Welcome to the blog and website of the author James Kidac.

Welcome to the blog and website of the author James Kidac.
In Between, now available in leading ebooks stores and Amazon paperback.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

the essence of a trait of man

the essence of a trait of man.

do we really understand the inner workings of lust? why do we feel the need to hold the mere flesh of a lady its a baffling thought. was it for warmth, or a stake in her ownership?

another random question for the ages, are we powerless to the sway of the junk of her trunk?

closed eyes and a smile across the face, he inhaled deeply and slowly, the explosion of scents in the room took him up for a short ride up to the high heavens and back down to earth. the pieces of whole flesh moved around with beady eyes, unaware of his meek presence and he took it well, probably better than the paranoia he was used to in class. he walked across the neon inspired lit room to mark his presence, make his presence felt, whatever close enough to the territorial strut lions do but he failed and looked out of place in a decor of a room that would be overwhelmed with sleaze in a movie. no such flamboyance here, though.

he eked out a stone look, tried a composed calm, but he clamed up even when he approached the bartender. he looked at the drink on the left hand of the bartender, a slick green and cherry top and a shot glass to hold the bright colours.. colours that sparkled under the dim spotlight lined around the round edge of the false ceiling.

should i order the shot just to get the attention i want?

should i join the game?

all these sidenotes, instruments to pick up as naturally as the guitar, seduction galor'e. simply put, a luxury of human advancement, or would you rather, it the stink that cries irony and superficialism?

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Caffeine the victim

Someone said that love happens when you can't sleep. a love indulgent reality beats the thought of dreams hands down and that love fuels the sparkle in the eyes. that Someone didn't know about the pitfalls of his errant judgment and he ought to be shot.

With Caffeine.

ha. he let one short and sharp laugh out again. Santa's little helper, the mischievous elf, read about many things. things like love were a folk's lore. things like good and bad. things like the power of judgments. ideals, presents Santa gave only to his most beloved companions, not to children of any age and country. those could have the superfical caffeine shot. those could have their ugly wants quenched.

a smirk in Santa came with a giggle when he struck one kid off the goodie list for being bad. the irony of it all just irks of corporate conspiracies at its finest. rubbing his hands with glee, lets corrupt more innocence.

ha! another laugh was let out somewhere far far away. no one heard it, only the sound of jiggling bells, joy and laughter. christmas is coming.. :)

Hollow Man

He conquered the world.

He conquered the bloody world. And it didn't matter. Not to him anyways.

Sephiroth laid on the ground, bloodied as all fallen men were, his midriff opened in half, his eyes wide open perhaps surprised in death, long smooth hair covering the most of his face.

Blood dipped from his fist, he seethed and breathed and didn't know what to feel.

same title, same feel, different peeps

did we miss the train?

all we had were memories, too much for my small heart to bear. contrived and sunken, he wanted to show the world that he took illusions of love, even skewed memories of vastly deluded ignorance, seriously.

the beer laid on the table. impressions matter in this shallow existence. enabling a wallowing. the ever impressionist thought of mimes, he thought about how they enclose themselves in their bare hands. people trap themselves with lies.

the beer laid there. hurt always ensue after separations, but why only do deserved aggrievences with excess drama get validation to which people painfully accept? he listened absently to the jukebox, resigned to misery and blues, the coos of the saxophone the crooning of stevie.

let me cry...
let me fly..

the rocks laid there. the beer downed. he thought about lost loves, their significance. he didn't love her, he couldn't. he just hated losing, he thought. you don't love someone when you fuel your delusions, your addictions.

spinning. spinning. its all a blur..