Kelson Hayes
Bio
Kelson Hayes is a British-American author and philosopher, born on 19 October 1994 in Bedford, England. His books include Can You Hear The Awful Singing, The Art of Not Thinking, and The Aerbon Series.
Achievements (1)
Stories (38/0)
Invasion
PROLOGUE LLEWELLYN, BREE Spring, 1E35 “Féach! Féach thall ansin!” a Brebon fisherman cried out, pointing towards the ocean whence he’d fled in the midst of his sprint through Llewellyn’s southern woodlands. The commotion startled the surrounding wildlife as a pair of his fellow countrymen threw their spears upon the forest floor in their frustration.
By Kelson Hayes7 months ago in Chapters
Something's Going On
DOVER, BREE 3 May, 4E94 “It’s time we do som’mink about about all these filthy fucking immigrants.” Gaz spoke up from where he sat on Liam’s settee. He was gathered alongside his mates Craig and Paul whilst Liam prepared the last few lines of synthetic cocaine. “Ay, spitting on the elderly, crowding up the footpaths, dealing shite to our people and robbing bare townies; this town’s going to shit.” Paul answered. “Innit; this is our country and those dirty fucking foreigners are turning it into some sort of third-world shithole.” Craig chimed in as Liam took the first line before passing the tray to him. “Ay bruv; I’ve about had enough of it. Living off the government and looking down on the poor, as if they aren’t siphoning the money like fucking leaches. Fucking bastards.” Paul piped up again. “Fucking right! How come them lot stay in mint Groetshven cars whilst we struggle to afford bus tickets on the regular?” Craig kicked off as he pulled back from having done his line, passing it on to Gaz. “That’s their blood-money though, innit; renting out their child sex slaves over in the brothel and human fucking trafficking.” Paul said in response. “Probably stacking P from their dope peddling too, pumping the town up with their shite heroin and speed. Poor man’s dope; fuck gear and anyone selling it. Those cunts are a fucking plague.” Liam joined in the conversation, waiting for the tray to come back around as he sparked up a cigarette. “So what’s to be done then?” Gaz looked around the room, expectantly awaiting an answer to his question as he handed the tray to Paul, having joined back into the conversation. “Well, we’re running low on beak innit, so we may as well go get some more.” Liam replied, sniffling a little as the tray returned to him before snorting his last line. “Fuck’s sake; I s’pose we should make another trip to Gas Werks then, eh?” Paul spoke up. “Yeah, alright; so how much were you saying a bag costs Liam?” Craig inquired. “It’s twenty quid for a gram bag, but that synthetic charlie is bare light bruv.” Liam answered. “So you lot down to pitch in for three bags then?” Gaz said, lighting himself up a cigarette once he’d finished rolling it. “Bloody hell, that’s a peng plan fam! Let’s get fucking wrecked brethren!” Liam was hype, and not just from the cocaine pumping through him. “So that’s fifteen an head, innit? I’m down bruv; let’s go.” Craig cast his money into a lot on the squat coffee table in the middle of Liam’s sitting room. Liam followed suite and threw his money down as well, followed by Paul and Gaz. “Right then; so we going together or is man doing it on his ones?” Liam asked, gathering up the pile of money from where it sat in a clump on his table. After a moment’s delegation, it was unanimously decided that they would go together as a group, taking the train to the nearby town of Canterbury to score their dope from the newly-opened legal high shop. Liam had heard about the shop’s opening through a mate and after seeing it for himself, he had rung Gaz and their crew. Leaving the flat, they made their way towards Dover Station, but not before stopping in a newsagent to buy some crisps and Orangeades for the trip. They reached the train station with eleven minutes to spare and so the lads each bought their tickets before heading to the platform. The boys took advantage of the time they had before the train’s arrival and used it to roll themselves fags to smoke whilst they waited. Upon the train’s arrival the boys flicked their cigarettes aside and proceeded to board the train, talking in low voices amongst themselves. Their conversation mostly revolved around the high quality of the synthetic cocaine as well as inquiries about the shop and how Liam heard about it. Research chemicals, as the substances were called for legal purposes, were relatively new to the drug scene; many of them were being created and produced in undergound factories and laboratories, as well as universities. The synthetic drugs were being manufactured throughout Aerbon under the guise of research chemicals for medical and scientific purposes, though in reality they were no more than unregulated designer drugs that could be bought and sold freely so long as they were properly labelled NOT SAFE FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION. Some of the synthetic legal highs were even listed as household products; bath salts, incense, and plant food being a couple examples. These things they discussed together for the entirety of the train ride, disembarking upon their arrival at Canterbury station where Liam took charge. Passing through the ticket barrier and exiting the station, Liam led them through the bustling cobblestone road towards the High Street. It was roughly a mile away, though the time seemed to quickly pass them by as they were all beaked up. Before long the boys saw the bright green sign that read Gas Werks in a thick darker green font that gave off the impression that it had been sloppily painted and screen-printed. The shop itself was tucked neatly on the corner of the street between a used book store and a Stoneshop*, where Hythe Road intersected the High Street. Making their way through the entrance, Liam led the boys inside to peruse the shop’s wares. *Stoneshop is a Brebon store found predominantly in the South and Midland regions of Bree, where everything in the store is priced at one stone ($1). “Welcome to Gas Werks; is there anything I can help you find today lads?” the staff member that greeted them at the door was a friendly-looking lad that looked to be in his late twenties. “Ay bruv; am looking for some of that speed you’ve got, innit. I can’t remember what you lot call it though.” Liam replied. “Oh, so you’re familiar with the store? I’d just like to remind you for legal purposes not to refer to or compare our products to drugs, and also that these products are not for human consumption.” The sales associate said in response to the young lad’s bashful approach. “Yeah, I was just in this morning