Drive, Determination, Desire, Depth and Drive. These are either the 5 rules of dodge ball or the key things I am lacking this new year. I haven't read a book in a couple years yet I still buy books and sit them on the shelf with all the rest of the prisoners. I haven't seriously drawn something in several years. I still subscribe to Juxtapoz and I am always reading comics and creeping on Deviantart.com. Is this what becoming an adult is all about? Losing all desire to do, shit, anything? The one thing I no longer have issues with is getting out of bed to go to work in the morning. Well, most of the time it isn't even a thought. How did I lose all my inspiration and dreams?
Friday, January 23, 2015
it's all a mystery to me
Inevitable? Maybe. Possible? Most definitely. Probable? Sure. I was that kid in the back of the class room that wasn't talking to any of the other children during playtime. I was the kid in the corner of the room talking to myself. It wasn't that I didn't like my classmates. I enjoyed talking to them, and as long as there was no drama I also liked playing with them as well. However, what I enjoyed most was watching them do their thing. Being the observer has been my role in life since as long as I have had memories.
I recall events from my childhood that are similar to what people describe as a photographic memory. I would never claim to have a photographic memory, not at all, more like an Etch-A-Sketch memory. Why I remember every single detail of completely forgettable events, I have no idea. I knew I would never forget the day the Challenger exploded in the air or the two times I saw UFOs over my head or when I attempted to run away from home at 10 years old. Every person has these unforgettable moments many times in life.
Being chosen as the lion in a preschool game of "Circus", the lion tamers facial expressions, the movement of her honey-blond hair as she whips it around to command each lion, the pure power hungry look in her eyes, the way her entire persona changed when she became the leader; these are the things that are burned into my minds eye. From that moment on I knew who this girl would turn out to be as an adult.
I recall events from my childhood that are similar to what people describe as a photographic memory. I would never claim to have a photographic memory, not at all, more like an Etch-A-Sketch memory. Why I remember every single detail of completely forgettable events, I have no idea. I knew I would never forget the day the Challenger exploded in the air or the two times I saw UFOs over my head or when I attempted to run away from home at 10 years old. Every person has these unforgettable moments many times in life.
Being chosen as the lion in a preschool game of "Circus", the lion tamers facial expressions, the movement of her honey-blond hair as she whips it around to command each lion, the pure power hungry look in her eyes, the way her entire persona changed when she became the leader; these are the things that are burned into my minds eye. From that moment on I knew who this girl would turn out to be as an adult.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
I haven't written in years. Literally. I think my last post is dated two thousand and nine. Today it's two thousand and thirteen and has been for, give or take, one hundred and sixty days. I'm not counting, I promise. It's just that it is almost the middle of the year and that means, for me at least, that I get to find (read: search for) some perpective in numbers. Solace in what can be seen and understood. Some comfort in the known universe.
I am about to be thirty six years old. In thirty five years, I feel like I have learned about twelve years worth of knowledge. I have been married one time in my life. I have had one child. I have fallen in love, the real adult version, one time. I have found a life worth living less than once. I am the parent of two cats and the foster parent of one. I have zero ambition. I have only one chance to make something of myself. Arrested Development was funny in two thousand and six. I have zero real-life friends. I leave the house to do something other that run errands two times a year. Other than wasting away on a smart phone or in front of a giant television screen, I am active in zero things. I can find ninety nine reasons to not get out of bed in less than three seconds. I take one hundred and fifty milligrams of medication one time a day to keep me from ending one life. I stopped reading roughly four years ago. I recently read one book from cover to cover and it was simply okay. I take fifty milligrams of medication two times a day to prevent me from ending five hundred and sixty six other lives. I spend about three hours a day trying to formulate a plan that will allow me to happy and make a living at the exact same time. I think about the theory of relativity about eight times a month. I scare myself to death around three times a year. I scare others to death around one time a year. Feeling like I have nowhere to turn for inspiration is the one thing I can't get over.
This did not inspire me to write.
My therapist says it will help.
I will continue the process.
Until next time.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
I once wrestled a giraffe to the ground with my bare hands.
Though it is well past time that I should be thinking, much less typing or constructing sentences, my brain is awake. One better, my brain is always awake, only this time that dusty dark hallway that has been closed for construction is now open. At least that is what that posted sign has said for the last, goddamn, forever ago now. UNDER CONSTRUCTION. Signed by The Management. Until today. True, that is me in there shutting down hallways and reconstructing entire wings of my mind. My subconscious does it without permit or permission. Until today I have had no access to that hallway. You know, the one listed as The-Complicated-And-Creative-Thought-Processes-That-You-Have-No-Business-Knowing-About. That mile long title is now barely visible through the glossy black, spray painted word "DANGEROUS". Some of the newer folks might not have even known that this hallway existed. I started asking around after finding too many leaks in the basement. Didn't you assume that there was a room or warehouse dedicated to this type of thing somewhere? Those leaks never happened when the hallway was open, no need, plenty of places for the juices to go. That was the only clue to my remembering this at all. A few years ago the leaks stopped but before that this floor was completely submerged in fluids. Sticky too. So anyway, I checked the log book down there and sure enough, leaks stopped a few years back and hadn't returned until lately. I signed it myself when the place used to be Seaworld and signed it again when I found the newest wet spots. Whoever signed it when it dried out is beyond me. The signature is complete bullshit. Nothing but sprawling vine looking stuff, all wiggly and colorful. I can't focus on it for more than a moment without getting a dark thundercloud of a headache. And that is all I know. Since then, I have walked the hallway for, I don't know, 100 feet or so and I get all creeped out and walk back out a little faster than it took me to get down there. It is not about being scared, but I am definitely not comfortable in there. It is hard to explain. And I haven't slept since the last time I was in there. I remember thinking to myself "this is as far as I have ever been" and then I start seeing the most random things from my childhood in my minds eye, as if I were dreaming. Things that make me happy and sad and some things I don't remember at all, but they are really fucked up.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
the dog days of summer
Can you conjure up the image of a puppy being taken on a leashed walk for the first time in it's life? A design so foreign to a mind so free. The puppy roots itself into the sidewalk and doesn't budge. Even fifteen pounds of dead weight feels like a hundred when you are the opposing force.
This is my writing. Here is the leash. See it trailing along as I attempt to walk behind it? Well this puppy is thirty two years old now and he is fucking heavy. This sly dog even plays games with his master; pretending to walk along for a distance before breaking leash and disappearing for months on end. He comes back somber and skinny but leaves nothing to explanation as to where he was or how he feels.
I've never gotten very far with him on these walks except for the few times we were lost in the woods. Those times we were lost and desperate, he ran so far ahead of me that I could barely keep up. This old dog doesn't learn new tricks but he surely learns from his mistakes. These days we cant even get in sight of the woods before he breaks away from me, bites my hand or just plays dead.
If you have any tips on how to get the old stubborn mutt to take walks and eventually run free like he did when he was a pup, feel free to let me know. I am desperate.
This is my writing. Here is the leash. See it trailing along as I attempt to walk behind it? Well this puppy is thirty two years old now and he is fucking heavy. This sly dog even plays games with his master; pretending to walk along for a distance before breaking leash and disappearing for months on end. He comes back somber and skinny but leaves nothing to explanation as to where he was or how he feels.
I've never gotten very far with him on these walks except for the few times we were lost in the woods. Those times we were lost and desperate, he ran so far ahead of me that I could barely keep up. This old dog doesn't learn new tricks but he surely learns from his mistakes. These days we cant even get in sight of the woods before he breaks away from me, bites my hand or just plays dead.
If you have any tips on how to get the old stubborn mutt to take walks and eventually run free like he did when he was a pup, feel free to let me know. I am desperate.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Complete fail
Looks like I have to gracefully bow out this month. I didn't even realize that it was the 19th already. With the new macbooks, operating systems, ipods and that other unmentionable device, I have absolutely no time to write. F3GS! And I am moving this weekend too. And I am planning my vacation for July.
I would like to say that I will be writing sometime this month, but I don't want to lie to you.
I miss your brilliant minds and plan to read through your work as soon as I get a free second. Thanks for supporting me. Who fucking rocks? You do. I am glad that I find myself mentally referencing 30DoW on a daily basis and have a genuine feeling of missing it and missing writing. I love this shit man.
Lets infect the world.
Happy global warming.
I would like to say that I will be writing sometime this month, but I don't want to lie to you.
I miss your brilliant minds and plan to read through your work as soon as I get a free second. Thanks for supporting me. Who fucking rocks? You do. I am glad that I find myself mentally referencing 30DoW on a daily basis and have a genuine feeling of missing it and missing writing. I love this shit man.
Lets infect the world.
Happy global warming.
Monday, June 8, 2009
time keeps on tickin
the days just fly by when you've got a blog to post on. sheesh!
I blame it on Apple. Damn you fruit with all your products! All your minions standing in lines 500 deep to converse with me! Damn you to hell!
I blame it on Apple. Damn you fruit with all your products! All your minions standing in lines 500 deep to converse with me! Damn you to hell!
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
They see your every move
"Congratulations. You just testified in court against the biggest crime family in all of Texas. Now, to keep your ass from being dead, the FBI is putting you and your family in the Witness Protection Program. Write about the first day of your new life as Chris Farmington in Poughkeepsie, NY."
Hi there. My name is Chris. I guess you can tell by my accent that I am not from around here huh? Well I just moved here from Georgia. I had been living there for a few years after leaving the Peace Corps due to an injury. Oh this? It's nothing really. Just a scratch. Well, now it is. It used to be a lot worse. While we were protesting whale poachers in the Pacific, I fell overboard and a narwhal’s sharp helical tusk slide up my leg a few feet. You wouldn't think that your leg could split wide open like a cooked sausage, right? But it can. Very easily. So that was the end of my Peace Corps ride. I started eating fish again after that.
I wouldn't say I have a career path. I'm kind of a jack of all trades. I have been in the workforce since before I was legally able to be there. I have tried almost everything and liked almost none of it. My grandfather always told me as a child, "If you ain't happy at your job, quit it. There's a lot more of 'em out there for you to be unhappy at". Maybe it's my destiny to walk out of every job I start. I think one day, when I am old and gray, I will sit down somewhere and just forget to leave. That will be my career I guess.
Yeah, I am married. Don't wear a ring though. When your hands swell up two sizes bigger than they should be because you're stuck in the freezing bones ocean water for nearly 2 hours, well, wearing something that can cut off your finger seems kind of silly. I like to think that my commitment isn't something I have to show off to everyone. The wife doesn't mind either. She says women are more likely to hit on me with a ring on my finger rather than off it. Crazy huh? No, we don't have any kids. We both decided this world was not a place to be raising children. I can't say I agree with her, but I do enjoy the freedom most of the time.
We are living off of her dead father’s life insurance. Funny to think I used to hate those trust fund kids; growing up a poor one myself. She keeps herself busy otherwise we fight. That woman's mind is like a finely tuned engine: lots of parts moving and moving. Fast. If one of them slows down or starts working out of order the whole system crashes. Fast. I don't know what she is doing today. Could be at an art show or at an oil painting class. Could be skeet shooting for all I know. I like to live my own life and let her live hers. When we get home at night, we live our lives together. I think it keeps things fresh. Well, some people might disagree but it works for us fairly well.
I have traveled a bit in my time, yes. Texas? No. Haven't been there yet. I hear the old Alamo is haunted though. I would love to check that out some day. Closest I ever made it to Texas was New Orleans. Went there to visit an old girlfriend a long time ago. We didn't end up seeing each other on that trip but I still want to go back there some day. To smell the air in the French Quarter, not to see Her. Am I hungry? Sure am. No, I could eat anything right now. After spending 6 days lost in the desert with nothing for nourishment, besides fingernails and pepper spray, a person doesn't find too many things unappealing enough to not shove down their throat.
You know, I never thought I was allergic to pineapples but my throat is cinched up like a Bangkok hooker. Getting a killer headache too. You feel bad yourself? No? I remember contracting malaria once but this is much worse. Shit! I think somebody needs to call the doctor. My heart is beating right out of my chest! Hey! What are you doing with that camera? You think this is funny? Call the damned paramedics! Where are you going? Come back here and help me out. Help me!
Hi there. My name is Chris. I guess you can tell by my accent that I am not from around here huh? Well I just moved here from Georgia. I had been living there for a few years after leaving the Peace Corps due to an injury. Oh this? It's nothing really. Just a scratch. Well, now it is. It used to be a lot worse. While we were protesting whale poachers in the Pacific, I fell overboard and a narwhal’s sharp helical tusk slide up my leg a few feet. You wouldn't think that your leg could split wide open like a cooked sausage, right? But it can. Very easily. So that was the end of my Peace Corps ride. I started eating fish again after that.
I wouldn't say I have a career path. I'm kind of a jack of all trades. I have been in the workforce since before I was legally able to be there. I have tried almost everything and liked almost none of it. My grandfather always told me as a child, "If you ain't happy at your job, quit it. There's a lot more of 'em out there for you to be unhappy at". Maybe it's my destiny to walk out of every job I start. I think one day, when I am old and gray, I will sit down somewhere and just forget to leave. That will be my career I guess.
Yeah, I am married. Don't wear a ring though. When your hands swell up two sizes bigger than they should be because you're stuck in the freezing bones ocean water for nearly 2 hours, well, wearing something that can cut off your finger seems kind of silly. I like to think that my commitment isn't something I have to show off to everyone. The wife doesn't mind either. She says women are more likely to hit on me with a ring on my finger rather than off it. Crazy huh? No, we don't have any kids. We both decided this world was not a place to be raising children. I can't say I agree with her, but I do enjoy the freedom most of the time.
We are living off of her dead father’s life insurance. Funny to think I used to hate those trust fund kids; growing up a poor one myself. She keeps herself busy otherwise we fight. That woman's mind is like a finely tuned engine: lots of parts moving and moving. Fast. If one of them slows down or starts working out of order the whole system crashes. Fast. I don't know what she is doing today. Could be at an art show or at an oil painting class. Could be skeet shooting for all I know. I like to live my own life and let her live hers. When we get home at night, we live our lives together. I think it keeps things fresh. Well, some people might disagree but it works for us fairly well.
I have traveled a bit in my time, yes. Texas? No. Haven't been there yet. I hear the old Alamo is haunted though. I would love to check that out some day. Closest I ever made it to Texas was New Orleans. Went there to visit an old girlfriend a long time ago. We didn't end up seeing each other on that trip but I still want to go back there some day. To smell the air in the French Quarter, not to see Her. Am I hungry? Sure am. No, I could eat anything right now. After spending 6 days lost in the desert with nothing for nourishment, besides fingernails and pepper spray, a person doesn't find too many things unappealing enough to not shove down their throat.
You know, I never thought I was allergic to pineapples but my throat is cinched up like a Bangkok hooker. Getting a killer headache too. You feel bad yourself? No? I remember contracting malaria once but this is much worse. Shit! I think somebody needs to call the doctor. My heart is beating right out of my chest! Hey! What are you doing with that camera? You think this is funny? Call the damned paramedics! Where are you going? Come back here and help me out. Help me!
