Kaiden Blake

New free-write. This one's pretty personal, so I'd love to hear your thoughts.

I, I, I. You and them. Where is "us?" Where were we? Parasites to dismantle my abilities. Trapdoors without dead-ends, tunnels full of revelations revealing a chain of one way exits all with my name. Where were you? Where was I?

You, you, you. My mind. Your mind, but not ours despite the hours that have passed. Weeks, months, years, decades, centuries - what is time? Calendars are merely calculators for letters that seek redemption.

Just a little stir-crazy. Sanity was a test at birth, thought I'd circle in all the bubbles. No, I came out of the womb tongue-tied. Where was my voice? I'd receive it, but only as an allowance. Vocal chords sitting in the corner, time out. Too much time out. Time in, jab your fingers into the palm of your hand or your fist against my flesh. They're only bruises, though the current cruises. It's been a thousand miles and I'd like a check-up or to check-out. Nobody puts baby in the corner, though childhood corners I cut while I aging. "Only a number" was etched into my slumber until the days and nights had merged. Dark circles under my eyes to match the skies, and my, you were fond of fashion.

Yes, no. No, yes. You see? You don't see. See. See me. Me see, or I see - another rule to follow. Another slap across the face, what's left to deface? Age like wine while left to whine. It was only a number, even with 20 years of separation lending itself to desperation. I was merely an obstacle when you entered the course, oh intercourse, just another hurdle for you to climb and claim the prize. Tantalize. Contending for a contest without consent. I saw through hat full of paper slips, despite your slips. Slip-ups are inevitable when all entries are identical. I called a silent jury and clumsily dropped the case, inefficient to stop you from the chase. Denial summoned more memories to the trial, all the while time became senile.

Kitchen appliances aren't proper dwelling areas for body parts to lounge, though my brain's recipe was critical to your wiring. Tourniquets short-circuiting long after the power is out. Sparks invisible to inspectors like metaphors schemed by grand directors. A silent film with voices dubbed over, compliments to the audience. Disservice is service if only to add sound to a moving mouth. Violent verbalization.

Me, me, half. Two halves not fitting a whole; a hole. Architecture influenced by the demeanor of quicksand for a more naturalistic approach. Afloat, but only treading. Desirable dreading. Smile to please, please. Proper etiquette for mourning. Coping in the form of table manners. Every individual poised with impeccable symmetry while each is served a different meal. Eat up when you're full, hunger isn't forgiving while your insides tug and pull.

I, me, you, they, he, she, it. Not us.

Never us.

New free-write:

The gravel and sky had befriended one another. After concluding the regular patrol duty rotation, I found myself walking on air. I was seven years old, and a simple blue sky had meant more to me at that ripe age than it dare mean to me now. Clear skies were always level playing fields; no interruptions in my train of thought, no obstruction to point my finger at. Literal and figurative meanings had meshed into one, resuming the role of adaptation. Life demands a constant casting call for the role of the fittest; dramas dripping with dopamine, warding away the fiend.

I suppose I never thought I would exist during the same moment lions had begun to tame their masters. A circus is meant to be filled with gallant atrocities waiting for a flesh-filled audience to devour them with their eyes and vocal chords. Nowadays, the stands are used as balance beams while contractors scream infidelities from tightropes. From outside the tent, all living creatures are the same species yearning to relinquish their plastic confines.

A circus tent is similar to that of a ward. Padded walls and pin-stripes to offer a diversion. A separation. Though the division is successful at mockery, it is merely a fool beneath another layer of separation.

My tantrums had caused rainstorms, and I quickly learned nearly everything in life comes full-circle.

Custom made brooches now for sale!

Several people have been bugging me for awhile to release items for sale, so I now bring you custom made brooches! For those who aren't familiar with the term, they're "pins" to wear as an accessory. I'm inspired by the 80's and 90's, so I wanted to release something fun and funky as a throwback to style.

All the brooches are custom hand-made, and are one of a kind. I included some of my favorites in the photo above. This is a limited run, so buy them while you can!

They're available to purchase at my etsy account here.

http://www.kaidenblake.etsy.com

Hope you guys enjoy them!

xo

New free-write:

Aesthetics are merely diuretics
Cheap thrills with an appetite
Bottom of the bargain bin
With eyes batting their lashes
Staring from below

Writhing in an emaciated cocoon
Heart gorged out, replaced by steel
Disposable materials for such systems
Intricate wiring for destruction

Disguised in this guise
Consumable fuel for the audience
Closest claim to sanity
Never leaving this asylum
Entire lives defined by padded rooms

Sawdust in the form of vengeance
Trees born without voice boxes
Screaming infidelities, soiled cries
Cruelty demands convenience
Earth worms confined under lids

Careful what we deem scapegoats
This desert pruning epidermis
Mind castles and inverted moats
Thoughts, they all float

Synchronization comes in time
Oh, words devoured the mime