Senseless Violence

The sound of gunshots pierced my ears-

Jarred me

I was permanently sleepless as long

As this cruel rhythm sounded incessantly

Through this wasteland of bodies

Piled carelessly about me

As I near my death, 

I prayed to God for mercy

While others prayed for the deaths of the supposed enemy...

One cries aloud:
"Oh God, I beseech you to spare me...love me.."

Another screams aloud for the courage to 

Blow their enemy to smithereens...

Another solider with two fatal wounds regretfully 

Prays to no one

He only fantasizes one last time 

About that wife that he might never see again

Why were we sent here?
From the age of two, I was bred

On the notion of warfare

Being the epitome of the glorified man

Wouldn't Jesus be proud that I killed countless people
Without any discretion or any reflection

Upon their individual depth?

I believed blindly in this violent purpose for myself

I convinced myself that they were the enemy-

Kill, or be Killed-
That was really the edict of this land

My commander instructed me that this was God 's work-

Except, that holy book

Vaguely stated that murder was wrong
I was deluded by new theology of course

Spoken in the gruff sincerity of God's elect

As my comrades around me slowly bleed to death,

I could only proclaim:

"Go to hell, God!"

God was probably already there

-Condemned by his own followers to perdition

How could anyone sent
Into the blistering nightmare of war

Of war clutch such contradictory truths?
Was this it? I had to blindly believe
Just to reconcile this violence

In such a contrived way


Senseless.... Oh Lord,
This obligatory violence in my life is senseless

All around me, there is no healing

Just blood and torn limbs

Of all your broken soldiers
We thought we were the pawns of you

But really, we are the slaves of man

If you're there, save us from this unholy mess

For we are being skewered 

In Jesus's name, 

Amen 

An Assassin's Lament


Love poems are always stuffed

Full of "Bloody" Romantic Melodrama

That is so nauseating

To the extent where the erotic touch wanes

Whereupon the romance suddenly

Transforms into something wretched-

Utter Vermin

How do I love? 

With this murderous streak thundering through my mind

Its an uncontrollable desire that overtakes

And asserts its indomitable will

Murder satiates

Its my gory output 

That has no sensual overtones

Though, that same tingle of warmth

Coils around my nerves

When I hear that pained groan

Attempting to escape their body's

Ultimate submission into death-

That scream:-

-Oh, that woeful, plaintive scream-

It sounds like my cold spirit 

Solemnly singing its sonorous song

Sometimes tears tear through the eye's protective barrier

It threatens to break my terrifying facade

That wears the face of Macbeth

Whom relished the deaths

Though his spirit ranted and raved:

"Why have I done this?"

His gracious lady wore the indelible mark of his guilt

Red Blood of the despots he killed-

This same paint corrodes my soul

Luscious, red blood covers that 

Unknown essence deep within this material body:

The wretched thing we title the 

Vessel, the cage

Where life inexplicably was entrapped in from birth

As my dead victim,

Lies cradled in my arm
With blood permeating my hands

In the style of Lady Macbeth

I witness the damned sign

Of my Future form

Every-time I cruelly murder a life,

I see my death right before my eyes

Yet escape it all the same

I lament that I can no longer process

This burdensome phenomenon

Oh, the paradox of existence

How can we be living with abundant meaning

Only to sink away into the black waters

Of a Meaningless Demise

I don't care if these people die because

They've vanished

Poof! Their mark upon the world is not permanent

Unless they had profound notoriety

Otherwise, they sink away slowly

To the pulsing rhythm of this dying world 

Which slowly vanishes from the sight of 

No living soul  who would have died

 Before the sun extinguishes its light

If only, I had the spiritual eyes

To discern past this oblivion and 

See something far beyond

The nothingness to find

That something tucked 

Beneath the dreaded veil of death 

Wolf Gift Countdown:February 14th, 2012

Vampire/Mummy Month: December 2011

Anne Rice Book-signings: A Very Real Possibility

As we all impatiently..patiently await the release of Anne Rice's "Wolf Gift," many fans are probably speculating about potential book signings. Normally, publishers devise some kind of promotional tour for authors in promotion of their recent book. It is all part of advertising the book because it stokes interest and excitement for the new book. Unfortunately, the changing book market which seems to becoming more focused on e-books over physical books seems to be giving publishers solid reasons to extricate funds normally set aside that are specifically used for book signings. While I greatly love my Kindle, (which I hope to review in-depth in the coming weeks) the greatest disadvantage for the devices is the inability to have your books signed with traditional pen or sharpie marker. Sue Dent, author of the recently published Electric Angel, came up with a solution. She had a virtual signing done via webcam and electronic copies were digitally signed.

