Beginning of All Things to End…

“Things went from bad to worse,” he says as they walk down the long corridor. “What do you mean?” One of his colleagues asks. “Most importantly they are being taken to the facility right now to insure there will be a future them,” he says ignoring the question all together. “Doesn’t matter there won’t be,” another colleague responds. They move quickly through the corridor making sure no one sees them. “Sure, maybe not now but twenty or thirty years from now when they have figured it out. It will be the end of the world,” the leader lays out. They arrive at an unmarked door. Looking around he inserts his key card, “Quickly we don’t have much time. The cameras have already alerted them, I’m sure.”

The three of them enter the room. “We need to erase whatever we can,” the leader says. “What are we even really doing here?” One of them asks. They walk through the stacks of tanks. Each one containing what looks to be a fetus. “Trust me they won’t have cloning figured out by then. Cloning doesn’t work now and by the time it does it’ll be two hundred or more years from now. And even by then none of them will be relevant beyond history books,” a colleague states unsure of his own predictions. “Exactly, we need to stop them now. These are all nothing more than failures. But the potential each container contains. This is where it all starts. This is where we have to make our stand,” the leader assures them.

“Your fear of that future is irrelevant. Some other monster will take their place,” one of them proclaims. They begin pulling electrical board after board as the tanks switch to back up power. “We will impact the next fifty years by our actions today. We fucked up already letting them go into hiding. Who knows exactly how much information they were able to collect behind our backs?” The leader admits. “Doesn’t matter they won’t have us when all this is over. The others will find them and do their part. Same as before. This won’t be over but you’re right we can slow it down.”

The lights begin to flash as the backup systems trigger from the disturbance. “We are in the final moments of our chance to do your part. Destroy whatever you can,” the leader orders. They split up and rush through the room pulling board after board. Quickly they pull what they can as they hear the door open and the boots of their oppressors marching through. “Use extreme force,” they hear someone order before they hear the sound of bullets breaking glass. The sounds of screaming and death soon to follow.

The floor becomes saturated in more than just blood as the last one of the resistances takes their final breath. A solider walks over to their dying body. “If you do the devil’s work then you are,” a bullet to the head silences the room. “Sweep the room, recover the bodies, and report back,” the solider orders. The others do as they are told. Dragging the bodies of the dead to the center of the room. The sound of the door opening again fills the room. The sound of footsteps on glass follows.

“Report,” a man in a white coat demands. “All deserters accounted for and terminated. Zero causalities on our side. They were unarmed. Damage unknown. Believed to be minimal,” the solider reports. “Good job. Could have been executed sooner, but good job none the less,” the man in the coat says. “Thank you, sir,” the solider responds. “Now if we can figure out how they were able to bypass their programming?” The man in the white coat questions out loud.

M.T. Billings

Passions…

“So here we are once again. You with the gun and me with the hostage. Who do you think is going to win this time? Me or you?” The madman with the barrel pressed against the victim’s head ponders out loud. “Things may seem like you’ve got the upper hand, but I’ve got something you don’t,” the half-naked, half blown up, and one hundred percent out of patience hero says. “Oh, and what’s that?” The villain pulls the hammer back on the gun. “A chance.”

“Can you shut that shit off already?” She moans. “How can you even watch this crap?” She asks letting me know she isn’t going to stop without an answer. “Why do you do that? Why do you have to interrupt all of the best parts?” I ask. The sound of me hitting the space bar fills the room. “The best parts? What could have possibly been the best part of a movie that failed to get one star?” She badgers. “I don’t know maybe when he pulls a gun out of nowhere and shots him off the building like in Harder To Die, Than To Live,” I answer. “Wait so you’re telling me the best part of a film is a copycat scene from a film you’ve already seen?” She mocks me. “Well madam it’s not a complete copy since that would be illegal. It will be different to a point though overall the same scene in a sense. Plus, this one didn’t go to theaters and is unrated. Which basically means there will be more blood and the fact that the hostage is a woman means there is a good chance of a topless scene. All of this could add up to a better or worse ending than the “same scene” in another movie,” I explain. “You’ve got to be kidding me, right?” She looks more annoyed than confused. “I didn’t invent the male brain. I was just born with one,” I smile.

