Lift off From Reality…

It is not always like that,
Though the higher I lift off from reality,
The further I inevitably fall.

The trough needn’t be so deep, the ditches so sloped, and hard to climb.
If you crest too high, it gets difficult to see, so far out that
Even pulling yourself back down presents only
Floating, fabricated footholds
To tread water, or tread mill
Think you’ve moved but you’ve stayed still.
Acting as if there is no problem isn’t valid stance either,
Just another phantom pretending to be the ground.

A lot has changed now,
my skin has closed in around me.
But it’s better to be in my skin
Than to be abandoned outside it.
Or with mind sunken in.

Daniel Triumph.

Sorry it’s late, but here’s the Thursday post.

It’s sort of related to the New Years poem. It’s kind of weird.

Wraith Hail

The more of you that I inspect,

The more of me I see reflect (Dave Mustaine 1995).

But when I went to see what’s what,

I looked around, I was a slut.

I’m in this, here, a room, I have a dictionary I have a bed.

You bought me too, paid food and drink,

Oh ho, your story takes a twist, the bed is red.

Tell me, what was I to you?

I’m a scholar, I know the words.

I just…don’t remember, let jog my mind; open the book:

Definition of concubine in English:


1. (in polygamous societies) a woman who lives with a man but has lower status than his wife or wives.

Example sentences

1. ‘Abraham ended up with a wife and a concubine, Jacob with two wives and two concubines.’

2. ‘Do they mean to train girls to becoming rich people’s wives or concubines?’

3. ‘Round about were the remains of two 20-year-old women (wives or concubines?), two 40-year-old men, and a dog.’

1.1 archaic A mistress.

Middle English: from Old French, from Latin concubina, from con- ‘with’ + cubare ‘to lie’.

It’s funny, isn’t it?

They used to tell me to…know my place.

This isn’t my place, is it?

It’s only yours. It is Orion. his name is Orion.

There is a pile of papers and books in the corner,

Near my mother,

She is insane.

“Gasoline was too expensive!” She sings, “I got kerosene~, ah, look! It doesn’t smoke as much! How lovely!”

I watch the fire. I’ll die here, impure. How many of my friends; they call it monogamy, but if you’re not a wife, you’re…concubine.

Let it burn me, mother Hail. The grandfather clock on the wall strikes twenty minutes of fire.

“Come now, don’t be retarded, look, it’s your man, calling in the hall!”

The flames are silent. They drift into the vents. The room is stone, it’s stone, it’s stone, it’s…the tapestry, a gift from mom, catches fire, then the rug, just let me die.

“Come, Alexandre, darling, listen!”

The fire, I am a kēmist by training, kerosene, “it is a flammable liquid and the vapors can explode.”

The air in the room ignites, a cold burst of red and yellow and orange and painful and mother help me

Engaged in crime I grasp my throat
Enraged my mind starts to smoke
Enforce a mental overload
Angry again, angry again, angry (Dave Mustaine 1995)—


Come dear, “she says,” I am disoriented, my bed is singed, but it didn’t catch. The rug is finding its way to me though. I’m dead.

“Come on, you can do it!”

I see her beckon. I hear from the hall, calls for his life. He doesn’t call for me, the trash man. All the servants are out, he is alone, but for me.

“Let the wicked burn in hell, my love, we have work to do here yet! Can’t you see them? They dance with the flames, the wicked, still, look! I want to join them, but my lovely, you still need taking care of, don’t you?”

You can always trust a schizophrenic; if she’s your mother.

I stand up, the bed catches, finally, sharing a moment of heat and lust with the rug. I don’t see smoke, but I cough anyway.

“Look!” he enters the room, my mother is still not helping, she’s helping, look, I look, I look, I loo-

“Hey, kiddo,” I say to him, I say to Orion.

Orion, my owner, looks at me, he’s frightened, paralyzed. He; I feel now, that my resentment was misplaced. He scans the books, on fire. I take the dictionary from the smoldering bed and add it to hell pyre (Zelos Wilder 2003), and laugh as my mother does; the saccharin laugh of our family.

