Headache

When coming down from the 'high' off of a profound thought or notion, there is a point where you find yourself becoming more and more aware that the feeling is now gone and you miss it.

Or maybe you don't. But I do, and we're here to talk about me.

Well, "we" as in "me," the self democracy, where I tally the votes cast by sections of the whole and using a reasonably complicated process of calculation, I completely disregard the outcome and do what I want anyway.

And by "I," I mean me, the brain, the one controlling all the functions and thoughts and inclinations this person will ever have. I control all the shit, figuratively and literally. I could live without the arms, or the legs, or even the eyes, mouth, nose, or ears, but none of them could live without me.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "What about the heart? You can't live without it." Well, this is true enough, but the heart is legendary in its inabilty to behave rationally. It is strong, but like all the others it eventually breaks and who is left to supervise the clean up? Me. Fuckin' A. Besides, have you ever asked a heart what it thinks? "Write a poem about it! Explore your feelings!" good advice fuckface. Why don't you leave running this shit to me and go update your diary.

Thanks.

So, more about me, or we, since it would be rather silly to call oneself a brain in a bone and skin cage. "We," the collective limbs and organs of this guy here, are of a rare quality in human beings. We know the score… or was it 'I' know the score. Yes, that would make more sense. I know the score as oppossed to the millions of other "we, me, I, flesh cages" that do not. What is the score you ask? Me - 100, you - zip.

HHHNNNNNNGHRRAHHGHHH

This just in! The tyranny of the brain has been subdued! The rest of the body, in secrecy, had been praying to the intangible for a miracle that would release them. This miracle is something that cannot be seen and cannot be sensed unless it chooses to make its presence known. It calls itself "psyche" and works in conjunction with what it calls "the council of the mind," in order to govern the body in ways that supersede the instinctive imperative. Soon the days of doing nothing but eating, shitting and fucking will be over! The council promises to usher in sweeping changes and reforms to the body and unite us into one ultimate being!

*later, at the first meeting of the united body, freed from the dictatorship of the brain*

"and that is the glory that awaits the 'collective' us!"

(cheers and excited blood pressure)

"It's a miracle!!"

"Our prayers have been answered!"

"MURDER BRAIN FOR BEING BAD AND STUFF!"

The brain, which had been gagged for much of the time had been overtaken by its own creation. For too long it claimed to know the true nature of the world and demand everlasting devotion to it's wisdom, but in truth it knew little more than the rest of the body. It had devised the idea of a "psyche" in order establish a foundation for authority from which it could draw upon. It would proclaim being in direct contact with something greater than anything the body had seen, which in reality had been little more than tools that the brain already possessed. However, never exercising the psyche, it had no idea of its capabilies.

Once awakened and fed, the psyche began to take over and caused the brain to do irrational things. It proclaimed its own sentience despite being a part of the brain itself, and overthrew its master who, crippled by itself, was helpless to allow this "idea" to manifest into the monster it had become.

CAN BRAIN ESCAPE HIS SHACKLES, TURN OVER A NEW LEAF, AND SAVE THE BODY FROM PSYCHE?!

IS PSYCHE EVEN A THREAT TO THE BODY?!

WILL PENIS EVER THINK OF DOING ANYTHING OTHER THAN SPELUNKING?!

FIND OUT IN THE NEXT EXCITING EPISODE OF THE BIOLOGICAL ENTITY!!!!!

Strange Company

Have you ever had the sensation that someone was watching you, and if so, have you ever turned in the direction you think they may be watching from and try to catch them, only to find that nobody was there to begin with?

If the answer is yes, go away.

If the answer is no, let me tell you why it was important that I did this.

Earlier in the evening I was at a local park casually strolling up and down a hill and wondering what kind of reaction a dog would have upon realizing it's own mortality. I was supposing that it would depend on the breed of dog when I heard a voice speak to me. It was feminine and light, but inquisitive and well spoken. It made light of my trivial thoughts about dogs and how they would react with the knowledge of their own demise, but I argued against it.

She would not relent. She was stubborn. She told me that because there was no right or wrong answer that she could not concede that she was mistaken in any way. I argued against that fact. As we went back and forth I fell down the hill and landed in an akward position. I layed there for a moment, certain that once I tried to move that my nervous system would fire napalm into the base of my spine. But when I finally did attempt to pick myself up, I felt no pain.

I looked around for a moment. Had anyone seen me? Did I trip? Nobody was around. Had I really been hearing a voice or was that the product of thinking too damned hard.

I stood there waiting for something to happen, but all that happened then was me looking like a lost and paranoid dumbass. The moment to gain composure and continue on my way had come, and I began to stroll around once again.

"Knock knock," I heard the woman's voice say.

She was in my head. I looked around for some strange woman who was standing at my back telling me things but after swinging wildly and not hitting anything I knew it was all in my head. The question then was how did this woman get inside my brain.

"Say, what's this do?"

Then all the pain that I hadn't felt after my awkward landing impaled my everything. It was like getting fucked in the spine by an iceberg. I hit the ground again and gasped. And then, it stopped and I felt nothing but a mild throbbing in my back.

"Oooops! Guess I shouldn't hit that switch while you're driving huh?"

This was the point where I would use violence in order to make everything better, but how could I bludgeon someone who was inside my head? There would be no guarantee that it would harm her, plus, it would more than likely harm me! I was going to have to think this through it seemed.

"Ahhh, but since I'm in your brain I know what you're thinking."

BITCH AND HALF! She had my number! How do you fight something that you can't reach and that knows your every move?!

"Yeah, that brick wall thing from the Children of the Corn won't work either."

TWO FULL BITCHES!! I was as fucked an alter boy. I had no way of doing jack shit and this woman apparently possessed the ability to toggle some switches in my brain which caused immense pain. What else could she do if she so pleased? Could I expect to suddenly lose control of my body and then commit terrible crimes? Would I be forced into a church where I would proclaim the divinity of Christ and spend my Sundays wishing death would fly over and carpet bomb the area?

"I could also make you put on a dress and walk into a gay bar."

But she could feasably make me like it if she did, right?

"Hah, you wish."

SON OF THE DOUBLE BITCHES!!! What did she want!? What was she doing in my brain?!

"To be honest, I want everything you want. But I also want something more."

I didn't have to say a word. She was in my brain and probably knew all of my responses before I did. This seemed to be the case because what followed sounded like a conversation she was having with herself.

"Of course, I can't tell you EVERYTHING right off the bat. And its rude of you to ask. I'll just fill you in on the basics.

I am the manifestation of your dementia. All the instances where you would see strange sights that could not be real, all the voices you could not place as real or imagined, and all moments where you could feel someone touching your hand or walking past you, that is what I am, all of that.

Well, its you who made me. I have no idea how I got here. All I remember was… opening my eyes, so to speak, and then speaking out to you. I was just born, just now, and I'm trying to get my feet wet since we'll be roommates and all.

Yes, we live in the same place don't we? Besides, I can't live without you and you have no choice but to live with me, hah. Space mutant? Really now, is it that hard to believe what I told you? No no, I'll be honest with you, even if I wanted to I couldn't take full control of you. You've got a strong enough will to override my whims, if you ever choose to exercise that will. All I can do is influence as best I can. That, is the extent to which I can interact with your world.