and you lot had some stuff; Frosty ’N White or som’mink.” Liam said. “Oh, okay; that sounds like you’re looking for our cleaning powder mixes. Some of the more popular brands are Mr. White, Frost, White Lightning, and Crystal. We keep them behind the counter for security purposes, but the cashier can show you the labels.” The lad answered, indicatively directing them towards the till. “So does it get proper busy being back there then?” Craig questioned the sales associate whilst Liam approached the till to browse through the stack of empty wrappers. “Eh, they keep two sales associates on the floor and one behind the till so it’s generally not too bad, but it can get hectic when there’s a rush. The shop’s only been up for a little over a week now like though so it’s more a matter of getting a feel for the customer base to be honest.” He replied. Liam continued his business with the cashier in the meantime, speaking to the man from the other side of the glass. The man on the till was rather older, looking to be in his mid forties, and he was a bit heavyset and balding. He stood behind a glass wall that separated the checkout counter from the storefront for his own protection, as well as to prevent product theft. Asking him what the best stuff was, the man told Liam that Mr. White was the most popular amongst customers, but Crystal was a cheaper brand that still got the job done. He went on to explain the differences between the brands until Liam finally settled on two bags of Mr. White and a bag of Frost respectively. The foil packets were about the size of his hand, and so he slipped them into his pocket before returning to join his mates in browsing the store momentarily before their departure. The storefront was primarily a head shop, stocked with a variety of bongs, bowls, and other smoking paraphernalia, as well as thin glass tubes with metallic filters or bulbed heads that acted either as crack pipes or meth pipes respectively. Upon checking out the wares, the lads made their way back out onto the street and sought out the train station to make the return trip home. Liam opened up one of the foil wrappers for the Mr. White brand of synthetic cocaine, revealing a zip-lock bag filled with white powder. Inspecting the contents of the bag, the boys came to the conclusion that it appeared to be no more than regular cocaine re-branded and packaged as the analogue substance that it claimed to be, though the fact that they could still feel the effects of it after their ingestion over an hour ago told them that it had to be an entirely different substance altogether. The effects of the substance were similar to cocaine, though it was like an amplified version with longer-lasting effects; so much so that Paul mentioned that he’d been experiencing mild anxiety throughout the high. “My heart was beating bare hard in my chest earlier like; I can still feel that shit.” Paul said as the group passed through the train station on their way to the platform. “It’s peng innit. So you good then fam?” Liam replied. “Yeah bruv; shit’s massive power, but it’s chill now like.” Paul answered ecstatically as they reached the platform, ready to await the train. “Nice one bruv; this shit is piff. You looked proper fucking beaked up in the shop mate.” Gaz laughed. The whole crew was hype bouncing with energy, watching for the train expectantly. It was due any minute. “Innit! I was fucking off my nut; I still can’t believe it’s legal.” Paul laughed, “the whole time I didn’t wanna talk cos the geezer would’ve know I’d been doing lines of ‘cleaning supplies.’” “Yeah bruv; it’s mental they’ve managed to make a shop for this kind of thing innit. Just got to be eighteen and you can buy fucking legal gear.” Craig spoke up as the train pulled up to the station. The boys waited for its passengers to disembark before boarding, making their way towards the rear of the car they boarded. “So you lot wanna go a round?” Liam grinned mischievously as he took his seat. The carriage was divided into two rows of booths on either side of the train; each booth seated four wide, with a small table between them. “Yeah, alright; anyone got a note or som’mink?” Craig answered, looking between them. “You can’t be serious though.” Paul spoke up. “Ay, I’ve got a fiver.” Gaz took a five-stone note out of his pocket and rolled it into a straw whilst Liam went about pouring some powder onto the table to make some lines for the group. “We’re so fucked if train security spots us; this isn’t like bunking a ride…” Paul hissed condescendingly. “It’s sound mate; everything is legal here and we’ve all got tickets. If they try to start on us they can fuck off cos we’re not breaking any laws.” Liam answered calmly. So it was that they proceeded to take the line, each taking a fairly-sized line roughly twice as large as one of the lines they’d taken earlier. They’d done three lines each with the single bag Liam had scored from the friend who’d told him about the shop in the first place, so now that they were somewhat familiar with the dose, they decided to amplify it for the sake of the train ride. If they did one big line each, they were less likely to be caught in the act since they were doing more coke in less time. The boys felt the powerful force of it pumping through their veins just moments after knocking back the heavy lines before them. There were only a couple other occupants in the carriage, though the fellow passengers wanted nothing to do with the chavvy lads and so kept to themselves. Once the train pulled into Dover Station, the boys made their way back out onto the streets in their journey back to Liam’s flat. Space and time flew by as they breezed through the streets in their buzzing state. Fellow pedestrians made way for the group as Gaz and his mates pushed onwards between taking massive drags on their cigarettes. Up ahead a group of immigrants approached, travelling in the opposite direction. The immigrants lined up and formed a wall as they drew closer to the boys, though Gaz and his mates weren’t about to make way for them. Tightening their ranks, Gaz and the lads maintained their pace as they prepared to clash the foreign thugs. The rival crews exchanged dirty glares and scowls at one another as they drew near. Taking the lead, Gaz threw an elbow out as they passed by the immigrant crew of five, targeting the one he assumed to be their leader; a tall and lanky youth with darker skin and black hair. They seemed to be Roenian by their appearance and accents, ranging in age from 15-20. “Fuck you, Brebon scum.” One of the fellow immigrants said, aiming a punch at Gaz. Liam pounced on the youth before his blow could land. “Whoa! Whoa, chill