A Song to Get You Through the Hard Times

RIP Peter Steele 1962-2010

Yesterday marked the death of Pete Steele, lead vocalist for the Gothic metal band Type O Negative. His music helped me get through some of the most difficult points in my life and for that I’ll always be greatful. He was a musical genius and he will be sorely missed for years to come.

RIP Pete

An Announcement of Rambling Sorts

So as you happen to have noticed, there’s been an abscence of life on here of late. And in case you were wondering, no I haven’t yet died. At least I certainly hope I haven’t. Because, all thing considered, that would be a rather earth-shattering and completely unwelcome realization. Unless I got to be a ghost-type deal. Not one of those gay little kiddie ghosts though. He’d have to be all out hard-core ghost, yet with a sensitive inside whose heart could be melted by a wayward young lass. Am I rambling? I think I am. Hmm. Dilemna. As hilarious as I find myself, I’d rather not run the risk of alienating my few and far between readers with my half-minded partially-sane ramblings. So to the announcements!

I’m preparing to write a script! I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m preparing nonetheless! If you were to harass me into giving a comparison, I’d roughly equate it to giving a monkey a handgun and asking him to accomplish a high-profile asssassination. There’s just no way you can look at that and think “Hmm. This just might work!”. You’re probably more inclined to think “Dear God! What insipid fool gave a monkey a tool of death and destruction!”. So yes, it is a foray into the unknown (and possibly disastrous) that I will be embarking on. Will I return? Probably. Will I survive? Unless I get hit by a falling piano, in all likelihood. Will I succeed? I’m sure I can make myself laugh, yes. The one true downside is that I have no idea what it’ll be about. So I’ll probably end up winging it. This, ladies and gentlemen, shall be interesting.

As for other things in the creative life of Luke, I’m editing some writing, tossing in some bits of poetry here and there, and structuring the sequel and end to my Apocalypse Duology in my head. So there are great things on the horizon. As soon as I get my time-machine built, anyways, thus enabling me to straighten out my schedule that (while not being cramped at all) I somehow continuously bitch-slap by prioritizing things that even a bum wouldn’t find pertinent. Yet still I march on, and in time I will give you all the sample of the future that you so desperately crave. (Give me a moment as I drool in anticipation that that may one day be the case).

Aside from that, life is as life always is: A hail-storm of random emotions that I have no hold over. But for once it is good and once more I feel as if I have a direction, even if the occassional virus does sideline me in a stupor of sore-throats and disgust. And yet I trudge on, forging towards an end that isn’t yet in sight but one which seems much more attainable.

So until we meet again, or until I am harrassed into writing something new into this futuristic journal, I shall bid you farewell with these few cautionary words of wisdom: If you are ever walking alone under a starlit sky, and you feel a presence with you that cannot be explained; run like hell lest you be attacked by rogue lizard-men with swords, armor, and pointy teeth.

Until we meet again, fear the dark, the light, and that eerie fog-thing weather likes to do now and again. I mean seriously. It’s creepy.

Comes a Musing Death

In amongst the shadows did Death open his arms.

To me he beckoned, inviting, promising the lauded solitude.

Absence of pain and failures- lost loves and heartaches.

Into his darkness I gazed and with haste did I turn away.

Humanity- the unflinching reality. A harsh life in an unforgiving world.

But in this desolate land, much beauty is to be found and I will not crumble.

I will not fail in my quest. And thus shall eternal happiness be mine.

For in my rejection of death did I choose life, and a new path do I now walk.

Light has come into the darkness, and the darkness is afraid.

With it shall I fight my battle.

To See Her Waste Away

A fallen veil, a twisted soul,
Given love is not enough,
The girl I’ve loved has fallen down,
The girl I love with veins of rot.

We met so very long ago in a different time and world
We lived and laughed and loved and married,
And for me that was enough.

But behind the veil and the shadowed eyes,
A demon woke within my bride.
It screamed in agony and in rage,
And let loose it’s hate in a firestorm blaze.

For months and days, minutes and hours,
I could not see the truth,
Of the pain behind her eyes that cried
For me to come and save her.