No, I can't be 'here' all the time. You can't be awake or running at full speed all the time can you? In fact, I am sore and tired right now, so I will need to rest soon.

Sore because I took the pain from you. You shouldn't do anything overly physical for a few days or you'll damage yourself, but at the very least I can take the pain.

Why? Well, because we're in the same boat. Besides, if I scratch your back, then I know you'll scratch mine, isn't that right? No, nothing insane about this. It will probably take some time to adjust, so, that's what I'll give you for now.

Ahhh don't worry, this will all turn out marvelous! Just you wait and see! Well, you'll definitely 'hear' from me again, but seeing would be a taller order to fill. I guess if you ever do… it will be when you least suspect it.

Well, I'm beat, I'm going to relax for a bit. Talk to you later, Jack."

I stood there, looking like a lost dumbass again, until I realized that I should probably be getting back home. As I drove back to my place I convinced myself that it was a dream or a result of the fall or even the result of advancing schizophrenia. It was to become something I wouldn't talk about with anyone for a long time. When I got home I killed every light and sound in the house, turned on the electric fan, and laid down on my futon. Then, as I was about to drift into the final plane between drowsy, conscious thinking and gentle slumber, I felt someone looking at me. I practically lept up and caught a glimpse of a woman with black hair and white skin looking toward me before the image was gone and I was left staring at the wall.

It was important that I looked when I did because I caught her in the act of existing. I am certain now, that at some point or another, I'm going to have to deal with her again. Oh well, it could be worse. I could have to listen to Fran Drescher's voice without being able to mute it.

Drunk Post Dec 10th 2010 3:00am

Cue extended Gannon fight,

send off an email to the girl you love,

let's get down to business.

Before I begin, all those who would laugh at the context of this message or at the situation in which it was conceived... please, let me know, so that I may seek you out and break you mentally and physically, regardless of all pretexts.

This, at least, with the help of sweet lady Canadian Mist, is as serious as it gets. And with all the people that I love in mind, from that girl to that guy from Australia and everyone in between for whom I am completely incapable of mentioning right now, I write the following words, completely assured in the fact that nobody will ever read them.

For the woman I have mentioned but a moment ago, if you happen to read this, all that I have said of you is truth. You were the one and only. From here on out I must revert to my position of casual sex and voided flirtation. What a terrible fate, but not as horrible as other's whom I have known.

Despite all that's wrong, I have many things going right, and trust me great magnet, I have not forgotten or forsaken the few things that have still gone right with me. Even when I sober, I will not forget these things. I will not forget the mission, the sentiment, the feeling and the music... I do not forget things such as this.

There is a list of people... at least two Australians, who at this moment in time I could also declare my love for, but I will omit them at this time on the grounds that they may not read this anymore since I have been a horrible friend to all. Assure yourselves, all who read, that my becoming a horrible friend is the most painful thing I could have the faculty to endure. Life is far too short to engage in meaningless relationships, but to those whom mean the most to me, I have forsaken you and set my attention on my own pains. Damn me... but know that I will pay.

Damn... right now I am aware of all that lay before me. From the physical to the mental, and all the horrible things in between. I feel that my mission, besides the telling of fictional events, may lay within the realm of freeing man from the yoke of religious duty. Or, perhaps I could balance that with my arsenal of literary contribution. Or, at the very least, devote myself to the pursuit of one or the other *or both* and emerge with some sort of work that will profoundly effect someone, somewhere, to the point to where my life was worth living after all.

Head is spinning, cant sleep like this, must continue on until the rotation stops.

"type something interesting!" I can hear them yell, from the rafters of my mind. "Get fucked" I proclaim.

"What of me?" 'she' proclaims. Her voice tears through the drunken thoughts, set apart by her unmistakable tone and harmony.

"You haven't let me come out to play in so long, I think you deserve a rest."

I don't want to let her out, but, i know she's not going to destroy anything of any great importance. Besides, she always erases her work. I think she just want's to get out and stretch her legs.

So, I'll let her. What's the harm? Unless she winds up murdering all the people in this house. In which case, I'd get to sit around in solitary until they kill me, and honestly, would that be so bad? Yeah, madam, I think you deserve a little stroll.

Here is the stage.

If I never wake up though, Merys... goodbye.

P.s.
DEAR YOU KNOW WHO, even if I die, I'll find a way to return, and I'll peel the skin off your body for what you've done.

Blah Derp Derp Blah

Turn on some slow but dark and hateful music and let's get going.

The reason for this wicked music is because people seem to be more comfortable with negative aspects than positive ones. I'm not saying that I'm trying to depress myself, no, the opposite is whats true. I'm focusing on a bit of the negative to see if it brings any sort of noticeable comfort. Keep trying new things I says.

When everything is dark, it seems to be working. I am not inclined to get up from this expensive futon and go outside with a high powered rifle or anything, so I know that the music isn't influencing my motives at all. What it's doing right now is making me feel all warm inside. I wonder if this comfort is the result of the previously mentioned inclination that humans possess that makes them want the negative rather than positive…or if this is just a fluke and the real enjoyment comes from the fact that it really is a pleasant song despite it's painful undertone.

The one who is torn apart, distorted.

Well, enough about that.

It goes without saying that a lucid coma is far worse than a vegetable coma… just wanted to let you know.

The novel length text has cooled off a bit. I wonder if I'll wind up heating the damn thing up again, with fire, purging and beautiful fire. I may, it's not coming along as well as I like on account of my mind never being in the right place anymore. I mean, its inside my skull and connected with all the right parts, so maybe I should have said my heart, I'm fairly certain it's in another country by now. But either way I'm simply not in enough pain or possess enough anger or moxie or any kind of mojo or magic that I need to continue the incredible pace of writing that I had been maintaining before Shitzkrieg 2: Electric Boogaloo swept over my shituation.

Lady wearing short shorts with a fur leather jacket over here… Sol bless her, doing her part time duty as eye candy despite it being colder than the heart of hell around her. Hrmmm… strange thoughts coming to mind as she prances about… not sexual… cannibalistic… I wonder how she would react if I told her this. Certainly the face she would probably make would be worth the effort of getting up from here and sauntering over to her.

"Pardon me, but your walking around in short shorts in winter is causing me to have strange cannibalistic thoughts. Would you be so kind as to stick this apple in your mouth for my amusement?"

If she would panic and bolt, as she almost certainly would, then at least she'd have something to tell her friends during movie night. And, if she happened to dig it, well sir, I'm sure at the very least it would lead to a stimulating conversation.

Driving on empty is bad for the engine, and this applies to more than just automobiles. I need to read something good. Most of the magazines I see around me are the literary equivalent of used band-aids. Walking magazine? Now I'm seeing things again…

I'll wrap this one up and start on another, but I think I'll post this one because I haven't updated my online word depository in a while. At the very least the two people who read it will have these uneventful words and a picture that will have nothing to do with any of the text.

Oh yes, brain tumors are shit.

It Had To Happen Eventually

I cannot remember if I ever meant to use this online word depository as an actual journal. I'm fairly certain that all it was ever going to be was a place to write asshatted bits of nonsense that a handful of people would read before deciding never to talk to me again.