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
June 2nds reposing corspe
"Zombies are the new ninjas that were the new pirates or some circle jerk theory thereunto. And the new pirates are friggin’ Somalian. What iconic historical cluster, dead or alive (or undead) would you like to see become the new zombie? Why?"
I would love to see ancient Egyptians become the new zombie. As a child I was fascinated by the Egyptians, their spiritual beliefs, the pharaohs and the complete mystery surrounding it all. I was able to see a shriveled Ramses II before he and his artifacts were shipped back to their sandy homes back east. I will never forget it. This museum tour was in 88 or 89. I have a strong feeling that the Egyptians were visited by extraterrestrial creatures (as well as other ancient civilizations) and can be directly connected to the Pyramids that were created. The Gods were wicked enough to cause nightmares. The Goddesses, alluring and ethereal, left me desiring something more than what was offered by my rural hometown settings of Middleburg Florida. I wanted to be mummified as a child. I imagined my brains being liquefied and drawn out my nose. Embalming fluids and gold. Plated hair and olive skin. Bad ass eyeliner. Yeah, that about covers it.
I would love to see ancient Egyptians become the new zombie. As a child I was fascinated by the Egyptians, their spiritual beliefs, the pharaohs and the complete mystery surrounding it all. I was able to see a shriveled Ramses II before he and his artifacts were shipped back to their sandy homes back east. I will never forget it. This museum tour was in 88 or 89. I have a strong feeling that the Egyptians were visited by extraterrestrial creatures (as well as other ancient civilizations) and can be directly connected to the Pyramids that were created. The Gods were wicked enough to cause nightmares. The Goddesses, alluring and ethereal, left me desiring something more than what was offered by my rural hometown settings of Middleburg Florida. I wanted to be mummified as a child. I imagined my brains being liquefied and drawn out my nose. Embalming fluids and gold. Plated hair and olive skin. Bad ass eyeliner. Yeah, that about covers it.
Monday, June 1, 2009
june mothrafunkin first
"Part 1: Set your writing intention for the month. Pick 3-5 words on what you want to get out of this, where you want to go with your writing, etc, and elaborate on them.
Part 2: Since our group is growing and we no longer all know each other, give us a little bio of your life as a writer."
part one: dedication. inspiration. laughter. perspective. a life outside of my head. I have nothing to give you in elaboration. Eee-lab-or-a-shun. I love writing and I adore writers. It's my pron in life. I plan to write more freely this time. Whatever happens happens. I hope that what unfolds in the next 30 is as pretty as a picnic on the moon.
part two: My intention is a mostly honest one. I still hope to finish one of these things entirely and eventually. I hope to be inspired by other writers {leech the dreams and creativity from their very souls} and maybe gain a smile or two while perusing the blogs posted within these might fine 30 Days of June. When it's all over and we are naked as babes, panting on the broken pinata covered floor and surrounded by dead people we don't know... I want to look up to sky come July 1st and say to myself in a tiny tiny whisper "You finally did it you old ass motherfucker, happy birthday to you."
and fireworks.
This is my June bio. Personality #46 please step down. What an ass he can be, right? and a writer? He most surely needs some help. Lets help him together.
Part 2: Since our group is growing and we no longer all know each other, give us a little bio of your life as a writer."
part one: dedication. inspiration. laughter. perspective. a life outside of my head. I have nothing to give you in elaboration. Eee-lab-or-a-shun. I love writing and I adore writers. It's my pron in life. I plan to write more freely this time. Whatever happens happens. I hope that what unfolds in the next 30 is as pretty as a picnic on the moon.
part two: My intention is a mostly honest one. I still hope to finish one of these things entirely and eventually. I hope to be inspired by other writers {leech the dreams and creativity from their very souls} and maybe gain a smile or two while perusing the blogs posted within these might fine 30 Days of June. When it's all over and we are naked as babes, panting on the broken pinata covered floor and surrounded by dead people we don't know... I want to look up to sky come July 1st and say to myself in a tiny tiny whisper "You finally did it you old ass motherfucker, happy birthday to you."
and fireworks.
This is my June bio. Personality #46 please step down. What an ass he can be, right? and a writer? He most surely needs some help. Lets help him together.
Friday, May 8, 2009
will finish soon!!
I know i disappeared after a decent run of this thing. just want you guys to know that I will be finishing up whats left soon. life became uber busy lately.
i look forward to reading everyone's work too, as soon as I finish reading Palahniuks Rant.
i hope.
i look forward to reading everyone's work too, as soon as I finish reading Palahniuks Rant.
i hope.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
myownwriting
"Today's assignment is a simple one. Go back and review your own writing. Have you developed a style? Choose 3 words that describe your writing style, providing at least one example from your posts for each word.Style, to a fiction writer, is basically the way you write, as opposed to what you write about (though the two things are definitely linked)."
This might be the hardest one of all. Do I have a style? I have been told that my writing is very "unique" and isn't like other writers. That may possibly be the equivalent of saying a persons newborn baby is "breathtaking". I am glad that I can be somewhat identified as a writer. God knows my art/hand side lacks a name or distinguishable face. I can't honestly tell you what my 3 words would be. I have failed this assignment. My mission is to write without fear or blocks or pride. I don't need to create over the top scenes or white knuckle suspense if it is real to me. I want to grab the reader by the heart (...hand, or hair) and give them the same sense I have felt from reading books all my life. It is so much more than a movie! This is a very personal experience that can't be compared to watching a film and because of that I feel that my writing must reach a person on some sub level, some sort of subconsciousness, that can only be found by leaving my pride at the door. I have always considered my writing to be a part of therapy, for myself and anyone else that can see through the bullshit. Identifiable as a style? I have no clue.
This might be the hardest one of all. Do I have a style? I have been told that my writing is very "unique" and isn't like other writers. That may possibly be the equivalent of saying a persons newborn baby is "breathtaking". I am glad that I can be somewhat identified as a writer. God knows my art/hand side lacks a name or distinguishable face. I can't honestly tell you what my 3 words would be. I have failed this assignment. My mission is to write without fear or blocks or pride. I don't need to create over the top scenes or white knuckle suspense if it is real to me. I want to grab the reader by the heart (...hand, or hair) and give them the same sense I have felt from reading books all my life. It is so much more than a movie! This is a very personal experience that can't be compared to watching a film and because of that I feel that my writing must reach a person on some sub level, some sort of subconsciousness, that can only be found by leaving my pride at the door. I have always considered my writing to be a part of therapy, for myself and anyone else that can see through the bullshit. Identifiable as a style? I have no clue.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Freebees number two
This is something I wrote a long time ago. I am cheating like a motherfucker and I feel the hard stares. I don't care this time. I am reposting this today not because I am lazy, but because I am looking for some kindling that might stoke my fire. As a writer I have found (mad/insane)inspiration from reading others work that influenced me and I am greatly inspired to write when my life is at its worst points. As silly as it sounds, I am a firm believer in synchronicity and a common consciousness. So I am throwing it out into the collective winds as it was thrown to me originally, in hopes to have it return to my dreams sooner than later. It is a selfish thing but a positive thing too.
C'est la vie.
Somewhere South of Real
by Joe Keller's organic being
Setting: A sometimes jarring yet comfortable train. The cabin is pitch black except for the warm golden lights that blur by the windows at random intervals. There are random images of past lives' visions playing on a small television screen that plays more static than the actual television show. These images are all fond memories connected to no particular person.
CHARACTERS
Little Boy
Mommy
Train Conductor
God
The Devil
LITTLE BOY
Mommy, I think I am sick and might need some medical attention.
The train loudspeaker crackles to life, blaring in perfect 8-bit quality, "Elf needs food badly"
MOMMY
I can't afford to take you anywhere. Get a job and make sure it has some good benefits---
TRAIN CONDUCTOR
(Voice Over through train speaker)
Please hide your cell phone and lock your doors. All sharp objects and cooking devices need to be detached from this ride as this train only makes one stop.
Sounds of breaking glass surround the interior car as large household items are tossed out the train's breaking windows. Knives, cords and cleaning supplies are being swept into the air from an unknown shadowy location and are thrust out into the night sky.
MOMMY
The stop you are making is not at the hospital or local jail. Get your life together young man and stop being such a wimp! I raised you to be better than that.
LITTLE BOY
O.K. I think I am doing better anyways. Besides, I have to go to the bathroom and will forget about being sick as soon as I stop staring at this purple screen in front of me.
TRAIN CONDUCTOR
(Voice Over through train speaker)
Next stop Hell. No reboarding passes will be accepted. Please remove all personal baggage from your compartment.
Viewing out the window of the speeding train, little boy looks up and sees Hell; demons are all red-skinned porn stars and the devil is George Lucas. They are all lounging on frothing orange clouds and discussing the war in Iraq over warm martinis. Everyone is beautiful and lavishly, if not scantily, clothed. Someone throws up in the background and the Devil quickly turns off the lights of Hell with a snap of his finger.
MOMMY
Told you you'd end up there if you kept up your evil blasphemous ways! Now be a man and face the consequences of your sinful life. I will be looking down from heaven praying for mercy on your charred and ruinous soul. She picks up a leash that is connected to gleaming silver cord pinched in-between the closed train doors.
Little boy looks out from a broken passenger window and sees Heaven below him. It is upside down as if looking into a puddle. God, a chrome-plated robot, blindly fires a large machine gun into the picturesque sky of blue and gold. The angels are Every Underprivileged Person In The World and their undersized dirty t-shirts say so. The angels are each leashed to a single bullet strung through Gods never-ending ammunition supply. When he fires a round, the angel attached violently explodes against an unseen wall somewhere in the distance. Their bloody remains congeal into shiny new bullets after sliding down the invisible wall to heavens ground. Through a speaker hanging askew from Gods mirror-shine mouth you hear broken laughter. The Angels shout praises to God while simultaneously securing their leashes.
LITTLE BOY
I am not even grown yet! I don't even know of a hell. How can I be responsible for my actions when I am just now figuring out what they can cause? I am already damned. Have I no choice in life? If I can do anything I put my mind to, why is my mind limited to only doing so much?
GOD
(Voice Over through train speaker)
Social order buddy, ha ha buzzzzzzzz.
TRAIN CONDUCTOR
The Train Conductor now stands beside open door at the rear of the train car. His speaking voice sounds as if it is still coming from the overhead speaker. Life isn't fair unless you are someone else and someone else you will never be. Now please, tuck and roll.
Little Boy is tossed out into the rushing winds and is carried like a feather into some unknown, invisible path. Lights fade to black while Nine Inch Nails: Head Like A Hole plays its entirety.
Based on SK's reaction to reading this, I felt there was a need to clarify the post. Upon rereading it, I realize I am unable to touch it. It's loosely written in the form of a playscript and it involves a mother and son on a train that travels through the cosmos, to Hell presumably. I was the Personal Home Stenographer on this one so I can't unravel it's mysteries either.
So much for a clarification huh?
C'est la vie.
Somewhere South of Real
by Joe Keller's organic being
Setting: A sometimes jarring yet comfortable train. The cabin is pitch black except for the warm golden lights that blur by the windows at random intervals. There are random images of past lives' visions playing on a small television screen that plays more static than the actual television show. These images are all fond memories connected to no particular person.
CHARACTERS
Little Boy
Mommy
Train Conductor
God
The Devil
LITTLE BOY
Mommy, I think I am sick and might need some medical attention.
The train loudspeaker crackles to life, blaring in perfect 8-bit quality, "Elf needs food badly"
MOMMY
I can't afford to take you anywhere. Get a job and make sure it has some good benefits---
TRAIN CONDUCTOR
(Voice Over through train speaker)
Please hide your cell phone and lock your doors. All sharp objects and cooking devices need to be detached from this ride as this train only makes one stop.
Sounds of breaking glass surround the interior car as large household items are tossed out the train's breaking windows. Knives, cords and cleaning supplies are being swept into the air from an unknown shadowy location and are thrust out into the night sky.
MOMMY
The stop you are making is not at the hospital or local jail. Get your life together young man and stop being such a wimp! I raised you to be better than that.
LITTLE BOY
O.K. I think I am doing better anyways. Besides, I have to go to the bathroom and will forget about being sick as soon as I stop staring at this purple screen in front of me.
TRAIN CONDUCTOR
(Voice Over through train speaker)
Next stop Hell. No reboarding passes will be accepted. Please remove all personal baggage from your compartment.
Viewing out the window of the speeding train, little boy looks up and sees Hell; demons are all red-skinned porn stars and the devil is George Lucas. They are all lounging on frothing orange clouds and discussing the war in Iraq over warm martinis. Everyone is beautiful and lavishly, if not scantily, clothed. Someone throws up in the background and the Devil quickly turns off the lights of Hell with a snap of his finger.
MOMMY
Told you you'd end up there if you kept up your evil blasphemous ways! Now be a man and face the consequences of your sinful life. I will be looking down from heaven praying for mercy on your charred and ruinous soul. She picks up a leash that is connected to gleaming silver cord pinched in-between the closed train doors.
Little boy looks out from a broken passenger window and sees Heaven below him. It is upside down as if looking into a puddle. God, a chrome-plated robot, blindly fires a large machine gun into the picturesque sky of blue and gold. The angels are Every Underprivileged Person In The World and their undersized dirty t-shirts say so. The angels are each leashed to a single bullet strung through Gods never-ending ammunition supply. When he fires a round, the angel attached violently explodes against an unseen wall somewhere in the distance. Their bloody remains congeal into shiny new bullets after sliding down the invisible wall to heavens ground. Through a speaker hanging askew from Gods mirror-shine mouth you hear broken laughter. The Angels shout praises to God while simultaneously securing their leashes.
LITTLE BOY
I am not even grown yet! I don't even know of a hell. How can I be responsible for my actions when I am just now figuring out what they can cause? I am already damned. Have I no choice in life? If I can do anything I put my mind to, why is my mind limited to only doing so much?
GOD
(Voice Over through train speaker)
Social order buddy, ha ha buzzzzzzzz.
TRAIN CONDUCTOR
The Train Conductor now stands beside open door at the rear of the train car. His speaking voice sounds as if it is still coming from the overhead speaker. Life isn't fair unless you are someone else and someone else you will never be. Now please, tuck and roll.
Little Boy is tossed out into the rushing winds and is carried like a feather into some unknown, invisible path. Lights fade to black while Nine Inch Nails: Head Like A Hole plays its entirety.
Based on SK's reaction to reading this, I felt there was a need to clarify the post. Upon rereading it, I realize I am unable to touch it. It's loosely written in the form of a playscript and it involves a mother and son on a train that travels through the cosmos, to Hell presumably. I was the Personal Home Stenographer on this one so I can't unravel it's mysteries either.
So much for a clarification huh?
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Earth becomes a shithole...
"One of my favorite books is T.C. Boyle's A Friend of the Earth, a story set in the future when the earth becomes a shithole and the only animals left are in private collections of former rock stars. Share with us your view on the Earth's future in as much detail as possible."
I have to apologize in advance for this one. It's negative and it's barely readable. Sometimes I just have to get it out there. Sans format, flow, structure or blah.
