Savior of the Dead

The Lakota sometimes wished he were human. He felt like it at times; he would sit in his chamber, reading stories all day until the sunsets purple hues dimmed his pages. He had traveled far for such serenity, at least as far as he’s ever traveled in his short 15 years of life. This new life felt strange to him for power felt too big for his small hands, and his third eye was still sore and bloodshot from the last time he had tried to use it.

He sat in the mountains of what was once Columbus, Ohio, now barren and cold in what was once spilling with human life. Lakota imagined books spilled out of there too, covering the asphalt streets until the cars were forced to stop and read the wonderful literature presented to them. He sighed, holding his newest book tight and close to his heart. The mortals called it ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’ and it excited him that a human boy was so much like him.

“Lakota,” a small voice hissed behind him, its thin body slinking behind his back. Lakota sighed, gently closing his new heart and placing it to the side. The scaly being grew fat, its fluttering tail splitting into two humanesque legs, its reptilian face stretching into pink lips, eyes remaining yellow, vertical slits. How repulsive.

“Salutations, Bella. You look well.” Bella grinned at this, his head twitching slightly as dark brown locks fell into his face. His face was sharp and enchanting upon first glance so Lakota paid him no mind.

“Xena shall be returning North once again. He had visited—.”

“Ethalo. I know of this. I do not care,” Lakota snapped, letting his eyes closed as he let his eye try to find the missing boy. He had few friends in his new life, so he tried his best to hold onto them as long as he could manage.

“You shouldn’t use your eye, beloved. You’re simply too weak,” Bella offered lowly, his movement fluid as he wrapped himself around Lakota, his human form lost once again. Lakota allowed his pet up his arm as he kept his gaze forward and focused.

“Why? So you can overpower me? I can hear your thoughts you dumb serpent. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t send you south and straight to your maker.” Bella hissed, releasing himself from the deity before him as he slinked away again, down the mountain and into grass.

‘There was a time where I was more powerful than you,’ the serpent thought, fattening itself again to reveal porcelain skin and light colored eyes. Bella glared at the Lakota in the sky that spent his days reading and looking across barren wasteland. The Lakota simply continued to read his book.


Xena’s trek was to take three nights until he would be recalled to life by the Lakota. He did not have much with him; he only carried his copy of ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’, gifted to him by the Lakota himself. He would often think of the Lakota on his search for the five birds that terrorized the life that remained in the Kansan oceans. Eagles, ravens, owls, falcons, and another he simply couldn’t be bothered to remember. He recorded his findings in his leather bound book, another gift from his long-haired friend.

He had chosen to stop by in the east village that resided in Missouri. Saint Louis it was called, which was ironic since Africana tribes resided there. They beared steel masks and performed most rituals with uses of ancient chemistry. Xena feared to touch anything while he was there, but he was always confused for a native until he spoke. However he was not one to wander without purpose. He had been travelling for miles to retrieve one powerful substance.

“Hello Elba,” he greeted, resting comfortably on his transport as the creature made its way through the bazaar begrudgingly. A woman of ebony skin and ivory eyes emerged, hair gifted with jewels and hands bearing promise. She never spoke when Xena came, but she always knew what he wanted. She placed the glass bottle in his swiftly before disappearing back into the crowd. Xena didn’t skip a beat as he moved away, the poor Kansan lizard creature bearing his sorrows.


The Lakota tribe had prospered centuries before the first serpents had arrived. Lakota for this reason alone did not look west often, for the west only encouraged greed in the people that inhabited this land. His land.

He had not seen a human since his vessel had returned to what was once the Americas. He saw plenty of mockeries however, humanoid monsters whose limbs had become mutilated and like poison. While his earthly body did not know the cause of such pain, his eye knew it all. This is why the eye chose The Little Prince.

He had just began to learn about the planets when he felt the energy change in the air. He looked into the distance, watching as a giant lizard carried his dearest friend on its back languidly. Xena’s silver hair gleamed from far away and Lakota allowed himself a small smile.

“How fun this end will be,” he told himself, and he read of his planets once more.


Ohio had become smokey since Xena last saw it. He knew this land was sick decades before his time, and now the deities were making the population pay. Yet he couldn’t help but find it all so silly, for not a single human was left to suffer.

Night fall came before his new transport had made it to the mountain. As daybreak came, the devil came with it, its hiss and shrill irritating to the lone traveller. A final hiss made the foreigner break as he snatched the creature, staring the snake in the face as its head snapped forward at him, barely missing his nose.

“Bella, you’ve been such a pest lately. You don’t take being the last of your kind very seriously,” Xena said coolly, taking his glass and opening the lid quickly with his teeth. Bella made himself fat once again, landing on the lizard’s back. But the lizard was lazy and did not care for anything, so stay it did.

“I  hate you,” Bella spat, his eyes only yellowy slits. “I hate your race! I hate all of you! Damn your race to hell!” Xena chuckled, the sound building in his chest. His laugh grew maniacal, eyes watery and full with anger.

