After clean water
clean food
then clean bed
and once these needs are met
clean socks

Died again. Bad font, cant change it with crushed fingers. Crushed core too. Turn it into something else. Hate and screaming and rage feels better but look at you now you're sitting here writing garbage. Fuck these words and this font. You die too easily. Look at you sitting there toppled like an earthquake went straight for you, you sad sack of shit. Bring it back around, mention how you never write in this fucking thing, or write at all, then go back to the way it always is. Let the hate win. Hate doesn't lie, it just eats. It wont let you kid yourself, it just eats. Hate isn't pitiful, it's a monster that people speak of with stronger tones. Don't be the sad sack, be the monster again. Don't be sad, just eat everything.

im looking at an old article i wrote and all i can think is how did i write that. how did i write that. how did all of that come to me. what was the magic combination of events and chemicals that brought about that combination of words. how did i do that. how. could i ever do it again? 

if i cant i'll be a grain of sand airborne descending to the pile. a blood pump with no divinity, no right to the future, a sad sack of teeth and hair and just the memory of a few moments when i could write like lightning strikes.

A Needed Flip

I am shattered by the difference in my words between the last couple of years and the period around 2010. This simply cannot continue. I hold in my hand my future, minted in 1986, adorned with the likeness of a wood toothed slave owner. I'm going to toss it into the air and depending on what I see next I will embark on a vision quest (recommended by 9 out of 10 optometrists) or rinse with shotgun mouthwash. However, if the coin lands on it's side I will go to sleep and expect the world to pour its answer into my dreams.

And the toss...

Six Word Story

A fire burns itself out, finally.

Second Draft of In Too Deep

Sam began the evening by hiding his laptop in the drawer of an out of the way cabinet. Once he made sure it could not be easily stumbled upon he then mounted a tremendous effort to forget it was there. After an hour of busy work he had managed to keep his mind from wandering into the dark places, it was safe to sit down for a break.

In this precious moment there was a peace that Sam sought to cherish as long as possible. A break in the calm was coming, but dwelling on pop culture trivia and old baseball scores would surely buy him some time. Then, halfway through the lyrics to Don't Stop Believin' a whisper was carried to his ears by the cruel wind of an unchecked obsession,

"Scandanavian Assplay."

The whisper tore through the moment and Sam's eyes were twin moons of shock and fear. He knew what was coming.

"Thai women feeding cake into each other's vaginas."

A demonstration in panicked pacing commenced. Sam shifted his thoughts to try and shut out the whisper. He remembered the time he stumbled upon his Grandmother while she showered, he thought of advanced mathematics being blasted out of a foghorn mounted to an open and overflowing outhouse, and clung desperately to the mental image of a pile of rice sitting on a brown table while his Uncle Jasper stared uninterested off into the distance. But the whispers would not be denied.

"Grandma and Jasper fucking in an outhouse while equations involving rice..."

Sam held back a surge of vomit.

"Lusty Dusty the Puke Goddess gurgles gallons of gak."

He reacted by doing jumping jacks. He got to ten in what could've been only a couple of seconds. His pace was frantic and his body responded with the burn that accompanies physical strain. Working through the pain his heart sank as the memory of his busty cousin's breasts bouncing through her tank top during middle school gym class. The sin, the shame, it roared back into him and he sprang toward the window so quickly that he nearly took a dive through it. He forced it open and looked down three stories at what might be his last resort. It couldn't always be like this, could it?

"Amputee orgy."

Sam flenched.

"Cock fingering."

"Robo stump grinders from planet poon."

Terror, all was terror. It would always be like this, he knew that now. The whispers were getting louder and eventually they would stop being whispers and revert back to the unending howl of pornographic suggestion. There was no more room in his life the porn. He had already destroyed his sex drive with an insatiable lust for more and more outlandish acts and varieties of people doing fucked up things to one another and now that rampant perversion is breaking loose from every mental shackle Sam could latch upon it. It always manages to break free and lure him back to it's clutches with it's siren song. He closed his eyes, wishing for it all to go away.

"Historic sex, FDR and Churchill lapping each others fluids."

And when his eyes opened they were shattered mirrors of resignation. After a deep breath and a moment of quiet he began to step onto the ledge of the window.

"Don't leave me," said the whisper.

He turned around.

"Don't leave me, I've found two lepers with detached genitals fucking each other to the soundtrack of City Slickers 2."

Tears rolled down his face. Sam stepped down and found his way to the laptop he had put away, the whispers guiding him, cooing him, the only soothing moment he's had since the sickness took hold. With the laptop in tow he drudged his way back to the window and braced himself to be released from the bonds of bondage and other forms of perversion. He whispered into the laptop, "are you ready my love?"

"Yes," said the whisper.

Sam straightened his back and took a deep breath. He stretched his arms forward, and before the whisper could reach his ears he had let the laptop go. The sound of hard plastic shattering onto concrete sent a jolt through him. Whatever happened next, it would be alright.

That's when a young couple, dressed for the Sunday service, approached the shattered laptop and looked up at Sam. "Are you alright Reverend?" Sam waved at them and assured them that he was and that he would explain in a few minutes before the service started. They went on into the building and Sam began to prepare himself to preach that morning on the sins of the flesh.

There's No Need for Words Snake

Tonight I learned what a psychomantium is.

It's a spirit gate for a modern shaman.

A joke room for a trendy fraud's anecdote.

A Ganzfeld machine with no moving parts.

Something I've already done before I knew there was a name for it. Self imposed solitary from a frightening night when something in the darkness reflected off that mirror, so I stood there and waited for something.

for the devil to be real

for my life to change

Some years later I'm updating this journal again. Late again, like always. Knowing what it was that flickered in that room and what thoughts surged have been lost, but tonight I learned what a psychomantium is anyhow. Been there, done that, will do it again.