She sighs in disgust. “What would you rather watch another movie about two people falling in love after overcoming some stupid obstacle?” I ask her. “Of course, at least they are original,” she says. “Original? Right let’s see the last one we watched was about some couple who fell in love, but then the lady had a dog which just so happens the man is afraid of so, they spend the next hour getting over that. The one before that was about two people too afraid to leave their house though they fall in love over the internet so, they spend the next hour and half getting over that. An hour and a half wondering if they will ever be able to be together through this dire situation that is somehow too impossible to get over. How are either one of those movies not the same?” I question. “That last one won an Oscar by the way so, what do you know?” She says defensively. “How can a movie about nothing get any sort of reward?” I mock. “It got six, but that is beside the point,” she tries to play off. “Nothing happens for almost two hours,” I won’t let the point die. “You try making the hottest actress in Hollywood look ugly and then you tell me you didn’t take a chance,” she rolls her eyes as though I am the ignorant one in this situation. “They put a bump on her nose and she was still hot. They could have lit her head on fire and put her in a full body cast, and she still be hot. Changing one thing about someone is not taking a chance,” I protest. “Neither is watching a movie because there might be a topless scene or more blood,” she protests back. The screen goes black.

“How can you watch this shit?” An angel with giant white wings asks. “What are you talking about? There is so much passion over nothing. How could I the Lord not watch?” A figure of immense light and a voice that could crack the sky asks right back. “I don’t know maybe because there are about seven billion and growing other issues you could address. I mean it is all the same thing. Over and over about nothing at all. Couldn’t there be anything else you could do today? I just don’t get it,” the angel tries to reason. “What’s the point of being a God if you can’t enjoy your own creations?” The question hangs in the air. 

Valerie Hannigan

The Dead Dirty Things…

I can hear the bugs, the insects as they tempt me. Scratching through the hollowed out walls. Begging and pleading for me to bring them more. The sound of their legs scratching against the wall of my skull. They want more. They hunger, they crave the flesh they need. They need more bodies. The dead things that seem to be piling up around me. Now is not the time I want to scream into the night.

But wants and needs were never the same thing. I need this feeling to settle as well. This uneven feeling resting inside my brain. “I hear you,” I release finally. “I hear you,” I begin to weep. Scratching and digging at my own flesh. “Please don’t hurt me. Please,” I beg. As suddenly as it came the tears go away and I know what must be done. “Who though? Who this time?” I ask between the scratches, between the calls for more. The sound of laughter erupting from somewhere within. Silent at first before the fit becomes overwhelming. “You want more? I’ll get you more,” I scream to their never-ending symphony.  

I grab my keys. The time to hunt is now. Time to take a drive and see what we find. Parks, streets, the world littered with throw away dead things. They crave flesh and I crave the blood. Together we live off all the dead dirty things life has to offer. Together we can all live for another day picking through the rot and decay. A smile comes over me. The feeling of relief even if only over a thought. “Collect the dead dirty pretty things. Collect all that life forgot,” I whisper to myself as I stalk through the night.

Valerie Hannigan

Recycling is a very important part of life. We all need to do our part or let it all burn. Trying to persuade anyone to do anything is exhausting. Do it or don’t do it. I’m over pulling my hair out because people can’t stop shoving things up their nose. If it hurts then why are you doing it? Just because your brother does it. Doesn’t mean that you should do it too. Figure it out already. Jesus…

As The Heavens Fall… Something Different…

As Before

Blood runs cold, the night air not as warm as before
Thoughts run empty with your celestial talking
Does the mind stop even after you make it
What separates us from animals if not for sin
Inhaling fire to stay alive one more night
Stripped to the bones, pressed against the cold
Giving into the things that make us whole, want and need
More to do every day easy to feel used
In the dark searching for an escape from internal questions
Believe that one day all will be well, manufactured lie
A dreamer exhaling upon the world tonight
Knowing you are wrong is the worst feeling of all
Blood runs cold, the blue flames washed away
A rebirth of existence praying to a lord from before
Does the devil hear the call as the heart stops beating
What separates us from animals if not desperation
Breathing fire to stay alive one more night
Stripped of all reason, the skin goes cold
Kneeling before it all to feel whole once again
More is needed, nothing is ever enough
In the dark searching for answers to life
Believed that one day all will be well, synthetic truth
A lost soul screaming to the heavens tonight
Knowing there is no answer is the worst feeling of all
Blood runs cold, prayers left unanswered in the night
As above so below, as before so it is now
Naked and alone