“We told you humans wouldn’t survive! We gave you everything! We gave you strength, power, and you try and challenge your god!” Bella covered his ears helplessly, blood slowly falling from his eyes. A shrill scream echoed into the wind, his body convulsing as he fell off the transport. The lizard did not care.

The mountains suddenly revealed a figure, their hair flowing behind them as they jumped down from the top, gliding down into the grass. Lakota landed flawlessly, his feet next to the mortals head. Bella’s screams did not stop, his body twitching grotesquely. Lakota grabbed the tortured body by the wrist, making Bella relax instantly. Lakota pulled Bella up with a tug and the three stood upright and equal once again.

“Apologize,” Lakota commanded. Xena bowed his head with hesitation.

“I apologize for my actions, Bella.” Bella did not hear him.

“Very well,” Lakota sighed, holding onto the dazed mortal carefully. “Bella?” Bella did not respond, his eyes slowly warming before his gaze focused. Lakota looked at the man with sorrow. “Believe in me and I will make you well again.” Bella stared at his deity before slowly nodding. Lakota closed his two eyes, the third protecting the last mortal’s soul. Xena brought two fingers to his chin accordingly.

“Strip this body of augmentation and deliver it from suffering,” Xena stated solemnly. Lakota opened his eyes, glancing at his dear friend. Xena nodded, taking the bottle and holding it to the Bella’s lips.
And the Bella was gone.


in the beginning, there was no god.

in the soundless chambers of time and space

it was born.

small and insignificant;

its face blotchy and fat with flesh—

a sputtering mess  on its own—

eyes glowing bright,

the stars illuminated in response to it,

their dust reflective and vain compared to its eyes.


Their tongue was made of moonshine

and dry with stardust.

They were in but the child of

oblivion, unknown and renowned,



it babbles softly in the fibers of space and time,

the universe crying mercilessly for answer.

Yet the child will only coo,

its heavenly body occupied with more timely affairs.

Self Maintenance

As you may have noticed, I haven’t posted for the past two days like I had intended to. Half because I’ve been hella occupied, and half because of my current crisis: not taking care of myself.

If you have internet connection, you’ve probably heard the term self care at some point, which while it sounds pleasant in theory, it’s kind of time consuming, costly, and romanticized. Self care every now and again is important, but there’s something inherently selfish about having a routine dedicated to pampering.

So, I coin the term “self maintenance,” defined as meeting the basic needs, like eating, and sleeping, and hygiene, and not overworking to the point of losing your sense of self. I feel like self maintenance compared to self care is very health related. It has to do with maximizing wellbeing on the individual level, building yourself up versus treating yourself like royalty.

Because, in case you somehow forgot, French nobles were very into self care, and then they died because everyone hated them.

I’m not saying that you shouldn’t ever indulge in self care. Self care is best used after strenuous work, like executing a big event, completing a project, or caring for someone else for a long time. I think self care is closely linked to self actualization (self realization, self discovery, etc.). It helps you focus back in on your own individual experience, to recharge in a sense, to sort yourself out. I think a big misconception is it having to be beauty related. For some people it’s zoning out and playing music, or game of basketball, or freeform art. It doesn’t have to be extravagant, but it’s kind of useless when done in the mess of things. You can’t multitask and it can’t be a marked activity. That’s when it’s no longer fun.

But it’s never a priority. I’m glad I’ve come to that conclusion.

So now that I’ve recognized that I have a problem, I want to help some of you! Yes me, the most qualified of the qualified. Please note that I’m actually twelve and therefore can’t be scholarly as far as medical necessity goes. Anyhow:

Do you sleep consistently each night? (at the same time, in the same place, undisturbed)

Do you get at least 6-7 hours consistently? (refer to top bracket)

Do you eat at least twice a day, throughout the day?

Do you eat a variety, and don’t cop out habitually to eat fatty foods?

Do you stay hydrated throughout the day?

Do you eat breakfast everyday?

Do you ever neglect any basic needs?

Do you maintain proper hygiene consistently?

Have you developed proper skills to combat stress?

I think you and I both know what the proper answers to those questions should be. It’s not shameful to be bad at taking care of yourself. However it’s important to evaluate and improve. You gotta keep growing.

I hope my struggle helps you through yours. And in the case that anyone who knows me personally reads this, I’m okay and working on it.

have a good day lovelies,



[according to WordPress it is Thursday the 23rd. according to me and the kansan clocks it is not that. so I’m perfectly on schedule.]

When I committed to doing a total of four blog style posts to end the month, I couldn’t think of what to talk about in such a short increment of time. There’s tons of things I could write my opinion over, like movies, books, and music. I could write about my life and the things that occur as such.

Or I could write about how I don’t know what to write because sometimes I feel helplessly thoughtless. It happens to the best of us and the worst of us. Intellectual originality is hard, and most likely impossible, considering within the thousands of years in human existence and the billions of people who have passed through this planet, there’s no way in hell anything I say think or make can be entirely original.