A smoking pipe, a rusted needle,
A pain in her arm that she must feel,
And every day she chose to forget
The life we had forged together.

Soon the pin-prick traces she could not hide,
Nor the anguish etched beneath her eyes.
They came to my notice and slapped me with shame,
For not understanding the depth of her pain.

Again the time passed as if in a dream,
As we fought a fight she wouldn’t let herself win.
Two steps forward and three steps back,
When she passed on redemption for her promised next fix.

How can you fathom the fear in my heart,
While I watched my love begin to fade?
Her lighted eyes turned dark with death, her sunfire hair to dim,
My one true love, my only love, as she chose evil over Him.

Can you blame a chemical?
Can you blame a flame?
For tearing my heart assunder,
For ripping my love away.

Is her fall a fault of mine?
Does the blame truly lie with me?
Should I have held her closer?
Could I have shown what my love could bring?

They are answers to questions I will never know,
But the images of my love will never leave my mind,
As her skin withered and her lips chapped,
Her life and soul dying, with every shallow breath.

I loved her and I loathed her,
For choosing an addiction over me.
As I wished she could have seen,
That our life, our love, our solemn vows,
Was enough to set her free.

Now I stand at her headstone- in the darkness of the night,
And I try to call back memories of when all in life was right.
But even now her face will haunt me, the gauntness overwhelming,
While I once more try to assign the blame- of who would steal her from me.

I try to tell myself a lie and make myself content,
But in the end I know the truth that she and I had failed.
She chose her lies over the promise of Faith,
And I myself- too blind to see- the guiding light above me.

Could I have made her see the truth,
If I put my faith in something more?
Could she have fought the demon back,
Had she thought to turn to God?

Answers and questions I’ll never know, this land of rotted veins,
Tearing our hearts and searing our minds as it steals all our meaning.
A life gone wrong, an addiction written song, Our faith was lost in the wind,
Only now do I see, in the presence of Thee,
That your love could have made life matter.

The Conversation of I and I

I just bought two cd’s that I really couldn’t afford. Why did I do that?

“Because Luke, without decent music, your mind would surely perish.”

But…I don’t even know who these people are. It was bought on a whim…

“Don’t torture yourself, Luke. Whim-buying is how stars are born. Think of it as broadening your already extensive range of awesomeness.”

Well, I know…but I’ll be broke…

“Don’t think of it as broke. Think of it as ‘this will inspire me to become a bigger and better person through the experience of listening to amazingness caught on cd’. It’s like listening to a cop. Or a priest!”

I think that’s going too far…

“What? Why?”

Never mind. Let me listen to this music, please.

 ”Fine. Whatever. I’ll talk about it later.”

Whatever, I won’t be listening.

“Of course you will! You have to. I’m your inner voice!”

Oh CRAP!

“What? Didnt you realize that?”

Shut up! How can you be my inner voice! I always expected that me to be more…intellectual.

“What? How am I supposed to take that? I’m insulted. Absolutely insulted.”

Shut up. You can’t be insulted. I’m basically insulting myself. Wait…

“Hah! Yes. And you say I’m not intellectual! Have you ever thought that I’m a better fit for you than you imagine? I mean really. All those ‘brilliant’ ideas had to come from somewhere, didn’t they?”

Wait…you mean…

“Yes! I am the inspiration to your writing!”

Oh dear god.

“No. I told you, I’m your inner voice. Not god. Or wait. Maybe I am. And I just don’t know it…”

God is all-knowing, you idiot.

“Oh. Right. I guess not then. Well that’s a let-down.”

Would you please be quiet…. honestly. I think I’m going insane.

“No you’re not, I told you, I’m your inner-voice.”

With a god-complex apparently.

“Shutup. My hopes just got caried away from me for a bit.”

Yeah. Whatever. Could you please leave me be? I hate talking to myself…it makes me feel so…

“Insane? Stupid? Idiotic? Unreasonable?”

No! Uncomfortable!

“HAH! Admit it, any of those other 4 would’ve worked just fine.”