bruv! What the fuck is wrong with you lot?” one of the immigrants called out as his remaining mates yielded to the Brebon lads. The three left standing assisted the fallen two to their feet whilst Gaz and his mates stood their ground. “Not so big and bad now then, yeah?” Gaz sneered. “We’ll see who’s big when our families hear about this!” the boy Liam sacked spat back as his group ran onto the other side of the road, away from Gaz and his chavvy crew. “Piss off you cunts; can’t even finish what you lot start!” Craig shouted after them as they fled. “Fucking melts*!” Liam followed up, cupping his hands to his mouth to amplify the taunt. *Slang term equivalent for a pussy; a coward in the face of a fight. Watching the immigrant youths run up the street a ways before calming down, Gaz and his mates returned their attention to the journey back to Liam’s flat. They bigged themselves up and talked amongst themselves of what they would do if they saw the cunts again. Being rather loud and vulgar, the townies quickened their pace and made way for Gaz and his crew as they passed by and mothers either attempted to shield their children’s ears or clung to them tightly as they avoided making eye-contact with the chavs. Though their language and conversational topics were violent and offensive, the boys seemed totally oblivious to everyone around them. A couple people condemned them, saying things along the lines of “watch your language” or “think of the children” to which they responded “fuck off”, “piss off”, “jog on”, or “wanker.” The walk breezed by and before they knew it, the boys were already walking up the steps into the communal hall of Liam’s flat complex. He took out his keys and unlocked the door, granting them entry into his sitting room. They continued to laugh and joke amongst themselves whilst Liam went to fetch his three litre bottle of Captain Jack’s cider from the fridge. He offered his mates a drink upon his return and poured the cheap chavvy cider into few glasses and mugs he had lying around. Captain Jack’s was notably popular amongst alcoholics, chavs, and the homeless; it was roughly 7.5% ABV and three litre bottles sold for just $2.99, making it one of the best deals in the off-license. Pouring four pints, Liam mixed the drinks with some blackcurrant squash* before handing them out to the crew. *Squash, also known as cordial, is a concentrated juice used in beverage making. It is generally mixed with one part concentrate and four or five parts water, though it has also found popularity as an alcoholic mixer. “Cheers bruv; this shit is proper piff after all that charlie. My fucking throat’s been bare raw.” Paul spoke up after taking a massive gulp from his glass. “Yeah fam!” Craig chimed in, “This shit has my throat drier than a nun’s panties.” “Innit! Here I was thinking it was rough from all the shouting and shite, but you were quiet as a clam with them immigrants Paulie.” Gaz laughed. “Yeah bruv, what was up with that? I hope you aren’t thinking of melting on us?” Liam spoke up. “I’m still here, innit? If I was gonna melt I would’ve fucked off and done one, but I’m still here fam.” Paul kicked off. “Yeah, but you haven’t got to run to be a melt if you’re standing by watching us get our heads kicked in, yeah?” Craig replied dubiously. “Oi, leave it be; he’s still got time to show his true colours. I’m sure those Alvarian cunts will be back for more soon enough.” Gaz laughed at the prospect of battering some immigrant cunts in a full-on street brawl. Sensing that it was an awkward subject, the boys changed their topic of conversation back to girls, drugs, and general chav stuff. Liam turned his radio on and tuned it in to the Top 40’s Grime charts, just in time as Sickboy’s new track came on; a banger called Shut Up and Skin Up. The beat had just started and it was about to kick off; the boys were hype to hear it as they’d been waiting months for his new EP to drop. As Sickboy’s voice came on the lads lowered their own as the previous conversation dissipated in light of the new track. “Alright; big up all my fans and big up Shatter on productions. This is grime; fuck the mainstream…” Sickboy started. “I wake up and put my boots on my feet Make sure to grab the tool before I hit the streets Grab my bags of grades and keep an eye out for police Cos it’s dangerous in Stonhelm when you’re dealing with keys Grab the mobile out my pocket, it rings See bare man and they’re all wanting tree Why can’t man-a-man just leave me be? Cos I’m not ticking shit if you haven’t got the P I dunno where these man get the thought that I’m a charity, cos it’s twenty stone a gram if you want my herbal remedies So shut the fuck up and let me skin a zoot, cos if you piss me off I’mma stick my shank in you I don’t give a fuck if you’re having money troubles cos when I invest in kilos my money only doubles If you whinge and you moan you can put down the phone cos if I don’t get my money then I’m breaking all your bones So shut up and skin up a spliff; if you’ve got the dosh then I’ve got the piff I don’t got time for none of your shit cos my time is p and I’ve got none to give.” “Oi, go on then Gaz; shut up and skin up, yeah? Proper fucking banger innit!” Craig laughed as the song went back to the hook. “I don’t know where man got the idea I’m a charity fam.” Gaz rebutted, gaining a round of laughter from his mates as he reached into his pocket for his sack of weed. “Ay, anyone up for another bump while we’re on the subject?” Liam spoke up, grabbing his tray to do up some more lines. “Dunno how grass turned into charlie, but alright then.” Paul answered with a chuckle. “Cos we’re on about drugs bruv, do try to keep up.” Liam replied. “Oi, don’t be such a wanker Liam.” Craig spoke up on Paul’s behalf. “Oh, right? At least I’m not a fucking melt.” Liam kicked off. “The fuck is that supposed to mean bruv?” Paul said, taking the bait. “How ‘bout we do up a couple lines and take the zoot for a walk in town?” Craig said in an attempt to calm the situation. “Ay, that’s a sound plan mate.” Gaz agreed. Liam prepared the lines whilst Gaz finished rolling up in preparation for the outing. The boys finished their pints and rolled themselves each a couple cigarettes for the adventure. After taking their lines and passing the tray around twice, the group unanimously decided to go to the park and play a game with some of Craig’s mates that were already there. He rang them up whilst Gaz, Liam, and Paul text some of their own mates to form a squad. Before long all the arrangements were made and the crew found themselves on their way to Priory Park to link up with their other mates on the football grounds for a match.