You've been living underground
Eating from a can
You've been running away
From what you don't understand...
The radio in my head tunes to this little ditty loud and clear as soon as someone mentions apocalyptic times, nuclear, global warming, the future. Or maybe it's due to all the Fallout 3 I have played in the last few months? Nah, that can't be it. I have always thought of that song in relation to our future. I see the future as a wasteland controlled and policed by large corporations. Tank Girl rings a bell. Demolition Man rings another, more distasteful, bell. I don't see the human race making things better. I am sorry to say it too. I don't enjoy spreading negativity. In our history, we have destroyed and divided and conquered. We as humans use knowledge as a device to gain more power. Being more powerful leads to more greed. Those in need fight for what they want and we have another war. Or two. Or an endless number. I don't believe violence solves anything. Any thing. And this is how we "resolve" our issues as a species. By fighting or stealing things from others in the name of whatever God you follow. On a cosmic scale we are simple, barbaric creatures. I can't imagine a world without mass conflict or a world that doesn't finds itself as the center of the universe.
Sheesh. My future is a shithole huh? -and I've already procreated. Looks like I filled the quota for things to perpetuate a dying earth and her death rattle. I do recycle however, so, there's that. I realize this post is going nowhere fast. I see it clearly. Thanks for wading through the muck and the mire with me.
And scene.
I have to apologize in advance for this one. It's negative and it's barely readable. Sometimes I just have to get it out there. Sans format, flow, structure or blah.
You've been living underground
Eating from a can
You've been running away
From what you don't understand...
The radio in my head tunes to this little ditty loud and clear as soon as someone mentions apocalyptic times, nuclear, global warming, the future. Or maybe it's due to all the Fallout 3 I have played in the last few months? Nah, that can't be it. I have always thought of that song in relation to our future. I see the future as a wasteland controlled and policed by large corporations. Tank Girl rings a bell. Demolition Man rings another, more distasteful, bell. I don't see the human race making things better. I am sorry to say it too. I don't enjoy spreading negativity. In our history, we have destroyed and divided and conquered. We as humans use knowledge as a device to gain more power. Being more powerful leads to more greed. Those in need fight for what they want and we have another war. Or two. Or an endless number. I don't believe violence solves anything. Any thing. And this is how we "resolve" our issues as a species. By fighting or stealing things from others in the name of whatever God you follow. On a cosmic scale we are simple, barbaric creatures. I can't imagine a world without mass conflict or a world that doesn't finds itself as the center of the universe.
Sheesh. My future is a shithole huh? -and I've already procreated. Looks like I filled the quota for things to perpetuate a dying earth and her death rattle. I do recycle however, so, there's that. I realize this post is going nowhere fast. I see it clearly. Thanks for wading through the muck and the mire with me.
And scene.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Craziest. Vacation. Ever.
"Write about your craziest vacation."
In the average year of Our Lord, nineteen hundred and ninety six, I went on a trip across the United States, or half way across if you want to be all google/maps about it. I had recently visited Austin and fell in love. Not a month later I had decided to move away from my entire family and lifetime worth of friends. To be here in this city that I still love and still reside in feels odd. I never expected to live in Texas. Then again, all the other redirected Austinite's most likely didn't predict to be here either. I do find myself wanting to leave but it is never for good. I haven't found an elsewhere that replaces home in the last 13 years. Austin is home for me. Sidetracked? I feel your pain.
So I went on the thousand mile plus trip with my then girlfriend (soon to be wife and eventual ex-wife), her brother and our two cats. With everything we owned hastily tucked into the miniature nooks and crannies of an old orange 1971 Volkswagen Beetle and faded blue 1982 Honda Civic Hatchback we trekked West. Our tiny, overloaded cars couldn't go over 60 mph without fear of expiration so the trip very quickly became the slowest drive in my 19 years of living. We were given a going away party by our friends the night before we planned to depart. I don't remember the specifics but lets just say the party was on a Friday night. The three of us had drunkenly packed and barely cleaned out the place we were leaving. We left that Saturday around noon which was for us, very early in the morning.
The trip started off well. Spirits were up and every highway mile checked off at a smooth 59 miles per hour. I had been given a "going away present" by a friend of ours and I was the only one who was aware of it for the first few hours of the trip. Before we hit the M.i.s.s.i.s.s.i.p.p.i. border, I told Emily that Justin had given us three hits of acid. Emily and I took two and attempted to see how long we could keep it from Ian. That plan of secrecy lasted around two hours.
Things started off fine and manageable. I blame it on the lack of sleep really, and not the drugs potency for the turn of events throughout the day/night. All three of us were well into the peaking stages and no one needed to ask if you were "feeling it yet". By the time we arrived in Baton Rouge Louisiana the effects of the LSD were staggering. Finding a place to eat became our mission though none of us were hungry. It just seemed to be the right thing to do. We found a truck stop that didn't look too menacing and decided to stop. I crawled out of the little VW to see that the cars once dry and rusted orange paint coat had turned into a live entity. Have you seen the horrible live action movie Spawn? Well it looked exactly like Spawns cape. The entire cars body was covered in a churning, mixing mass of wet red paint. I stared at this until someone (Emily I think) pulled me away in fear of being noticed by the Normal People. Ordering our food was challenging and resulted in whispers and mumbled one-liners for answers. We might as well had been intergalactic aliens trying to dine out for the first time since we crash landed on Earth. My gumbo might have been good though I wouldn't have known. The seafood was alive and teeming in the large white ceramic bowl of tomato-based red sea that was gumbo. I watched silent shrimp breach the surface, come up for air and gracefully dip below the surface. I eventually swallowed two spoonfuls of the stuff and thought it tasted good but wasn't hungry enough to continue.
The rest of the trip was full of continuing neurotic patterns. Emily mentioning that we had been driving uphill for the entire trip really set things off in a bad direction. It was maddening to only be going up. I remember desperately craving the feeling of descent; the sight of a hill, anything to break the monotony of the steady climb. During the night driving, the hallucinations really came alive. We all witnessed things in our vision that didn't exist. Shadow people constantly dodged between cars and ran along the sides of our two car caravan. Giant driver-less humming hoopties would float past us only to disappear in our headlights. Gods eyes were in my headlights. Enormous hands and spiders smashed down on the highways in front of us. Distant house fires and tornadoes were witnessed.
The things we saw on the 24 hour trip weren't due to our minds matrixing patterns in the hard to see night sky or any other kind of natural phenomena. It was, what I can say now with a lot of experience, pure LSD and Delirium; a combination that is more powerful that any hallucinatory drug mixture I had ever taken before or since that trip.
I remember kissing the ground when we finally made it into Austin. I remember feeling that we had been through hell and back. I remember crying and I remember saying that I was going to write about it all. I read Fear and Loathing a short time later and felt overshadowed. None the less, the trip was insane, self induced and no one was harmed. This was the craziest, best, worst trip I have ever taken.
In the average year of Our Lord, nineteen hundred and ninety six, I went on a trip across the United States, or half way across if you want to be all google/maps about it. I had recently visited Austin and fell in love. Not a month later I had decided to move away from my entire family and lifetime worth of friends. To be here in this city that I still love and still reside in feels odd. I never expected to live in Texas. Then again, all the other redirected Austinite's most likely didn't predict to be here either. I do find myself wanting to leave but it is never for good. I haven't found an elsewhere that replaces home in the last 13 years. Austin is home for me. Sidetracked? I feel your pain.
So I went on the thousand mile plus trip with my then girlfriend (soon to be wife and eventual ex-wife), her brother and our two cats. With everything we owned hastily tucked into the miniature nooks and crannies of an old orange 1971 Volkswagen Beetle and faded blue 1982 Honda Civic Hatchback we trekked West. Our tiny, overloaded cars couldn't go over 60 mph without fear of expiration so the trip very quickly became the slowest drive in my 19 years of living. We were given a going away party by our friends the night before we planned to depart. I don't remember the specifics but lets just say the party was on a Friday night. The three of us had drunkenly packed and barely cleaned out the place we were leaving. We left that Saturday around noon which was for us, very early in the morning.
The trip started off well. Spirits were up and every highway mile checked off at a smooth 59 miles per hour. I had been given a "going away present" by a friend of ours and I was the only one who was aware of it for the first few hours of the trip. Before we hit the M.i.s.s.i.s.s.i.p.p.i. border, I told Emily that Justin had given us three hits of acid. Emily and I took two and attempted to see how long we could keep it from Ian. That plan of secrecy lasted around two hours.
Things started off fine and manageable. I blame it on the lack of sleep really, and not the drugs potency for the turn of events throughout the day/night. All three of us were well into the peaking stages and no one needed to ask if you were "feeling it yet". By the time we arrived in Baton Rouge Louisiana the effects of the LSD were staggering. Finding a place to eat became our mission though none of us were hungry. It just seemed to be the right thing to do. We found a truck stop that didn't look too menacing and decided to stop. I crawled out of the little VW to see that the cars once dry and rusted orange paint coat had turned into a live entity. Have you seen the horrible live action movie Spawn? Well it looked exactly like Spawns cape. The entire cars body was covered in a churning, mixing mass of wet red paint. I stared at this until someone (Emily I think) pulled me away in fear of being noticed by the Normal People. Ordering our food was challenging and resulted in whispers and mumbled one-liners for answers. We might as well had been intergalactic aliens trying to dine out for the first time since we crash landed on Earth. My gumbo might have been good though I wouldn't have known. The seafood was alive and teeming in the large white ceramic bowl of tomato-based red sea that was gumbo. I watched silent shrimp breach the surface, come up for air and gracefully dip below the surface. I eventually swallowed two spoonfuls of the stuff and thought it tasted good but wasn't hungry enough to continue.
The rest of the trip was full of continuing neurotic patterns. Emily mentioning that we had been driving uphill for the entire trip really set things off in a bad direction. It was maddening to only be going up. I remember desperately craving the feeling of descent; the sight of a hill, anything to break the monotony of the steady climb. During the night driving, the hallucinations really came alive. We all witnessed things in our vision that didn't exist. Shadow people constantly dodged between cars and ran along the sides of our two car caravan. Giant driver-less humming hoopties would float past us only to disappear in our headlights. Gods eyes were in my headlights. Enormous hands and spiders smashed down on the highways in front of us. Distant house fires and tornadoes were witnessed.
The things we saw on the 24 hour trip weren't due to our minds matrixing patterns in the hard to see night sky or any other kind of natural phenomena. It was, what I can say now with a lot of experience, pure LSD and Delirium; a combination that is more powerful that any hallucinatory drug mixture I had ever taken before or since that trip.
I remember kissing the ground when we finally made it into Austin. I remember feeling that we had been through hell and back. I remember crying and I remember saying that I was going to write about it all. I read Fear and Loathing a short time later and felt overshadowed. None the less, the trip was insane, self induced and no one was harmed. This was the craziest, best, worst trip I have ever taken.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
My Fav sounds so negative. :D
"Write about your favorite place to be in the town where you live."
My favorite place to be in Austin is hard to pin point. I don't really go out much anymore. When I did go out, it was always to a random location. Where is the show? Where is the free beer? Where is the?
I think my favorite place is the Greenbelt. Not Zilker Park. The actual Greenbelt that doesn't include a few dozen screaming children, a few dozen dogs and beer chugging college douche bags and accompanying their Hulkamania tanned douche bag loving girlfriends. I recently went on a hike to the Sculpture Falls area off Loop 1 and 360. My most enjoyable times were when there was no one in my viewfinder, no loud shouts of "Motherfucker, Fuck! You fucking suck!" blasting by my daughters ears. When we were sort of lost, looking at rocks or caves, or scaring each other with "what-if" stories of our Greenbelt survival of tigers, zombies, werewolves, mass murders, those were my favorite moments. I love how you can step outside your front door and find something beautiful. I love the Austin Greenbelt.
My favorite place to be in Austin is hard to pin point. I don't really go out much anymore. When I did go out, it was always to a random location. Where is the show? Where is the free beer? Where is the
I think my favorite place is the Greenbelt. Not Zilker Park. The actual Greenbelt that doesn't include a few dozen screaming children, a few dozen dogs and beer chugging college douche bags and accompanying their Hulkamania tanned douche bag loving girlfriends. I recently went on a hike to the Sculpture Falls area off Loop 1 and 360. My most enjoyable times were when there was no one in my viewfinder, no loud shouts of "Motherfucker, Fuck! You fucking suck!" blasting by my daughters ears. When we were sort of lost, looking at rocks or caves, or scaring each other with "what-if" stories of our Greenbelt survival of tigers, zombies, werewolves, mass murders, those were my favorite moments. I love how you can step outside your front door and find something beautiful. I love the Austin Greenbelt.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Eew.
"So, apparently pirates are cool again. Not so much because people are still buying all the trendy crap that no one really needs or because they are hanging out more at 826 Valencia, but moreso because there are real fucking pirates out there, getting shot in the head by snipers. Geez. Write a pirate story. It can either be the swashbuckling type or something more modern and Somalian."
Um no. I don't find any interest in pirates. Absolutely no desire to write about or discuss pirates. I am going to not write about the subject topic today and this is very disappointing for me I might add.
I was watching the Discovery Channels story of the real Haunting in Connecticut last night. It was, from what I could tell, much better than the movie that is currently in theaters. Sure the acting was a joke and the storyline had more holes than a ghosts liver but it was way scarier. The demon looked like a rat person straight out of the Dark Tower. He didn't let me sleep at all last night. While we were watching the downloaded show on a laptop in my bed strange things started happening. The laptop shut off several times without warning. The cord showed "plugged in" but it wouldn't charge. Other errors appeared too and none of them had been seen before. The laptop thing was odd but didn't really do it for me. Sure, I was a little on edge from watching the show in a pitch dark room and the laptop going nuts only made it worse. The thing that got me up and flipping light switches was not electronic at all. My tiny bathroom has two switches; a light and a fan. The fan turned on by itself. I have experience true paranormal activity in the past too and I can't say this was anything like it. I can't explain what caused the fan to turn on but it was not a normal occurrence. I checked everything in my room and surrounding areas. Looking for what? I don't know.
Um no. I don't find any interest in pirates. Absolutely no desire to write about or discuss pirates. I am going to not write about the subject topic today and this is very disappointing for me I might add.
I was watching the Discovery Channels story of the real Haunting in Connecticut last night. It was, from what I could tell, much better than the movie that is currently in theaters. Sure the acting was a joke and the storyline had more holes than a ghosts liver but it was way scarier. The demon looked like a rat person straight out of the Dark Tower. He didn't let me sleep at all last night. While we were watching the downloaded show on a laptop in my bed strange things started happening. The laptop shut off several times without warning. The cord showed "plugged in" but it wouldn't charge. Other errors appeared too and none of them had been seen before. The laptop thing was odd but didn't really do it for me. Sure, I was a little on edge from watching the show in a pitch dark room and the laptop going nuts only made it worse. The thing that got me up and flipping light switches was not electronic at all. My tiny bathroom has two switches; a light and a fan. The fan turned on by itself. I have experience true paranormal activity in the past too and I can't say this was anything like it. I can't explain what caused the fan to turn on but it was not a normal occurrence. I checked everything in my room and surrounding areas. Looking for what? I don't know.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
taxes and stuff
"To celebrate the day after tax day, write about something that we all fantasize about: what you would do if you won $8 million in the lottery. Don't forget to factor in taxes!"
