there. The blood on my face didn’t even have a chance to crust up thanks to the sweat pouring from my scalp mixing with it, keeping it moist and fresh. I now saw the network of veins that powered you. I had shut this whole operation down. I really do apologize for that. Do you still love me?

Here it was

I confess I was not very careful and patient at this point. I yanked and tore the veins in something of a frenzy because I could feel it now. I could feel the essence of you closer to me than ever. Would I find God? Would I find the Universe? Or maybe Utopia? Perhaps a great void as the final bad joke? I was afraid to know but excited all at once. There’s your heart. It no longer beats of course. It no longer animates the person I adore. That makes me so sad but I had to understand you. I couldn’t live with the facade anymore. I grabbed the beat-less heart with both hands and with all my might I yanked it away from your chest! And there It was. I will never be the same. I see why you kept It from me. It was more wondrous than anything I could have ever imagined. Pure black. It was like a pearl made out of space. But there were no stars, no celestial bodies, no planets, no shooting stars, nothing. But It isn’t simply nothing. It’s a Nothing that exists. It pulled me in closer and closer. Bloody faced and exhausted. It still chose me. You were still choosing me. After everything between us and what I had done to you. I fell into it. Your blood was blown away and I was just me again. Only now I was enveloped in the black shimmer. It’s so strange to see the black dance around without any light to speak of. It’s nothing anyone in the world ever expected. We all have our ideas and predictions don’t we? But I did what it took to find out. I killed you and opened you. And now I am only you. Blackest of black and deeper than life or death.”

-CL Fuqua

Ark of Salvation

“I can’t remember in detail how it all came about.

I found myself inside never wanting back out.

The rugged and sturdy beams of solid wood are strong.

They’ve been tested, never bested suffering long.

This mighty ship is relentless and tenacious heading to God’s land.

Stubborn and unchanging like her captain who leads us by his hand.

I may stumble and fall as the waves crash against the walls.

But pray my soul to keep and always heed my captain’s call.

Ark of salvation guide us safely through life’s storms

Ark of salvation in dead of winter keep us warm

Ark of salvation though you be battered and tried

Ark of salvation pillar of truth you will never die”

-CL Fuqua

Count Chocula’s Haunting

“Please I…I don’t have much time. I can feel it coming on again….I should have listened. She tried to tell me, no she tried to WARN me. But I was a stupid young know-it-all. They say “mothers know best” but it is truly a universal constant. Growing up in what some would call a religious fundamentalist household I was barred from many activities and entertainment most people my age would recall with warm fondness. Trick-or-Treating, Harry Potter, hell even the Gargoyles cartoon show. Sure there were times when I felt I was missing out but for the most part I internalized the same convictions and began to echo my mother when questioned by my peers. “Why aren’t you dressing up for Halloween?” and many such inquiries were always brought on during this time of year. Eventually I was old enough to say “I’ve never done that so by now I just don’t care. I’ll buy my own candy.” And I meant it. But over time my convictions in such things softened and I evolved from rigidity to general apathy towards entertainment and “holidays” which exuded an occultist or spooky energy. There was always one restriction though. Always one which even as a youngster I found to be particularly ridiculous. I see now the evil one, that prince of darkness was waiting to play his cards at just the right time.

Count Chocula cereal. The chocolate flavored, marshmallow adorned, sugar filled breakfast cereal with that goofy looking vampire which is obviously meant to be a caricature of the Dracula from literature. My mother was insistent on banning that from our home. Sure Cinnamon Toast Crunch was king in my culinary kingdom but the mere fact of a prohibition existing made me want to rebel! Cookie Crisp was perfectly acceptable and those characters were robbers! The hypocrisy was astounding. Eventually time passed and as prohibitions on other such things like books, tv shows, and movies were lifted my desire for it simply ceased. It didn’t look all that tasty to begin with so why bother with it now? But to hear as a child that “Count Chocula is demonic” sticks with you even as an adult. Now I firmly believed such statements were complete nonsense. Well this is where we find ourselves. I was enjoying the Halloween season and saw that Count Chocula was displayed at my local Walmart. That’s when the sinister thought seeped into my mind: “buy it and finally move on.” I should’ve resisted. I should’ve recognized the devil’s whisper. But instead I grabbed it, checked out, and was on my way home.

Please forgive me…..It’s growing stronger now. Soon there will be no “me” left to write this warning out. You see the moment I swallowed my first spoonful….no……let’s start from first pour. I got home and was in no particular hurry to have myself a bowl so I put the other groceries away and lazily browsed through facebook and youtube until my damned sweet tooth overtook me with desire. I opened the kitchen pantry and….”wow it’s cold in here!” I didn’t recall it being so cold in the pantry. The rest of the kitchen was normal temperature. How strange. Oh well, I spotted my new chocolatey prize and although it was well into the evening I was having cereal for dessert. I fetched the bowl, spoon and milk and as I began pouring the Count Chocula I felt a faint but real, dark presence fill the kitchen and surround me. I became cold and I thought I heard a distant scream or screeching, what one would imagine a banshee to sound like. I shuddered and chalked it up to neighborhood kids at play. But the cold, the shivering cold….

I had a full bowl and the milk was at the perfect level. Time to kiss childhood prohibitions goodbye! The moment I swallowed my first spoonful I knew something was wrong. Something in me was wrong. Like a long slow bear hug from behind, I felt and sensed clawed hands and long arms wrapping around my insides. “W-what…what is this!?” I exclaimed out loud but before I could utter another word my throat seized up and I began retching. I vomited up the entire day’s meals and drinks but not the Count Chocula I had just consumed. How was this possible? This was some serious form of food poisoning I had never encountered! But then I heard it. No I felt it. It wasn’t an audible sound but a feeling more real than a first kiss. The feeling SAID “No.” No what? What was happening? No it wasn’t food poisoning. It was my master. Without thinking my body seized so hard I thought my spine would snap but my arms inexplicably grabbed the bowl still full of the sinister brew and I plunged my entire face into the bowl and lapped up the contents like a starving dog. “What is going on!?” I thought as I could no longer speak. But just then as if in response to my confusion a malicious audible sound crawled it’s way from the innermost caverns of my soul and out of my mouth. A deep growling so guttural and primal slithered out, for a split second I wondered if a grizzly bear had broken into my home. Then the unthinkable happened; I began gnawing and chewing at the bowl! It broke and snapped to pieces and I kept chewing as it cut into my tongue and sides of my mouth. My teeth were loosening as blood gushed out all over the kitchen counter. But I kept chewing until I swallowed the shattered pieces against my will. The room began changing color and tunnel vision was creeping in from my peripheral as I began stumbling about the kitchen. The last thing I saw before blacking out was that stupid expression on Count Chocula’s face. But wait! Did he just move his eyes and look at me!? *THUD*

I won’t go into the details of the next few days as it would take time I simply do not own. You see Halloween is tonight and I feel an inevitability. Count Chocula’s demonic frenzy of my body and soul will crescendo tonight in my sacrifice. That was the plan all this time. I wonder how many others the Count has claimed on Halloween night and the story was never told. Or perhaps the dots were never even connected? Please stay far away from this cereal. For your life and soul you must not touch it. My mother’s religious warnings were right. Count Chocula. Of all the damned things. Count Chocula. Lord have mercy on my soul.”

Thanks for reading! I had to come up with this in 45 min or so before bed so apologies for the rushed nature of it all. Stay safe this Halloween. 10/31/18

-CL Fuqua

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


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.