By Kelson Hayesabout a year ago in Fiction
This Is Bree
DOVER, BREE 13 April, 4E93 “Fuck’s sake.” Gaz grumbled as he reached out to hit the snooze button on his alarm. It was 10 in the morning on as normal a Tuesday as any. Upon dragging himself out of bed, he kitted himself out in a grey tracksuit before going about rolling up a spliff to wake and bake. Remembering that he had an appointment with his career advisor at the job-centre later that day around noon, he let loose a disapproving groan and swore. He quickly checked the time, just to find that he had less that two hours to prepare for his appointment. Gary “Gaz” Austin was what you’d call a chav; he was well-respected amongst his mates, though in the Kingdom of Bree chavs were at the bottom of Brebon society. They were lumped in with the immigrants, junkies, and homeless pisshead bums that polluted the streets of all the major cities. Chavs generally lived off the government, their name being an acronym for Council-Housed And Violent. They caused trouble wherever they went and lived off the tax-payers money; claiming unemployment and housing benefits, taking and dealing drugs, as well as committing robberies and violent crimes just to get by. Gaz was your stereotypical chav in that regard, being one of the main dealers in town with a temper to boot. Taking the last couple of drags off his zoot, Gaz put it out in the ashtray on his bedside table and got up from where he sat on the edge of the bed even as his mobile started to ring. “Yeh, alright; who’s this then?” he said, answering the phone. “Oi, this Gaz, yeah? Shannon gave us yer number mate, I’m tryna score a ten’s bit on tick fam.” some dodgy cunt on the other end answered. “Yeah? Well you can lose this number then bruv; my shit’s twenty a gram and I don’t do no tick.” with that he ended the call and made his way into the tiny kitchen/sitting room situated in the front of his flat. Fucking Shannon, Gaz though to himself, I told that slagging cow not to be giving my number out. He didn’t have the time to dwell on it long however, as he still had to get ready to make the hour-long walk into town for his appointment. Putting a kettle on before jumping in the shower, Gaz heard the switch click on the electric kettle even as he finished drying himself off. Once he was dressed and sorted he poured himself a cup of tea with the freshly boiled water, poured in a bit of sugar from the bag, and rummaged through his fridge for some milk. Taking an initial sip of the steaming cup he’d just poured before setting it down, Gaz returned to the bathroom and took a look in the mirror to sort himself out properly before leaving the flat. He was an average-looking twenty-three year old Brebon chav; shaved blonde hair and a stony face. His skin was taut and his face was rather gaunt, as were most of those living off unemployment in that country, and his cold grey eyes had the heartless calculating gaze shared by the majority of his people. Turning on the cold tap to wash his face, Gaz ran his fingers through his hair and prepared himself for the day. With his final preparations for the job-centre concluded, Gaz brought himself back into the kitchen to enjoy his tea with a hand-rolled cigarette since it was finally cool enough to drink. He smoked the fag until it was almost down to the roach before extinguishing it in the ashtray, where he left it smouldering as he gulped down the last couple sips of his tea. Putting the cup in his sink with the rest of the washing up he would have to do later, Gaz grabbed his boots and laced up for the walk into town. As he walked out the door, he exchanged looks with one of his neighbours in the house; nodding as the Eastern Aerbonean man passed him by in the hallway. The building was actually two houses merged into one, consistent of three floors in addition to a basement, and it housed sixteen flats altogether; Gaz was situated on the ground floor and his neighbour lived on the second across the hall from him. “You alright bruv?” Gaz started as the man continued to give him a dirty look passing by. The foreigner didn’t even bother to respond and Gaz made his way out of the building, spitting on the ground as soon as he was outside. Fucking immigrant cunts; it’s bad enough the place stinks of fucking curry, he thought to himself as he made his way down the road into town. The weather outside was a bit chilly and the sky was overcast, though it wasn’t uncommon that early in the Brebon springtime on the coast. Gaz didn’t even feel it however, as he was fully kitted in his chavvy gear; the young thug made his way down the street with all the swagger of a hooligan vandal, walking as menacingly as he could. On both sides of the road mixed crowds of people walked to and fro, immigrants intermingled with the chavvy youth, along with young families and the elderly. The majority of passer-bys made room for the passing women pushing prams as well as the elderly, though the Eastern Aerbonean immigrants formed walls, travelling in gangs of anywhere between four to eight strong. They forced oncoming Brebon pedestrians off the footpath and into the road itself to pass them by. So it was that confrontations and passive-aggressive displays of dominance often broke out between the chavs and the Eastern Aerbonean thugs as they fought for control over those streets. Gaz had other things on his mind beyond simple matters of pride in the meantime however, and so he did his best to avoid any altercations with the immigrants and kept his head down as he made for his appointment. A couple of kids tried to stop him outside a newsagent, pleading for him to score them some cheap cider. Gaz coldly told them to fuck off and left them stringing curses after him in his wake as they continued to stand their ground outside the local shop. The scenery passed him by as he tried to enjoy his leisurely stroll. This would be the greatest country in the world, if it weren’t for the people living in it, Gaz thought to himself with a bitter grin as he walked along. “Oi bruv, ‘ave you got a second? Please mate, I was on my way to see my daughter at the hospital, I just need-” a haggard-looking homeless man rushed out to clutch at empty air as Gaz brushed him off before interjecting him mid-speech. “Piss off, you dirty scaghead cunt.” “Yeah, fuck you too mate!” the hobo called out after him as he walked away, “You wanna ‘ave a fucking go then?” Ignoring the junkie’s existence entirely, Gaz continued on his way and passed through the council estates with minimal social interaction. Cars drove by occasionally and there were small groups of people on the footpaths, though these increased in density as he drew near to the roundabout that led into town. Crossing the roundabout from Ramsgate Road onto the High Street, Gaz followed the long curved street into the heart of town. Charity shops, newsagents, electronics repair shops, and various sorts of local shops lined both sides of the street, occasionally accompanied by signs offering daily or weekly special deals scrawled in chalk. As he passed by a small Itanian bakery Gaz watched a young Alvarian-looking lad as the youth outright kicked the sign over, shattering the slate-board and breaking the wood frame as it smashed against the stone cold pavement. Within seconds the shop’s staff were out front shouting as the lad tried to run, but not before spitting on the display window and giving them the middle finger.