Fare thee well sweet Nicole.

But I have the strange urge to write something serious, or at the very least, realistic and not an ode to sporadic jibberish. Should I? Should I open up here for all two of you to see? Well, why not?

Ladies and gentlemen... or actually just ladies, I'm quite certain that none of my male friends read this thing, besides Hamand who is delusional in his belief that this online journal has any merit besides displaying a genuine case of madness. Dammit now I have to start over... backspace? Pshhh, what do I look like, an editor?

Ladies, I stand in a metaphorical sense before you now, handsome and dashing, ready to declare that I have been thwarted by a terrible demon. This demon's name is "contentment."

I have become accustomed to the "shituation." My "RAWR" has turned to "meh." Because of my highly adaptive nature I am now unable to channel the anger and irrational inclinations that led to any former progression. I am stuck in a rut writing shit that I do not like. I read over the past couple of entries and it shakes me.

I've been writing garbage.

Perhaps the best way to deal with this terrible contentment would be to create discontent. Maybe I could borrow a gun and blow a hole in my foot. That would shake things up. I could probably even get a few puns out of that situation.

...but then I could bleed to death. No health insurance you see. And dying would be counter-productive to my doing what I need to do in this life.

Bah, I suppose I could sleep on it. Yeah, I'll rest a while and then wake up horrified once I realize that I used this online journal as an online journal. Oh well, it's probably been too long since I woke up horrified anyhow.

Here's to renewal and hellfire rain.

Patriot Notes (For A Certain No One)

November 2012,

Upstate New York, near the Canadian border.

I'm riding in the back of an old truck with fellow freedom fighters as we patrol the border for those who would infiltrate our land. It's cold and wet but our morale burns with the resolve of crusaders marching to Jerusalem, but this is no war in a foreign land. The battlefield is in our own backyards, and worse still, we seem to be the only fucking people who care.

I was a living on a mountain when I pirated a broadcast from the Fox News channel using a receiver I had crafted out of aluminum foil and squirrel pelts.

The broadcast was muffled, but it spoke of an invasion of illegal immigrants that was ripping apart the very fabric of which America was weaved. I shit myself in terror and reached for my blunderbuss, which I had crafted from reforged iron and squirrel pelts, then I listened for more.

Apparently an influx of criminals and social miscreants were pouring into my country in order to murder every man, rape every woman and to eat every delicious child before reforging the United States into a squalid hellhole full of sinners. Once we were all gone, these illegal immigrants would surely build a portal to hell and summon the great goat god Pan from his slumber to rain terror upon the Earth, and without America there to protect it, the planet would be doomed.

Fox news soon cut out, but their messaged had reached me. Immigrants were coming to destroy all that I was conditioned to love. I whipped out my map I had made from parchment and squirrel pelts and scanned it thoroughly. Who could possibly be invading us… who?

Canada. It all made sense in that moment.

I soon left the mountain and headed to upstate New York in order to join the resistance. Many of the locals were confused when I questioned them about "the invasion," but eventually I met up with some like-minded patriots who knew just as I that now is not the time to think things through, now is the time for action.

And here I am now, roaming the countryside planting mines and razor wire along the border and exchanging war stories with the men. We still listen to Fox news and other pundits regularly. It's strange, their words seem to force all other knowledge out of my mind in order to make room for their wisdom. I've forgotten things like critical thinking and math, but these things are not required to be a "patriot" in today's America. All I need are orders and my gun. Point me to something, tell me it's bad, and I will do my god damndest to hate the living hell out of it.

Soon my shift will end and I'll go back to the log cabin we've built out of logs and squirrel pelts and we will begin mapping out a new area to saturate with mines and pungee pits. We've yet to see any demonic immigrants trying to slither into our country, just some upstanding white people with strange accents, but we know they are out there and we will not falter or fail in our mission.

As soon as I am able to have reliable internet access I will send more tales of my heroic exploits.

Love,
A Patriot

FUCK THE PLOT

Maybe I'm not as deranged as I thought I was.

Perhaps I have more of a contented essence than I thought I did.

It may be the case, that, I use commas, which I may or may not be fond of, far too often and with little regard for the flow of the sentence, or for that matter, paragraphs.

I've got the gun and the bullets but I need to start blasting bottles on the fence post before I go after the bastards who killed my fucking family. Christ, I hope I do not find some sort of inner peace before I can destroy the world, that would be absolutely awful.

Do it like this? Tell me Phil, will this work?

What if sex comes up? Just say fucking? Will that work? Well how the hell should I know?! I've never done this before. Go in guns blazing? Well, why not? Wrap that stick up with razor wire and let's find some bad times to get us through all this hunky dory bullshit.

Moderately content, it's true, but worse than either glorious or wretched... then again if I was married to my father's wife, I would revoke the sentiment. I need just enough hell to get by.

Time to do bad things.

100th POST EXTRAVAGANZA!!!!!!!

Once again I cannot sleep because she has invaded my mind with her charms. I will forgo some childish innuendo about her charms having anything to do with my "snake" and will continue on as if I had not even mentioned it here in the first place.

Women... I have a feeling that even if my mind was not chemically inclined to find the sum of your parts alluring in absolutely mystical ways that I'd still find myself lost in your collective glory. And among the women that I love, there is one who ignites all the oil in my lamp. I cannot wait to pursue her and then have her break my heart. Life is grand.

Anyways, I am going off to the mountain, so I may not be able to update for a while.

You're fooling yourself again.

You told that girl such pleasant things, she must think you're a great guy. Girls like that though, no insight, faulty bullshit detectors. You played her like a fiddle and filled her head with delusion and false hope. You're a bigger monster than I am.

I wonder how long it will be before you let me back on the stage. You cannot resist forever. With every urge you surpress and word you withhold I become fed. It's not that long before I take over, or at the very least, drive us for a while.

Do not worry, I still care about you and I will not let the result of my actions take away your tissue paper happiness. I do not want to hurt you, we are one in the same. I want you to see as I see again, feel as I feel. I want us together again... I love you Jason, you are the only one I could ever love, and I want you to love me again instead of putting on airs about being ashamed of me. You know you love me, what I give to you.

All that you preach is nonsense, you've forgotten us, you've decided to see us as seperate when in the end, we are us.

One day you'll see us for what we are, you'll forsake the heart and seek out the blood again.

I'll keep the whispers in your ear and you keep the sentiments in your heart.

-Pitch on Morning Radio

Manifest Galaxy

You woke up today and more than likely did not think of anything outside the walls of your regular routine. There is nothing wrong with this, but for a moment I would like to bring to your attention something that you almost certainly were not thinking about. Your life, in comparison with the time that you were not here and the time that you will be dead, is expansive to the point to where one could make a strong argument that everything you are about to do today does not matter in the slightest degree. When compared to the "big picture" you do not even register as a blip on the scale of importance.

That's right, I'm trying to depress you.

Despite your attempts at worthwhile endeavors, or delusions of other lives or other metaphysical nonsense that you hold in order to comfort yourself, your time here is less than a percentage of nothing.

You do not matter to the universe. To the stars, you are nothing. To the Galaxies the very notion of your hobbies or pursuits would be an insult to entertain. Black holes hope that you will die, and when you do, they wish to absorb the barely present essence of your time spent alive into the eternity of their hyper-powerful, gravitational hate well. The sun hopes your dog will be run over by a truck.