To me, there still does not seem to be that great sense of realism. Yes, you still get to have a short conversation with the writer but it is not comparable to a real book signing where you interact with fans prior to the signing. Surely, virtual signings are a wonderful solution for people who live in rural areas of the country who are unable to attend physical signings due to inability to travel far distances. For those people, like me, who love real book-signings, virtual book signings are  largely an inferior option.



Approximately one year ago, I was given the opportunity of meeting Anne Rice who seemed positively overjoyed to meet her fans. We  were all excited  to meet the author whose books gave us many sleepless nights of entertaining reading. Again, I don't think a virtual signing compares with an actual signing. Its very similar to watching low-quality live performances of your favorite band. Where is the ambiance of a room full of thrilled fans? You can't grasp that energy when you're watching a performance through a video or going to a virtual book signing in your pajamas. It all seems sub-par to the real thing!


So, what are Anne Rice's schedule as of now. According to her website, there are no specific details as of recent about any planned book signings for "The Wolf Gift" Within the comment area, I want to hear your wild ideas about potential places to be placed on Anne Rice's tour calendar. Anne Rice is not involved with the process of forming any tour calendars. Additionally, she does not do lavish signings anymore with genuine New Orleans jazz bands or funeral proceedings (Anne Rice actually use to come to book-signings in a casket which is quite befitting of her).  Either way, use Google or any other resources available to you to find potential book stores. Be brave, and send inquiries to these bookstores through email and ask if they're interested in hosting an Anne Rice signing. Additionally, offer them the email address of Kim Thornton who deals specifically with interview or promotional things for Anne Rice's releases. Her email address can be found on Anne Rice's website on the sidebar which is labeled "Interviews."
Who knows? Your email could help bring forth plans for a signing at that bookstore you thought Anne Rice would never visit in a million years.


Here is my own personal wish for a potential tour stop for Anne Rice's book signing: Since I live in the Philly region, I would love for Anne Rice to have a book signing  at the Free Library of Philadelphia . There are definitely enough things for Anne Rice to do in Philadelphia. Seeing as she loves to explore old churches, we have a beautiful church which dates from the colony days. It is called Christ Church and it carries a lot of history. Moreover, we have the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, and the Philadelphia Art Museum which will soon be having a Van-Gough gallery. This art museum recently had an Rembrandt gallery with mainly Jesus paintings that were formerly not exhibited to the public. Readers of Anne Rice are well-aware of her love for history therefore having a signing in Philadelphia seems like a natural choice.

Certainly, many fans reading this have cities nearby that carry it's own unique history. Therefore, when you comment, please include some potential historical sites that Anne Rice might be interested in when visiting your city on a specific leg of the "Wolf Gift" Tour.

Coming soon to my blog: An article about the "enigmatic" Cleopatra that was far more than just a "femme-fatale." The historical Cleopatra was a powerful, imposing figure!! This will launch my series of posts on "Ramses the Damned or The Mummy"

Note to Readers of "A Bibliophile's Reverie"

I've been struggling to juggle all the tasks that must be completed before the end of my semester. Once I get to the blog, all my creative energy is expended. Since, I want my posts be high quality and not the product of a lack of inspiration: I'm making some needed alterations to my schedule for the "Wolf Gift" Countdown. Instead of having it begin in November as originally planned, the countdown officially begins this month. Now, the three supernatural entities/individuals/creatures will be vampires/mummies for the month of December, witches for January, and werewolves for February (during the month when "Wolf Gift" is slated to release.

Please be patient with me as I slowly, but surely finish all my  college assignments. This time is very hectic for college students. My whole semester itself has been jam-packed with about four heavy-duty literature courses. By the time, I'm able to read anything for potential review upon this blog; I'm so thoroughly exhausted with reading that I have to read something that piques my interest. It cannot be another book that I must force myself through in order to adequately access it.