By Kelson Hayesabout a year ago in Fiction
The Ocean
Vast and full of life Where everything can fly Beneath the mirror
By Kelson Hayesabout a year ago in Poets
Sky
Infinite unknown Reaching towards eternity Does it ever end?
By Kelson Hayesabout a year ago in Poets
Tauro
ATHENS, ITANIA Summer, 1E15 Tauro was a farmer in the fertile farmlands between Athens and Montego that comprised the majority of inland Itania. He grew tomatoes, lettuce, cabbage, peppers, courgettes, herbs and spices. Everything he grew flourished under his care in his gardens and there were beautiful cypress and stone pine trees that decorated the immediate lands around his home. The stone pines grew naturally scattered throughout his lands whilst he’d planted the cypress trees to intentionally form a path leading to his front door. It started from the dirt road that led to the stables for his horses, serving as a sort of driveway where it turned away from the gravel road that led into the town. Taking this road, the Itanian farmer made his way along towards the city of Athens where he planned to conduct business that day with his wife’s family.
By Kelson Hayes2 years ago in Fiction
Runaway
GIESSEN, GILAN Autumn, 1E193 “Father!” Princess Eaïnne exclaimed, storming into her father’s throne room in a clamorous uproar. Snapping out of his reverie, the king stared upon his daughter to find her wrathfully approaching him at his throne, though he smiled grimly after seeing that she was pursued by his men who’d attempted to stop her. “The people of Eden and Graenor beg for your aid and support, yet our halls remain silent. The heartlands are oblivious to it all as if encapsulated within a dome and the west flourishes under our ignorance! Even the elves of the Aush Wood content themselves to bury the dead whilst these eastern pleas fall upon deaf ears!”
By Kelson Hayes2 years ago in Fiction
The Disappearance
FAEN, AENOR Autumn, 1E72 There was a light mist in the air as cool autumn rain sprinkled down on the elvish town of Faen. The sun was setting beyond the Aryan Forest that comprised their nation of Aenor, sinking on the horizon of the Aerbonean Ocean off the coast of Legion some hundreds of leagues away to the west. Sendarin guided his boat back to shore as the evening closed in upon him. He would tie it off at one of the posts that served as the town's makeshift dock so that the tide didn't carry it out to sea, rowing his ways towards the elvish longboats that lined Faen's shore. He breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the beach and took his boat to rest with its fellows after a long and peaceful day of fishing.
By Kelson Hayes2 years ago in Fiction
Voska
PROLOGUE VIŞIC, VIVEÇ Spring, 1E23 I was 9 years old when the Tekatan Empire attacked… They invaded the coastal villages in massive ships that were more liken to floating castles or fortresses than they were to the simple fishing boats of our own people. Atakebunes were what they called them in their own tongue, though we had no name for the monstrous ships where we had never seen anything like them in all our lives. Landing upon our shores, the men who disembarked from them were not men at all; they were dressed in gruesome armour with demonic faces— wielding terrifying firelances that they used to slaughter all who stood against them without effort. Their firelancers led the charge followed by the rest of the spear and scimitar-wielding horsemen who comprised the bulk of their mighty legions, hacking down all those who managed to escape their fiery wrath to futilely flee before them. Having seized the coastal towns and villages along the shoreline, they proceeded further inland, though as they fell to our town’s defenders we came to realise that their demonic faces were no more than masks designed to instill fear in the hearts of their enemies. Although it was no more than an intimidation tactic, it still proved successful where their fighting was equally as terrifying and demonic as their attire. As they charged forth from the floating castles after landing upon our shores, they rode on the backs of horses that they’d even dressed like dragons; storming into the villages and setting them ablaze one by one as they mowed down our people’s hapless defenders.
By Kelson Hayes2 years ago in Fiction
Dad
Anyone can be a father, but that doesn’t necessarily make them a dad. When I was just a kid, my parents brought me and my sister from England to America shortly before divorcing due to their differences. Growing up, I remember crying myself to sleep at night every night, wondering when my dad was going to come back. Every night I’d fall into a fitful sleep, wishing that I could just go home— back to the place where things were “normal” in my eyes. Sometimes he would call, but it was a rare occurrence and it only became less and less frequent until one day it just stopped altogether.