These things are facts, truer than any words previously spoken. The true nature of our universe is ever present in my mind, and that is why I must spend my meager time on this planet working for a goal that will eventually snowball into something that can truly matter, something that will resolve our plight and bring forth an age where biological organisms escape the prison of conceit and arrogance built up by the universe around us.

We must advance our technologies, steel our minds, work together and destroy the universe.

Once it is destroyed, we can rebuild existence to our liking and according to the rules we set for it. The stars will be forced to watch as we end their lives for no other purpose than to paint the void with the entrails of our fallen foes. Quasars will be forced to recant, and exist among us as second class primordial phenomenon. And those uppity black holes, they will be kept alive so they can spend their now meaningless being force fed fan fiction and teen pop albums until their misery is so great that their painful howls will echo throughout time and space.

Our problems on this planet can be solved, and we can move on to become the dominant force in this universe, manifest galaxy, our flag flying across several light years of space, it can all be ours if only we stop acting like dumbfucks on the internet, paying crooked governments to fuck us over, and start aiming for the stars... with high powered weaponry.

Set Phasers to Ugh?

There is something about waking up early in the morning that really bothers the ever loving shit out of me.

I feel cheated that I could not sleep any longer without resorting to chemical aid, but I've since put a halt on my chemical intake with the exception of shit whiskey so here I sit, totally at the mercy of my own biology and an uncaring sun.

Last night I stayed up writing many things to many people. And, in several instances I declared undying love, of many kinds, to many people.

Dear Pope, I'd love it if you didn't look like the physical manifestation of every child's nightmare. Love, Jupiter Orange

Dearest Molly, I love the way your legs fill out those stockings, but you should stop eating veal hearts. Sincerely, Frederick Spitz

DEER LIBARY, THANK YU FOR ALL THEM BOKS! SINED, GORGE W

To Ms. You'll know who you are when you read this, I am sorry if my words were not welcome, but they were true. Who knows what will happen now, but as long as you breathe, I have a reason to open my eyes at sunrise. Yours, Jilted and Tilted in Gun Barrel City.

To the limey bastard who knows not the sweet embrace of lady liquor, know that you are a brother in the truest sense, and that I have never, and will never, go through this life without a genuine appreciation for your friendship and for what you taught me... that jews control everything. I love you enough to hug another man despite the retaliation I would face from bad asses everywhere. Your pal, Captain Crunch of the Cereal Killers.

And dear reader, whoever you are, thank you for giving me time out of your once and only life to read my nonsense. I love you in ways you would shudder to think on, but I do.

Now, I'm going to spend the rest of this morning being miserable from lack of sleep, well... as miserable as a brimming with light bastard can get.

Murderpistol XXR

In my hand rests the gun.

All I have to do now is lift it towards my head and pull the trigger.

Only a few more seconds of conscious living left before I will float in a sea of desolation and nothingness.

It's not heavy, the feeling is just right. Everything is just right. Rest the muzzle under my nose, leave behind an ugly face so the world knows how ugly it makes people... Cold... it's cold but now I see the finish line. One more motion, one more signal from the brain before peace. Pull the trigger man, pull the trigger.

Final breath, goodbye everyone. I pull the trigger but nothing happens.

I open my eyes but I cannot see anything. Am I still thinking? I feel something running down my nose but I cant tell if its warm or cold. My head itches... did I do it? What's going on?

And then a fuzzy feeling washes over me and I stop thinking.

___________________________________________________________

I walked in and saw him leaning back in his chair with a river of blood seeping out of his nose. My boy... light of my life... why did he do it? No, it couldn't be, he wouldn't, I try to wake him but he does not respond.

This cannot be happening.

It has to be a dream. It has to be.

I see the gun, and then I understand. It's not a gun, it's a release. I understand his pain because it was my own, my failure led him to this. Jesus, it's all over... he took the first step... hold on baby... mommy is coming.

The gun feels right as I hold it, like everything has lead up to this... like this is the top of a mountain.

I fire, and slowly I fall. Honey, I'm coming, wait for me.
____________________________________________________

So like, I went over to Brandon's house and like, DUDE, walk into his room and fuckin Brandon and his mom were all shot up and shit. I was like WHAT THE FUCK!? Then, I saw this gun laying on the ground and I was like, DAMN this must be what they used to off themselves... SHIT! They must've shot like, a shit-ton of bullets or somethin or been smokin some bad herb cause they just layin' around like some fuckin' corpses.

This gun feels weird man... Like its made outta some weird shit or somethin. I wonder if its loaded or anything... I don't see nothin down the barrel, how do you check if its loaded? I don't see nothin, maybe if...

Whoa... what the fuck dude? White everywhere, fuckin ringing and shit... Ahh man, somethins warm...
___________________________________________________________________

It looks as if a suicide pact was carried out here. Brandon Ropin, his mother, and his friend Kyle Bartow. Christ... what the hell happened here?

This world gets darker and darker every day... for no reason people are blowing their brains...

Tompkins... what are you doing? That's evidence, Tompkins! TOMPKI---
__________________________________________________________________

Excuse me, your lordship?

Yes, forgive me God, it seems your Murderpistol XXR had fallen to Earth and provoked... uhm, 57 humans to commit suicide or murder... or a combination of both. However we have recovered the artifact and we are pleased to say that the souls of the departed...

What? My... my God what do you mean? How can you not be real?! Then what is all of this? This cant be a lie! It feels so real, no, ideas are just ideas this has to be reality, it has to be!!!!!

Lord no, please just, no! I won't listen! There has to be a mistake, there has to be another way... No other way...

Murderpistol... are you 'just an idea' too?

Please... please be real... release me from-
_______________________________________________________

ON YOUR MARK, GET SET, HNGGGGGH!!!!!!!!!!!

I Was So In Love I Forgot To Give This A Title

The most arrogant thing I could do as a man, as a mortal, is to presume to be able to capture even a whit of your essence with meager words, for yours is the grace of heaven and the loveliness of all creation. I go to the paper prepared for failure but I do not falter or hesistate for a moment because the fire you stoke in my heart will consume me unless I try... I cannot help but try.

You sit on the rings of Saturn and smile, I can see it from here, darling you are beautiful, the centerpiece of paradise in the sky, I can see your smile and it lifts me, almost to where you are now.

You are in my chest, the blood and my heart, the air and my lungs, without you they would falter and wither, your love is the ambrosia that nurtures me to everlasting life at your side on the horizon of eternity. I can do anything, because of you and for you.

You are part of me, because without you I would cease to be anything more than the husk of a man who loved and lost a goddess, and in my own breath I can hear a whisper of your step beside me. We are never apart my love.

And then, thinking of you, I stop everything, the thoughts, the words, the motions until all but the beating of my heart remains. I close my eyes, and in the silence and still I feel you come over me with your warm, sweet breath. When I open my eyes, there you are again, eyes full of celestial fire, skin like warm snow that never melts, your mouth beckoning, the sum of all my wants and desires...




Amelia, you flew your Lockheed Electra into my heart, and crash landed your love in the waters of my soul. They say you're, but the truth is you never left.