"You know, walk the earth, meet people... get into adventures. Like Caine from Kung Fu."
That line about sums it up for me. I would go where ever I like. I would travel so extensively that I would either have to stop from old age or eventual boredom. My goal in life is to do exactly that. I mean, some of us live on this huge and amazing planet and never leave the state we were born in. I am in love with the human spirit and our history throughout the world. I want to experience it all first hand. Galapagos, Egypt, Greek islands, Spain, Maine and everything in between. I would own a plane and a boat and any equipment required to visit anywhere I wanted. I would also be taking friends and family with me. This is my fantasy.
"You know, walk the earth, meet people... get into adventures. Like Caine from Kung Fu."
That line about sums it up for me. I would go where ever I like. I would travel so extensively that I would either have to stop from old age or eventual boredom. My goal in life is to do exactly that. I mean, some of us live on this huge and amazing planet and never leave the state we were born in. I am in love with the human spirit and our history throughout the world. I want to experience it all first hand. Galapagos, Egypt, Greek islands, Spain, Maine and everything in between. I would own a plane and a boat and any equipment required to visit anywhere I wanted. I would also be taking friends and family with me. This is my fantasy.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
deadliest warriors aka ADHD vs ADD
"So there's this new show on Spike called "Deadliest Warrior" that should be, well, fucking awesome. I have the first 2 episodes on my DVR, but haven't watched them yet. Basically, they film reinactions of the possibility of the coolest battles that you can possibly imagine in a beer-induced haze. Episode 1 was Gladiator vs Apache and Episode 2 was Viking vs Samurai. So, before the rest of the season rolls out, create your own Deadliest Warrior matchup and have them throwdown."
Deadliest Warrior Matchup. Shibby. I don't watch UFC or MMA or even amateur oil wrestling. Besides, are you serious Spike TV? Viking versus Samurai? Be for real. I should had known your judgment was off-kilter when I saw that (supposedly sexy) bleach-blond chicken-bone of a girl you had reporting live from Beauty Bar last year. Karen Carpenter was so last season. Be. For. Real. Okay, it's unfair to you guys. I am just stalling as I have no idea what to write.
Chicken bones and homing missiles. Silos, Afros and wooden whistles. Missing children and bloody thistles. This is how my mind works when I can't produce something tangible; manageable. A series of images that play through the scene: enter stage left, exit stage right. Some images have a few lines of monologue to spout while others have none at all. A simple gesture is all it takes for the more vivid ones. I don't claim to understand it but I appreciate it. I prefer my thoughts in visual format. I went to see The Octopus Project's visual show at the Alamo Ritz on February 25th and saw the most amazing animated short film. It was simply named Rabbit and it was created by Run Wrake. If you haven't yet seen this film, go online and watch it please. Innovative, simple and brutally honest. You wont have the amazing sounds of The Octopus Project to accompany the film as I did, but you can still appreciate its sheer brilliance.
With everything having a label in this world, and I mean everything, the film had me thinking of the nature of greed and labels. Manifest Destiny & the Louisiana Purchase. The Great G.I. Joe exchange of 1987. To what cost do you get what you want? I don't like wanting things or having the feeling of needing them but I do nothing to change it. I am part of the problem and the solution. What game am I playing?
Deadliest Warrior Matchup. Shibby. I don't watch UFC or MMA or even amateur oil wrestling. Besides, are you serious Spike TV? Viking versus Samurai? Be for real. I should had known your judgment was off-kilter when I saw that (supposedly sexy) bleach-blond chicken-bone of a girl you had reporting live from Beauty Bar last year. Karen Carpenter was so last season. Be. For. Real. Okay, it's unfair to you guys. I am just stalling as I have no idea what to write.
Chicken bones and homing missiles. Silos, Afros and wooden whistles. Missing children and bloody thistles. This is how my mind works when I can't produce something tangible; manageable. A series of images that play through the scene: enter stage left, exit stage right. Some images have a few lines of monologue to spout while others have none at all. A simple gesture is all it takes for the more vivid ones. I don't claim to understand it but I appreciate it. I prefer my thoughts in visual format. I went to see The Octopus Project's visual show at the Alamo Ritz on February 25th and saw the most amazing animated short film. It was simply named Rabbit and it was created by Run Wrake. If you haven't yet seen this film, go online and watch it please. Innovative, simple and brutally honest. You wont have the amazing sounds of The Octopus Project to accompany the film as I did, but you can still appreciate its sheer brilliance.
With everything having a label in this world, and I mean everything, the film had me thinking of the nature of greed and labels. Manifest Destiny & the Louisiana Purchase. The Great G.I. Joe exchange of 1987. To what cost do you get what you want? I don't like wanting things or having the feeling of needing them but I do nothing to change it. I am part of the problem and the solution. What game am I playing?
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
it's always sunny in 30daysofwrite
"(this is a bit of a regurgitated version of what came out of a previous topic, and I loved what came out of it so much I had to do it again) Create a conversation between two unlikely characters. At an Italian restaurant. And then Danny Devito walks by."
"This is not me. I have no clue where this picture came from or who this person is. How about you go back in the room with your boys and try and come up with something more believable?" He was not taking the fall for some stupid fucks mistake. Not this time. He had spent his early years in San Quentin after being caught up in a Federal sting that involved the Clown. He never sung, no matter how many offers they threw at him through his cell bars. No amount of burger could turn him into a filthy snitch.
"Time's up asshole. You are the only one left who hasn't talked. Your buddies... the guys that had your back and all, well, they sold you out as soon as their puckered asses hit the same metal folding chair your ass is in now. I assure you, you will fold too." The detective was a tough guy. He had seen men much harder than him break down and cry like newborn babes with a diaper rash. "I will be back in fifteen minutes and I expect you to sing. Hows about you put on a wig and dress for me? Do a little Britney for us? I hear she's comin' back." The detective signaled the cop monitoring the interrogation room through the paneled mirrored glass. The heavy iron door buzzed, electronically unlocked and swung open. He slammed it behind him without looking back.
The ex-con only sat there staring at the picture that was shoved across the table. From this angle the man in the picture looked so familiar. He couldn't place him. Where had he seen this piece of shit before? Was it at another job? At the massage parlor? He had to find out before this ballsack of a pig fucked him into a confession.
Exactly five minutes passed when the door buzzed, unlocked and swung open again. This time it was his good for nothing vampire of a lawyer. She looked at him with eyes that screamed 40 percent. What the fuck did she know? Why the fuck is she smiling like a retard?
"You are free." She spoke with such confidence. She was quite an attractive bird when she wasn't wiping the sweat from her forehead. "They caught their man trying to escape into the sewers early this morning. He was positively identified as a Mr. Danny Devito. I have already filled out the paperwork for your release. That Detective Scrotes, he has a listening problem for sure, but he won't be giving you any more trouble either. Hamburglar, you are a free man!"
He should have slapped her for stalling so long. He was left thinking he would rot in the slammer for good this time. But he didn't hit her this time. He grabbed Miss Birdie E. Bird and kissed her deeply. Now he only had to find that fat fuck Grimace and make some grape jelly out of his ass. The Clown had set him up again.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YoUl-VEGEYM
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/McDonaldland
"This is not me. I have no clue where this picture came from or who this person is. How about you go back in the room with your boys and try and come up with something more believable?" He was not taking the fall for some stupid fucks mistake. Not this time. He had spent his early years in San Quentin after being caught up in a Federal sting that involved the Clown. He never sung, no matter how many offers they threw at him through his cell bars. No amount of burger could turn him into a filthy snitch.
"Time's up asshole. You are the only one left who hasn't talked. Your buddies... the guys that had your back and all, well, they sold you out as soon as their puckered asses hit the same metal folding chair your ass is in now. I assure you, you will fold too." The detective was a tough guy. He had seen men much harder than him break down and cry like newborn babes with a diaper rash. "I will be back in fifteen minutes and I expect you to sing. Hows about you put on a wig and dress for me? Do a little Britney for us? I hear she's comin' back." The detective signaled the cop monitoring the interrogation room through the paneled mirrored glass. The heavy iron door buzzed, electronically unlocked and swung open. He slammed it behind him without looking back.
The ex-con only sat there staring at the picture that was shoved across the table. From this angle the man in the picture looked so familiar. He couldn't place him. Where had he seen this piece of shit before? Was it at another job? At the massage parlor? He had to find out before this ballsack of a pig fucked him into a confession.
Exactly five minutes passed when the door buzzed, unlocked and swung open again. This time it was his good for nothing vampire of a lawyer. She looked at him with eyes that screamed 40 percent. What the fuck did she know? Why the fuck is she smiling like a retard?
"You are free." She spoke with such confidence. She was quite an attractive bird when she wasn't wiping the sweat from her forehead. "They caught their man trying to escape into the sewers early this morning. He was positively identified as a Mr. Danny Devito. I have already filled out the paperwork for your release. That Detective Scrotes, he has a listening problem for sure, but he won't be giving you any more trouble either. Hamburglar, you are a free man!"
He should have slapped her for stalling so long. He was left thinking he would rot in the slammer for good this time. But he didn't hit her this time. He grabbed Miss Birdie E. Bird and kissed her deeply. Now he only had to find that fat fuck Grimace and make some grape jelly out of his ass. The Clown had set him up again.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YoUl-VEGEYM
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/McDonaldland
Monday, April 13, 2009
Freebees
"Uh, it's Monday. Yay. Since we are almost at the halfway point, I wanted to give everyone a little bit of catch-up time, so today is a free day. You write about whatever the hell you want to write about and post it."
I, I, I, I wanna write right now. I'm JBee and I came to get down. I'm not internationally known, but I'm known to rock the microphone. I obviously have nothing to write about today. I had an interview earlier. I kicked ass but surely had to pay the price for my awesomeness. I was nervous since Tuesdays email advising me of my impending interview time. Last night I didn't sleep a wink. Well, I did sleep at least a couple winks.
I knew it was a dream to begin with. The house was oddly shaped. The kitchen was a long skinny rectangle of a room with only about 3 feet of space to walk through. All the appliances were lined up along the length of the wall and the other side was nothing but tall windows. It was all brown and tans too. Gross. My brother and sister where standing there explaining a very detailed situation to me, or trying to explain it. It was reminiscent of being super high on Acapulco Gold with those fools and having very lengthy conversations in the kitchen. They were just a little too happy. They looked just a little off.
So Josh, my brother, says that he accidentally traveled to another dimension or something. I love these conversations so I oblige by giving him my full (though foggy & dreamlike) attention. I remember this happening as a visual queue, as he became clearer and more defined. He explained that the dishwasher must have been the location of a warp or wormhole or something. He simply bent over to put a dish into the holder and he was transported to a parallel universe. I laughed. They didn't. So I mocked him by waddling over to the sink and picking up a spoon. I walked back to the open dishwasher and leaned towards the round sprinkler section in the middle with the spoon in hand. I saw the round cylinder stretch and pull towards me. With a snap of circular white light that expanded towards me and outside my peripheral vision I was instantly looking up at my Josh and Amanda from the floor of the kitchen.
I felt this very unique sensation in my head as soon as I saw my siblings looking down on me. It felt like a quick pressure and then release of a small section of my actual brain. It didn't hurt but it did feel a little cold. The feeling began slowly dissipating as soon as it arrived and took no more than a handful of seconds to disappear completely. It was in the top left center area, and after looking at medical diagrams, I would say it was in the primary somatic sensory cortex/motor cortex region. Looking back with this new found knowledge of the brain makes the dream and odd sensation even creepier and surreal. The primary somatic sensory cortex receives information from skin receptors and distinguishes different types of sensations. The motor cortex sends instructions to muscles to cause voluntary movements. A-fucking-mazing.
I didn't get a chance to speak to them as they were both too excited and simultaneously explaining to me that it had worked, and I was in another dimension. I was a little shook up by the barrage of information too. I was thinking, "If I actually did end up in a parallel universe I need to go back right away!" I bent down instantly and the same thing happened again. Stretch of vision, circular white light and the odd feeling in my brain. I didn't wake up on the floor this time though. The feeling disappeared a little sooner too. I was standing in the same spot as when the dream first began, which was sort of leaning on a window, facing the dishwasher and standing as the third point of a perfect triangle between Josh and Amanda. They were surprised to see me. They explained that when I bent over I simply vanished. When Josh had claimed to do it the first time, there were no witnesses. They couldn't believe what had happened. I told them in as much detail as I could what had happened and that I did not think that it was a good idea to do it again. Josh tried but it didn't seem to work for him any longer.
I felt nervous and anxious watching my brother try to repeat the process over and over so I yelled at him. I became really angry. I told him that he shouldn't try. What would happen if he went there and couldn't return? What if he went somewhere entirely different and couldn't return? The whole idea freaked me out. I attempted to grab his arm and turn him away from the dishwasher. I went through again. I was once again on the floor in the kitchen. I continued the process of going back and forth several times while trying to prevent my brother from purposely doing what I had done several times now by mistake. I went through this pattern so many times that I realized I didn't feel the brain thing any longer when I entered the "other" world. So I had no clue which world was my original. This thought freaked me out so badly that I started hyperventilating. This is how I woke up. Scared and amazed. Perplexed and breathless.
I, I, I, I wanna write right now. I'm JBee and I came to get down. I'm not internationally known, but I'm known to rock the microphone. I obviously have nothing to write about today. I had an interview earlier. I kicked ass but surely had to pay the price for my awesomeness. I was nervous since Tuesdays email advising me of my impending interview time. Last night I didn't sleep a wink. Well, I did sleep at least a couple winks.
I knew it was a dream to begin with. The house was oddly shaped. The kitchen was a long skinny rectangle of a room with only about 3 feet of space to walk through. All the appliances were lined up along the length of the wall and the other side was nothing but tall windows. It was all brown and tans too. Gross. My brother and sister where standing there explaining a very detailed situation to me, or trying to explain it. It was reminiscent of being super high on Acapulco Gold with those fools and having very lengthy conversations in the kitchen. They were just a little too happy. They looked just a little off.
So Josh, my brother, says that he accidentally traveled to another dimension or something. I love these conversations so I oblige by giving him my full (though foggy & dreamlike) attention. I remember this happening as a visual queue, as he became clearer and more defined. He explained that the dishwasher must have been the location of a warp or wormhole or something. He simply bent over to put a dish into the holder and he was transported to a parallel universe. I laughed. They didn't. So I mocked him by waddling over to the sink and picking up a spoon. I walked back to the open dishwasher and leaned towards the round sprinkler section in the middle with the spoon in hand. I saw the round cylinder stretch and pull towards me. With a snap of circular white light that expanded towards me and outside my peripheral vision I was instantly looking up at my Josh and Amanda from the floor of the kitchen.