By Kelson Hayes2 years ago in Families
The Art Of Not Thinking
One of the biggest barriers to overcome in mastering the Art of Not Thinking is Fuck-Giving. The more fucks you give, the more thoughts you have, and the more things that hold you back from living the life you want to live. Where you find that Fuck-Giving is the first chapter of this guide to the Art of Not Thinking, it brings to light a rather relevant point you may find while reading this book and so I will address it once: if you find yourself offended by offensive language, YOU CAN'T QUIT GIVING A FUCK IF THE WORD FUCK HOLDS POWER OVER YOU. Or any other word for that matter. Like come the fuck on- the world is full of all types of shit you're not gonna fuck with and you're just gonna have to learn that it really isn't your fucking problem until you make it your problem. With that being said, the most predominant goal of a Fuck-Giver should be to become Unfuckwithable. That is one of the first steps to Not Thinking- you can't stop thinking if you are forced to think about the things you fear and/or desire. For example, maybe you are in a failing relationship, or a dead-end job, or perhaps your boss is an absolute cunt, or your parents have been fucking with you, or maybe your future is uncertain and you don't know how you are going to make it in the world. These are the type of thoughts that hold you back, along with many others. It seems like the logical thing, to plot what you want out of life and seek it out, but that's the trick- our oppressors would seek to profit from our thoughts and sell them back to us for profits in the consumerist society we live in. They feed into your fears and desires through the media and condition and regulate you through the propaganda on the television, ranging from the news to television sitcoms and everything in between. That doesn't even delve into the cultural and generational conditioning and indoctrination that we are all subjected to from birth onwards, or the traumas we experience along the way. You've been conditioned to believe that the way of life that you know is the correct way of life, if not the only way, and that any deviance is unacceptable socially. You don't have to overthrow the system to stop thinking about it, but not giving a fuck could lead to thoughts of this. The best slave is a blind slave, but once you open your eyes to the fact- if you come to that realization- it may seem like the only way to be truly happy is to be free yourself and overthrow our oppressors to destroy their systems of oppression and exploitation. For that reason, you may think a lack of Fuck-Giving may lead to this, but that is entirely not the case. You can be happily thoughtless and work a job cleaning toilets, just like you can be totally miserable working the same job. Your thoughts determine your mood rather than your environment- contrary to what you choose to believe. It doesn't matter what your situation or surroundings are; you have to master yourself and become independent of them- let go of whatever attachment obligates you to them. Part of Fuck-Giving is the perception of good and bad, or positivity and negativity, in every context. You have to maintain the same resonance of your vibes when things are going good as when they're going bad and separate yourself from the moment regardless where you find yourself to become the active Observer. When you can let go of control you begin to experience life as it unfolds and you can better react to things as they arise with calculated clarity. When you start to see that things generally end up playing out however they do while you remain in a constant state of flux, it becomes easier to rely on certainty in uncertainty. Death is easily escapable when you stop running from it and you will find for yourself that it enables you to breathe easier and perform better too. When you quit Fuck-Giving you'll start recieving the things you didn't realise you needed and you'll realise you don't need the things you end up losing or lacking, but if you find yourself in need you can either seek things out, let them come to you, or create them for yourself. Either way, thoughts will do nothing to help you and they will only weigh you down in the heat of the moment. So how do you quit giving a fuck? First you need to realise you have everything you need right now. Seriously. If you need it and you don't have it, you would be dead. The fact you are reading this is proof that you have everything you need because you are not dead. There may be a lot of things that you want, but don't have, but if you spend all your time worried about it you'll just be wasting the time between now and when you get what it is that you want. For example; maybe you are hungry. You aren't dead, so you just want to eat right now. Of course you need food, but it isn't imperative to your life right now- you aren't going to die yet. You want the food because you feel that your body needs it soon, but not immediately. You start to worry that you're going to starve soon and the longer you wait, the greater your fear becomes until it swallows you up. You can scavenge, or you can beg for money, you can go into a store and steal, or you can ask for help. You don't even have to beg. If you sit outside a shopping centre long enough, or a street corner, or anywhere in the town or city you live- someone will offer you food or money. It is inevitable. The closer you get to starvation, the more likely the help will come, so there's no need to worry about death by starvation. Maybe it's not food, but your housing. Sleeping rough might not be desirable, but it's not something you can't withstand. Another thing you can do is prepare yourself for everything by taking advantage of a personal survival kit before you end up in the situation, or you can go about acquiring these things if you're completely destitute. Your whole life of what you need most can fit in a backpack, "thoughtlessly" packed. You may have to let go of some of the things that serve no purpose, but there may be room for sentimental things and items you gain along your journey in life. You need to prepare by realising the things you will need that you don't want to lack. That could be clothes, a gun, ammunition, money, tools, a lightweight tent, a blanket, robe, or sleeping bag, and things of that nature that you may need to rely on. If you have a car you have greater inventory, and you can fill a house or apartment with luxuries and whatever else you may want if you can afford those things, but ultimately you should be prepared to let go of anything and everything outside of what you can immediately take with you wherever you find yourself in whatever context. If you have nothing, then fear not, for you are as free as can be. You can acquire anything you need for yourself; you have no obligations, no ties, and nothing to lose, but everything to gain. The world is your oyster and you can seek out all that you desire, but mostly likely you are not free without any possessions or ties and these are things you do not appreciate in your possession. Homeless people are a good example because some of them will wait on a street corner hoping to find someone or something that will feed them. That is a waste of time, because every other day of your life you never starved to death, and this will not be the day either. Rather than focus on your life in the present, you spent the entire time between meals worried about your next meal, to the point you won't ever enjoy the meals you eat at all for fear of what the next one will be. On top of that, the time you spend waiting or begging for food is time that you could have productively been living and potentially found what you need and more. Joblessness can be another example, because the longer you spend out of work the more hopeless you become. It has been ingrained into many people that you cannot survive without a job- that is not the case. You could either spend the duration of your unemployment miserable, or you can appreciate the freetime for what it is. Even if you can't find work, that doesn't prevent you from being productive- you don't have to be depressed and do nothing with your life