“Nice of you to join us, what’s burning, did the vents do their job?” I stride to the window and open it. The flames feed on the oxygen, the atmosphere, my life.

“Everything! There was a burst in every ventilated room—”

I hated him, so I took him and threw him out the window, save them from the flames, I called.

Then, my mother and I, we left the building and let it die, die instead of me, I’m more important. I’m more important.

Daniel Triumph.

Due to an immense amount of stress, this week is a repost of something I posted a while back. This is a repost of a piece I published earlier, but this time it isn’t split into two pieces. I’ve been meaning to put this up as one piece anyway, so here we go.

This is a piece that happens a few years after Dirge’s Second Operation, which is also worth checking out.

10 Sentences Written over Ten Days in December

It was a dark and sunny day today and I was like a good friend of mine. Breach knowledge. Break the teeth, break through her teeth, crushed with tools of torture—through group participation, the damaging of humanity seems more acceptable. It happened yesterday. Art for education, to process a thought; art for the audience, art for entertainment. A drum beats for me, it gets louder every day…the cadence tells me that soon, I’ll meet my judgement day…my judgement day…my judgement day (Megadeth 1999). one is there to catch you when you fall, even if no-one fails to. You can sort of lean on yourself, the long term implications are quite interesting. Do you want a short sentence, or a long sentence? Okay, perhaps I can handle that.

Sorry this week is late…a day late a dollar short!

Anyway, this was a constraint-based project from my Creative Writing course. The writing was more like over fifteen or so days, but the point is that no more than one sentence was written per day.

And the end I touched it up a bit, and rearranged a few but otherwise, this is the result. Kind of an interesting project.

Daniel Triumph.

P.S. : Footnotes

It was a dark and sunny day… a play on an iconic, cliched opening line. Apparently “It was a dark and stormy night” was made famous by a Bulwer Lytton in 1830. There’s also an inherent redundancy—if it’s night, that implies by default that it’s dark. Night is dark. My version of the line was made by using the auto-suggest feature on my phone’s keyboard.


Break the teeth… This somewhat graphic line refers to Alexandre Dirge. I recently wrote a short story regarding her. I think it’s pretty well done, you can check it out here.

…(Megadeth 1999). This is a line from “Wanderlust” by Megadeth. It’s a pretty chill song, despite the band; worth checking out.

Do you want a short sentence, or a long sentence? This is a fun line due to the nature of the project being based around sentences. The other thing is that this is an obscure reference to the children’s novel, The Phantom Tollbooth. There it was being used as a pun for both grammatic sentences, and court sentences.

Dirge’s Second Operation

Or, “Raze

When she had finished speaking, she stared at me.

I looked at her rather intensely.

She glared at me openly. Perhaps she lacked a sense of etiquette, or perhaps the intensity came from an underlying edge—perhaps more than an edge—of…something.

“And as a result,” I continued, “I’m now in control of our group.” DONTTELLHERTHATSPEAKONLYWHATISNECESSARY I think I spoke too loudly. Hopefully she will just think I’m nervous…

She was rather loud, but she didn’t seem nervous. There was something disconcerting about this woman. “You are telling me that you have taken control of the Caironea gang?”

“The…Alexandre gang now.” I think I spoke too loudly. THINKIMNOTTHINKINGATALLIRUINEDRUINED

I noticed something strange about her mouth.
“You said your name was Alexandre Dirge.”

RUINEDRUINED I couldn’t tell if she had asked me a question or if she had simply made a statement. RUINEDRUINEDTHEREISNONEEDTOTELLALL JUSTLETHERLOCKYOUAWAYAND

When I had received the letter, I was certain that it would lead either to some sort of attack, or perhaps a joke. Yet I am not fighting, and typically those who play tricks do not confess murder to the guard Captain beforehand.

I felt that I had heard the name before…Dirge. Continue reading “Dirge’s Second Operation”