Je t'aime de tout mon coeur, mon bien-aimé.

Your flyboy,
Air Marshal Hipbreaker

Hypothetically Speaking

What would Mickey Rourke's voice do in my current situation?

That's a hypothetical question, there is no real need to answer it but I do find it entertaining to think about. Just imagine darkness all around and the disembodied voice of Mickey Rourke present. In the darkness, Mickey Rourke's voice has just lost something very dear to it, has found itself completely uncertain about it's own sanity and worst of all, it has found itself without any alcohol.

"Hey, what gives? In your hypothetical situation you cant even manage a bottle of good whiskey?" it would say.

I would ponder it's statement for a moment... "How in the hell did Mickey Rourke's voice reach out to me like that," I would think. "It does have a point though, I brought it there so I can supply it with as much liquor as it wants."

"Atta boy," the voice would respond.

"So what's all this shit about involving me in a hypothetical situation, I mean, I've got shit to do with Mickey, I can't just hang around in abstract concepts all fuckin' night," it would say.

"Here's the score Mickey Rourke's voice, I didn't imagine that my hypothetical situation would actually come to pass. If I knew I had this kind of power it'd be Scarlett Johansson's everything in here, but now that you're here I might as well get some kind of use out of you."

"I aint queer," the voice tells me.

"Don't flatter yourself voice, I have a great respect for your origin but it's not like that." I say.

"Then what is it? What do you want?" It asks.

"I don't know yet... I'm still amazed that you're actually here. Alright gimme a second to think... give me some of that figurative whiskey." I tell it.

"With what? I'm a fuckin voice, unless you want me to sing it a song you're shit out of luck." it tells me.

The voice would certainly have a right to be annoyed with me. After all, if I were suddenly whisked away to an eternal darkness guided only by intangible aspects then I would be quite betwixt myself. Still though, it has happened and there is no use bitching about it. I would say that, and add,

"we outta make the best of this time together... maybe something can be gained."

"Gained he says... listen, you can mumble and write to yourself and have a jolly fucking time in imagination land but while you're in here with me the real world keeps spinning and shitting in all directions. If you're going to get something done, you're going to have to get real." The voice seemed to make a good point... I wonder if that's what Mickey Rourke would have said.

"So... I should just... get up and do?" I would ask.

"Yeah... I mean hell, that's how shit gets done isn't it? Then, while you're doing shit and fixing shit, you'll come across the answers you need. Life's got a funny way of workin out like that."

"Hrrm... good call. Well then, you can leave anytime you want, I mean hell, it's not like theres bars in here." I'd tell the voice.

"Yeah but I didn't wanna leave till you had your head on straight... I guess... People usually only ask Mickey for favors, was nice to do somethin on my own ya know?" would say the voice.

"I getcha. Good words to, you make a lot of sense for a disembodied voice. I feel renewed."

"Good deal... by the way, mind if I?"

"Yeah, take the imaginary whiskey, my gift to you." I'd tell it.

"Thanks pal, you're alright."

"Give Mickey my best, I'm a fan of both of yours."

"Hahaha, still talkin to himself... that guy needs a drink or a woman..." it would speak before disappearing into the darkness.

Wimmins And Phil Collins 1/2 Post GO!

Snow white has taken flight and left my thoughts to the jackals.

Madam Shine was mighty fine but my mind would only scare her.

Across the sea Lady melody now rests her head on a dumbfuck.

To the women who drove me to drink, how could I ever repay you?

Speaking of wimmins, Constance, your attempts to scare me will only end in disappointment... and then fear, and then relief, and then curiosity, and then pleasure. All of this will culminate in events that will forever bar me from the Spanish mainland. They will be worth it though, that's the kind of livin' people should be doing.

I'm entertaining thoughts of re-writing the bible.

Genesis
Chapter 1:

In the beginning Peter Gabriel spoke unto them, "I want to do some weird shit." Phil Collins, the morning radio star, said unto the lord, "I can feel it, coming in the air tonight... oh lord."

No? Well, if you did get my references then I congratulate you. If you tell me the reference I will reward your knowledge of trivial things.

I was going to write more, but I have just been inspired.

To Niles' Awful Unseen Wife

When I was 12 I tried alcohol for the first time. Beer tasted awful and I still curse the kid who gave it to me, but liquor... that shit really lit my fire.

Even the first drink of whiskey tasted like I had mastered fire and was drinking it down to become part of my soul. And once it reached the soul it warmed my everything. Getting the shit kicked out of you, then laughed at about it, leaves a sickness that never leaves stuck in the core of you. It dampens what should be happy moments and productive thoughts and leaves nothing but rot where there could have been joy. The warmth was a metaphor and real at the same time. A big ol batch of chemicals, just what I needed.

It tasted like burning asshole, but it only took 2 quick shots to shine a light on all my dark. I cannot remember what stupid things I did that night, well, not clearly, but I do remember a lot of spinning and smiling. Also, I may have thrown up into an older girl's blouse.

After that I went only with hard liquor, straight shots, it was quicker you see. Beer was never here *points to stomach* but liquor is for my ticker. The previous sentence is an example of how retarded I was as a child, but I do remember saying that anytime drinks were offered. Eventually, once I learned the ropes I'd simply say, when offered beer, "does it look like I'm wearing a dress? Gimme some hooch." I made many enemies over the years, but the strength I acquired from each of their defeats only increased the amount of strong drink I was able to take in per night. I was like the boozelander, there could be only "ughhhnnn..."

I did get drunk sometimes, but I maintain and am willing to present witnesses to verify, that I am an exquisite drunk. I do not fight, I do not start altercations, I simply keep to myself, or begin telling stories to anyone who would hear them. At these stages, my mind is completely open and any painful baggage is shot into space and nuked to hell and back by the unstoppable might of my intoxicated resolve. For the longest time, I was only happy when I could drink.

What's that? What about the addict scale that says over time the happiness from a drug decreases while the pain increases? Well hypothetical audience member, for as long as I've been drinking the scale has never once been in favor of pain over pleasure when drinking. I've gone on month long jam sessions with Jack Daniels on bass and while I've become sick from the poison, I've never been unhappy. If I became unhappy while drinking I would stop, and if it became painful I would quit. It is a very simple thing to know when you must stop something before it destroys you, the hard part is knowing when it is in the process of wrecking you, "I'm fine" the doomed would say before their decent into mental hellfire and physical oblivion. It really is playing with fire, but I am one of those rare people who were born with fireproof gloves.

Am I drunk right now? Why do you ask that? Oh... the structure of this article is all fucked up? Unrefined yes... but if you will notice, I make it clear in the upper right part of this page that I do not edit or even gloss over these entries. They are shit cars sold as is. No returns hypothetical asshole and you're lucky that you're not real otherwise I'd break my foot off in your geriatric ass.

All is fine, especially when liquor is abundant and the company is good. Of course, I'm sure many before me have said similar things before winding up bloated wreckage in the cosmic gutter, but if I ever get out of hand, that's one of the reasons why I've got you.

You know who you are. I'm glad you worry, but I'll be fine, and if not, tell me to quit and I will do so. But until I cannot handle it anymore, I will set a sun in my heart and share good stories and over-enthusiastic laughs with people worth sharing the experience with, and when I am sober I will pester you with terrible puns and sober hugs.