just because nobody wants to employ you. You can use that time to fulfill projects and chase goals that you didn't have the time to before and spend time with people you don't usually have the time to see. You may even find opportunities there that you wouldn't have. If you truly need help you can reach out to people, but don't go into life with expectations or you'll find yourself disappointed. The less you think, the easier life becomes- the less fucks you give the happier you are. A lot of the time it would appear that life plays out how it does regardless your outlook- the only difference it makes is the way people perceive you and the vibe you give off. You have to be the same person when you're doing good and when you're struggling and a lot of the time if you can maintain constant Chillitude it makes life easier and manifestations quicker and more frequent. Your mentality is what matters most; that frees souls or keeps people trapped in their lives. If you find yourself truly alone surrounded by no one but yourself, are you free or lonely? I've been asked several times in my life, "but where will you sleep, how will you eat- what will you do?" regarding some of my life choices, jobs I quit, or places I've moved. The answer to that, is that it's a stupid question that only provokes unnecessary thoughts. It's rather early to say that in this book, but in time you will see it: some questions are just totally unnecessary. They do nothing but provoke thoughts that don't even need to be thought about. Theoretic thoughts have no use in the world of practicality. Where will I sleep? On the ground somewhere comfortable at the very least, or under better circumstances in a comfortable spot that I can call a home, whether it's a bedroom, an apartment, a house, a friend's place, a cave, a grotto, a tent, under a tree, or even in a shopping centre outlet. You don't need four walls and a roof to survive. What will I eat? That's just a question of how programmed I am to the thought that luxury equates necessity- you can survive off of juice for a while, eating nothing more than tree bark and grass if you are in a great enough need, or you could kill, cook, and devour a small animal if you have the capacity to hunt and desensitization to skin it and peel the flesh from off its body. What level of "depravity" are you willing to sink to in order to exist? Most of the time this is totally unnecessary, but if you are trapped and lost- that is what separates you from someone who is just roaming around in the wilderness. What you perceive to be lost is really just wandering- it is just how you think about it and look at it. That goes back to "what will you do" however, which between all the questions is the stupidest: I am already doing it. Another example of this would be a plane crash, or being stranded in the middle of "nowhere". Someone who was programmed to work and revolve around bills, debt, etc would be worried about how to return to their life, and they would have time constraints and worries for consequences of their detour and whatnot. If you master the Art of Not Thinking however, you would just be somewhere you could never have expected and you will simply adapt to the situation. If you are famished you can eat some grass, leaves, or tree bark. If you aren't dying of hunger, you could seek out better means of sustenance, or a more suitable location, maybe even gather your sense of directions to figure out which way you would rather go or if there are any nearby places you know of. Maybe you could even build a structure and take advantage of the situation to use it as a means of chilling off grid. if you would rather go back to society, you could try and formulate a plan of getting back, unless it is impossible, in which case a master of the Art of Not Thinking would simply accept it and let go of what is unachievable, or risk everything in the endeavour because who gives a fuck either way. A Non-Thinker is the greatest kamikaze because they either get what they want or they don't- if it doesn't destroy them then they will continue in doing whatever they see fit. The worst case scenario is death, and that is simply a release from existence. If the Non-Thinker isn't killed then they have either accomplished their goal or turned away from it, but either way they have moved on to something else. Ultimately, nothing matters beyond what you allow to matter. The only thing you have control over is yourself, so learn to let go of your attachment to everything outside and around you. As a general rule, I would say that you should not use the Art of Not Thinking to become a sociopath or an evil entity, because that will ruin you equally as much as overthinking will. The point of Not Thinking is that if you are your most genuine self, everything will fall into place better than you could ever plan it yourself, but being successfully evil requires planning, plots, calculations, and many other thoughts- lest you just fuck yourself. Evil never pays off, and overthinking kills you. You might think sociopathy and Not Thinking are connected, but you would be wrong- a true sociopath believes their own lies and has allowed their thought to justify and convince them of their lack of wrongdoing, where a Non-Thinker has already calculated and allowed for the possibility of thoughts amd perspectives and come to the conclusive decision to let go and follow the most neutral path to achieve true peace in their lifetime. The point of not thinking isn't to gain riches, fame, or power- these things only matter to people who think. As long as you think you will never acquire these things and even if you do, it won't ever be enough. Not thinking frees you from the need to hoard material things and helps you to realise what you truly want in each moment to thoughtlessly pursue it. Whether or not those things are part of your life or not is irrelevant, because your life experience is everything that matters most of all. One aspect of Not Thinking is that life is like a linear video game, but linear video games are just glorified movies that you take control over. If you let go of controlling the outcome and situations of the game and stopped trying to predict and chase after what you don't have, you will find that it falls into place and that you have everything you need as you need it, almost as if it were by design. They say you should look before you leap, so it could be misinterpreted that I imply that you should leap before you look, but this is not the case. The point is rather than contemplating the jump, to actually take account of your surroundings and realise you don't need to jump- why are you in a situation where you need to jump? The chances are likely that you don't even need to jump in the first place. Most likely, you put yourself into a situation by overthinking and rushing to the point that you made an optional path the only path and it has turned into what you perceive to be a dire life or death situation. If you find yourself pushed into a corner where your only options are to fight or run, why would you let it escalate to that point? Firstly, you don't have to push or encourage a situation to that point, but secondly- if you find yourself where those are truly your only options, why fuck it up worse by thinking? For example- if you feel like you're about to throw up while you're walking down the street, just do it. Dogs do it all the time, you don't have to think about right or wrong, but it's probably better to throw up in the grass. The rain will clean it, or maybe something will eat it, or whatever happens happens, but once it leaves your body it isn't your problem anymore, but someone might try to make it your problem. How you handle the situation is up to you, and there are an infinite amount of ways things can go, but generally you can feel what is best in any given moment. Returning to the example at hand- it seems like common sense that you don't throw up on someone's carpet- go outside or do it in a trashcan or something, but whatever you end up throwing up on don't worry, cos that thing can be cleaned, or if you gotta pay someone to clean it don't be upset- just be happy you aren't sick