ThoughtShock

ThoughtShock: A Manifesto Chapter 15

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Chapter Fifteen
'A Personal Conversation'

Matthew Wayne

By the grace of the divine. Felt deceived when I ran out of time. So much I wanted to say but kept it sealed and locked away. Who could I fool? The demons wanted out to play. I close my eyes and search for any reason why I should remain sane.
Fear rules over our minds controlling our hearts.
No longer do we trust our neighbors, brother or sister. Can no longer trust myself when deep down there brews something sinister. Locking ourselves behind closed doors to decay even faster. It is a choice to remain ignorant. A sense of security within that bliss. Waking from that dream into this nightmare with just one kiss, while you reach out for anyone who might be there. The illusion is fading does anyone even care? Trust is now a fable, a whisper across the table.

“Breaking the bread as piece by piece
gets passed down the line. Hungry mouths,
with all the starving faces
where the chaos brings in the tease.”

As is above, so it is below
now follow me as I know you are just a little slow.
What is out there, is also found within
and this ride is just about to begin.

The Dead Poet

Just how far are you willing to take this?
Destroying your soul, standing before your own abyss.
Simply close your eyes, now make your wish.

“In this illusion is there really such a thing as luck?”

In the war zone I shall die,
glory to be had on the battlefield as I fall
there is power in truth, victory over the lie.
A child once in fear, now we all stand tall.

Damien Nosferatu

You are caught within a web built from their lies. It is the circle of life as you struggle just to survive but everything eventually dies. We are creatures of habit where we allow our emotions to run rabid. We are a disease as we spread, devouring everything that is in eye sight. As this theater of life plays on in our head. We suffer with your ignorance to the plight where you gave up before the war started. Shit got hard so you simply departed. Afraid and unsure, so now the whole experience is nothing but a blur.

“Walking this dream as you wake to its lies.
Dare not speak out for fear of the reprise.
Are we dead, or are we alive?
Could it be an illusion all in my head?”

“The dead will tell no tales.
Written in blood, it will be our journey through the nine hells.
The past it will be our future, the future is our past
it seems to be a concept no one can grasp.”

The Dead Poet

“Where am I to go from here?
Where I no longer recognize my own reflection in the mirror.”

I find myself often repeating the same mistakes over and over again, as if I had forgotten the lesson. The same trials will soon begin. I will fight against the current, my goal will be to survive the irony. To numb the pain and to be free. Once more within the throws of addiction. Drawn to this vice for a reason. I search for an escape from this vary reality that you help manifest, that you create. Slowly over time it transforms into a security line. Days and weeks blend merging as one. The world I had built around myself begins to melt. The deed has been done. I will slowly wake to a world that no longer feels real. I bartered with the devil and signed the deal.

Damien Nosferatu

“shhhhhh.......
I have a secret to share,
it is not a pretty white lie,
it will make your faith run dry.
For I wanna die like Jesus Christ.
Be the martyr for your ultimate heist.”

I have witnessed hell with my own eye.
I have sat alone in the dark wishing to die.
I have whispered a forgotten name.
I have even played this forsaken game.

Pounding my fists against my skull.
Russian roulette with my own soul.
The devil said I could not be saved,
reserved me a seat in hell next to the depraved.
This is my reality, not just any illusion
questioning my sanity, by the barrel of this gun.
Question everything, for I speak in tongues.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

While writing up this chapter and the chapter before this, the odd thought had crossed my mind. ThoughtShock for the title of this book is perfect, for people only "Thought" I was crazy and insane. Bwhahahahahaha I do hope you enjoy this creative piece.

Okay a little history about this piece..
"Damien Nosferatu" and "The Dead Poet" are names I've pinned to two different creative styles I tap into. My "voice" as it were. So I just call them basicly my different writing personalities. One night I thought how 'odd' it would be if these personas had a conversation per say. How strange would a piece be if I could compile a readable piece from these two styles, I can see the difference however curiosity has me wondering if anyone else can see a difference in the personas. I am also thinking of doing another project like this again, it was quite fun.

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ThoughtShock: A Manifesto Chapter 3

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ThoughtShock

Chapter Three
'The Age of Decay'

This is my life, and every time I write
it becomes a confession then festers into an obsession
and somewhere within the cryptic syntax
of the incomplete masterpiece, the insanity creeps back
fears expelled into incoherent rhymes,
insane often engaged chaotic scribbled lines.

Swallow another pill.
It's not just a braincell I try and kill
Where strange voices occupy my mind tonight
they all whisper for me to walk towards the light.

I want to look back, to turn away.
That in this universe, the illusion of reality
wants become obsessions to the sins of vanity
where everyone walks the tightrope of sanity
and invisible shackles, cage my dreams.

“We will all eventually die,
as we often test ourselves
to see if we are even alive”

Where has the beauty faded? Where has the love gone?
In the age of decay, where do I even belong?
Let these words bleed from me, an open sore
now only if I could sacrifice my mind, the whore.

