• Welcome, to a book filled with a mindset only the deviant mind may comprehend with any sense of certainty…

    I’ve titled this novel ‘Red Velvet Chair’ in the loving memory of a chair I once polluted with my presence, inside the walls of a twisted room. This room was its own building but a vice for much less legitimate activity than a home should be considered to have.

    The world in which this room came from is of little importance to those whom in which did not partake. It was my brother and I, rotting away within this place, and within a corner of its four, sat this chair.. A chair in which I sat to drone out the rest of the world and fall into a submissive state that I took only the pains in I felt at that time I could handle.. To see them behind the “eyes” of understanding.. And compromise with them.

    This novel will tell you some of those things I compromised with.. And some of the things I have not. Perhaps you will have compromised with them all by the time reaching the back cover of this, god knows iv spent years trying to.. Without any such success.


    =CHAPTER 01=
    -REMORSE-


    This evening I sit, cold and typically alone.. I look at the solid oak door across the chambers from me, still closed, still locked. The room on the other side, containing memories of a long lost care.. now I stay Sitting upon my Red Velvet Chair.
    With my life floating gradually by, like a soft scent in the air, like fresh pasta just before it make’s it’s way to gracing my dinner table. I sit and reminisce on my past, thing’s I recall enjoying.. The chilled Autumn breeze blowing briskly through my lengthily hair as I walk through the country side, staring down the row’s of frozen tree’s lining the pathway’s I walked all to often. Each step familiar from the time I walked it last, so familiar those walk’s where that they became something close to me, like family. Each tree a familiar face, the ground’s I walked seeming much like a household housing those faces I felt I was so close to.. Close enough to spend my holiday’s beneath they’re many white maple branches, looking up at the few leaves still shivering upon a few of the thin twigs that hung with pride. Turning slightly in my chair as I touch my palm to my under shaven face.. Thinking about light’s.. lights I used to see each night. These night’s I speak of were viewed quietly, if not most silently upon rooftop, just past dusk.. When I still dwelled within a tattered and broken city called ‘Phoenix’. I hung my feet over the edge’s of those rooftops with gratefulness as I looked to the little light’s twinkling below my toe’s and the (-) people scattered about, looking for recreation in the city just after the sun had set. I found it so relaxing to watch them, either happy or sad.. Busy or idle.. It filled up sense’s inside of me I thought only fresh rainfall could fulfill. So far from country roads this place was.. But so close to heaven for me, I could almost reach out and touch the cloud’s I’ve always’ been looking to when I need to search for myself, and the best place I seem to find myself is the castles in the sky. White, powerful towers of clouds, holding what seems like the only true answers to my soul.

    This late evening I still sit awake, I feel compelled to move.. to function with motion in some way, yet, the ability to do so has been disabled for some time. The reason is unknown, but the purpose still remains and therefore keeps me planted, in thought on all the things iv been so blessed to experience. My only weakness being the thought that some memories are trapped inside me, uncertain if recoverable, but destined to try as my mind continues to wander.

    Still sitting soundly, no one stirring beyond the door to my knowledge, the only noise in fact coming from an old record player I obtained some years back from my only brother, Christopher. Its antique frame glistening with dust and age, tuning into the record just below its needle that spins with ease. A melody of haunting proportions play’s softly and crisply through my ear’s, much unlike the sound of “music” coming into the world today, much like razors to my eardrum’s.

    With the pleasant sounds flowing through my eldered ear’s, I focus on a time when the threaded sounds of music notes floating about was simply a part of my life.. A group I was with called “Publik Massacre” played some time ago in local record stores and instrument shops around the states for a bit.. Singing the words to a group hell-bent on governmental downfall was a place in my life I enjoy often revisiting in my memories, as so many of my fan’s (as well as my songs) lit up my life with passion, the passion to keep going.. And the passion to do it because I knew I was making a difference to those who came to hear us play. Alot of those people that came to see me and my group play, were as well there for the rhyme and reason behind the music. The crumble of our ‘great’ economy at the time was substantial enough to make people question the strength of the people attempting to support it as individuals. That implied a lot of the governmental official’s as well as those funding the system to make one leap into stupidity after another. Our music fought against those funding’s, and collected all our own funds to use toward agencies that keep the homeless fed, the African American’s in school and the system at A stilled point, as to make sure it didn’t take all of society and populous with it if it did go into the gutter deeper than it already had been. The group… my tribe that I played with, were very spiritual in nature, much like myself. We spoke of peace and love, when the system around us was screaming about war and oil. Times like that were very controversial for everyone that could speak and voice opinion of they’re own free will, and amongst the peace we tried to distill through our music, we also frequently attended gay right’s rallies and gave many public speeches, most of which were inspired by great speech writers of previous era’s, such as Malcom X and Martin Luther King Jr. speeches about freedom of speech and equality.. And with equality being said, it needed to be expressed. We gave those people our honest belief’s on what we felt would help.. some argued.. but didn’t they argue with the great Martin Luther?
    So we stood for something, a cause that I, as well as my group/tribe felt made a difference in our society and neighboring one’s. I am a writer, I do voice my opinion, and I will not be silenced. I have always stood up for my belief’s and the people whom supported said belief’s. when the time came to pass for me and my group, we gave our hugs, said our goodbyes and left without regret. But we always kept in touch, even to this day. ~Demier~


    (end ch.1 pt.1)