I felt this very unique sensation in my head as soon as I saw my siblings looking down on me. It felt like a quick pressure and then release of a small section of my actual brain. It didn't hurt but it did feel a little cold. The feeling began slowly dissipating as soon as it arrived and took no more than a handful of seconds to disappear completely. It was in the top left center area, and after looking at medical diagrams, I would say it was in the primary somatic sensory cortex/motor cortex region. Looking back with this new found knowledge of the brain makes the dream and odd sensation even creepier and surreal. The primary somatic sensory cortex receives information from skin receptors and distinguishes different types of sensations. The motor cortex sends instructions to muscles to cause voluntary movements. A-fucking-mazing.
I didn't get a chance to speak to them as they were both too excited and simultaneously explaining to me that it had worked, and I was in another dimension. I was a little shook up by the barrage of information too. I was thinking, "If I actually did end up in a parallel universe I need to go back right away!" I bent down instantly and the same thing happened again. Stretch of vision, circular white light and the odd feeling in my brain. I didn't wake up on the floor this time though. The feeling disappeared a little sooner too. I was standing in the same spot as when the dream first began, which was sort of leaning on a window, facing the dishwasher and standing as the third point of a perfect triangle between Josh and Amanda. They were surprised to see me. They explained that when I bent over I simply vanished. When Josh had claimed to do it the first time, there were no witnesses. They couldn't believe what had happened. I told them in as much detail as I could what had happened and that I did not think that it was a good idea to do it again. Josh tried but it didn't seem to work for him any longer.
I felt nervous and anxious watching my brother try to repeat the process over and over so I yelled at him. I became really angry. I told him that he shouldn't try. What would happen if he went there and couldn't return? What if he went somewhere entirely different and couldn't return? The whole idea freaked me out. I attempted to grab his arm and turn him away from the dishwasher. I went through again. I was once again on the floor in the kitchen. I continued the process of going back and forth several times while trying to prevent my brother from purposely doing what I had done several times now by mistake. I went through this pattern so many times that I realized I didn't feel the brain thing any longer when I entered the "other" world. So I had no clue which world was my original. This thought freaked me out so badly that I started hyperventilating. This is how I woke up. Scared and amazed. Perplexed and breathless.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
bedlam
"For many of us, our bed is our sanctuary. Most of the time, we don't get to spend nearly as much time there as we would like. Describe your bed and what it is like when you either go to bed or wake up, or both."
I can tell that this post will be short. Strange too, considering how much of a fan I am of sleeping. My bed is an average sort of bed. It's pillow stuffed and squishy enough to make me happy. I have noticed lately that the middle is starting to sink in a little however. Sleeping alone for as long as I did will definitely produce that effect sooner than later. Jumping on the bed doesn't help much either. I am kind of over my bed these days. I used to love her, now I am looking at other women out there. Ooh, she has nice fluffy pillows doesn't she? I wonder what kind of discount I can get on her? Yeah, I am considering a new bed relationship sooner than later. I want to fall in love again.
I can tell that this post will be short. Strange too, considering how much of a fan I am of sleeping. My bed is an average sort of bed. It's pillow stuffed and squishy enough to make me happy. I have noticed lately that the middle is starting to sink in a little however. Sleeping alone for as long as I did will definitely produce that effect sooner than later. Jumping on the bed doesn't help much either. I am kind of over my bed these days. I used to love her, now I am looking at other women out there. Ooh, she has nice fluffy pillows doesn't she? I wonder what kind of discount I can get on her? Yeah, I am considering a new bed relationship sooner than later. I want to fall in love again.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Made in Thailand
He was one of thousands, hell, possibly millions, depending on the numbers from last year’s fiscal bonus. He knew he was a copy of a copy of a copy. The only physical differences between himself and all the rest of his brothers were minuscule at most. A real imperfection could not escape the scrutiny of the Quality Assurance Officers (all eight of them) and would end up in the recycle bin anyway. The QAO were the only employees to be freshly and systematically rotated out after a 4 hour shift. They all looked the same too. White jump suit, check. Black shiny hair, check. Safety goggles, check. The guys who didn’t make it past first inspections; the recycled, the aborted attempts, the losers, they were eventually pooped out in the same fashion as the rest of us. Only we knew the difference. The plastic was a bit overheated during the remolding process and caused the skin to be harder and brittle. The layers of skin colored paint were also thicker and of a darker tone. You could always find fights breaking out between the Perfect and the Imperfect. The titles varied depending on the gang but the underlying hatred and segregation of first born and second (or whatever number of tries it took before they passed inspection) always remained at the core of the brothers’ animosity.
And fighting was exactly what he was made for. The online gaming phenomenon of the 21st century accumulated billions of dollars in surplus funds dedicated to the research and technological advancement of games and electronic entertainment. Add this vortex of corporate interest to the deregulation of cloning human beings and you find yourself in his lifetime. 2186. The Age of Electronic Entertainment. The year of 86EE was exactly like the year before it. 87EE will be exactly the same. The humans lived above us in the clouds. We didn’t understand how they lived there and most of us didn’t care. We were born to fight and survive. Nothing more. There were endless numbers of factions and guilds, armies and alliances. Depending on the factory you were born in, you could be a wizard or a sniper or a thief. The game fields were separated by massive electric walls. A less popular game might be the size of your neighborhood while another might be as large as a continent. The games came and left too. The scenery changed. The outfits and weapons were updated and replaced as easily as one might replace the double AAs in their dildos. Final Fight had been the only game in history to not be replaced since its inception in 2086.
The games playing field was originally a modest 200 square mile plot of land west of Egypt. Since the release of nuclear weaponry, Final Fights borders extent to the entire continent of Africa, with plans to include the coveted Middle East within the next decade. Final Fights major success and worldwide popularity were based on change itself. The game was open ended. While most game creators tried to create their own idea of a story, it never lasted as long as they expected. Final Fights creators added situations for players to deal with. For example, your team may be in the jungle fighting through an ancient temples labyrinth when all of the sudden an earthquake splits the ground from beneath and you are now accepting the help of your recent enemy to survive an onslaught of subterranean beasts. That was a one of countless changes FF saw throughout its lifetime. Companies also tried to emulate FF though they never lasted very long. The newest upgrade was going to drop today. The one hundredth year of Final Fight. The guys all had theories of what would be released and rumors spread like wild fire. The truth was that no one knew what was going to be released.
The one concrete truth they had was that a new factory had been assembled some time last year in some part of Asia. This kernel of vague intelligence didn’t help them understand or prepare for the anniversary release. New factories were being assembled all over the world all the time. What’s another one? He didn’t care at least. His day started the same as always. He woke to the sound of bombs and the vibration of this bedrails. He suited up with the same armor he had worn for the last twenty years. He left his underground home and headed to the battle grounds for briefing. The day played out like all the rest. A few minor twists to the standard siege and conquer were found lying in the shadows of the early hours of day. His watch showed it was 11:00am, a standard cease fire for all games north of the Tropic of Cancer. He gathered his equipment and headed to his favored place to have lunch which was a remote cliff bordering the south side of his home town. With the cliff in sight he placed his equipment at the base of the steadily inclining hill. As he began the short trek he heard thunder crack and roll slowly across the sky. Several dark, tube-shaped shuttles emerged from the clouds and planted themselves into the earth with a loud crash. He turned to sprint back downhill for his gear but a tube violently landed directly in between him and his guns. He dove off the cliff to the rocks below, only a short distance from the smoking crater that contained who knows what. He flanked the hole to find his equipment destroyed and half sunk into the ground. The shuttles flight rudder must have snagged his satchels strap when it dug its way in to the soft sand. The soldier grabbed a sharp rock the size of his fist and carefully approached the damaged shuttle. The entire 12 foot metal tube hissed from the heat discharged during descent. The transports design was to split open upon impact and release its contents after an initial cool down period. This tube seemed to have malfunctioned some time before impact. One half of the shell was lying on the ground in front of the crater, separated from its canopy. He peered into the cargo hold and saw a figure lying with its head buried in the wreckage and its feet bent up towards him. It was a smaller body than he was accustomed to seeing but that was not what had him paralyzed and open mouthed.
The body belonged to a female. His entire earth was covered with men and boys. There were stories of women and battles fought over statues of women. There were even rare trophies given out that resembled the likeliness of the female figure though that was the extent of their knowledge when it came to women. He noticed that she wore the same armor as he did and the same combat boots. The only difference was that on the sole of her right boot it read “Made In Thailand”.
Friday, April 10, 2009
I am guilty as charged.
“What is your biggest guilty pleasure? Write a defensive/persuasive essay and try to convince us its awesomeness.”
I absolutely love lying to strangers. It is my Prozac. It is my cosmic balance. While at work (which I recently calculated to be more time than I spend at home) I speak to assholes throughout my ten hour day. These attitudes are atrocious; things even Jesus Christ would shoot right in the fucking face. Having a steady source of income is important to me too, so I deal with them. An abundance of patience and a refillable Fuckitall prescription is required to do it for as long as I have. When it gets really bad, a spare liver doesn’t hurt to have stored away either. To combat the effects of continuously stressful situations and an endless stream of negativity I find it very useful to spread a bit of disinformation. John Q. Public, I am the social ninja. I am the urine content found in your split pea soup.
I don’t cause car wrecks or house fires or divorce or male pattern baldness. I simply lie to strangers. It doesn’t matter what the lie is as long as it is a lie. Some of them can cause pain but most are just for my own pleasure. This habit started a while back when I worked at the 7-Eleven on 10th and Lamar. That store remains busy at all times and the customer type varied greatly. The only things between each person that didn’t change were the impatience and pretentiousness. I would be asked for directions to any number of locations, in and outside of Austin, all day long. I started giving those customers the wrong directions. If they wanted to know how to get to the Rio Grande campus (which was 2 blocks north and two blocks east from that store) I would tell them to head down south Lamar until they connected with 71 and take a right, you can’t miss it. This was an asshole move, I know. Have you ever gotten bad directions? You end up nowhere near the place you were headed and you never stop to think that the direction giver could have been giving you false information purposely. You chalk it up to stupidity. Well I don’t.
The 7-Eleven incidents were real mean. Hate me all you want. On the flip side, gas was only a dollar twenty three a gallon then and the drivers learned a little more of our beautiful city, or surrounding cities if I was lucky enough that day. These days I stick to the more neutral lies. I actually do follow some sordid path of twisted Karma. Time or date inquiries get adjusted by an hour or day depending on a couple factors: the person asking and my Internal Dickhead Gauge response tell me what the appropriate answer is. What is your name? Roberto. Skeelo. Jorge. Chacho. Whatever. It all ends the same: me smiling my tight-lipped white guy smile and walking away happy.
I absolutely love lying to strangers. It is my Prozac. It is my cosmic balance. While at work (which I recently calculated to be more time than I spend at home) I speak to assholes throughout my ten hour day. These attitudes are atrocious; things even Jesus Christ would shoot right in the fucking face. Having a steady source of income is important to me too, so I deal with them. An abundance of patience and a refillable Fuckitall prescription is required to do it for as long as I have. When it gets really bad, a spare liver doesn’t hurt to have stored away either. To combat the effects of continuously stressful situations and an endless stream of negativity I find it very useful to spread a bit of disinformation. John Q. Public, I am the social ninja. I am the urine content found in your split pea soup.
I don’t cause car wrecks or house fires or divorce or male pattern baldness. I simply lie to strangers. It doesn’t matter what the lie is as long as it is a lie. Some of them can cause pain but most are just for my own pleasure. This habit started a while back when I worked at the 7-Eleven on 10th and Lamar. That store remains busy at all times and the customer type varied greatly. The only things between each person that didn’t change were the impatience and pretentiousness. I would be asked for directions to any number of locations, in and outside of Austin, all day long. I started giving those customers the wrong directions. If they wanted to know how to get to the Rio Grande campus (which was 2 blocks north and two blocks east from that store) I would tell them to head down south Lamar until they connected with 71 and take a right, you can’t miss it. This was an asshole move, I know. Have you ever gotten bad directions? You end up nowhere near the place you were headed and you never stop to think that the direction giver could have been giving you false information purposely. You chalk it up to stupidity. Well I don’t.
The 7-Eleven incidents were real mean. Hate me all you want. On the flip side, gas was only a dollar twenty three a gallon then and the drivers learned a little more of our beautiful city, or surrounding cities if I was lucky enough that day. These days I stick to the more neutral lies. I actually do follow some sordid path of twisted Karma. Time or date inquiries get adjusted by an hour or day depending on a couple factors: the person asking and my Internal Dickhead Gauge response tell me what the appropriate answer is. What is your name? Roberto. Skeelo. Jorge. Chacho. Whatever. It all ends the same: me smiling my tight-lipped white guy smile and walking away happy.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
loling Sci-Fi
Write a brief conversation between scifi characters with at least 2 curse words that you make up.
Gea're responded with underlying tones of impatience, "A little care is all I ask for. I don't expect you to spend all night down there scouring quadrants 3 through 5. If we keep leaving our supplies at sub level those savages are going to eventually learn how to use them against us."
All he had to do was nod his head and agree with his commanding officer. A feeling in his gut that had been growing since the first incident wouldn't allow him to stay quiet this time. Gea're knew the feeling as well but wasn't about to start any fires this late into night shift.
"You and I both know it's not the Tridytes we should be concerned with. They have lived down there for thousands of years and not once have they shown any signs of complex thought. Beyond ripping a man from limb to limb and destroying anything we build, they are clueless loling beasts!" Britesh Nieght turned to stare down the endless transporter shaft. He counted down to seventeen light stations before they completely muddled out in the fog. This conversation was bound to happen though he always envisioned it playing out in front of a panel of officers while he was bound and secured in a stasis lock. "Commander, please hear me out. When Officer Puuma was murdered, there were no Tridytes. They had not yet broken through the containment bays. The breach of containment bay 4 didn't occur until a week after investigations wrapped up their case."
The two officers had never had an open disagreement in the six years of working together. Battleready was different. Everyone ends up in a fight at some point during their torturous four years of Battle school. With the possibility of nanotechs in use, even on a level this desolate, the Commanding Officer could not let this outburts go without notice.
"You are aware of the investigation and results of information collected regarding Puumas death. You signed your name to the document accounting for the damage found at C4 to be the work of Tridytes. You were one of the first crew members to find the damaged bays. You were only one of six officers to return from that bloodbath."
He impatiently remarked, "Please don't remind me. I am fully aware of what went happened that night."
Gea're noticed enforcement drones headed their way, descending from the mess hall three floors up. She must speak quickly. "Now you claim that someone else is to blame for the destruction of the sub level? Do you have any evidence to back up this accusation? Do you realize what kind of loling mess you will have started if anyone besides my loling self hears of this? You have no clue."
The drones only descended to level ten. They silently floated in pairs, inspecting locks on weapons cache doors. The rust created from the rising levels of toxic fog had compromised the electronic locks on all the lower floors. This constant check and balance was said to be a precautionary measure.