anymore. There's bigger things to worry about, like maybe you find your spouse cheating on you with your best friend. Some would think you need to beat the friend up, or abuse the partner for their infidelity. Nah fam; they were both never truly people who belonged in your life and that was the ultimate proof. Just let them go-you don't need them in your life, unless you truly don't care. If they still want to be with you and you love them both- what is the problem? It all depends on what you give a fuck about. If you want to share your spouse with your friend or be in an open relationship then just do it, but if you don't then let them go. If your partner leaves you for someone else then let them go- there's no point clinging to something that was never yours to begin with. People always seem to put so much emphasis into the importance of temporary things in their lives that they fear the loss on a life-or-death level, seeing everything as an ultimatum. Life goes on, and when you remove yourself from the situations as they unfold it goves you the mental immunity that gets you through it effortlessly. Threats bounce off you and fear and anxiety can't scathe you. Prolonging the thoughts only prolongs the suffering. The more genuine you are to yourself the more genuine the interest of the people you attract. People seem to put so much emphasis into being in relationships that they make themselves miserable when they aren't in one, just like when you are not happy in a relationship and you don't love them anymore- why stay and make yourselves both so miserable that you hate each other? You shouldn't have to think about how much you love someone or worry about how much they love you if it is genuine- that overthinking is what ruins the relationship. The same way that you can ruin a relationship by overthinking, you can also put yourself into a doomed relationship when you think about how to attract someone you simply desire the aesthetic beauty of without any other basis for the attraction. You plot out how to present yourself and put on a mask, but when you get comfortable the mask begins to slip and they see you for who you truly are- perceiving you as totally unlovable because that is how you thought of yourself which led to the initial mask you put on. The trick to finding a perfect partner is not to look for one- which is also good advice on how to live your life. You should ultimately live for yourself, because you'll always be trapped with yourself every waking second of your life regardless who surrounds you. The people you attract by being yourself with no ulterior motives will truly love you for who you are and there is no way of knowing the things they can help you achieve. Maybe they might offer you a job or help you find work, or become a future roommate, or maybe they will save your life one day. You never know where networking will take you in this interconnected web of souls we call life. You can't go into a situation expecting or plotting around things because life is chaos and there is no way of knowing what will happen, even one minute from this exact moment. Your job gives you a schedule set in stone that can be subject to change- maybe a terrorist organisation will target your job and they may tell you that you can't come to work that day even though you were scheduled, the same way they may call you in because someone called out. It can be nice to have a basic idea of what is probable to happen, but nothing is guaranteed and nothing should be expected. That leads to a happier life. This is especially true when you develope and hone your ability to react on the spot without thought and cease to think so heavily about all of life's infinite possibilities. This is why one of the first steps to the Art of Not Thinking is the subject of Fuck-Giving. If you can recognise all the things you give a fuck about and how none of them truly impact your life, it is a step closer you gain towards the thoughtlessly genuine reactions of a Non-Thinker. You don't need a job to survive, the same way you don't need a lover, a house, a vehicle, or anything at all- the earth literally provides everything you need to survive and if you didn't have the necessary minimum you would already be dead. If it comes down to it you could even steal from the store to survive in desperation and then what's the worst that could possibly happen? The police would arrest you and give you free food and housing, but if that's the case and that's how bad things are and you're willing to do that- there are so many other things you could do to acquire the bare minimum of money to eat a meal. You could walk around and adventure, meet people, ask them if they know anyone that needs some work or if they have some money so you can eat. Walk into stores and ask them for help, maybe even apply to a couple and tell them of your situation. You could dumpster dive, meet up with friends and hang out, maybe even ask them for help- stop being so desperate and miserable. When you can realise that and let go of the inherent need for stability and guarantees, then you are a step closer to Not Thinking. If you can't let go of those things, it's okay, this will come in time as you warp your mind and deprogram yourself to the reality and facts you were programmed to believe in. The beauty of Not Thinking is that it isn't a step-by-step process- it is the end result and let-go of all aspects at once, training your mind, bit by bit, to realise the pointlessness of reality so that you can find the meaning you originally gave it before you traded your hopes and dreams for realistic expectations in the pursuit of those things society trained and conditioned you to crave. You can survive anything as long as you do what you need to in order to survive- the more minimalistic you are the easier it becomes. How will I feed my family? Well, if you can't feed them, they will find another means. That isn't your problem, the same way they don't think how they are going to take care of you. What if my family abandons me? Well, they never truly loved you beyond your ability to take care of them. If that fact bothers you, then you should stop thinking about how shallow your situational "love" is and start doing things to make sure they don't abandon you instead of worrying and lying to yourself about the shallow nature of your life. Most of the people you will fuck only want you for your money or your genitals- the same way your attraction to them is primarily physical, unless you form the relationship through genuine vibes that can only be produced through the genuine thoughtlessness of living in the moment true to yourself. The same thing is true for friends and a job too- if you fake your experience and lie you will find yourself out of your element forced to pretend to be something you aren't, and it will leave you miserable. Even if you deny it as much and as hard as you can- you will always know the truth. So the gist of this chapter is to recognise when you find yourself getting too attached to things outside of yourself- Fuck Giving. When you can recognise yourself giving unneccesary fucks, it will make it much easier to distance yourself from such thoughts and further help you to deprogram yourself from experiencing them. This is one of the main key points of Not Thinking, though it is not the only one, or even the most important. All aspects of this book must be simultaneously combined if one is to achieve the inner peace of total thoughtlessness that can be gained from this insight, if it can be called that. So this was the breakdown and explanation of Fuck-Giving, and it can be re-read as many times as is needed until you fully grasp the shit I just spoke, and as I said before- each step is necessary, but not in any particular order. With that being the case, you may end up reading this book several times before you fully understand and implement it, or you may not finish it because you chose to reject it, or you may only read it once and take whatever you do from it in any of those possible circumstances. No matter what though, I don't give a fuck and neither should you, as is the whole message of the book.
By Kelson Hayes2 years ago in Psyche