I’m not going to admit to that.

“Jealous.”

What? Why would I be jealous! I have a body! You’re just a little voice that says ‘hey! listen to me! I’m stupid!’

“Do you know what cold and heartless is, Luke? Well it’s you. Why would you say something like that to your own self. Now you’re just being ludicrous!”

Me!?! I’M being ludicrous? You won’t leave me alone! All I wanted to do was write! But nooooo. You have to come on all macho and i’m-your-inner-voice!

“You’re writing aren’t you?”

Huh? What? HOLY CRAP! I’m writing this down!?! Dude! People will think I’m insane!

“Oh whatever, they will not. How many do you think will ACTUALLY read this? The ones that do will already know you well enough that they’ll just assume you’re just ‘being luke’. And the others…they’ll pass it off as you being a hack-writer and trying to write a Twilight book.”

I seriously doubt this is what the Twilight books sound like.

“Don’t act all coy and secretive with me! I know you’ve read them! Heck, I MADE you read them. I influenced you.”

No…It can’t be true…I would never read a book with sparkling vampires…

“Well you did! And know what else?! We TOLD people! Hah!”

What? No! Why would we do that! People will now think we- no! I! Am Gay!

“Don’t be stupid! I know several straight men who read them!”

Oh yeah? Who?

“Well…theres…um. George Michael!”

WHAT?!! He IS gay, you idiot!

“What?! Oh dear god. There’s another though. Oh. What was his name what was his name. BARRY MANILOW!”

Have you lost your mind! He’s gay too!

“I’m pretty sure he’s not. I actually think he’s married. To a woman even.”

No, you idiot! I know that, but he’s HINO!

“Now you sound like your making gay come-ons towards Barry Manilow. I won’t lie, this makes me feel very uncomfortable.”

Shut up! That’s not what…it means ‘Hetero-in-name-only’.

“OOh. I’m impressed. You can make a gay quip with a word you fabricated that sounds gay.”

Shut up…just explain this to me…WHY did we like the Twilight books?

“I don’t think you want to hear this…”

Yes! I do. And I demand that you tell me.

“Oh you ‘demand’, do you? Well…it’s because you’re secretely a romantic at heart.”

…………………What? Tell me I didn’t just hear that.

“No can do, sorry. That smiling cheery outside is just a mask hiding the love-struck gooey-eyed love pony you truly are.”

What in god’s name is a love pony?

“Dont’ distract me!”

Yeah, whatever, like what you say holds any weight.

“Oh it does…it does. How would you like to read a romance novel next? Like, smut-romance. The stuff that doesn’t even count as novels.”

Surely you don’t mean Harlequin novels…

“I do. How’d you like to read them Luke…and remember every crushingly obvious scene!”

Nooooooo!

“Just as I thought. Your weakness detests me. Perhaps when you go see the movie for New Moon, you will finally believe me.”

No…No…there’s no way I would go to that…no way…

“Oh there is, and you will. Your strange misty-eyed alterego has his excuses, but deep down you know that you’ll be in that theater before long.”

Oh my GOD! You’re right! I can feel questions…billowing up inside…that must be answered…HOW! How can you do this to me!

“Hehe, I already told you luke. I’m nothing more than a piece of you. Everything I feed you, you eat and accept willingly. You could reject it…but deep down…you want to know the great answer…”

What? Who made the pyramids?

“No you fool! Whether she chooses Edward or Jacob!”

But I thought we read the books. Don’t we know that already?

“Huh? What? Oh crap. You’re right. Well maybe we’re supposed to suspend our knowledge in a separate realm until the movie’s over.”

What? We can do that?

“What? Oh. No of course not. But it sounded good, didn’t it? Rather poetic, I think.”

I’m going to lose my mind.

“No you’re not. When you wake up, you’ll find that all this has just been a dream.”

Really?

“No! You gullible toad! Haven’t you realized that you’re not even asleep!?!”

Oh. Yeah.

“I swear. Sometimes I wonder just who you are.”

That’s what I’M wondering right now!

