The Burning Streetcar
(c) April 12, 2008 M. Rephun
The streetcar swims in a sea of flames. The people inside stand with faces against the glass, mouths open in soundless screams.
In the empty streets, the signs on store-fronts flutter. Their heavy gothic lettering, a language no one knows anymore. The sky is red with smoke. On the veranda, a man in a high-peaked cap gives the salute.
Together, the people trapped inside push their bodies against the burning bus. It rocks back and forth, like a man in a prayer shawl, his body swayed by the wind.
The smoke fills up our lungs. Coughing through the haze, I can see them, the silent men, the women with their hands on the delicate shoulders of their children. Eyes closed, mouths open, faces ash-white, as if they were already dead.
The smoke takes the form of a lion, fangs bared. It is rising up from its crouching stance: it is the lion of Samson, the lion that struck terror into the heart of the Philistine nations.
The man on the veranda sees it, and is afraid: the men with death in their hearts see it, and plead in supplication.
I am one with the dead. Together we lie, our charred limbs entangled, a mosaic of hate set free.
The streetcar burns into the night: the lion of smoke sits on the rooftops, its vision reaching past the guns, the stiff-armed salutes, the corpses piled into barrows.
Truly, our souls have been set free.
"Weeping may endure into the night…but joy cometh in the morning.
Destruction cometh, and they seek peace, and there shall be none."
He is my rock and my salvation. He…"
Note from the author:
"This piece was inspired by some reading I had done on the Holocaust," Rephun says, "in particular, a quote by a former member of the Hitler youth, who, reflecting on his participation in Kristallnacht, recalled thinking, ‘It was great to bash some Jews. They did so much harm to our country, and now they were getting some of it back.’ He’d expresed regret these many years later, but the quote captured the thought process that was so prevalent at the time."
Read More »Jazz Dream
M. Rephun (c)2008
Riding the freight-train into the Blue city
The buildings shine like a cigar-box in the morning
Like a tower of bricks made by children
The man on the roof blows his horn
And the notes hang in the air, like a bat trapped in amber
Like a colored streamer that wends its way among the crowd
The child in the boxcar and the hobos lift their eyes
The mass has stopped its convulsions
But we can see their faces
Black, and white, and fiery as the sun
The notes are moving, they’ve a mind of their own
They are weaving a skirt for a girl
They are making a bed for the homeless drifters
They make the leaves red, they make the people move
And the people are behind us as we leave
They are standing again like stone
Hey, mister, don’t stop the car
I want to keep moving through the city
The Canals of Central Park
M. Rephun (c) March 8, 2008
The waters of Central Park are an ocean
We dance on it when night comes
And watch the people go by
Holding the hands of their daughters
Under the casket of the sky
Like a music-box filled with stars.
On evenings when the rain fell
Grandfather and I used to walk
Through the flowers of Central Park
The red leaves at our feet
The childrens’ laughter followed us
Like a wolf howling up at the moon.
Let us go through Central Park
Angels tiptoe in the dark
The fairy-woman shows the way
And the sun makes a net on the water
Down, down the leaves will fall
And the people there won’t see us at all
When I am a boy, in Central park, in the rainy season
Gaming Review: Condemned: Criminal Origins
"Be Ready For Death, Agent Thomas…It Shall Come, Visiting Again!"
M. Rephun February 12, 2008
"Condemned: Criminal Origins", Monolith’s latest addition to the long-standing horror-survival genre, proves two things: one, that bashing a drug-addled lunatic in the face with a fire-ax is great fun, and two, that few things are more disturbing than an anonymous freak with a video camera. Especially when the lens of that camera is pointed at you.
The game bears many similarities to previous Monolith efforts like F.E.A.R., from the style of its drab yet eerie environments to the impressive ragdoll physics. The story, however, which has you assuming the role of a psychically gifted gumshoe detective on the trail of a serial killer, features a distinctive atmosphere of terror and chaos all its own.
The combat system in Condemned is far more highly developed than most games in any genre, and puts a horrifyingly literal spin on the "survival" aspect of "survival horror". With only the occasional assistance of a fire-arm, the environment becomes your very own nightmarish playground of death, as you find yourself desperately scrounging for any potential weapon, be it a small lead pipe, the above mentioned fire-ax, or even a mannequin arm, to defend yourself against the ceaseless hordes of lunatics who strike at you from the shadows.
Most of the time you will find yourself engaged in incredibly harrowing melee combat with these freaks, who, considering their drug-fueled state, display surprisingly impressive A.I., leaping over bannisters, using sheet metal to deflect your blows, and shoving large objects in your path to throw you off their trail. At times they even fight with one another, which is truly a sight to behold.