There is no justice when the innocent suffer. Where are the heroes once idolized, admired and sought? Becoming surrounded by the chaos of all the insanity and no hope shall exists when failure leads them to quitting. There will be no refuge, no safe quarter for the timid.
The world has changed. Guilty until proven innocent, given if you are even lucky enough to face your accuser, or stand before your peers. Mock trials to sway the simple minded. Like magic the trick becomes the illusion of freedom, Free to chose their options, the triage in war is the lies in which we are fighting for.

A man cried,
Before his vary eyes, he watched the one he loved die. Blood stained his hands as he tried to apply pressure to the gaping wound. Years of casual observation and this was all he knew what to do to try and save her life. Tears flooded his eyes as deep down in the back of his mind the deepest recess of all his skeletons he knew it was too late, a mockingly ironic twist that only in a fairytale would they survive. As he looked down into the eyes of the woman who captured his heart many times over, he could feel the weak beating of her heart through the blood soaked fabric he pressed with his hands. Watching in horror as the vary essence of her life faded from her eyes until they seemed hallow and empty. He could no longer feel the beating of her heart. His mind spun, with doubt, disbelief, fear, all spiraling within his head colliding with speeds unimaginable.
Screaming in rage, as anger now floods his brain. Cursing the god or gods for this punishment. Then he pleads and begs for a miracle. That possibly he is just dreaming and that this hour, this moment is all just a nightmare conjured by his own mind. Willing to sacrifice anything even his own life for just a chance to see her lungs fill with air once more. His entire world, in just a matter of moments came crashing down around him and within those seconds everything faded from his focus but the woman laying in his lap and the voices that now haunt him.

"Feed your addiction with a lethal prescription
walking the halls of the dead with a reservation."

Pinned to the wall of despair
struck in the heart with disappointment
a sacrifice to your own demons
as you collapse and give up

'Desire'

A want, I too have tasted many times,
growing tired of the constant struggle
All those demented thoughts, tormented images.
The grotesque visions of sick perversions,
Shame and guilt always on guard,
Where monsters patrol the ward.

We all face our demons, dance with horrors
you relinquish control over those fears
give power to the mob who suffers an epidemic
of mass hysteria, as they welcome you to
'The Age of Decay'

“Am I crazy, among the sane?
Has logic failed me all the same?”

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Chapter three.... I am thinking after a few more chapters I'll stop posting them, and find a way to offer a way to download an updated PDF file of some sorts, or maybe Jason will get "pages" added to the publishable proses or poems...

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ThoughtShock: A Manifesto Chapter 2

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ThoughtShock
'A manifesto'
By: Matthew Wayne

Chapter Two
'Manifesting Reality'

Reality; The most profound experience we all share. Everything makes up this illusion that surrounds us, relative to us. How come a particle can be at two places at the same time? Or for that matter mimic what the other does?

First let me put to rest, I am no scientist with a PHD or even been to collage (yet). I do not pretend I know the secret inner workings of the cosmos, or understand the key to the universe. I am an author, I pull together my thoughts and theories on an array of knowledge, I observe and as an author I create pulling forth from a vast library of wealth.
So what is my theory on this subject? It has changed over the years and probably will continue to change but the fundamental principal has and will always be there. I believe there is a heaven and hell, only it's just one place on any substantial existence anyway. From a strictly scientific observation; everything is made up of energy. So spiritually speaking our consciousness is energy. The empty spaces where our eyes fail us, there lies another world a web of vibrations.

Manifesting reality, to seize control of your day. To make it what you will, shaping it to your wants and desires. You manifest your reality every day by simply being, even your thoughts. You are constantly creating your future by the memories you make today, after all it is your reality. The beautiful paradox of reality, it is relative to you. You feel your pain, nobody else does. You feel your love, nobody else does. Then the moral question comes into play, you have the power to shape your reality but you also posses the power to shape another's. We are powerful creatures, with an unlimited capacity to love and to hate, as violence next to negativity becomes second nature in the game of survival.

Morality dictates to us that we should do no harm to others, yet out of greed or necessity it happens, and far too often. Enter the next great paradox, the same great gift becomes our often most crippling handicap. Our ability to learn, to adapt to acquire knowledge. For our surroundings affect our growth, our childhood affects our adulthood. If we were all instilled with a sense of decent morality at birth our world would be a utopia and we would be traveling the stars but since we learn, we have to develop our skills and harness the knowledge of what is right, and what is wrong. Many find themselves down the wrong path, some more destructive than others. Our species thirst for knowledge and I would go as far as to say the truth itself. Many do find comfort in ignorance, deep down I hold out faith that the majority do not want to be puppets, just lack the voice to carry themselves to find their own truth in this strange, paradox riddled reality.

“To witness humans destroy this earth,
that they had already abandoned
Idolize and worship superstars,
to be lead on a leash by political Czars.
I observe as this world turns,
understanding time and space I smile
as this Illusion slowly begins to take shape”

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is chapter 2 to my upcoming shortbook, of course its all still in a very hardcore rough draft and will most likely get re edited before going to the publishers.

