Recipe for a Super Villain

Before beginning, ambitious alchemist, you must design your supervillain on paper. Define his or her appearance, style of dress and proportions. Include any accessories and weapons.

1 fluid oz. cyanide (death dealing properties)
1 wooden mannequin of desired size (transubstantiation)
3 dead crows (darkness, intelligence, scavenger)
2 pomegranates (possessiveness)
5 anarchy symbols (impossible schemes)
4 apples (corruptibility)
0.666 drops grape Screwdriver (confusion)
8 pages Nietzche (loneliness, nihilist tendencies)
6 fist-sized volcanic rocks (despair)
5 cups yellow paint (anger)
9 fl. oz. stem cells (life)
1 taped appropriately evil voice

1 design or drawing of your intended super villain
1 cup of rain water
1 piece of purple sidewalk chalk (dipped into rain water and then dried)
3 black candles and matches
1 dark room, with no windows (where no one can interrupt you, or else there are dastardly results)
1 cauldron (big enough with room for the mannequin to fit in)
1 tattered broom or mop to stir your concoction with

Shall we begin?

Put your purple sidewalk chalk into the cup of rain water. Leave it there for 4 hours, in a place where it will not be disturbed. When you come back to get it, dump out the rain water, and put your chalk where it can dry without being disturbed, for 48 hours.

Find a dark room with no windows. Start this procedure punctually at midnight.

Use the prepared chalk to draw a perfect circle, then draw a perfect cross in it: one line intersecting another at a right angle. Arrange your black candles on the perimeter of this circle in an even triangle (not isosceles or obtuse) and light them. Put your cauldron in the center of the cross.

Put your design on paper into the bottom of the cauldron. Put the mannequin on it.

Pour in the yellow paint. Stuff in the three crows. Crumple the pages of Nietzche and throw them in. Pour in the grape Screwdriver. And now the four apples. Take your tattered broom or mop and stir, counterclockwise, until solution is brothy.

Now, add the rest of the ingredients, in this order. First, the pomegranates. Squeeze out the juice as much as possible. Now the volcanic rocks. Now sweep in the anarchy symbols. And lastly, the fluid ounce of cyanide. Make sure the cyanide melts the entire mannequin into your solution. Stir counterclockwise again, for fifteen minutes.

Then stir until the rest of your broom or mop is worn. Break it into pieces, and drop it in. Let solution sit for six days. Leave in total privacy. Time this well. When you come back, pour the stem cells into the cauldron. Within one and a half hours, your supervillain will rise and greet you. When it makes eye contact, play your tape, and it will sound like that evil voice, forever.

Let it be known that you are its creator, and if you did everything in this recipe right, it will try to kill you. Enjoy.

Go Go Go

ya never know how fast you can run, until
ya really, really badly have to have to go
jump the ditches down by the pond so
the ducks and geese jump you their fill
the wind hits your face, urging you on

the roads are your desert now and then
the grass impedes you with their singing
out of my way, you silently tell them
your legs running, your arms swinging

through the doors, down this hallway
up the stairs, through that hallway
round this corner, almost almost there

the final door stands in your way
you push through it, your will stays

finally, you're there, sitting down on the can 

Finals

"We sacrificed everything for your waste basket loving ass," came the longing and vengeful whisper. They were staring me down, and I could do nothing but succumb, except that when I fell on my knees, the floor wasn't there to support me. My surroundings spiraled like that of Alice in Wonderland, but thrice as dark and there was no white rabbit to follow, only the old Deku Tree cursing me for not saving it sooner. It didn't catch me as I fell almost into the pit of spikes, catching myself at the edge at the last second and climbing up. As I ran through the forest, almost dead trees tore at my skin like I was Snow White, but not nearly as pretty. I was looking for my Damsel in Shining Armor, Angela. She is not here yet, and the environmentalists threatening to crucify me on the right are not helping my cause. The squirrels throw nuts at me for stealing their habitats and curse my waste basket loving ass once more. Oh, the Purgatory and Hell of the American student, and other waster of papers.

Morning Thoughts on My Island
 
That's what home is, right? My
island. A place where I can be as
prissy and princessy as I want.
The electricity used to fuel and
generated from my PS2 can
probably light up a whole village
in a third world country. Yet I spend
hours on it, just for the pretty pictures.
I am eating oatmeal. It's good for
my skin. But it's tasteless. Maybe I
can somehow make it solid and
mold it into different shapes, then
I'd be eating sculptures, which is
more malleable than bread sculptures
and not nearly as classy.

"Whine at the wine"

Whine at the wine
for liquids limited to red
and clear cannot help
but listen. Concentration
is a farce made of sulfurous
eggs full of peep holes.
Pantomime my death under
the cliff where I watch the sky
darken and become void.
Other people are like stars,
so very very far far away
unreachable, untouchable
and I talk to myself and pretend
that they are all listening.

Recipe for a Hurricane

1 small 3rd world country of clouds (compressed atmosphere)

5 panicked birds (sentient fear)

4 sunset colors (cyclone mirage 2 days before)

1 trillion tons salt water (ocean)

7 windmills (move them air molecules)

1 calendar (time the beast)

50 tanks oxygen (air molecules)

75 tanks hydrogen (for the water/clouds)

1 giant undersea drain (to facilitate cycle shape/motion)

1 volcano (add heat to create humidity)

Anyway

grey thoughts against an orange sky

cloaks a patient silence with chill

and an emptiness like hunger, not quite

held back by artificial light and icons

something's afire that shouldn't be

sticky memories and myriad dreams

make up the hours of unconsciousness

not tonight, but winter keeps company

like an honest bedfellow with a tirade

about desert mirages and hot sun

clouds hold up the heavens when

human strength cannot, a fine veil

against the Babylonians from ever

finding God, patience is another trial

and being understanding is painful

needles and nails eating at skin

a heavy feeling trapped in the bosom

only justified by being alive and only

rectified through rain patting on metal

so long, so long and without remorse

humanity doesn't speak for itself

the supernatural redeems nothing

take not these tendrils of emotion

for a lack of purpose, before they melt

so long, so long and without remorse