On the Edge of a New Year; A Maelstrom of Resolutions Beckons…

In this house, we lived, and we died…the two of us, we traversed these halls with our feet, gracing the bookshelves with our fingertips; we serenaded the sun through each passing season. Together, you and I, a seamless attraction whirling around with no visible center. Why would this wall, this invisible piece of injustice dare divide us now…why now when all we’ve ever done is neglect time itself?

There couldn’t be a verb, an adjective, a noun, a pronoun profound enough to literarily liberate the emotion, the feeling, the thought and power felt below my feet as I turned onto that forested bypass, leaving the city and suburbs of my post-adolescence behind. It was freedom without a flag, pestilence without a cure; both likewise and subverted. And in lighting the spliff held gingerly between my aged, wrinkled and dilapidated lips, my destiny was prolonged only for the better. If the night were thicker, I might cast myself into an ocean of doubt. If my headlights were any dimmer I might exalt myself under the most rude of Kings. It seemed that the only obstacle on the start of my journey was merely the wind; backward and pressing it was, as the Autumn always presumed it to be. And I felt as though I might be a kite without a string, a hook without bait; yes, the only deceit at my fingertips being the dirt beneath their fingernails. This journey of mine, wherever it took me, would be my last…

As I hold this glass close to my heart, the condensation soaks through this mosaic-kissed tundra my fingerprints masquerade behind, just as your stare once delved its way deep into the void where my soul once subsisted. The setting sun, if it could be labeled as such, reminds me this is only one end and only one beginning; a sequence not unfamiliar to myself nor you and yet a flavor of a taste I’d soon rather forget. There won’t be a return to be had, a turn-around or a way back once I raise this glass; this one final toast I dedicate to the years you’ve been a friend to me, and a lover to the years and years in tow following soon after.

“As a counselor of the weather behind these eyes,
as an emotion-gambling tempest to elude,
you’ve given me naught but a star to wish upon,
naught but a train to chase,
naught but a whisper to ascend and eternally a fear to face…..”

Here’s to one final flight, one last ascension, a rebellious apotheosis;
for the one thing a new year never brings is the promise of a lie and the forgiveness of those not who have fallen, but have been taken. This is not as selfish as an oath made between the faithful, nor as colorless as a promise kept between friends; no…this is the only purpose I am suitable for, this is the only ultimatum these tears can touch. When we meet again, this terrible form I have become will be like that of glass, and you will see that I can do more than merely aspire to transcend above this mortal coil. Until then, may the dreams you exist within find their way swiftly into this kinesthetically-cursed desolation that I have subconsciously sewn in your absence.

In This House, We Lived, and We Died, is a story about a man, aged and lost, in mind, body, and spirit, whose last quest takes him into the deepest abysses, across the sharpest precipices, and through the darkest abscesses of his soul so that he may collect the shattered and sunken remains of his all-but vanquished memory. A sort of Spiritual Epic in the same way "What Dreams May Come" inspires to alter life dispositions, and in the same way "Fight Club" aspires to inspire with violent psychological psithurism, "In This House, We Lived, and We Died" aims to break all the rules of the literary journey and set a new tone for the world of imagination.Release Date: Late 2013

In This House, We Lived, and We Died, is a story about a man, aged and lost, in mind, body, and spirit, whose last quest takes him into the deepest abysses, across the sharpest precipices, and through the darkest abscesses of his soul so that he may collect the shattered and sunken remains of his all-but vanquished memory. A sort of Spiritual Epic in the same way “What Dreams May Come” inspires to alter life dispositions, and in the same way “Fight Club” aspires to inspire with violent psychological psithurism, “In This House, We Lived, and We Died” aims to break all the rules of the literary journey and set a new tone for the world of imagination.
Release Date: Late 2013

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About Dave Matthes

Not necessarily trying to get "rich" as an author, just spreadin' around my own brand of mind-bending, libido-tickling literature. Born in South Jersey. Living everywhere else. Experiencing life as it comes and not giving a shit about the small stuff whenever possible. Start the day with a drink, end the day with a spark of romantic insanity. And everything else in between becomes an irrelevant collection of collaborative chaos. Like most self-proclaimed authors, I generally focus my writing on matters and subjects that I either enjoy or force me to question. I don't always write for the purpose of entertainment; mostly, especially with "The Slut Always Rides Shotgun", and "The Passive Aggressors", my writing consists of very upfront and brutally, and at times disgustingly honest insight. I've written everything from scattered forms of poetry, to songs, to non-fiction novels, to a science-fiction/ post-apocalyptic series (this I've been working on for about 8 years and have finished 3 books in the series but haven't published them yet. I've still have yet to decide if I even want to finish it for personal reasons), to my next project that'll delve back into fiction and a bit of dark comedic value. My first completed and self-published novel, "The Slut Always Rides Shotgun", a narrative/ journal of my life, has generally run Underground in it's level of world-wide recognition, which I'm fine with; I'm not looking to get rich. So far, it's earned me getting fired from my last job, legal threats from people involved in the book, and the inspiration to write the sequel "The Passive Aggressors". On the side, I'm an Auto Tech, spitball romantic raps, and am quite the wine fanatic though have absolutely no clue as to how to define my lust for such a thing.

16 thoughts on “On the Edge of a New Year; A Maelstrom of Resolutions Beckons…

  1. LOVE the cover! Definitely sounds like an epic soul-searching journey.

    The video Trailer wouldn’t play for me… it says: This video contains content from Warner Chappell and EMI, one or more of whom have blocked it in your country on copyright grounds.

    Is there an alternate link? Or maybe I’m the only one getting that message.. :-/

    • THANKS! And yea, the video won’t play for me either unless I’m signed into my youtube account for some reason…kinda makes me sad, I’ll try sending it to ya over facebook, see if that works…

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