Duende (Spanish): The mysterious power that a work of art can have over a person.
In a swirl at the moon; with the twirls of a skirt, you swung with the trills of the notes that floated on lit candles and whitened drapes flowing in chords. In a crescendo at the base of a mountain; with the snowy blanket falling over our heads as you hummed in bursts of four beats drinking red wine and overcooked steak. That was my mistake. In a forte at the eye of the storm; with the sharpened winds draping your arms in light brushes, tiny pricks lifting your hairs, your eyes nearly falling into black. The song ends and we’re sitting at our tables, drinking red wine with food that no one would die for. The next song comes on, we’re back at the moon.
Obloquy: State of disgrace resulting from public abuse
I trudged my way through the streets with marks of red lining my entire body. With every step I took I felt like my feet were melting into the pavement. My entire body yearned to have it be melded into the very Earth it stood upon for it no longer wanted to be known. I began to lose myself in a world that only existed within me and was only brought out by the sounds of cars and rushing civilians. With every pair of eyes that found its way onto my body I began to sink deeper and deeper within my own mind, trying to find a place of sanctum. My breathing began fluctuating, and my body threatened to break out of its mold and find itself as a shell of indetermination shaped only by the thralls of everyone around me. I reached over to the red marks that lined my body. They stung in the warm embrace of my fingers, and yet, when I focused long enough, the marks disappeared. They disappeared in the whispers and stares of those around me, and they disappeared in the air of humanity that flew from point a to b. I sighed and began fingering a hole in my jacket, scoffed at the dusty smell that lingered on my person, and began to walk towards the nearest restaurant.
Obfuscate: Make obscure or unclear
What did he say? You don’t know? Why don’t you know? You can’t say? Is it good? Or is it bad? You don’t know? Well, is it good in terms of the situation? Good? Then that’s good. But it still isn’t that good, right? I guess not. It’s pretty bad then, if he can’t stand up. His legs? Oh yeah…And his arms too right? I don’t know, it was pretty dark out. Lights? Out. Twenty, twenty five, yeah, something like that. Drunk? Not really, it was a hour on the dot, I watched the hand. Yeah, the other man bit the dust. He was going fifty-five, drunk as all hell. To the left, we dodged a bullet but ate a rock. It’s fine, no need, you said it’s good right? Yeah, I mean, we probably don’t need to worry about that. I contacted them, they’re more worried about this than the war. I know, thank god. Do you know when he’ll be able to move? I guess not.
Noetic: Of or associated with or requiring the use of the mind
Do you know why gods exist? What do you mean? I mean why religion exists, why we create gods and why we choose to believe in them. I’ve never been one for religion, so I can’t really say. Well, let me tell you something then. Gods exist because we exist, sound simple enough? Yeah, I’d say that’s common sense. Well, then how about this, god exists because we require someone to lead us. Okay, I mean that also makes sense. Now consider this, god exists because we not only require someone to lead us, we require someone to give us faith. Sure, faith is a good thing. Right, faith is a really good thing, but why god? Why god? Yeah, why did we go towards a being that we can’t see or feel, a being that is magical, and not something normal? Normal? Yeah, like crops, or animals. Crops and animals are part of religious ceremony yes, but gods are always attached. Exactly, we give our offerings, we give what we make to people who we create in our heads. Well, it’s not like we give a lot. You’re right, we only offer a little of what we make so that we can survive, but let me ask you one more thing. Okay. If there was a god, then why hasn’t he shown us any appreciation? Well, that’s just semantics. For all we know, our gods are our kings, presidents and queens, and yet we treat them as poorly as we do our criminals. I mean, that’s an exaggeration. It’s not an exaggeration when we can barely stand who rules over us, our bosses, our parents, is it not the same?
Niggle: Worry unnecessarily or excessively
Am I going to pass? Am I working hard enough? Am I pretty enough? Am I good enough? Am I going to have a future? Am I going to find love? Am I going to be able to find something that I want to do? Do I have enough money? Do I have enough friends? Do I have enough passion? Do I have enough socks? Do I have enough clothes? Do I have enough sleep? Do I have enough worries in my life? Do I have enough paper? Do I have enough medicine? Should I try harder? Should I wear something longer? Should I cut my hair? Should I go out? Should I try and find love? Should I ask for help? Should I show my emotions? Should I stay in? Should I tell him? How can I improve? How can I get more sleep? How can I get better marks? How can I overwork myself to death? How can I find something I love? How can I find someone I love? How can I lose sleep? How can I break myself? How can I take my life and turn it into brittle glass? How can I lose my depression?