Nieght knew he had gone to far to take it back. If there was anyone he could trust in this whole city it was LA Gea're. They grew up together for lols sake. Still looking over the edge of the transporter shaft, he realized too late that there was no one to trust down here. Things changed a person after being in the dark for this many years. Nieght turned to his Commanding Officer in time to see her releasing a pulse whip towards his legs. He jumped to dodge the burn of the electric lasso but Gea're landed a spinning left kick to his chest. He found himself out of breath and falling past the rail he was holding. His suits thrusters wouldn't save him this time. They were dead and ready for recharge and hour before he even left sub level 9. He turned to grab the extension ladder that hung from the transporter cabin and missed. He counted the seventeen light shafts as he descended to the sub level floor. Once he passed the seventeenth shaft everything was surrounded in darkness. He could see nothing. The cries of the Tridytes were growing louder below him. Nothing in Battleready had prepared him for this. Britesh Nieght extended his pistol and connected the light scope.
"Lol" He whispered as he disappeared into fog completely.
Gea're responded with underlying tones of impatience, "A little care is all I ask for. I don't expect you to spend all night down there scouring quadrants 3 through 5. If we keep leaving our supplies at sub level those savages are going to eventually learn how to use them against us."
All he had to do was nod his head and agree with his commanding officer. A feeling in his gut that had been growing since the first incident wouldn't allow him to stay quiet this time. Gea're knew the feeling as well but wasn't about to start any fires this late into night shift.
"You and I both know it's not the Tridytes we should be concerned with. They have lived down there for thousands of years and not once have they shown any signs of complex thought. Beyond ripping a man from limb to limb and destroying anything we build, they are clueless loling beasts!" Britesh Nieght turned to stare down the endless transporter shaft. He counted down to seventeen light stations before they completely muddled out in the fog. This conversation was bound to happen though he always envisioned it playing out in front of a panel of officers while he was bound and secured in a stasis lock. "Commander, please hear me out. When Officer Puuma was murdered, there were no Tridytes. They had not yet broken through the containment bays. The breach of containment bay 4 didn't occur until a week after investigations wrapped up their case."
The two officers had never had an open disagreement in the six years of working together. Battleready was different. Everyone ends up in a fight at some point during their torturous four years of Battle school. With the possibility of nanotechs in use, even on a level this desolate, the Commanding Officer could not let this outburts go without notice.
"You are aware of the investigation and results of information collected regarding Puumas death. You signed your name to the document accounting for the damage found at C4 to be the work of Tridytes. You were one of the first crew members to find the damaged bays. You were only one of six officers to return from that bloodbath."
He impatiently remarked, "Please don't remind me. I am fully aware of what went happened that night."
Gea're noticed enforcement drones headed their way, descending from the mess hall three floors up. She must speak quickly. "Now you claim that someone else is to blame for the destruction of the sub level? Do you have any evidence to back up this accusation? Do you realize what kind of loling mess you will have started if anyone besides my loling self hears of this? You have no clue."
The drones only descended to level ten. They silently floated in pairs, inspecting locks on weapons cache doors. The rust created from the rising levels of toxic fog had compromised the electronic locks on all the lower floors. This constant check and balance was said to be a precautionary measure.
Nieght knew he had gone to far to take it back. If there was anyone he could trust in this whole city it was LA Gea're. They grew up together for lols sake. Still looking over the edge of the transporter shaft, he realized too late that there was no one to trust down here. Things changed a person after being in the dark for this many years. Nieght turned to his Commanding Officer in time to see her releasing a pulse whip towards his legs. He jumped to dodge the burn of the electric lasso but Gea're landed a spinning left kick to his chest. He found himself out of breath and falling past the rail he was holding. His suits thrusters wouldn't save him this time. They were dead and ready for recharge and hour before he even left sub level 9. He turned to grab the extension ladder that hung from the transporter cabin and missed. He counted the seventeen light shafts as he descended to the sub level floor. Once he passed the seventeenth shaft everything was surrounded in darkness. He could see nothing. The cries of the Tridytes were growing louder below him. Nothing in Battleready had prepared him for this. Britesh Nieght extended his pistol and connected the light scope.
"Lol" He whispered as he disappeared into fog completely.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Alabama Airshow Bitterly Transformed
"It may not be your favorite newspaper in the world, but it is hard to deny The Onion's ability to at least get a chuckle out of most people. Write your very own Onion-inspired article about anything you want. "
Onlookers were shocked this past weekend at an airshow held at Montgomery Regional (Dannelly Field) in Montgomery Alabama. The three and a half hour show was planned to have ended with an elaborate set of 10 jet fighters performing several complicated maneuvers while blindfolded and under the influence of PCP, a drug known to assist pilots who are constantly faced with the pressure of gravity and enclosed spaces.
The shows Disney sponsored program included the ever popular Dumbos Flying Circus; in which several large emus were dressed in elephant suits and dropped from a stealth bomber onto the applauding crowd after several passes and death defying corkscrew turns. One visitor, a veteran traveling from Montgomery Alabama, American George Hound 43, stated "I knew I couldn't miss this years show. It took 9 days to walk here and I think it was worth every step." He walked back home a proud new owner of an emu and a slightly used elephant suit. Other mentionable acts were Ursulas' hot air balloon squid toss and The Lady (Women True Fliers of Southeastern Alabama: WTFSEA) and the Tramp (mens flaming crossbow team) competition.
The scheduled finale time slot was planned to be 13 minutes in length with the explosion of the tenth plane to ignite the festivities of fireworks in a nearby hangar. All 9 planes hit their marks as planned with deadly precision and care while the tenth plane took a turn for the worst. Instead of nosediving into the firework filled hangar below as planned, the red and blue accented F-15 Eagle stopped in mid flight a mere 40 feet from the hangars roof. It then transformed before confused patrons eyes into what resembled a humanoid shape and grabbed what would be its crotch region and screamed loudly "Take this job and shove it, I ain't workin' here no more! Starscream out!" The stealth jet then returned to its original shape and flew off into the stratosphere not to be seen again that day.
Event planners swear to not have known this to be part of the show and apologize to anyone who was offended by the jets actions. They are offering free tickets to anyone who would like them. Redemption of free tickets are available by visiting the hangar that didn't explode and eligible to anyone who can show their original tickets. Event President and coordinator, Hubert Culbert, stated this to worried fans, "Next years show will be better than ever. There will be no disgruntled robots and double the emus with a few planned surprises. We hope to see you all there!"
Onlookers were shocked this past weekend at an airshow held at Montgomery Regional (Dannelly Field) in Montgomery Alabama. The three and a half hour show was planned to have ended with an elaborate set of 10 jet fighters performing several complicated maneuvers while blindfolded and under the influence of PCP, a drug known to assist pilots who are constantly faced with the pressure of gravity and enclosed spaces.
The shows Disney sponsored program included the ever popular Dumbos Flying Circus; in which several large emus were dressed in elephant suits and dropped from a stealth bomber onto the applauding crowd after several passes and death defying corkscrew turns. One visitor, a veteran traveling from Montgomery Alabama, American George Hound 43, stated "I knew I couldn't miss this years show. It took 9 days to walk here and I think it was worth every step." He walked back home a proud new owner of an emu and a slightly used elephant suit. Other mentionable acts were Ursulas' hot air balloon squid toss and The Lady (Women True Fliers of Southeastern Alabama: WTFSEA) and the Tramp (mens flaming crossbow team) competition.
The scheduled finale time slot was planned to be 13 minutes in length with the explosion of the tenth plane to ignite the festivities of fireworks in a nearby hangar. All 9 planes hit their marks as planned with deadly precision and care while the tenth plane took a turn for the worst. Instead of nosediving into the firework filled hangar below as planned, the red and blue accented F-15 Eagle stopped in mid flight a mere 40 feet from the hangars roof. It then transformed before confused patrons eyes into what resembled a humanoid shape and grabbed what would be its crotch region and screamed loudly "Take this job and shove it, I ain't workin' here no more! Starscream out!" The stealth jet then returned to its original shape and flew off into the stratosphere not to be seen again that day.
Event planners swear to not have known this to be part of the show and apologize to anyone who was offended by the jets actions. They are offering free tickets to anyone who would like them. Redemption of free tickets are available by visiting the hangar that didn't explode and eligible to anyone who can show their original tickets. Event President and coordinator, Hubert Culbert, stated this to worried fans, "Next years show will be better than ever. There will be no disgruntled robots and double the emus with a few planned surprises. We hope to see you all there!"
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Month
"Today, the ASPCA kicks off its “Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Month.” To celebrate, pay tribute in some way (a letter, a poem, whatever) to an animal from your past or present that was important to you."
Twisted humor, I know, but I have to note it none the less. "Today, the ASPCA kicks off its “Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Month." Am I the only one who finds this sentence funny? (I do not condone cruelty to animals in any fashion unless it is a ridiculously outfitted animal posted on icanhazcheezeburger or one of its affiliates)
You were one of four that summer, Sylvester. I know the name was chosen in haste and by an eight year old too but, in my defense, you did look exactly like the cartoon character you were named after. I always wondered if you were ostracized from your brothers and sister due to being so fluffy while they were all sleek and muscular looking? I doubt it. You and your siblings roamed those 5 acres and surrounding areas like lions. It was my own version of the Animal Kingdom in my backyard. You fought wild animals and was even bit by a snake once but always survived. I remember hearing you hit your head on the floor boards late at night but it never bothered me. I knew the fight was for a worthy cause. The land was yours and no one was going to take it from you.
You lived a full life but it was short lived. I wanted to kill the kid across the street for shooting you in the head. I never forgave him for it. I remember losing a bit of my innocence after your death and gaining a new found despise for anyone that resembled his type. Rednecks. I could not understand how a human being could kill a living creature for sport or recreation. I dug a hole as deep as the wet Florida earth would allow and buried you myself. I remember being alone that day and I didn't mind at all. Thanks for being such an awesome, loving and regal lion of a cat during my twisted childhood. I will never forget you.
Twisted humor, I know, but I have to note it none the less. "Today, the ASPCA kicks off its “Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Month." Am I the only one who finds this sentence funny? (I do not condone cruelty to animals in any fashion unless it is a ridiculously outfitted animal posted on icanhazcheezeburger or one of its affiliates)
You were one of four that summer, Sylvester. I know the name was chosen in haste and by an eight year old too but, in my defense, you did look exactly like the cartoon character you were named after. I always wondered if you were ostracized from your brothers and sister due to being so fluffy while they were all sleek and muscular looking? I doubt it. You and your siblings roamed those 5 acres and surrounding areas like lions. It was my own version of the Animal Kingdom in my backyard. You fought wild animals and was even bit by a snake once but always survived. I remember hearing you hit your head on the floor boards late at night but it never bothered me. I knew the fight was for a worthy cause. The land was yours and no one was going to take it from you.
You lived a full life but it was short lived. I wanted to kill the kid across the street for shooting you in the head. I never forgave him for it. I remember losing a bit of my innocence after your death and gaining a new found despise for anyone that resembled his type. Rednecks. I could not understand how a human being could kill a living creature for sport or recreation. I dug a hole as deep as the wet Florida earth would allow and buried you myself. I remember being alone that day and I didn't mind at all. Thanks for being such an awesome, loving and regal lion of a cat during my twisted childhood. I will never forget you.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Senryu how dare you!
Sagawa
How could you praise this
Killer and cannibal star
Oh you Japanese
Keanu Part II
Oh you are gorgeous
and so well tanned, Paul Walker
your acting is shit
Oh so Valiant!
You came from Venus
met our President at once
and then disappeared
Oopsie!
Miss Laura Welch (Bush)
first killer then First Lady
stop signs don't apply
How could you praise this
Killer and cannibal star
Oh you Japanese
Keanu Part II
Oh you are gorgeous
and so well tanned, Paul Walker
your acting is shit
Oh so Valiant!
You came from Venus
met our President at once
and then disappeared
Oopsie!
Miss Laura Welch (Bush)
first killer then First Lady
stop signs don't apply
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Save the World
I am really disappointed in myself this time. Is it my lack of imagination or my complete sense of cynicism? I am unsure of which to blame this time. I thought long and hard over how I would save the world in 4 minutes and absolutely nothing came to mind. I don't think the world is capable of being saved. Novel idea but not something I could write a novel about, or paragraph, it seems.
We have done the damage. The glaciers are melting and there is no reversing the process without a few million years in your pocket. I think we are due for a major cleansing. I don't watch the news but can and see how determined we are to destruct, destroy, dismantle and misinform. There is no saving this world as is. I prefer to make the best of the one I have and take care of it as if it were a dying and loved relative.
Writing about how I can't save the world made me realize how to save the world. I have played too many video games as of late and can contribute this thought process to my xbox 360 directly. Kill 75% of the population. I don't need to determine who gets the axe. Let's make it random selection. If the population were deduced to 225 million people armed with the knowledge of what we now know, there could be a slim chance at the making the cosmic grading curve.
We have done the damage. The glaciers are melting and there is no reversing the process without a few million years in your pocket. I think we are due for a major cleansing. I don't watch the news but can and see how determined we are to destruct, destroy, dismantle and misinform. There is no saving this world as is. I prefer to make the best of the one I have and take care of it as if it were a dying and loved relative.
Writing about how I can't save the world made me realize how to save the world. I have played too many video games as of late and can contribute this thought process to my xbox 360 directly. Kill 75% of the population. I don't need to determine who gets the axe. Let's make it random selection. If the population were deduced to 225 million people armed with the knowledge of what we now know, there could be a slim chance at the making the cosmic grading curve.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
wake up in the past
"You wake up today and you are in the late 1800s. Your life is completely devoid of all of the technological comforts that we hold dear. No cell phones, no laptops, no Facebook, no television. What is your day like? Do you actually make it through the day without committing suicide?"
I have found my thoughts traveling to this topic more than once. Beyond certain luxuries of hygiene and comfort I believe I would be fine. I grew up in the fields working as a slave. Though I despise manual labor now, I think having to do it for survival would feel different. I might welcome the forced exercise too. I am a huge fan of electronics as well but I could easily adjust to the "simple life". I already dream of being lost in the middle of nowhere far from the news, radio towers, traffic lights and ghetto neighbors. I welcome it actually. This day and age is not for me. I am not impressed.
I would rely on my street smarts (lies and fabrications) to establish a new career for myself. I would travel the world and search out free thinkers like myself. I would start a new sect of families that lived with the future of the world in their minds. I would steal all the story lines from every movie and book that I have ever experienced and claim it as my own. This would fund my projects for world enlightenment. I would be the most prolific artist/writer/musician/activist the world has ever known. It wouldn't be an honest path but at least it would be headed in the right direction for the people I left behind in the future.
I have found my thoughts traveling to this topic more than once. Beyond certain luxuries of hygiene and comfort I believe I would be fine. I grew up in the fields working as a slave. Though I despise manual labor now, I think having to do it for survival would feel different. I might welcome the forced exercise too. I am a huge fan of electronics as well but I could easily adjust to the "simple life". I already dream of being lost in the middle of nowhere far from the news, radio towers, traffic lights and ghetto neighbors. I welcome it actually. This day and age is not for me. I am not impressed.