However it can be a plethora of things synthesized into one entity and it comforts me knowing that I’m not racing anyone for the next big idea. The idea is there, resting in my palms waiting patiently for me to mash it between my fingers until it is unrecognizable and bizarre.

I love thinking of concepts and ideas in my head, also known as daydreaming¹, to test out these concepts, usually rooted in either humor or intense drama. I enjoy it best when it reaches the point of hysteria, leaving me giggling for supposedly no reason at all, to being in a prolonged state of sober silence from challenging the likelihood of true humanity.

I guess that is what most would constitute as a very active imagination.

I enjoy resting in other people’s daydream’s too. I find the type of narrative I want to hear at the time tends to be highly reflective of my mood and energy. Usually I want to l laugh or feel inspired, but sometimes it tips to one side more than the other and in various degrees. Humor could be crack humor or dark, well constructed comedy. Inspiration could mean beautifully scenic skies or a story about cult activity. I just love hearing strange, or well presented ideas.

I’m great at coming up with ideas. I’m terrible at execution, which on surface level sounds relatable, but there’s a difference between laziness and lack of confidence compared to generalized exhaustion and inability to get yourself together. Hence, still very relatable.

My biggest issues when it comes to creating is having some sort of relevancy. I have a very hard time forcing myself to be likable. I personally see it as a waste of energy and time, which is explained by my social inadequacy². I’ve contemplated how I can make what I do more accessible to people but if I’m being honest I don’t have the time. I don’t have the time to reach for people who aren’t reaching back.

I just really love doing what I do a lot, relevant or not.

¹meaning intensive alternate reality construction that I’ve spent years of my existence perfecting

²this being the cause of years of socialization gone wrong along with typical teenage insecurity mixed with a sense superiority.

soft skin pulls me in.

soft skin that bends at my mercy.

unmarked, woven from the fibers

of your mother’s womb. fragile

like glass shards on beach sides;

deadly yet weak, the greatest paradox

to name. oh beauty, your face has dissolved

beneath mountains of fat, your cheeks rosy,

your glossy eyes shine with tears

once again.

hide in these covers, little one.

hide away from the cold of the world

and rest on your mother’s breast.

time will leave me.

Time is running.

I wonder if she ever grows tired

of her feet constantly ticking against the track,

her hair slapping her back like a pendulum:

long. dull. ever-flowing in the endless winds that guide her.


Time never leaves me.

She is a faithful companion:

doting and kind and loyal.

Still she is flawed

for she whispers blasphemies in my ear,

reminding me as I forget.


Time is so easily forgotten,

for if she’d only slow down

maybe then we would never have to leave each other.

Today is January 20th, 2017

Today hurt me. Not the main event, with the state of DC at the moment but the small things. The way sleep seemed to pin me down by the neck when I woke up this morning. How there was no gum in my bag to satisfy my addictive tendencies. An ache made home in my head no matter how much water I drank. Most importantly, I couldn’t speak today.

I could feel eyes on me as I walked, my strides long and manly as my dad likes to comment on. I’ve never understood fully what it meant to be confident. Anxiety has settled deeper I my bones by the day and I wondered all day why I couldn’t find it in myself to care today. I was so tired and sometimes when you’re tired you don’t feel like doing anything.

So the day ends, a long but pleasant day all the same. I am tired, too tired to bid a kind word so I sit. I sit on a chair for twenty minutes, my mind slowly exploding. I don’t like staying too long in one part of the school because I do not feel safe in myself. There’s a strange, isolated sense of otherness there and it reminds me of why I feel lonely.

But time passes. Thank god.

I go home with my headache, caring carefully in my skull, letting it run itself through my veins making me dizzy. I rested for an hour, staring into the abyss and feeling my heartbeat, its violent thump striking random beats in my chest. I ate some chocolate to aid my melodrama as the TV came on before deciding to be useful and wash the dishes for half an hour. Of course this wasn’t necessary, since they could’ve been done the night before, but no one here thinks to do that when they’re not busy.

As the minutes move, a feel my beat soften as my heart feels heavier. I am tired again but carry on with the little story I always have in my head. I go to my room and try to work. Nothing. Hence, I draw, a carnation first, then the start of a profile and finally hair before fear strikes my bones again.

Suddenly I’m cleaning, my shoes being thrown in the closet while my other hand searches frantically for hangers, papers thrown in the trash. That shouldn’t be there, I don’t know what this is, and I’m crying now.

I cry because I’m tired. I’m tired and scared and stressed and it’s only been…a week. Two weeks actually, but I could never give myself that much credit. Now I wonder how this happened, how this all changed from the year before, when I had much worse. I wonder why I’m so scared all of a sudden. What am I scared of?

I did the work (and ate some food, but only a little). In fact, it was just done, the only thing accomplished besides this. Yet I’m still so angry, so what was the point?

[this is a narrative autobiography style of writing]