The mood struck me as I think of what to do with my time tonight… spending time on twitter can feel like this from time to time… as though one is shouting for attention… only to hear nothing back… social media in general feels like this to me… it turns me off from the whole thing… rather sit in my closet feeling sorry for myself… instead of out in the open feeling the same way… I’m told though if I want people to notice my work then I need to get out there… not sure if I hold these truths as close to my heart… destined to be naked and alone as before…

Getting anyone to notice anything is a challenge… wish I had some sort of secret to share… some profound philosophy to explain it all away… unfortunately all I have are visions of slamming my head into a wall until I no longer care… not helpful I’m aware… but there is something there… a feeling locked within the madness… an lack of effort that doesn’t come across as desperation sewn into the thought… a lack of something… a lack of confidence?… a lack of fucks?… I’m sure I’m missing something… no one was born whole… always searching for the missing parts…

Unsure of where the content of this poem comes from… as I rest on the thoughts that consume me…

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Scarping its way into the world. Teething On Concrete is the newest collection of poetry by Layne Ambrose. Sobering, haunting, and downright depressing. Ambrose takes us on a journey the only way he knows how. Across the razor blades of his mind. Ambrose’s take on what it means to live will not be forgotten any time soon. Whether you are preaching, kneeling, or teething on concrete this collection is here to satisfy your needs.

“Putting this down wasn’t much of an option.”
M.T. Billings, Shaky Town Rebellion

“Jesus…”
Sylvia Ambrose, Cover Artist

“Concrete never tasted so good.”
Korbin Copy, Is That A Funeral?

Get Your Copy Today… Visit the Amazon Store…

On Kindle and Paperback…

Breaking the Fourth Wall…

I’m pretty laid back. I don’t express myself much through religion, cults, or anger. I get mad and I might even get offended though it takes a lot to get me there and I don’t remember the last time I was really offended. I told some body I was the other day because she burped near or around my face. I’m not sure that counts towards being offended or just thinking she was an asshole. Coworkers are assholes remember that. Usually though I am the one offending other people. Almost all the time I offend other people to the point that my friends have to signal me or use safe words to let me know that I need to calm it down. Is it because I am an asshole? Why am I even questioning that?

Maybe, but really it is because I’m not afraid to speak the truth. I’m not afraid to say that something is black when it is black and something is white when it is white. I know that there is gray out there. I get that. I’m not a fan of the gray. It leaves the possibility of too many what ifs. Getting off point, but I’m not sure because I never really have a point in all of this. I’m laid back. Most people tell me any and everything. Helps with character development so I don’t mind. Well, I do mind because I hate people, but sometimes out of the hate grows new people. For those of you who don’t know that is how babies are made. Unless you were made in a tube. Babies shouldn’t be made in a tube. A gray area topic, but then again, most babies shouldn’t have been here in the first place. Now we’ve found our way to the center of the dark gray cloud that hangs over my head.

I don’t know the whole topic is so touch and go. No one wants to see a baby die including this heartless bastard, but at the same time traffic is getting to be too much. Why do people have to go anywhere any more anyways for anything? Is there such as thing as too many people? Apparently, there is and apparently the best way to combat that is to make more because they just won’t stop falling out of vaginas. Have you been to a Babies’r’us, however the fuck you spell it, there are so many babies. Some of them are downright what the fuck drown that thing before it can eat you or worse vote conservative, but then there is always that one baby that is just so cute. Alright fine… they’re all fucking cute. Even the conservative ones. I am human after all.  I am more disgusted with myself than you will ever be.

Such a hard choice. To fuck or not to fuck? Being an adult sucks most of the time. Being a kid is so much easier. No one gives a fuck if you mess up. Okay maybe your parents but they aren’t even real people anymore. They are hollowed out shells of who they used to be thanks to you. Yeah, you killed your parents. Next time you see them, if you can, look into their eyes. Dead, they are dead. They still talk, breathe, and do shit but not really. They haven’t slept in so long that they don’t even understand the concept. Honestly what is the point? Give death a chance to take you in your sleep? That’s some adult mentality right there. “If I don’t sleep. I’m not dead.” That manic laughter you hear isn’t the boogey man hiding in your closet. It is your parent’s trying not to completely break down on the other side of the wall.  