I would rely on my street smarts (lies and fabrications) to establish a new career for myself. I would travel the world and search out free thinkers like myself. I would start a new sect of families that lived with the future of the world in their minds. I would steal all the story lines from every movie and book that I have ever experienced and claim it as my own. This would fund my projects for world enlightenment. I would be the most prolific artist/writer/musician/activist the world has ever known. It wouldn't be an honest path but at least it would be headed in the right direction for the people I left behind in the future.
Friday, April 3, 2009
my dream house
"Setting is a critical element to most stories, sometimes to the point that the setting can be considered a character in the piece, taking on a life of its own and influencing the plot just as much as the other characters. The house in House of Leaves became the central antagonist in the family’s horrific journey and the city in Sex and the City, well it’s just as slutty and fashionable as the other characters. Start building your setting from the ground up. Describe your dream home in full detail."
The first thing that comes to my mind is self sustaining. The second is natural. My dream home would be based somewhere tropical where the weather stays in the range of 70 to 90 degrees year round. Hawaii was an ideal climate for my dream home to exist in. My dream home would be built with all natural resources. Think hut, or log cabin of 2045. Every color would be a direct reflection of something from the earth or sea. I would use skylights, mirrors and magnifiers to take the most advantage of the daylight hours and I think candles or lanterns would be sufficient for the night hours. The contrasting electronic equipment (computers, displays, etc) would have its own source of light to function properly. I mostly walk around in the dark or very low light at night. I have this feeling of comfort when the lights are off and I am deftly maneuvering around all the objects in my apartment. I have preferred it for as long as I can remember. I need the contrast too. Moonlight and Sunlight.
The walls and corners would be smooth and effortless. I don't enjoy hard lines and angles as I thought I did at 21. I do appreciate symmetry and flow but I would not be allowing my compulsive nature to find so much pleasure in a complete, perfectly harmoniously balanced house. I am not thinking Feng Shui as much as I am Zen garden.
The structure of the building would be built outwards from a large octagonal/circular shaped library in the center. I want a massive one too. I want a library that includes the tall extended rail ladders you can push from one end to the other. A massive glass ceiling and observatory room would sit on top of this library. The size of my place does not need to be large and I wouldn't prefer it. In my experience, a larger place only leaves more room for loneliness and things to clean.
I guess that about covers my dream house. I know it is only a vague rendering of a true house but I am not too particular beyond what I have listed. If at all possible, I would ask that it be haunted (inhabited by neutral spirits) too. That would make me very happy.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Feel the Pain
"Is it true that women have a higher threshold for pain than men do? We do have to give birth, after all…Write (very graphically) about a sensation of pain that you have had or that your character is having. And I’m not talking about emotional pain. Use your own blog for that crap."
The first real "I'm gonna die I know it" pain I can recall happened in 1989. I was an extremely skinny seventh grader trying to find my place in the world. I had picked up basketball after considering football and realizing it was not the sport for me. My face and bones carried a lot of value in the temple that is JBee circa 89. Playing football with kids that were already 100 pounds heavier than myself only reminded me of semi-required Thanksgiving family football games. Collar bone, blood, fingers, toes, coccyx and loss of consciousness. These words come to mind. After 3 practice games I was given the position of "tight end". This new title didn't help secure my slight interest in the game. I quickly spun some excuses and juked around that possible massacre with my budding manhood still in tact. I joined the basketball team a short while later. It seemed less dangerous and I felt more at home with all the other wanna be gangsta hip-hop kids at the time. Though I weighed nothing, I was already 6 feet tall and could dunk the ball. My position was Point Guard and I loved it for a couple months.
During my first real game, a game where the cheerleaders and classmates were watching my every move, I became a little over zealous and began giving it "110 percent". I wasn't the best kid out there but I could make it look like I was to anyone who didn't understand the game. This need to be accepted and look cool was my ultimate downfall. I went for a stray ball that was headed directly for the bleachers. I had seen it on TV so many times. Jordan leaps past out of bounds and swats the ball back to Pippin for the the 3 pointer. At the very worst Jordan slides across the floor and crashes into a ESPN camera man. Well I wasn't Jordan or Pippin or the ESPN camera man.
I did save the ball by tossing it back in bounds while leaping through the air. Whether or not a guy on my team caught it I will never know. The integral part of this seemingly easy maneuver is the turn around after the jump. I didn't read the manual. I tossed the ball behind me and landed with so much momentum that I took off running instantly and soon as my feet hit the court. I only had made three steps before I was directly in front of the polished pine bleachers. To prevent my face from being smashed into a tangled mess I planted my hands directly in front of me and pushed up. This face saving move resulted in my abdomen crashing into the bleacher instead. The sounds produced from the collision caused every single person in the gym that day to stop what they were doing and collectively gasp.
I clearly remember those sounds. The squeak of basketball shoes, the crashing into the bleachers and the collective sucking in of air. I leaned into the L shape my body was pressed into even more. I didn't ever want to turn around again. The coach came up with a half concerned, half smiling face asking me if I was okay. I attempted to turn and sit on the offending bleacher and found that I had severe pains in my back. I thought that I had broken it somehow. I sat but couldn't understand what I was feeling. My spine and neck felt like they were was broke in pieces. There was a burning sensation that was so powerful I instantly felt weak and nauseous. The pain made me feel like I had crossed the threshold of the living and entered the afterlife or had transcended this world somehow. How else could I be experiencing something so intense and still be alive?
I lied down on the cold resined wood and the pain receded a little. The coach asked me to lift up my shirt which I did so unwillingly. We watched my abdomen change color from tan to deep purple as if an ink bottle had tipped over inside my chest. My coaches face was horror filled and that scared me more than the pain I was feeling. I nervously asked him what was happening and he said that I probably broke most of my ribs. He asked me to sit up and I promptly told him to fuck off. This was the first time I talked to an authority figure in this way and he didn't seem to mind. My feet and hands were freezing after a couple minutes and it reminded me of the movies where the old cowboy says he can't feel his feet and dies right afterward. I thought I was the old cowboy that day. The ambulance had driven from Orange Park and took about 20 minutes to arrive though it felt like hours. Our little town didn't have a hospital of it's own or working firetrucks when my house was burning to the ground.
I woke up a week later with tubes coming out of almost all of my orifices. I imagined myself as a young Weapon X without the adamantium skeleton. I had ruptured my spleen internally I was told. It was cut almost in half when the doctors pulled it out of me. The only joys I found during my 2 month stay were from the hot nurse visits. I suppose the morphine drip wasn't bad either. Even at that age I remember thinking that I liked the morphine too much and it concerned me. I spent several weeks in bed at home afterward attempting to recover. My stepfather felt that I should be working instead so while I was out of school for a major surgery I was also vacuuming, and doing random outside work. I felt like this prolonged my healing but I didn't talk about it. What is there to say to the Prison Warden when you have a six year sentence ahead of you? I removed the staples out of my stomach when they were ready to come out just like an old cowboy would.
The first real "I'm gonna die I know it" pain I can recall happened in 1989. I was an extremely skinny seventh grader trying to find my place in the world. I had picked up basketball after considering football and realizing it was not the sport for me. My face and bones carried a lot of value in the temple that is JBee circa 89. Playing football with kids that were already 100 pounds heavier than myself only reminded me of semi-required Thanksgiving family football games. Collar bone, blood, fingers, toes, coccyx and loss of consciousness. These words come to mind. After 3 practice games I was given the position of "tight end". This new title didn't help secure my slight interest in the game. I quickly spun some excuses and juked around that possible massacre with my budding manhood still in tact. I joined the basketball team a short while later. It seemed less dangerous and I felt more at home with all the other wanna be gangsta hip-hop kids at the time. Though I weighed nothing, I was already 6 feet tall and could dunk the ball. My position was Point Guard and I loved it for a couple months.
During my first real game, a game where the cheerleaders and classmates were watching my every move, I became a little over zealous and began giving it "110 percent". I wasn't the best kid out there but I could make it look like I was to anyone who didn't understand the game. This need to be accepted and look cool was my ultimate downfall. I went for a stray ball that was headed directly for the bleachers. I had seen it on TV so many times. Jordan leaps past out of bounds and swats the ball back to Pippin for the the 3 pointer. At the very worst Jordan slides across the floor and crashes into a ESPN camera man. Well I wasn't Jordan or Pippin or the ESPN camera man.
I did save the ball by tossing it back in bounds while leaping through the air. Whether or not a guy on my team caught it I will never know. The integral part of this seemingly easy maneuver is the turn around after the jump. I didn't read the manual. I tossed the ball behind me and landed with so much momentum that I took off running instantly and soon as my feet hit the court. I only had made three steps before I was directly in front of the polished pine bleachers. To prevent my face from being smashed into a tangled mess I planted my hands directly in front of me and pushed up. This face saving move resulted in my abdomen crashing into the bleacher instead. The sounds produced from the collision caused every single person in the gym that day to stop what they were doing and collectively gasp.
I clearly remember those sounds. The squeak of basketball shoes, the crashing into the bleachers and the collective sucking in of air. I leaned into the L shape my body was pressed into even more. I didn't ever want to turn around again. The coach came up with a half concerned, half smiling face asking me if I was okay. I attempted to turn and sit on the offending bleacher and found that I had severe pains in my back. I thought that I had broken it somehow. I sat but couldn't understand what I was feeling. My spine and neck felt like they were was broke in pieces. There was a burning sensation that was so powerful I instantly felt weak and nauseous. The pain made me feel like I had crossed the threshold of the living and entered the afterlife or had transcended this world somehow. How else could I be experiencing something so intense and still be alive?
I lied down on the cold resined wood and the pain receded a little. The coach asked me to lift up my shirt which I did so unwillingly. We watched my abdomen change color from tan to deep purple as if an ink bottle had tipped over inside my chest. My coaches face was horror filled and that scared me more than the pain I was feeling. I nervously asked him what was happening and he said that I probably broke most of my ribs. He asked me to sit up and I promptly told him to fuck off. This was the first time I talked to an authority figure in this way and he didn't seem to mind. My feet and hands were freezing after a couple minutes and it reminded me of the movies where the old cowboy says he can't feel his feet and dies right afterward. I thought I was the old cowboy that day. The ambulance had driven from Orange Park and took about 20 minutes to arrive though it felt like hours. Our little town didn't have a hospital of it's own or working firetrucks when my house was burning to the ground.
I woke up a week later with tubes coming out of almost all of my orifices. I imagined myself as a young Weapon X without the adamantium skeleton. I had ruptured my spleen internally I was told. It was cut almost in half when the doctors pulled it out of me. The only joys I found during my 2 month stay were from the hot nurse visits. I suppose the morphine drip wasn't bad either. Even at that age I remember thinking that I liked the morphine too much and it concerned me. I spent several weeks in bed at home afterward attempting to recover. My stepfather felt that I should be working instead so while I was out of school for a major surgery I was also vacuuming, and doing random outside work. I felt like this prolonged my healing but I didn't talk about it. What is there to say to the Prison Warden when you have a six year sentence ahead of you? I removed the staples out of my stomach when they were ready to come out just like an old cowboy would.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
April Fools fool
"Before embarking on a new endeavor, it is always a good idea to set your intention for why you are doing something, what you hope to gain from it, and any obstacles that you might encounter along the way. Use today to set your intention for your writing this month."
My original intentions were very inspired and grandiose as I attempted to take on the first 30DoW last November. Walking into 30 Days after an almost complete failure to post in January leaves me feeling more grounded and less naive about this challenge than ever before. It's amusing to see that I am finding no lack of wording to describe my lack of writing. Ridiculous.
I am joining for the third time in hopes to complete 30 days of write(ing). It is as simple as that. My original desires to expand and experience and etc are going to stay underneath the covers for now as my truest feelings always get themselves hurt much quicker than the shallow ones. So here's to another 30 Days of Write, an amazing idea and a bunch of amazing people. I hope to see you all on the other side of this.
I am quickly finding that receiving responses from other writers and/or people that have similar interests really helps me understand where I am coming from. I have a few other blogs no one reads or responds to. I haven't felt the desire to have others read my stuff. I thought of my blogs as love letters for the fireplace to consume. I can't formulate my ideas and then write them out. I read the topic and let my little sailboat go about it's merry way. To see responses and to hear how it has effected others makes me feel that these .l e t t e r s. are formulating something tangible. Something more than JBee talking to himself in the mirror again. Thanks!
My original intentions were very inspired and grandiose as I attempted to take on the first 30DoW last November. Walking into 30 Days after an almost complete failure to post in January leaves me feeling more grounded and less naive about this challenge than ever before. It's amusing to see that I am finding no lack of wording to describe my lack of writing. Ridiculous.
I am joining for the third time in hopes to complete 30 days of write(ing). It is as simple as that. My original desires to expand and experience and etc are going to stay underneath the covers for now as my truest feelings always get themselves hurt much quicker than the shallow ones. So here's to another 30 Days of Write, an amazing idea and a bunch of amazing people. I hope to see you all on the other side of this.
I am quickly finding that receiving responses from other writers and/or people that have similar interests really helps me understand where I am coming from. I have a few other blogs no one reads or responds to. I haven't felt the desire to have others read my stuff. I thought of my blogs as love letters for the fireplace to consume. I can't formulate my ideas and then write them out. I read the topic and let my little sailboat go about it's merry way. To see responses and to hear how it has effected others makes me feel that these .l e t t e r s. are formulating something tangible. Something more than JBee talking to himself in the mirror again. Thanks!
Monday, January 12, 2009
Jan 5th Deus Ex
I am hardwired to take blame and process my relationship problems as a need to change and grow in areas where I fall short. I do not fault the other person. Even when they are truly the ones that suck I tell myself I am at fault for being with them. I understand the lop-sided dynamic of it all. In short, I tried my very best to come up with some thing to write to an ex but there was nothing to say. No words come to mind.
To all my exes in my life,
Thanks for teaching me something, no matter how trivial it might have been. We might have dated for a day, went steady for a month or were married for nearly a decade. You have all affected me in some way or another. It was my pleasure. I hope you have rich love lives and can feel the same sort of gratitude about the whole experience. There are so many sad-faced people stuck on their warped versions of pasts and past relationships. It is a lesson in futility (I should know as I have a phd in that very subject). You taught me that while love, in its many forms, is a requirement, it is not the only thing needed to make a relationship last. I learned that I can't fall in love with just anyone and that friends are only friends for a reason. I learned to love people for who they were and to leave people for who I was. I am glad to have met every last one of you. Take care.
To all my exes in my life,
Thanks for teaching me something, no matter how trivial it might have been. We might have dated for a day, went steady for a month or were married for nearly a decade. You have all affected me in some way or another. It was my pleasure. I hope you have rich love lives and can feel the same sort of gratitude about the whole experience. There are so many sad-faced people stuck on their warped versions of pasts and past relationships. It is a lesson in futility (I should know as I have a phd in that very subject). You taught me that while love, in its many forms, is a requirement, it is not the only thing needed to make a relationship last. I learned that I can't fall in love with just anyone and that friends are only friends for a reason. I learned to love people for who they were and to leave people for who I was. I am glad to have met every last one of you. Take care.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
catastrophe naturelle
"Today, write about a natural disaster. Either write about your experience with one, or write about a fictional event from a character's first person point of view."