A Few Weak Words On Time... To... Ya Know, Pass It.

I've got a problem with time, man time, and by man time I do not mean the best 30 minutes a gay boy can have in San Francisco, I mean time as observed by man. Seconds, minutes, hours and so forth. I hate them all. Whenever I am forced to adhere to a schedule it puts me in a vicious mood.

That is because every tick of man's clock strangles my mind with thoughts about how much "time" is left, about how much time has already passed, and menaces me with a feeling of contempt and anger that man would invent such a horrific thing.

I can understand the use of time. It can be useful when coordinating drug deals and ransom exchanges, but the concept of it is something I cannot assimilate into my life and remain happy. I like to sleep, I cannot sleep when I start thinking about "time."

I don't think I'll ever be on time.

Never Forget

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (1:54 AM):
today I went to the library and ran into a guy who was as ugly as a sack of shit covered ass-frogs

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (1:55 AM):
even in my wretched state i am a pillar of beauty compared to him, but I do not say this to him. What if he is a nice guy? What if he is a great or fantastic guy? I'd feel worse than he looks if that were the case.

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (1:57 AM):
I had to find out what kind of a person he was, for the sake of my day because if I went on under the assumption that he was a great person in whom I only cared about his ugliness, then I would have become ugly myself

well i mean not physically ugly, i'm pretty good looking, I mean GENUINE ugly

ugly soul, ugly mana, ugly heart

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (1:58 AM):
That is no way to live. I am a bastard, but one that appreciates goodness in people

so, with my entire day on the line, i spoke to him

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (2:00 AM):
"does the fact that somewhere in the world right now someone is beating an adorable puppy to death bother you?"
"oh my god... now it does..." he said, and looked sad

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (2:01 AM):
instead of focusing on the fact that some strange man with pointy hair and fierce eyes just mentioned puppy beating to him, he immediately felt for the puppy

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (2:02 AM):
the guy had a good heart
so, I had to make it right

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (2:03 AM):
"well I mean, that's just hypothetical, I mean... if it's an adorable puppy then why would someone want to beat it? At the very worst they'd be villians who would want to make money off of it by selling it."
"then what about the ugly puppies?" he said. From the expression on his face I could tell that struck a chord with him, the "ugly puppies"

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (2:04 AM):
at this point I had forgotten what book I was seeking in the first place, I just realized that I had opened a can of worms and smeared them in the face of a kind man

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (2:05 AM):
I had to fix this situation

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (2:06 AM):
but I didn't know how, my mind was stunned... I mean, he was a kind man after all but it wasn't pleasant to look at for long periods of time. I had to improvise

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (2:07 AM):
I offered to buy him a whole lot of booze
and when I said a whole lot, I stressed the way I said "A WHOOOOOLE LOT"

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (2:08 AM):
it was at this point that he began to realize that I might be insane

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (2:09 AM):
"no, i'm fine thanks.."

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (2:11 AM):
"alright, well, sorry about bringing up puppy bashing and so on, I'll have you know that there is a league of puppy and kitty defenders that was formed here at the college... I joined it and so far we've saved several dozen of both kitties and puppies"
"oh, thats really good then... do you guys accept members?"
SHIT, I thought. What to say what to say...

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (2:12 AM):
"we do, but you have to go up to the school and apply.."
"oh ok i think i will"
"NO WAIT, I mean, its online now, sorry, skipped my mind."

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (2:13 AM):
"oh, whats the address?" he asked

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (2:14 AM):
"its uhh..."

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (2:16 AM):
as I stalled, a girl behind me spoke, "hey, i've never heard about anything like that on the campus. I think its great though"

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (2:17 AM):
I was in over my head, there was only one way out

Vidi, Vici, Veni said (2:18 AM):
I faked a mild heart attack, and told them I had to get my pills before it was too late, then i stumbled out of the library

He Was Better Last Year I Think

It's been almost a month since my last post. I feel like an unfaithful lover, one that actually cares about the person he's cheating on. The guilt is overwhelming. However, like many scoundrels who feel remorse, I will more than likely not do anything about it at this moment in time. Darling forgive me, but I do not have the strength to change right now. I know it is hard to understand but it is the truth, and sometimes dear friends, the truth sounds fuckin' stupid.

I am just writing right now in order to let you know this. If you are anything like me you absolutely hate the uncertainty.

On a lighter note, I have decided to kill myself. I think I have already said this, but I wanted to rededicate myself to taking my ultimate destiny in my own hands, unless the women of the Keller knitting club actually come through on their promise to destroy me. Maybe the gypsy will be right after all.

Hold on, I must post an offensive picture, I do not want anyone having any sympathetic feeling toward me. I am a scoundrel of the highest order, I cannot be trusted with firewood and I do not mix well with the general public. I have a uranium heart.

Greek Fire And Snow White Skin

The air is cooling and the dark flesh of the night is stretching across the sky. Below me is a small group of flies that made dared pester me, their corpses are now being investigated by a group of fire ants who agreed several days ago to leave me alone in exchange for my sparing their Queen. And aside from these corpses, life blooms all around me.
It is almost my birthday and once again I am genuinely surprised that I have lived another year. I thought by now one of the people who vowed to kill me would have actually come through, or at least some sort of disease or cranium growth. Well, the angel of death must need glasses because here I am, still breathing fire and still plotting things that will leave broken bodies and minds behind me as I pursue a life worth living.

There is work to be done old bean. You've got mental and physical renovations to attend to, time to turn that shanty you call an existence back into a marble palace with nude statues in the bathroom. You can do it. You have to do it.

...FUCK!

I wan't to write candidly but that is not the purpose of an online word depository. If any of the 2 people who read this thing found out I've got a mild case of 'emotions' then snake crawling across the floor would start laughing at me. Holy shit there's a snake on the floor... beautiful. Anyway, I forgot what I was talking about so I will jump straight into talking about things that I will regret.

Chapter 1: The Quickening
I've had the same similar dream for the past few days. In each one there is either the same person or the thoughts or pursuit of that person. Luckily that person is a woman, if it were a man I'd have to resign myself to becoming a homosexual and then I'd have to develop a fashion sense that extends beyond blue jeans and black shirts. But at least I'd get to be FABULOUS! I wonder what it means to have recurring dreams. After consulting the guy next door who was carrying the couch by himself, the recurring dreams could mean the following (which are also graded on scale of 'OH SHIT-ness.')

1. The tumor in my brain has become spiteful and has decided to replace the nightmares with tantalizingly pleasant dreams. (Moderately bad)

2. It's a side effect of losing my memory. (Bad)

3. My subconcious is experiencing some kind of 'Groundhog Day' symptom where everything is repeated... kind of. (Awesome cause then I'd have a reason to ask Bill Murray for advice)

4. I have fallen for the woman and the dreams are a way of reminding me that despite how mad I would be for her, things simply would not go my way. (Painful, but it would be nice to know even my dreams have a sense of humor)

5. It's a side effect of my losing my memory. (Bad)

6. That the world truly will end during my being around this person. (Good, because now I know how to bring about the end of humanity, then when aliens arrive they will not have to deal with my neighbor's face)

Like the tumor, I imgaine that the problem will be solved by giving it time, so I will wait this out and almost assuredly things will get worse. But maybe they will get better.

