Gothic-Surrealism

Words of a world, strange though wonderful.

"The Wall" - Confessions of a Schizophrenic

I begin this entry with the premonition of learning more about myself. What shall I find beyond the fog of uncertainty? What have I failed to recognize in this life? This is not a life, this is not a dream. How impenetrable is the wall that divides my mind? That divides reality from dreams. Oh but the dream world allows me to feel what I thought was never real. In this world I feel peace and serenity and all my characters welcome me with open arms and thankyous for the noble heart I’ve always felt morally obliged to offer. On this side of the wall, the sun drapes its warmth over my face; its rays blanket my skin shielding me from the cold and bitter side of reality. Oh how I love to imagine a good life on the other side! Always drawn to this concrete barrier, I’d jump and grasp the threshold that feels rugged beneath my fingers, peering over. What a strange world! I’ll see figures in the distance, laughing, conversing. Their silhouettes eerily presented in the moonlight of veracity. I can feel the chill of this side assaulting my face. Oh what a bitter world! None of these bodies seem to mind the dimness, the cold; they’re happy. How? I’ll stare beyond the wall; now and again something will stop, turn and look at me. I don’t know what it thinks or feels. It’s too dark for me to know. It’ll stare back. I’ll see the whiteness of their eyes, I know they stare. One day two silhouettes strolled along; I could make out their faint mumble. They gazed in my direction as their pace slowed, voices faded. Suddenly a roar of laughter stampeded my way, ricocheting and echoing across the world of reality. In the cold, lengthy plumes of breaths emerged. One shook its head; the other looked on; its white eyes piercing the darkness like two arrows. The wall, however; shielded me… as it always has. I’m home here. Nothing can hurt me… no judgments. I gaze and ponder at the real world. Frigid gusts of rejection attack my exposed inner-self; their assaults quite overpowering. A warm hand came to rest upon my shoulder. I turned to the light to see a sun-lit hand, washed in flush complexion; belonging to a gorgeous person. Those eyes… oh those eyes drew me in. The smile thawed me. A tear of contentment flew down my cheek. The lips of that perfect smile spoke to me; “Come back home Daniel.”

 

-Daniel Long, Gothic-Surrealist Author

Glimmer Within the Dark Poet

     The world’s most surrealistic poems originate from beings who question their own grip on reality! Why is this? Because we acknowledge our differences from “ordinary”, so we’re at the advantage of possessing analytical mentalities. The study of the world around us and ourselves makes us philosophers! Words of the metaphor enrich our poetic vernacular. Dark Poets! Gothic Writers! Apostles of Gothic-Surrealistic literature! Take hold of the reins and preserve our command of the English Tongue! We’re the most audacious when writing our minds. Our work is art. I shall do my part in the show!

     “I am one of few qualities; I just focus on a few good ones!”

     “Wake up! There is a pulse within you!”

     “The world yet knows! Show them!”

I see me now… I’m an awkward man. I know this. It’s painful.

     “No…no… that’s your strength! Shock the world!”

I’ve come to grips with it all; it’s been a fray!

 

-Daniel Long, Gothic-Surrealist Author