Though there are a few bugs, Criminal Origins’ graphics are mostly impressive, particularly the lighting effects, which are stunning, and the extraordinary level of detail thrown into each of the unsettling environments you traverse, from the graffiti on the walls to the dead pigeons littering the ground, which the game for some bizarre reason has you collecting. Watching swarms of fowl plummet to their deaths for some unknown reason is an image it will be hard to wipe from your memory.
Another element of Condemned which makes it stand out from the ever-burgeoning list of quality horror games, is the forensic one, which is only fitting, given your status as a detective. Imagine CSI on mind-warping hallucinogens, and you’ll probably have some conception of what this is like.
For those who find this franchise and its twisted depravity addictive (and there will doubtless be hordes of them, some possibly wielding crowbars) fear not: Condemned 2 is on its way. This reviewer is excited, but thinks he might bring an extra change of underpants, just in case.
Faces In The Crowd
M. Rephun (c) 2008
You’re young in body but you’re heart is wise
You search for a sign you look to the skies
And nothing ever seems to come to you
Yes you’re young in spirit and your mind is true
And you wait and you wait but no one comes near
The faces in the crowd go by
Old men and women, young girls too
And you wonder what it is they want from you
And the cymbals flash a warning sign
And the drums beat like thunder before a great flood
And you watch the rain as it falls from the sky
And your spirit is young, and your mind is true
And inside you’re soul you’re yearning
For something that is pure
And you wonder what it is you’re living for
And the voices ring, and they’re telling you
Whispering in your ear
Something that is lovely
But with words that are hard to hear.
Yes you’re young in body, and your mind is wise
And you watch the faces that drift in the crowd
And the ghosts that come over the hill
Your spirit floats with the oncoming tide
And you wonder where it is they’re taking you
You’re young in soul but your mind is true
And you wonder what Time will do to them, and you.
Women
M. Rephun (c) January 2008
You know
I have never touched the hair of one
I have never kissed the mouth of one
I have never felt the skin of one
I have never held the hand of one
I have only looked into their eyes
And heard them laugh
Laughter like the ornaments in their hair
And watched them smile at me
With the sadness of something it is impossible to have
Something more than human
And watched as they danced away in the rain
And the years pass
Women
You never know when they’re going to come back
In Sleep It Is So Tempting…
M. Rephun (c) January 2008
In your dreams they call to you
So near and yet so far
With words that softly echo
Beyond the farthest impenetrable star
The voices of the dead
That ring in a sad choir
"In sleep it is so tempting
To leave the world behind
To leave one’s flesh behind.
In our lives we were but statues
But now our souls take flight
In sleep it is so tempting
Come with us ever higher
Far from this world of shadows
We will journey toward the light"
"In sleep it so tempting," I heard the angels say
You can forget your sorrow and be happy all your days"
And still their words are with me
As I wander through my life
And still their words are with me
And they echo through my mind
Perhaps I’ll go to join them
But I’ve forgotten what they meant.
Summer, 1945, Winter, 1934
M. Rephun (c) January 2008
I have watched the wars unfolding:
I have seen the flames that spread across the land.
In Winter, 1934
I watched the crowds that stood before the stores
They had turned away, they had locked their doors.
And the signs on the windows said "keep out!"
They said "it is forbidden to enter".
And up ahead the mountainous smoke was rising.
On a banner of flame was writ in the clouds
Do not fear, and the great hand came down
And ravaged the earth with death
And a terrible storm was raging.
In Summer, 1945
We watched the light rise in the sky
But it wasn’t the sun that was coming, coming.
And in our hearts a nameless terror stirred
No shouts were raised, no voices heard
But out of the night that was falling
A dreadful voice came calling, calling:
"Look, my children, and be afraid
You in whose shadow It was made
The one whose power holds you in thrall:
Look no further, it will destroy us all"
And in the sky we heard the angels weeping.
In Spring of 1934,
We watched the boots kick down the door
At the old train-yard, we watched the children cry
The two of us were there, just you and I
In spirit and in mind, we lingered through the night
We watched their souls rise up to meet the light
Don’t cry my love, don’t fear
We can come back another year
And I saw the tortured souls rise higher
And I saw the world destroyed in a ball of fire
But the wicked perish, one by one
And the souls of the just men linger on
Don’t cry, my love, don’t cry
The sun sets in the east
It is to us the angels are coming, bearing gifts.
Don’t fear my love, don’t fear
We are rising with the spirits
In the smoke of the chimneys we are rising
And we rise in the ash of the bomb
In this age of terror
We are lifted above the fray
And our souls are one with the dead
Secure in our perch in the heavens
We await the coming of the sun
So that the veil may be lifted
And her light will be let in.
Don’t fear, my love, don’t fear…
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