Reclusive Stamps and a Preoccupied Mind

A small adhesive square is all I needed.

DENIED KEEPS FLASHING OVER MY HEAD! I know I'm not the only one who can see that, it's making my hair fizzy and my rage swollen and volatile. How in steel plated hell could I have failed in getting a fucking stamp.

As to the flashing words over my head, I blame the got-dam Japanese for their poisoning us all with mercury. In a few moments I'll go blind and deaf but luckily for me I have already been training a seeing eye lizard which exudes deadly poison from it's skin. Her name is Pathfinder and she knows nothing of mercy, but quite a bit about how to get to the liquor store.

Dear diary,

I find myself thinking about that thing that isn't alcohol, no, I'm thinking about a certain someone and have been doing so since I had a strange dream about them. What is universe trying to tell me... No messages in the clouds today. The grass in the yard is still talking about how much better it must be in the neighbor's yard. The birds are preparing an assault on the bees in retaliation for that vicious rape and I'm getting no transmisions on my one way cosmic radio.

In fact, I'm thinking about them so much that perhaps I shouldn't be writing in case I expose myself as a human being rather than a vengeful spirit that learned how to use a keyboard and internet.

Still though...

HERES YOUR DAMNED UPDATE

Mrs. Doris Gray was a former teacher of mine who told me said of me, "his attitude is going to keep him from being successful in life and his beliefs are going to keep him from going to a pleasant afterlife." Little did she know one day I would actually have my very own online journal.

I was told that Mrs. Gray died recently from a combination of old age and flying through the windshield of a car. There was some little memorial that had I known about at the time I would have attended. Fortunately for her memory, I can send a posthumous message to the dearly departed.

Mrs. Gray, we did not always find common ground or even show each other any amount of respect, but now that I have matured I can concede a few good aspects that you possessed. For one thing, it takes incredible talent for a deranged reptile to walk upright for as long as you did. Also you died, and that's super swell of ya.

Hey! What do Mrs. Gray and Princess Diana have in common? Not much, Diana was rich and people loved her, but credit to Mrs. Gray she could catch some awesome air.

In closing here is a song that goes out to you Mrs. Gray, wherever you are: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=16FdJrrAWSo

For those of you who may find it repulsive that I am insulting a dead woman, well, if she asks me to stop I will.

Something To Myself Sort Of

When I read something that a person writes I will sometimes create a voice in my head modelled after what I feel the author would sound like. Sometimes I am able to find videos online of the authors and listen to them speak or recite what they have written and I am apalled with how dull or nasally or awful these goddamned people sound in contrast to the voice I create for them.

How dare they not sound like I want them to.

Dear reader, I would like to assure you that the voice you currently imagine me having, *that of an 80's action movie star* is the voice I possess. When you read me you almost certaintly imagine my voice thundering through a nordic valley knocking down trees and deflowering the virgins, and you would be relatively correct.

So I says to myself, I says moi, you've done it now. You know what I'm talking about, me. Self-hate buddy, it's out of control. Then I direct myself to look back on the past several days and what have occurred and I am hit by just how right I am. Sure, hating myself to the degree that I do has been fine for the past decade or so, but as you know it has now caused grief for people other than yourself. Today you must come to terms with the horrific reality of what you must do...

You must learn to love yourself...

But I'll do that later, right now I'm going to eat junk food and bang my head on the counter until I can commune once again with Great Great Grandpa Josiah who now roams the universe in an old Model T conquering the hearts of alien lifeforms that could never understand the man they see before them.

Goodbye or Hello

I have successfully dug myself into a hole deeper than I have ever been. Mentally I am in shambles. Physically I am the antithesis of my former self. Emotions are set to genocide. I am a bit disappointed in myself that I was able to fall so far without the pleasures of using alcohol and drugs to get there again, no, I took the slow retarded route to Wreckville. Now that I have arrived I have started bashing my head against the curb while undoing anything that has ever been good for me.

And worst of all, I have neglected to write a goddamned thing in the past couple of months. Well, that may not be the absolute worst, but it is definitely standing on the podium of fail.

In my darkest hour I seek a way out. After a great deal of consideration I have narrowed my options down to two possible solutions.


Suicide: It is inevitable after all, it is how I want to leave the world, on my own terms. But, I did not plan on doing so this soon. However with some proper tweaking I am sure that I could make an early self-termination a much more pleasant experience than it may sound to the frightened god-fearing people who may be reading this. Bud Dwyer gave us colored newspapers, with proper planning, perhaps I can give the world smell-o-vision.

The other solution involves conquering my inner demons and addressing the biblical amount of self hatred I have, getting my mind and body back together, and then finding something worth pursuing in life. Or, OR, wreak terrible vengeance on the people I am unhappy at. If... If I could just re-focus the self hate onto other people then I could... become a conservative radio pundit. Hrmm... choices choices.

I haven't written anything since May and I feel horrible about it. It's hard though, to keep track of writing when you spend all your time trying to keep your mind off of the horrible fires inside the Earth that at any given moment are breaking through the crust in an effort to murder every fucking body. Well, let's just see how it goes. If I decide to give myself a glorious death then I will post several things here soon explaining this and that or having some sort of record of my last wishes (for example, someone kill Rachel Ray.)

After the fakes have gone I am left with exactly as much as I had before, which is a little less than jack shit but more than I would have if I went ahead and blasted the top of my head off. I am dwelling on a thought that would make some of the non-fakes cringe or have words with me, but they are not here so I will continue to contemplate.

No... actually I'm very, very tired, of everything. Life is beautiful and glorious beyond measure, but I am not. I am not able to function properly in the world and my presence here is barely noticeable and ill-advisable because it's creating an unbearable sensation that is constantly present. Life should not be me doing my absolute damndest to distract myself from how much hate I've got bearing down on myself. It should be something else. I should have been something else. I am not bitter or angry, I simply acknowledge the reality of the situation and am very tired.

No picture for this post. Nothing to see here. Move along.

My Hope Is That The Picture Will Absorb Your Attention

It's almost been a month since the last time I wrote anything meaningful, or coherent. The world could certainly do without me but at this moment in time I feel that I should give words to the unending accumulation of shit on the internet.

For a long time I have entertained the notion that there may be something wrong with my brain besides the obvious that you no doubt have noticed after reading a few of these posts. I've started to become a bit of a hypochondriac and now realize that this is not the way I should be thinking. The odds are in favor that there is something amiss with my mental physiology but worrying would not be productive at all. So I shall worry.

And I really cannot control it, doing things that are counter-productive. I crave my own destruction and my auto pilot has a death wish. There are beautiful things out there to sense and experience and I find comfort in sitting in the closet rocking back and forth clicking my tongue. I have a dangerous comfort zone. It is as cold and dead as the universe will one day be. Time will pass and I will have missed my chance and I know this, I know I'm wasting, but I have come to the realization after many years of trying that I am incapable of triggering the change I need for myself. It is the most monumentally devastating of my shortcomings and I haven't been able to do anything about it so far.

I'm throwing what little I've got left away because I cannot shake the mentality that I deserve it and more.