ThoughtShock: A Manifesto "Preview"

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ThoughtShock
'A manifesto'
By: Matthew Wayne

Chapter One
'Death Note'

Our minds can be such a beautiful thing, or perhaps our own worst nightmare. Where no thought can truly be original spawned within the far reaches of the human psyche. Exceptions given to the creators who can string such powerful words or emotions into a tangible way. A thought is more powerful than a simple word, it becomes a color, a smell, a taste and even an entire symphony of energy. Generally our brains are all wired the same, The trigger to it all?
Enter the paradox of thought. Science has proven that indeed we are all connected, physically our molecules are identical, chemically we share the same laws. So naturally one must call into question the possibility that with this connection as does our spirituality right?

One God or many, worship of one or of none? Where there are differences there should be at least of one common understanding is that should we accept that one great mystery within us all, and that is our Consciousness. The voice in our heads, the thoughts to an empty cavity of tissue. The brain, and the energy that powers such imagination and relativity.
We are the creators to our reality, the transfer of thoughts and actions. The energy into the spoken or written word, yet when no thought is ever original spawned from the limitless resources of the human mind can we question our own nature and simply observe the reality that surrounds us?

“I search for a meaning to the unknown
to study the reasons of the great mystery
and I bid my time till I learn the truth
for in the end I have but one question, Is this all?”

“Time can be the enemy, it can be a blessing
escaping us all once or twice, where years become just days
paths traveled, roads crossed, and the chances we took.
Where history is made with every step paved
memories slowly forgotten, becoming the treasure we retain
always moving forward, another second, another hour
then a day, next a month before long its another year
death always stalking you from around the corner, he waits.
For in time you shall follow and cross into his territory.
Chaos, disorder, perfection within insanity. The unknown
wilderness lit by energy and thought a living entity.
Everywhere, anywhere for all eternity.
Where there is one, there is another, an opposite,
for where there is nothing there will be something.”

Death can be felt an expression of thought, the feeling a man could wake every single day and feel death breathing on the back of his neck. Decay flows through his veins is a man born with the realization his days are numbered and the abyss beckons. This is about a man who embraced his own mortality that had affected his entire life. 'When there is nothing worth living for, death itself becomes a true temptation' When we live just to die. To complete the circle of life, creation and destruction, chaos in the grand illusion of reality based on the beautiful paradox which is the laws of attraction working in harmony with complete oppositions. A reality based on opposites. The abstract beauty of the whole complexity of our creation. Divine and elegant, the birth of thought a miracle in it's own.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a little preview of an upcoming shortbook I'm going to be working on here and there when I find the time and motivation. ThoughtShock has been a project in the making for a bit now the goal is to make people think and to open their minds to make them ask questions, that will be the aim of this book "A Manifesto"

ThoughtShock: Puppets on a String

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3/10/11

“Do you believe that this life is nothing more
than a test? Do you believe that out of the
thousands of different religions yours is the
correct one? What makes your faith
any more of value then that of others?”

---Excerpt 'A Theory of Existence'

 

ThoughtShock
'Puppets on a String'


                        'Strange voices all shouting my name, screaming at me as if it were some bad out of tune choir, desperately trying to compose what would be a symphony. Screeching notes and choking on various cliffs, like nails to a chalk board it rings in my ears and tightens my stomach. Why by any means tangible would this migraine cause me to think so chaotic. Dreams as real as the sensations against my flesh, and the bitter taste of ash lingers in my mouth. A constant struggle to never gain an inch. A constant war with no chance for victory and the only true proof of such battles are the scars of failure. Gods need not to forsake us, for we have already forsaken ourselves. A constant reminder to our own mortal flaws, that make us human. We live in an age where the old heroes, and the mythical villains are born again, through the drama of our constant struggle in the human spirit. We relive the legendary stories passed down to us, where the names and the deeds have changed but at the core the ideas and ideals still remain.'

“We have became our own pawns in a game,
once played by the gods themselves”

Shadows play tricks out of the corner of your eye
dancing before the open fire, where our heart will always follow a lie
broken promises and dreams of far off distant places
and there before me stands a creature of two faces.

When you walk to the wall and face down the firing squad
will you plead for mercy or will you discover your own god?
For when death stares you in the eyes,
will you be proud of yourself before the world you know dies?

We all share in the same twisted thoughts,
the ones that creep in like a disease as your morality rots.

Maggots fill the lungs of the departed, ignorance fills the minds of the retarded
and the ones left over, are simply tossed and discarded.
Sheep who are lead by the blind, where intelligence falls far behind
scars and scabs cover the bodies of the dead,
and the morbid thoughts continue to echo within my head
“We are the damned, who all have been blessed,
human beings, being put to the ultimate test
Mortals who will all eventually be put to rest”

We are perfectly flawed, where our minds can fathom mythical gods
and many believe our future is written in fate,
however you see it, tomorrow begins with the steps you make.

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