Really though they haven’t slept since god knows when because of you. They’re backed up because of you. Their hopes and dreams are half of what they used to be. If they even exist at all because what’s the fucking point? I’m not bitter… Being an adult is the absolute worst. So, stop saying I can’t fucking wait until… because yes you fucking can wait.. Speaking of being an adult. I should probably go feed my kid. It has been six hours after all and her little arms can’t reach through the bars so well. Don’t judge me. How else am I supposed to get anything else done around here? The glass doesn’t pick itself up. That’s what my mouth is for.

Last time I write something personal on a dare… I’m so behind on so many things… Looking back… looking forward… everything will work itself out… there will never be enough time in a day… even if I spend most of it wasting away… kids aren’t so bad… being an adult is shit… but someone has to do… not really sure what it is that I am trying to say… I just know that I don’t want to do any of the things I have to do today…

Amazon… Paperback… Kindle…

The baby needs a bigger cage… accepting donations where ever books are sold…

Fact or Fiction…

“I know your life is a never-ending nightmare full of horror and deceit. I know you are often at odds with yourself and this horrid thing called life. Every morning is filled with contempt as you have this endless debate on whether or not you should kill yourself in your shower or while your K-cup brews or in your car that is neither new nor old but works just fine. These things I know because I’m sitting right next to you. These things I know because I’m looking at the same things you are. These things I know because we share the same eco-friendly renewable water source in the same god damn forsaken city on the banks of some form of water. I know all these things. I think all these things because I too live a life of perceived perfection. A zero-struggle life know as modern society. Chances are we think the same exact way but out of pure boredom let’s say I don’t. Because we have to be different in this world. We have to be special when it comes to things like this in life. Odds are against us though beyond our thoughts. We went to the same school, learned from the same books, ate the same shitty food, and lived near perfect replicas of the same life. Let me guess you played doctor? Let me guess you owned a copy of GTA 3? Let me guess you couldn’t catch’em all on paper or digitized? Let me guess you thought you were special? Well, you’re not, you and I are more alike than you and I might think. We are so close you and I that we could be one in the same. Chances are we are in fact the same robotic, institutionalized, modern guilt individuals walking side by side right now. We could say hello to one another but we won’t. We could relate our shared dream suicide scenarios but we won’t. We could discuss just how much we actually hate each other but we won’t. Because what’s the point? Why tell you everything you already know? Why bother letting you in on our little secrets? We all have secrets, guilty pleasures, they are all the same but we have them. We imagine that they are the little things that make us different. That the tidbits of information we hold dear separate us from fact and fiction. When really there is no such thing. We live a life of fact and fiction. We live a life of knowing we are the same, fact. We live a life thinking in some way we are different, fiction. We live lives that are exactly the same. We fuck women and men who are exactly the same. We blindly follow the dumbest of our kind because we know that they are the same. We read books and stories, watch movies and shows on people or about people who are exactly the same. And like you I will do nothing to change this. Like you I will ride this life into the ground hoping for something better but being served up the exact same. There is no difference between animals and man. Just as there is no difference between us. Everything was put here to do the exact same thing, suffer until our last dying breathe.”

“What an interesting report Timothy,” the teacher struggles to form the words. “Not quite what we were looking for but informative all the same in its own way. Very imaginative,” her face unsure like her mind about what to say or do. With a satisfied smile the boy takes his seat once again. She shuffles some papers on her desk, “Umm if we could have Stephanie, Stephanie Keaton come up next.” Stephanie joyfully gets up from her seat and takes her place at the head of the class. “Now Stephanie could you tell us what you did this summer?”

Layne Ambrose

Little Timmy seems to be on the right path to something… Let’s all hope he doesn’t envision himself as president… At least we all know the medication is working… Hate to be Stephanie… I mean how do you follow that up?…

Looking For Something Longer… Is That A Funeral? Has Got You Covered…

Check out our growing collection of books available now on Amazon. Paperback or Kindle Is That A Funeral? and Layne Ambrose has plenty for you to enjoy.