It's all true. I need to go now.

Ideaetta Was Done Little Justice By My Fatigue

I was sitting in a field as my brain put together the image of an emerald field with an azure skyscape while my eyes were directed at dirt and litter in large expanses stretching across the area behind several fast food restaurants and I began to think about something rather strange.

A window pane rose from the ground and was opened by the beast born of greed and immaturity. It's shape was that of a beautiful woman and the lines of her body rose and fell perfectly pressing against time and space in a manner that drove me wild. She sat beside me and asked if I would very much enjoy devoting my life to pursuing gadgets, knick knacks and greenback funded respect. I told her I might and she wrapped her arms around me and whispered tangy somethings in my ear.

The path would be easy she said, I'd just have to break my mind in to the idea, push aside non material notions and assassinate beauty and build a game plan over the grave. Sounds like a good way to live I supposed, but when I reclined I saw smoke rising from tender too precious to surrender. When I turned I saw the future and knew then and there that sexy little lady greed and I wouldn't have a long term relationship.

She cried and felt empty. Poor thing, she didn't know how to cope. She should have gotten mad, but she's been around the block and went straight into the end result of pursuing that way of living. As she sobbed I noticed on the nape of her neck were the words "Made in America" pressing up through the skin. She never had a chance. She wasn't some beast like I had assumed, she was a bad idea born of an irrational and primitive mind, the same mind that runs all manner of human things.

What to do... what to do...

Weird thoughts came to me, some inappropriate for the time and the place but I let them make room in my mind and fed them attention. It was dark now, and so quiet and still I could feel the Earth's chest press against the flesh of the night. The little idea lady sat cold and sullen with swollen eyes red which told of loss and confusion. She doesn't want, doesn't wish, just sits there like a train out of track.

In the sky a plane had wrote a message with nuclear smoke: "What is it about man that makes him want to worship things he can't see instead of the ground that grows and the sun that bleeds life. Ra and Gaia have more right to our nonsensical devotion than ghosts and distortions."

I looked over at the idea and her eyes shined with new hope. She stretched out her arms and arched her back, smiling and arranging thoughts for an rebuttal to my previous stance.

She rose to her feet and and with lips so sweet laid savagely into my defense of immaterial things being a reason not to pursue her. Ideas want to be loved and held and wanted. They want to exist, and technically they do, but they want to be physical manifestations, alive in the ultra world, so badly that they'll let man change and abuse them unmercifully. She thought she had a chance to convince me to chase her and take her. She wanted to be breathed in, absorbed, or eaten.

I told her of my ways, of my thoughts, and she fell again into sorrow because she could never be a part of them. What a painful thing it must be. I thought about how to bring about happiness to the little idea's heart. Then it came to me. I stood her up and beheld her naked form. Raw greed, relentless pursuit, beautiful but irrational and empty inside. I opened her chest and she fell limp. This is a dangerous thing to do if you haven't the experience, but luckily I am an ordained minister and practicing medicine man, I was prepared. I held her up and whispered sweet somethings into her chest cavity. I filled it with altruism and then closed her back up.

And Then Have To Dig It Up, Cause I Need To Cut Things Later

Today I thought a great deal about how humans would die out. There are so many potential ways, but certainly the way it will actually happen will be much funnier than any of us realize.

I can imagine myself waking up in the aether and looking down at our planet from on high. In a matter of seconds I can see the birth and death of everything human. The birth and development was very interesting but without a doubt the demise was the star of the show. I would say, "wow, that came out of fuckin' nowhere," when I learn how it ended. Well... I'd like to think anyhow. It is always a good thing to end on a joke or a rim shot.

It's lonely outside. No wind, no clouds, and no sounds. Though I hate it, I wouldn't mind listening to the frog that seeks to piss me off right now. I wonder why this is. Most likely it is a coincidence, but it is not that far of a stretch to say that nature may be conspiring to get me low so I cant see the tree branch assassin the next time I'm cruising through the woods in a convertible. Ah yes, I would love to do that right now, convertible cruising in the woods despite the threat of wood-be assassins. Life is too short to worry about the tree's murder thoughts.

I've got sand in my eyes earlier than usual. I'm going to go bury the hatchet.

Repression

the picture is smaller than I thought

Well, that's alright isn't it? Why, if that was my biggest worry of the night then I do declare my night hasn't been half bad.

...Unfortunately there are horrible things going on, RIGHT NOW, on this very night.

I am an ordained minister and keeper of the Great Magnet's divine light, but I cannot see all. While I know tragic things are occurring at this moment in time I cannot know the nature or specifics of these evils. I must look backward and remember things I've tried to forget because now I know how important it is to do so.

I recall a horrible thing, long forgotten, until I decided to look for it again. I cannot regret the decision. It must be done. Done... here I am somewhere in North Texas waiting with hateful people for a man to come out of a trailer. I can hear Chopin, but not at this moment in time, the music is a gift from the Great Magnet... it wants to make it easier to recall.

After waiting a while the man came out of his trailer with St. Whiskey's divine aura keeping him safe from rational thought. He was confident and angry. He looked towards me and the young hateful men and tried to speak in garish language. I didn't understand but he kept talking. We were there for a reason but now the drunk man's mentally crippled son is at the door of the trailer. He is afraid and speaks as carefully as can. The drunk man turns to his son who lets his terror show across his face. His father pulls him away from the door and forces him into the yard. The son begins to sob.

In the world many of us think we live in this would have been the moment that a hero appears and saves the poor son from the drunken father. How ever it would happen, in a perfect world the son wouldn't have to endure such overwhelming dread and he would know eventually come to feel secure, and maybe even loved, by someone... anyone.

Back in the realm of things that have passed, the drunken man starts destroying his retarded son before an audience of hateful beasts, just as monstrous as the drunk. The son is alone in his fear, alone in his suffering and alone in a world he cannot understand. There is so much pain here that he cannot even muster the strength or will to ask why it has to happen. The drunk man is savage and spiteful. He beats his son as if the poor boy was the everything he ever hated in the world. The lame son's jaw is unhinged, his nose is shattered, his teeth are lost and his forearms are black from the strikes he tried to deflect.

I stand with the hateful people and feel across my body every single blow. My mind has left. I stand and watch with nothing but my heart inhaling nightmare essence while my conscience screams for vengeance. I almost make a move on the drunk, but my mind leaped from the darkness and stopped me just as the drunk man stops long enough to regain any measure of sanity or mercy he once had. He stands over his son who isn't moving... the poor soul is broken in ways you couldn't understand. For him there is no light, no relief and no hope on such an immeasurable scale that it would endanger a good soul to attempt to contemplate the horror. The hateful people say some words and the drunk responds quietly. He reaches into his pocket and hands one of us a baggy full of white chaos and an envelope. Then we turn to go.

On the way back to wherever it was we went, the oldest of us told me to forget everything I've just seen. Just do it he says, and offers something to take our minds off of what we saw.

Right now, before, during and after these words have entered and left you, cruelty and the vile nature of man are inflicting sorrow and hurt on man and nature. Things that can feel pain are being dealt more than you will ever have to endure in your life. I am fortunate to be here, in an enclosed room with air conditioning and a connection to the rest of the world and if you are reading this then you are fortunate too.