Thank you for your understanding!! "A Bibliophile's Reverie has only been on hiatus recently not because I've abandoned any plans of reviewing anything!! Soon enough, I'll be back with many posts!!

Until then, Prepare yourself for vampires and mummies this month!!!

A Bibliophile's Reverie's "Countdown to "The Wolf Gift" Begins Tomorrow...

   On Valentine's Day, during the year of the impending 2012 apocalypse, Anne Rice plans to release a book which features werewolves for she has decided once again to move onto to a new cosmology with a new breed of enigmatic creatures. In lieu of this release and Alfred K. Knopf's recently release synopsis with new tantalizing details about the novel, I am launching four themed months that encompass all of Anne Rice's supernatural creatures as "The Wolf Gift" symbolizes Anne Rice's courageous return to the creatures of the night or the "sinful aberrations" cast out by pious society. These creatures are consciously aware that they cannot inhabit the world of daytime much like King Hamlet's ghost or the band of twisted, contradictory witches from Macbeth

  During each of these months, I will feature detailed posts about the history of each of these creatures and how Anne Rice has refashioned them to fit within her fictitious universe. Also, I'll strive to review any notable works that include different interpretations of these creatures.

As of now, the supernatural creatures/individuals being represented are...


November=Mummies
December=Vampires
January=Witches (I'm required then to review Roald Dahl's The Witches!!!!)
February= Werewolves (Review of Anne Rice's "The Wolf Gift," Posts about the philosophy of "The Wolf Gift, and hopefully an interview with Anne Rice herself)



If you haven't already, click the book cover below for "The Wolf Gift" to read the details that Alfred K. Knopf, the publishers of Anne Rice's books, have happily released about the novel itself:

Never Enough

Every occurrence of writing
Makes me feel abashed
For I have to shed some unexpressed feelings and
Weave them into a poetic tapestry that is
Both beguiling and bewildering


After my hands leave the keyboard and
The Poem lies in finished form
Before my dispirited eyes
I can only feel pain that
Now everyone can discern past the
Enticing metaphors and
See directly into my core

Writing should be a private love affair
Behind Closed doors
Where the writer consummates with their lusty muse
To conceive a written work
Filled with nuances that hint at
A deeper significance that lies beneath

Sometimes, my prose is overwrought
To the extent where it overreaches its
Intended goal
Other times, I can just imagine
The disapproval  of my disastrous work
 Laying in a pretentious heap
On the floor of the motel room
Where my muse and I
Worked tirelessly to create
Something poignant


Why do I share these precious works of mine?
What is this burdensome artistic incline
That strives to share these meaningless
Pieces of pedantic poo
Tomorrow morning, I could care less
If the maid who periodically cleans
My rented motel rooms
Discards these pieces of
Used Toilet Paper

Even as my writing leaves me unsatisfied
I still have this insatiable desire to have another
Romp with my muse-
All writers desire this cathartic release
Because we thrive off the ecstasy of
That climatic moment where our work
Beautifully comes together
Writing is our elixir, our passion
In the end, we just cannot get enough

Through the Narrow Gate

With a stuttered heart and

a careful exhalation of this fragile breath

I beheld my dead aunt with these lifeless eyes

Tears trickled down my marble cheeks

Then, I carefully sniffled

To recapture my lost breath

For, I’m not ready to lie motionless

Before so many fear stricken faces  and

Pretend that I am somewhere safe

Outside this present nightmare

Suddenly, a curmudgeonly pastor

Adorned with bleak blackness

Ascended the stage before my aunt’s

Bedraggled Body

It was a welcoming sight because-

Didn’t pastors pacify

This unsettling grief

Of course, his words were reverent

Flowery descriptions of my aunt’s empathy

Flowered the desolate wasteland of my

Deathly thoughts

Flowers overflowed in excess in this church

To ward away the melancholy that visits us

They were affixed to the windows

Acting as sentries to watch

For the malevolent forces of the outside world-
          These fiends cannot even enter through the

