Stephen Pimley | Abstract,Random,Thoughts,Writing | Wednesday, September 3rd, 2014

I don’t like the idea of making a fetish out of attraction. I guess I understand why people like the simplification of a certain type of guy or woman being their “thing”. I am starting to believe that to be an arbitrary restraint they are putting on themselves out of naiveté. I can fall for any woman between the gender stereotype in designer clothing to the tattooed and pierced. I find that when you really get to know someone their personality either fits with yours or it doesn’t. Fashion and artistic taste in music, literature, and so on falls away into the background. There is something at the core of every person that can melt together and form a stronger alloy, or it can froth and boil in a dangerous reaction. …and sometimes a bit of both.

Stephen Pimley | Abstract,Illness,Thoughts,Writing | Monday, September 16th, 2013

I am trying to transform myself for a good cause, but I’ll never be perfect. I’ll never be what the world needs, but I’m changing nonetheless. You too, may never reach your lofty goals of perfection. Perfectly skinny, perfectly beautiful, perfectly successful, perfectly wise. At some point you have to accept yourself for what you are. Your goals matter more than your progress. Your intentions matter more than all the people ahead of you in life. You matter more than your doubts and fears. They’re just distractions and obstacles in the road. Tear your eyes away and look out the window at the landscape passing by. Sooner than you realize it, all of this will be gone and you’ll be left with nothing more than memories of the path you’ve taken. What do you want to remember?


Stephen Pimley | Abstract,Dreams,Thoughts,Writing | Sunday, July 14th, 2013

I dream of her every night because my heart and mind refuse to let go of this last ray of light. She is the Minotaur’s labyrinth, and I am the desperate soul braving her twisting depths for an answer. Imprisoned in this dark construction of my own design, I yearn to knock the walls before me flat with a bellow of frustration and rage. Whatever powers I may possess, nothing but pure determination seems to hold any offer of revealing an unobstructed path back into her warm embrace. Night after tear-bled night it’s always the same pitfall that shatters the flagstones beneath my feet and returns me gasping into my pillow. I come upon a crossroads of many paths and before me stands a great fountain feeding into a garden blanketed in mist. Cherubs of the finest crystal fly forth from a base of green-veined marble and blast upon their trumpets to usher streams of water for the lily and fronds beneath. I kneel down and cup my hands in the waters for refreshment when in my reflection a foul horned beast gazes back at me. My slit eyes widen in shock as behind me I hear the crunch of gravel beneath a boot and a sword being unsheathed. Starting out from under my sheets I wipe the sweat from my brow and wonder. Am I doomed to destroy everything I love? Am I doomed to be destroyed by everything I love? Another night comes and another question remains unanswered.

©2009, 2013 Stephen Pimley


Stephen Pimley | Abstract,Thoughts | Sunday, June 30th, 2013

I have always found the normal, accepted state of affairs in this world rather appalling. Even here, deep in my refuge, outside events are born on drafts that shatter the complacent distraction I have so sought. These rank, decaying smells stream up the wide gaps in my skull from all the despoiled, fouled things these hands have wrought over the years. An odor as distinct as any; my past come back to haunt and my legacy stained and twisted in the minds of man. I brought them laws to obey and gods to believe in, thinking I could alter their very nature itself. For a brief while my name was upheld as a means to protect and unite. A shadow beneath which the weak and poor stood fast. Since, it has blackened into war cries before slaughter, cackles of glee before the resulting rape, and even solemn judgments before execution.

Over these years I have also watched, silent and still, as once brightly dyed sacks laid on the earth before me have browned, tattered, and drifted into the dust from whence they came. Their contents have since tumbled down into one massive, glittering heap of gold and guilt from my boots all the way up to my neck. Perhaps, not quite high enough. But mostly… I see the world outside as a thick sludge sliding down every canted angle, dripping into every shadowed depression, oozing into every last fold to blanket the earth. A universal gag to suppress the last telling gasp before we twitch and shudder in submission to this rotten fate. I still remember days of living youth when I would arrive at home and attempt to shrug it off my shoulders as if it were merely somebody else’s burden. Perhaps I had just grabbed the wrong cloak from the tavern door as I hurried about on another regretful night? I truly wish I had known then how inevitable this corruption would become.

All the same, it managed to cling to me in ways I had not the means to shake and wormed it’s way deep into my thoughts. In the end I had hoped the thick lead sheathing of this longboat would be enough for some semblance of peace into eternity. For a brief time in my existence I could close my mind to the pain and death above. All my fault, all my doing. And I the wight, foolishly trusted mortal hands in the arrangements for my rest beneath. My priests have long since abandoned their duty tending my mound and supplicants. I can feel my marking stones above, fallen to their sides and crumbled into rain-worn shards. I can taste the vibrant life in the roots snaking their way downwards to chisel away at my shelter. Now even the smallest of the ever-growing cracks invite that most insidious draft to flutter about my barrow. Time is promising me that all the offers laid to rest before these withered bones are not how they are, not how they’ll last. Soon, time will offer my tortured soul one last chance to act. I know nobody will understand my cause. I know nobody will believe in my right. I can’t care about that much anymore. I know what I should do. I know what I must do. That is – once I dig my way out – once I claw my way up.

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