Malaise: A general feeling of discomfort, uneasiness, or depression
My hands became dark. My legs became dark. My eyes exerted nothing but darkness. The world around me was darkness. The sounds that tried to enter my hears turned into darkness. It was strange hearing darkness. But the best way I can explain what hearing darkness was, was that it was a little less than the sound of T.V static, but a little more than the pounding of my heart. The darkness reverberating the more I tried to concentrate. It began pounding in my dark chest, pounding and pounding until I could feel my guts and my ribs proceed my body. My blood was dark. My bones were dark. My heart was dark. I tried to grasp onto that darkened feeling inside of me, but it only slipped out of my dark fingers. My world was dark.
Maculate: Spot, stain, or pollute
The earth was spinning. The moon was revolving. The sun was revolving. Everything in the world revolved around something. Even the sun that is at the center of our universe is revolving against a much larger entity outside our realm. Everything is revolving. There is always one center. And, we all revolve around something. However, our Earth has been damaged. It will continue to revolve long past our existence, and because of that it will prosper even more. We as an entity on our revolving Earth can only ever revolve around death. From the moment we were conceived, we have always been a point of contention for Earth, and yet we continue to live and destroy the home we have come to take so much advantage of. We as an existence are completely paradoxical in nature, and in nature we give belief and religion. As we revolve around this revolving Earth, we will eventually find ourselves spinning out into a never ending miasma of poverty. And even then, that miasma is revolving around an entity of its own.
Lackadaisical: Lacking enthusiasm and determination; carelessly lazy
I sat watching as the end of the world heralded a new beginning. Everything was in flames while I sat miles away in a place unreachable by those flames. Everything was coming to an end before me, and yet that thought gave me immeasurable apathy. I saw to it that everything about this world would burn up to ash and everything new would be born from those ashes. However, if I continued to stay where I was, watching as the world burned away before me in my own enclave, that resurrection would never occur. The world needed me to burn with it, the world needed me to be a part of that blazing glory. I didn’t care for the world. And so the world around me will continue to burn and light aflame, and the ashes that remain, will be left for the elements.
Lachrymose: Showing Sorrow
I paraded around the perimeter of the group all dressed in black. I knew each and every face that stood there solemnly staring into the ground beneath them. Even if I was in front of them, loosely above them, they showed no heed. I hovered in their faces, blew wind on their arms, and grabbed their sleeves only to have them ignore me. They were in complete contemplation. I wondered who it was that made them greave so strongly, and so I looked down into the hole. It was a sight to behold for me once I had realized who I was looking at. He was a man who could recognize each and every face of his friends. A man who showed no greater amount of loyalty to any of his friends. He was a man who died in the line of fire, and a man who will not be forgotten by those who followed him. I understood why every single person was in complete contemplation over the loss that they suffered. They were all the same.
Knell: The sound of a bell rung slowly to announce a death
I swept the leaves from the ground as the cold morning mimicked night. The dawn of the day grew tiresome on me as did the lull of the area around me. Not a single soul for as far as I can see, and the only thing to keep me company were the gray slabs strutting from the ground, seeming to want to reach the sky, but unable to escape its entrapment. I wondered how long it would have taken me to be among them, to be buried in these god forsaken grounds. I hoped to no god that this area would remain solemn and unsullied such that my task would only be to sweep away these leaves. However, every once in a while I see vandals. And every once in a while I hear that dastardly bell ring in the distance. It beckons to misanthropic ghouls and demons to take away those that disturb the peace of the dead. Or so, that’s what they say. It’s an urban legend, something to keep my job, and whoever else who so chooses this job, much, much easier. Sometimes I wonder if the quiet whistle of the wind really is just my own sanity slipping from me. And sometimes when I hear the bell, I wonder if it is my time to rest, or if it is just simply a blissful lie.