Small crack of these immaculate sheets of

Grime-less Glass

Eventually, the chilling air of

This cloistered church

Confined me to the coldness of my

Corrosive Mind

The seemingly warm pastor

Transfigured himself into death itself

While he invoked the indignant spirit

Of his supposed Imperturbable God

A hint of mournful surrender
Entered his voice

While he solemnly spoke about

The many people unlike my aunt

Who cannot partake in communion and exist

Beyond this temporal state of tragedy

Only we are entrusted with the secret knowledge

To pass through the narrow gate between

Death and the unknown

We that are few in number will

Bask in God’s glory

While the rest fall into a state

Of Sleep where they’ll

Never be remembered

Or have a chance to be loved

Everyone in the church produced

A facsimile of Mary’s smile

While I struggled in vain

With my resilient empathy

For all the lost sheep

Whom never found the serenity

That salvation supposedly insures

My heart tugged at my eyes and

Flooded them with waters

Which the elect like Noah

Masterfully Evaded

By receiving favor in God’s eyes-

Why didn’t he care at all for those he left behind?

Oh God, Where are my friends?

Have they been deemed worthy of damnation

Because their inquisitive minds

Couldn’t properly believe in you.

If this blissful eternity requires

A large number of your flock

Falling into the abyss of the Forgotten

Then, I refuse to be trapped forever in this false joy

As the funeral gathering reveled in their God-granted gladness

                                I ripped down a few flowers obscuring the windows

And peered into Perdition

Through the unfathomable depths of these shadows

Ghostly apparitions of the damned appear

They were undergoing the second death-

Signified by their tortured cries

That shook the aura of peace

Emanating within the stronghold of this church

Again, the semblance of sadness

Threatened to overfill my soul

In retaliation of this jubilant body

Which urged me onwards back into the

Pocket of endless joy

Within the church

I tore at more of the the flowers

Yet they continued to grow back

Frustrated,I screamed madly

As I forced my thoughts to deeply empathize

With the perished souls outside these windows

For one fleeting moment, they grasped for God’s

Loving  hands only to

Find themselves dissipating into the darkness

Till they were no more-

They were the unforgiven, and the forgotten

Fracturing the window

My repressed sadness was awakened-

Tears spilled from my bleary eyes

Screams issued from my unholy lips

Matching the frequency and terror of those

Left Outside

Without realizing it, I was suspended in the darkness

Floating away from the church

A number of disparate spirits

Filled my Morose gaze

They upheld me-My friends

Together, we would soon fade into the darkness

Forlornly, I looked at the church-

The Dear Departed one

That refused to Love in the name of

Selfishly seeking “salvation”

They passed over us like

Those who suffered from Leprosy

My leprosy was the infection of love

Love that refused to part

With my brother’s just so I could

Eternally indulge in the gifts of the sainted heaven

Oh friends, embrace me once more

There still lies hope

That there lies another minute crack

Along this Deceptively Dark Gate

Far beyond our earthly senses  

Link to other blog: Agnostic Inner Sanctum (Click the brilliant Rembrandt painting below!)

I'm posting this if you're interested in reading posts from my other blog:: The Agnostic Inner Sanctum. Earlier this year, I separated the more religious posts from the literary ones because some people find honest religious discussion disconcerting. My other blog is one of my most challenging blogs to post on because I'm always hindered by the "fear" of other people's reactions. Sadly, its still ingrained in me, from my Christian upbringing, that expressing doubt in Christianity is a chief evil. Now, I currently don't believe in that at all or probably never did authentically. But, its still hard for any person to work against neurotic thought processes inherited from their childhoods.

It will be offensive to some people because humanity is ironically offensive to itself. Oftentimes, people don't want to encounter people's honest views because we'd rather hide ourselves underneath those lavish masks provided at Capulet's masquerade party. Sometimes, I think that we need to reread Shakespeare,the Greek rationalists, or the Old Testament stories and see that these people are truly human and not a bunch of uncomplicated "believers" in a religion. Of course, no Christian is "uncomplicated," just like no human is. But often, I think we forget this when we're instructed from the pulpit to strive towards having unwavering belief to insure that we're going to heaven.


Karen Armstrong marvelously details the problems that plague religion presently. This is an illuminating speech and Karen Armstrong is a very bright person who really seems to understand the problems that strain religions.