Tag Archives: Shakespeare

Robot 0 & Ghouliet (prologue)

The war began over a decade ago. They started by experimenting on the soldiers, trying to change them from moral beings into ruthless killing machines, pure lust and rage. Finally they found the right combination of chemicals to release the primal beasts beneath the uniform — living weapons that they could control. But something went wrong, as it so often does. Soon the rage consumed the soldiers and the chemicals began to mutant within them, causing a reaction in the blood that made them thirst for flesh and carnal consumption. They hardly needed guns after that — the newly-christened zombies would tear through their enemies with teeth and bone. Those they didn’t eat they simply raped instead, and sometimes ate them afterward. Some survivors managed to escape with a few minor injuries, and so the sickness began to spread. It was in the blood after all. Soon those lucky few who survived became the carriers themselves.

Not so lucky after all.

The infected grew, recruiting nearly as many lives as those they claimed, a massive swarm of stinking flesh and blood stained lips, driven purely by the pleasures of the flesh while their unused minds shriveled and decayed, for what use is a brain beyond a spongey meal when the body lets its basic instincts drive?

And so like many things, the government made their own mess, then took it upon themselves to clean it up. The robots were meant to protect the humans from the epidemic that they had accidentally unleashed. They called the central server Montagon and housed it in a fortified bunker built into a mesa in the Southwestern part of the country to keep it safe. Montagon was equipped with groundbreaking artificial intelligence, the most cutting edge technology the world had to offer. It was programmed with one simple directive: to keep the humans safe by destroying that which threatens them.

This mission seemed straightforward, and for a time the humans were safe. They sat back and watched as the robots rampaged through the zombie hordes. But Montagon’s intelligence continued to evolve, and as it analyzed more and more information it had gathered from these conflicts, it came to a simple, objective conclusion:

The humans created the zombies, therefore the humans were the greatest threat to the human race and thus the most efficient way to protect humanity, it concluded, would be to destroy humanity, in order to permanently end the threat that they posed to themselves.

Needless to say, this did not go over well.

Caesar Royal

She keeps her cards against her breast
but she’s shaken, stirred,
and you could die before you fold.
Two pair: a seven and a jack, but
no cards to help you
when she stabs you in the back.
“Et tu, Brute?”
And then you fall.
You’ve tried the bitterness of lips
and now that you’ve tasted hers
she’s all you want to drink.
Here’s your last chance to make a straight
but she folds a drink across
a heart too strong, too cold.

“Et tu, Brute?”.
You fold and then you fall.

If there’s no terror in her threats than
her honesty could pass the wind
without respect, and no regrets.
Quit counting cards before you cry
’cause those bloody tears can’t call her bluff
Oh no, they won’t shut it up.
“Et tu, Brute?”
You fold and then you fall.
“Et tu, Brute?”
A vesper makes the call.
“Et tu, Brute?”
The winner takes it all.
Some men are masters of their fate
but your dealer’s blind
and it’s your move.
Your game must end before we meet again.
Now the job is done, and the bitch is dead.
Et tu, Brute?

Mal Means Bad (in the Latin)

How heavy, thine heart?
I’ll weigh it on a grey scale
and then I guess we’ll talk.
Do you recall the time you told me,
“Mal means ‘bad’ in Latin?”

I still speak in tongues and lips and fingertips,
and I keep stuttering semantics, and I always
let you fall for it, making meaning out
of every fated kiss; and I hoped that it
would never come to this

but it always does its part
I’ll weigh it on a grey scale
and then I guess we’ll talk.
Do you recall the time you told me,
“Mal means ‘bad’ in Latin?”

As always, art is open
to the interpretation
of the patron, and while I may
have lost you in translation,
I was found sleeping soundly
in a sea of constellations where
I drowned beneath the comfortable
blankets of abyss, its never-ending
nothingness reminding me
of all that I had missed.

Though I’m hardly a scientist, it seems
to be my density, and not my mass,
that helps me stay afloat; I guess that I’ve
been lying to myself all along. My heart
has only half the hallowed substance of
the ocean that it swallows (albeit eloquently),
but like drinking too much water, you
can drown your cells and suffocate yourself
until you choke; if that’s a metaphor,

I meant it for my heart
I’ll weigh it on a grey scale
and then I guess we’ll talk.
Do you recall the time you told me,
“Mal means ‘bad’ in Latin?”

My betrayal knows no tragedy, and so
my greatest stories have all spilled
from my own pen, and my authenticity
is never called to question, like the
greatest of the dead white men; it seems
I will not go down in history as the
soft romantic man that I believe myself
to be. Instead, I leave my Juliets for
dead and carry on, never stopping
long enough to wonder if I’m wrong.