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.

Speaking Of Stamina, I've Just Run Out

Testing... Good, courier still works. I had worried that I dreamed it up. I'm glad I hadn't, it's a very pleasing and legitimate looking font, like a man in a suit who carries a gun, good in any situation.

Tonight I realized how much of a remarkable attention whore I can be. I spent time concocting a plot for a fantastic joke that fell through. Then I spent even more time trying to rig up an alternate joke that worked surprisingly well despite the great shame it brought upon my accomplice. I was given attention for my work. I was called and sought out by many people and a handful of unexpected things happened that pleased me, but what I desired from whom I desired it. I was left wanting.

There is always something to be learned from missteps. I will salvage the scraps from the field after the airplane exploded and I'll carry them to my shack on the mountain to make something out of malice.

Must work on stamina. All you must work on stamina, especially that me guy. That's good advice, but hardly any of you will take it, especially that me guy. But why not I wonder? It is good advice and has many practical opportunities for implementation; for instance, having more stamina is very useful to have when you are working on extending that stamina. It's also handy when disemboweling a hated foe, or surviving a grim ordeal like having to disembowel a hated foe because your hatred carries you on a blood soaked wind towards psychosis and things like butchering a person whom you dislike becomes rational in your chemically imbalanced mind.

I'm making a great many typos today, luckily I've got handy dandy backspace key. Truly, backspace is the key to fixing the past when you're finger ranting. Or would this be ranting? It's very unfocused stuff I'm working with here. There is no theme or thread with any of this and I am curious if something like this could be done and taken seriously. Aha, another typo attempt... there is something wrong with brain today. *Message from the brain* "Forgive my pretension, I usually do not refer to myself in the third person but as my vessel has already hinted, I am not working properly today. Surely this is my own fault, but rather than take the blame like a healthy brain would I am going to blame it on the vessel. I presume this based on the fact that without me the vessel is nothing."

Christ it's getting cloudy outside, I do hope it's going to storm, *Brain here, again. I would like to point out that I am aware that without the vessel I'd be little more than a watery ball of nothing. It does provide me with input and takes me places for more input, and input is of course what makes me an effective brain. But I've been so absent minded and scatter brained that it has effected the vessel in negative ways. We are not working together here, well, except when we are both working against everyone else. I will mull this over while "he" continues on with what will go down as another in a long succession of overdrawn, unread and inane ramblings.* I hope it does, I fucking love horrible weather.

I think I have said it before, long ago, that I was going to conduct experiments on myself. I cannot recall if I actually did, maybe that was the point of some of the experiments, so that I don't remember the horror of injecting myself with bizarre chemicals that left me an electrified lunatic, but I will assume that I have and when the time comes I will be able to call upon some violent power to destroy my soon to be disemboweled foes. Like I said before, I think I have said it, but I know I will say it again... in 3...2...1... It... fuck... FORGIVE MY APOSTASY GREAT MAGNET! I PRESUMED TO "KNOW" ANYTHING IN THIS UNKNOWABLE WORLD! HAVE MERCY ON MY MEAGER FORM AND MALFUNCTIONING BRAIN!

The shift key must be held when seeking the Great Magnet's forgiveness. It's a matter of respect you see. One must humble themselves before all things at one point, it's good for you. It's almost as good as working on your stamina.