“Stop complaining and focus.”

On what exactly?

“I don’t know. I just remembered hearing that in a movie somewhere. It struck me as memorable.”

You are so idiotic.

“Whatever! I am not! I’m obviously the intellectual half!”

I beg to differ.

“Of course you would. That’s what the idiotic half would say.”

STOP! This conversation is OVER!

………………………………………………………………….

You’re still there aren’t you.

“Yes. Sparkle sparkle vampire wish me away, send me to a theater where girls will think I’m gay.”

GAH!

Luke Ganje. Genius and Madman. Victim of the Aporkalypse. 1989-2009

Yes. You read that right. Luke Ganje is Dead. Deader than a doornail, in fact. Deader than any doornail that has ever been pronounced dead. But such is life. Or in this case, death. Because Luke is dead.

How you may ask? Well, while many things may have proven to be the stepping stones leading him to the inevitable end much sooner than he would have liked, it really lays at the feet of one culprite. Yes. It was Hognarok. Also known as Spammonella. Or the Baconator. For those of you who are less than adept in the knowledge of the Medical world, that would be H1N1. Which, to his very last breath, Luke still protested sounds more like a robot from Star Wars than a legitimate sickness. Did this steadfast stubbornness contribute to his downfall? No one really knows. But one thing is for certain, we lost one of the great minds in unknown literature before he even had the chance to be discovered.

While much of his life is clouded in shadows of mystery, we are still able to grasp a small bit of who this esteemed genius was through the writings he left behind. Whether it be the touching emotional journey “The Zombie Tapes of Nerd Fury” or the heartwarming parental drama “We Think You Must’ve Been Adopted, Because You Don’t Look Like Either of Us”, there are shreds of genius littered throughout the cluttered and eccentric life of the boy genius. We can only speculate as to the impact such a writer could have made had he been given the chance to live through his turbulent twenties. But as things stand, unless necromancy becomes popular once more, we are left only with a hollow heart as we in the world of literature are left to wonder what could’ve been.

Already the tabloids are chomping at the bit to get an inside scoop as to the true nature of Mr. Ganje’s death, insisting much more is at work than a simple Pig-related illness. Is it coincidence that he brought home a coffin only days earlier? Or was that cardboard sanctuary a subliminal warning that his end was nigh? Was a Ouija board at work, possibly wanting to warn Luke, yet having its words go unheeded as a mess of creepy skeleton stuffed animals marred it’s handy glow-in-the-dark board? There are already investigations pending, and an equally vicious outpouring is being braced for as relatives strain for the priceless possessions he kept in his bachelor pad of an apartment.

Already rumors are spreading that his own mother, known only as Steve, is grasping for the pieces of his unpublished writings. Known for her craft-related prowess, the seemingly kind and genial mother has long professed a desire to include various pro-knitting themes into her son’s writing, something Luke fought long and hard against as he was sure it would ruin the poetic machismo that has long infused his work. Whether a court battle will insue or not relies soully upon whether a will is discovered in one of the thousands of pages of unpublished writings kept in the sanctuary of Mr. Ganje’s apartment.

One things for sure. Today, as we reflect on the short life of the self-proclaimed madman and nerd, we can only wish that such a talent had not been taken from us so soon. He was survived by a brother and sister, a mother and father, and a few cherished friends. He did not have a girlfriend. Ever. Though he did once try to assure the masses that he was engaged to a foreign metal singer, but this ploy was to no affect and his bachelor status remained widely speculated on until the time of his death.

Now I leave you with this. From the beginning of his life, a deep and profound man whose deep and profound sayings usually got muddled in translation, let me remind you of the saying Luke never ceased to live by: “All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream”. And let us hope that he has finally woken from his dream and is now living his life in the great mystery of the Afterlife.

And now will you join me in a moment of silence as we commemorate Luke Ganje, Genius and Madman, Yet another victim of the Aporkalypse.

He was weird, he was strange, he was ruggedly handsome. He will not be forgotten.

                                      Luke Ganje

                                     1989-2009

                     Hognarok Has Had Its Say