I have been fortunate enough to not have experienced many natural disasters in my lifetime. I have felt hurricane winds, heard the sounds of funneling tornadoes and even viewed smoking volcanoes from my bedroom window. None of these things have harmed me though were always very close to me. It leaves me feeling dangerously immortal on occasion.
After moving from Hawaii, my family moved to Middleburg Florida. We lived on a largish plot of flat land surrounded by pine trees and a few kooky (and creepy) neighbors. Thinking back now, even an environment not filled with constant city sounds and neon lights can be a very interesting and unique place to live. Our house was an average size for a family of soon to be six. I am fairly certain that it was an old house. I remember the paint chipping off the exterior walls and the wind howling through the eaves at night. I would feel extremely spooked out when left alone in the house in the middle of the woods. My life and the lives of my family were spared from the fate of that old house. My stepfathers need to control and command were, for once in my life, not a bad thing to live beneath.
Most days I found myself alone in the yard working on a task that could never be completed. If a job could ever be completed, even if only for a season, there were twelve other never ending jobs to be worked on afterward. I spent a lot of time during my childhood in this five acres of land moving long fence lines eight feet to the right. The little house in the middle of it all, placed perfectly for the Warden to view my wrongdoings, my mistakes, my assumptions and my constant manual labor. Looking back, I think the only reason I was allowed to come in at night was due to him not being able to see if I was truly working out there in the darkness. It was a long lonely time growing up out there in the yard talking to myself and learning to play games that resembled work from a scrutinizing distance. Though I hated the random recruitment of my siblings or cousins to assist in my slow efforts, I also cherished the company. I would tell them to pretend and not actually do any work. I just wanted the company.
One day my entire family was outside for a change. The Warden himself was out in the yard doing something that resembled labor. Lazy pathetic fuck that he was had to leave the fortress eventually knowing there were some tasks he could not leave to a ten year old bastard child like myself. This didn't include the use of a hacksaw. That event leading to sawing off my right thumb and forefinger, almost. I remember my brother and older sister pulling weeds from the earth with our swollen red hands. I remember it being hot outside and very sunny. I remember seeing smoke coming from the chimney and thinking it was strange. I asked about the chimney and of course I was instantly buffered with the typical adult-who-doesn't-respect-or-care-about-you answer. I am just a dumb child who knows nothing. So I let it go. Nothing to see here. A short time passed when he then noticed smoke coming from the chimney and declared it something to be concerned over. I, being the fastest of my family, ran to the weird neighbors house next door. These creepy neighbors replaced the kooky neighbors who incidentally moved after the wife burned there own place down a few years back after forgetting to turn off the iron. I will never forget to turn off the iron. I never had any proof of why these new neighbors were creepy but they were. I called 911 then bolted from the house as fast as I could. I reported to the family that help was on its way and then ran up the length of the long long driveway to see the approaching fire trucks.
We lived about a mile from the station and the land was very flat. I could clearly see that no trucks left the station. I stood by helplessly watching my house become engulfed in orange flames. The black/blue smoke was now an extended pillar reaching what seemed to be the heavens. The wind blew the length of it all lazily westbound. I imagined riding up inside of it as a tiny ember almost dying before being reignited by another gust of wind and pushed even higher than before. I could keep my flame long enough to land on another old, unsuspecting house and start a new fire. The trucks never came from that station. We had to have trucks drive in from Orange Park which was about twenty miles away. For a house with open windows and nothing but time on its hands, the fire took it all in a relatively short amount of time. The firemen saved the living room mostly though everything that was left in it was damaged beyond salvaging. The others rooms left nothing recognizable. I could find nothing of my massive G.I. Joe collection or newly gifted stereo. It was all gone.
I remember losing everything and realizing shortly after that one hundred dollars doesn't buy shit for clothing. I remember having a desire to have things again. A desire that later drove me to steal the thing I wanted. The things that made me happiest. All the things I lost in that old house. All the things I couldn't steal back were replaced with other things. It's all a cycle I suppose. I never once missed that moaning house. I was happy to live in the new, enormous, insurance paid for home that made it look like my family had money.
I have been fortunate enough to not have experienced many natural disasters in my lifetime. I have felt hurricane winds, heard the sounds of funneling tornadoes and even viewed smoking volcanoes from my bedroom window. None of these things have harmed me though were always very close to me. It leaves me feeling dangerously immortal on occasion.
After moving from Hawaii, my family moved to Middleburg Florida. We lived on a largish plot of flat land surrounded by pine trees and a few kooky (and creepy) neighbors. Thinking back now, even an environment not filled with constant city sounds and neon lights can be a very interesting and unique place to live. Our house was an average size for a family of soon to be six. I am fairly certain that it was an old house. I remember the paint chipping off the exterior walls and the wind howling through the eaves at night. I would feel extremely spooked out when left alone in the house in the middle of the woods. My life and the lives of my family were spared from the fate of that old house. My stepfathers need to control and command were, for once in my life, not a bad thing to live beneath.
Most days I found myself alone in the yard working on a task that could never be completed. If a job could ever be completed, even if only for a season, there were twelve other never ending jobs to be worked on afterward. I spent a lot of time during my childhood in this five acres of land moving long fence lines eight feet to the right. The little house in the middle of it all, placed perfectly for the Warden to view my wrongdoings, my mistakes, my assumptions and my constant manual labor. Looking back, I think the only reason I was allowed to come in at night was due to him not being able to see if I was truly working out there in the darkness. It was a long lonely time growing up out there in the yard talking to myself and learning to play games that resembled work from a scrutinizing distance. Though I hated the random recruitment of my siblings or cousins to assist in my slow efforts, I also cherished the company. I would tell them to pretend and not actually do any work. I just wanted the company.
One day my entire family was outside for a change. The Warden himself was out in the yard doing something that resembled labor. Lazy pathetic fuck that he was had to leave the fortress eventually knowing there were some tasks he could not leave to a ten year old bastard child like myself. This didn't include the use of a hacksaw. That event leading to sawing off my right thumb and forefinger, almost. I remember my brother and older sister pulling weeds from the earth with our swollen red hands. I remember it being hot outside and very sunny. I remember seeing smoke coming from the chimney and thinking it was strange. I asked about the chimney and of course I was instantly buffered with the typical adult-who-doesn't-respect-or-care-about-you answer. I am just a dumb child who knows nothing. So I let it go. Nothing to see here. A short time passed when he then noticed smoke coming from the chimney and declared it something to be concerned over. I, being the fastest of my family, ran to the weird neighbors house next door. These creepy neighbors replaced the kooky neighbors who incidentally moved after the wife burned there own place down a few years back after forgetting to turn off the iron. I will never forget to turn off the iron. I never had any proof of why these new neighbors were creepy but they were. I called 911 then bolted from the house as fast as I could. I reported to the family that help was on its way and then ran up the length of the long long driveway to see the approaching fire trucks.
We lived about a mile from the station and the land was very flat. I could clearly see that no trucks left the station. I stood by helplessly watching my house become engulfed in orange flames. The black/blue smoke was now an extended pillar reaching what seemed to be the heavens. The wind blew the length of it all lazily westbound. I imagined riding up inside of it as a tiny ember almost dying before being reignited by another gust of wind and pushed even higher than before. I could keep my flame long enough to land on another old, unsuspecting house and start a new fire. The trucks never came from that station. We had to have trucks drive in from Orange Park which was about twenty miles away. For a house with open windows and nothing but time on its hands, the fire took it all in a relatively short amount of time. The firemen saved the living room mostly though everything that was left in it was damaged beyond salvaging. The others rooms left nothing recognizable. I could find nothing of my massive G.I. Joe collection or newly gifted stereo. It was all gone.
I remember losing everything and realizing shortly after that one hundred dollars doesn't buy shit for clothing. I remember having a desire to have things again. A desire that later drove me to steal the thing I wanted. The things that made me happiest. All the things I lost in that old house. All the things I couldn't steal back were replaced with other things. It's all a cycle I suppose. I never once missed that moaning house. I was happy to live in the new, enormous, insurance paid for home that made it look like my family had money.
Doth not covet thine wikipedia
"2009 is the Year of the Ox, a beast of burden that occupies very little space in our literary history. Babe the blue ox has pretty much had to hold it down in that world, so help keep him company by writing an ode to the ox. A poem is probably the most fun way to go, but feel free to write in any style you want. Read more about the year of the ox on Wikipedia."
This article is about the animal: the Oxen.
Or the Ox, as you may only see one in passing.
These beasts of burden are the new school
equivalent of a John Deere 9000 something or other.
Imagine being the newborn tool and device
your beefy mother so proud of the work you will complete.
Cloven feet, horned skull and whips that beat
Beasts of burden I do feel your pain.
I wish you time away from drawing carts and or wagons
and powering machines for grinding grain.
Castration is your only right of passage
from young tool to old fool.
Stay strong brother Oxen!
Your time is soon.
This is your year.
This article is about the animal: the Oxen.
Or the Ox, as you may only see one in passing.
These beasts of burden are the new school
equivalent of a John Deere 9000 something or other.
Imagine being the newborn tool and device
your beefy mother so proud of the work you will complete.
Cloven feet, horned skull and whips that beat
Beasts of burden I do feel your pain.
I wish you time away from drawing carts and or wagons
and powering machines for grinding grain.
Castration is your only right of passage
from young tool to old fool.
Stay strong brother Oxen!
Your time is soon.
This is your year.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
"It’s the first of the year and you have a blank canvas in front of you. On that glaringly white piece of paper, set your intention for the year. Fill that page with five words that reflect your goals for your life as a writer. Expand upon them if you want, or let them be powerful enough to speak for themselves."
Exposure. I need to get exposed man. I have to talk to others in the world. How can I be a successful writer if I never leave my own house? Kerouac speaks to me too.
Experience. I have to force myself to write. Joining a writers workshop is one small part of what I need to accomplish. I need to go back to the stories and simply make it happen. I can't wait for the dreams to come back to me. Those days are long gone and I already have the blueprints I need. Fucking mental blocks.
Excitement. I am going back to the authors that excite me since I am not finding new ones that fill me with that same passion for writing. I will reread all of Murakami and see where it leads me. I crave that feeling and miss it so much. Staying up for days writing, barely eating, delirious and happy to be alive.
Education. Though I can't imagine my style being diluted, I can see it being perfected and expanded upon. I am far from being at a place where I could expect anyone to take my writing seriously. I want to get my degree so I plan to finish school. Finally.
Empowerment. Building on all these things will drive me to doing what I want most. Writing is my passion. I can't imagine doing anything else with my life.
Eeeee!
Exposure. I need to get exposed man. I have to talk to others in the world. How can I be a successful writer if I never leave my own house? Kerouac speaks to me too.
Experience. I have to force myself to write. Joining a writers workshop is one small part of what I need to accomplish. I need to go back to the stories and simply make it happen. I can't wait for the dreams to come back to me. Those days are long gone and I already have the blueprints I need. Fucking mental blocks.
Excitement. I am going back to the authors that excite me since I am not finding new ones that fill me with that same passion for writing. I will reread all of Murakami and see where it leads me. I crave that feeling and miss it so much. Staying up for days writing, barely eating, delirious and happy to be alive.
Education. Though I can't imagine my style being diluted, I can see it being perfected and expanded upon. I am far from being at a place where I could expect anyone to take my writing seriously. I want to get my degree so I plan to finish school. Finally.
Empowerment. Building on all these things will drive me to doing what I want most. Writing is my passion. I can't imagine doing anything else with my life.
Eeeee!
Monday, November 17, 2008
cant write enough
I cant do it. Plain and simple. It is sad to think that I cant find the time to write at least a little every day. I wish you guys the best of luck.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Nov 8th My name, whee!
Right up front I would like to thank Laurie for this topic. It excites me to no end. That was heavy sarcasm bordering on a light sprinkling of spite.
I was named by grandfather. He named me after his grandfather who he loved and admired. My grandfather was a man I looked up to and respected. I suppose my grandchild will feel the same about me. It seems to be a pattern. I grew up in a big family where there were half brothers and sisters and nothing was directly connected by pure blood lines. I also, for other reasons I won't mention, was singled out and doted on by my relatives. I felt special and unique. So to have the first and middle name of Joe and Burt, you can only imagine how excited I was. I also grew up in the country where three out of five kids dads were drivers for Nascar or truck drivers. I continuously worked to remove myself from that environment. My name didn't help the cause one bit. So I went by J.B. too, trying to find some solace in my personality disorder. That too sounded rural. After years of never liking the sound of my own name and cringing when I heard Joe Blow or Joe Shmoe or Joe Cool I changed the spelling. It is now JBee. I can't explain why it worked but it has. I am okay with JBee for now.
I was named by grandfather. He named me after his grandfather who he loved and admired. My grandfather was a man I looked up to and respected. I suppose my grandchild will feel the same about me. It seems to be a pattern. I grew up in a big family where there were half brothers and sisters and nothing was directly connected by pure blood lines. I also, for other reasons I won't mention, was singled out and doted on by my relatives. I felt special and unique. So to have the first and middle name of Joe and Burt, you can only imagine how excited I was. I also grew up in the country where three out of five kids dads were drivers for Nascar or truck drivers. I continuously worked to remove myself from that environment. My name didn't help the cause one bit. So I went by J.B. too, trying to find some solace in my personality disorder. That too sounded rural. After years of never liking the sound of my own name and cringing when I heard Joe Blow or Joe Shmoe or Joe Cool I changed the spelling. It is now JBee. I can't explain why it worked but it has. I am okay with JBee for now.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Nov 6th - Songs of Importance
{As a warning, I will be quoting, copying and pasting like a motherfunker today. I am not doing this out of laziness. I just feel like it is required}
It will sound cheesy I know. The Flaming lips song "Do You Realize?" that can be found on the Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots album is my song of choice. It is such a simple song, lyrically and in composition. It is almost a mantra for me. This song does make me realize that life is very simple. Every person is beautiful in one way or a thousand. It's the calming blanket statement an over analyzing, hyperventilating person like myself needs on a regular basis. I Heart Huckabees lines to follow...
"Then over here, this is the Eiffel tower, right? It's Paris. And this is a war. And this is, uh, a museum. And this is a disease. And this is an orgasm. And this is a hamburger. - Everything is the same even if it's different. - Exactly."
This makes me feel better. Knowing we are all part of cosmos. Its comforting. Thanks for listening.
Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize - we're floating in space -
Do You Realize - that happiness makes you cry
Do You Realize - that everyone you know someday will die
And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round
Do You Realize - Oh - Oh - Oh
Do You Realize - that everyone you know
Someday will die -
And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round
Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize
It will sound cheesy I know. The Flaming lips song "Do You Realize?" that can be found on the Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots album is my song of choice. It is such a simple song, lyrically and in composition. It is almost a mantra for me. This song does make me realize that life is very simple. Every person is beautiful in one way or a thousand. It's the calming blanket statement an over analyzing, hyperventilating person like myself needs on a regular basis. I Heart Huckabees lines to follow...
"Then over here, this is the Eiffel tower, right? It's Paris. And this is a war. And this is, uh, a museum. And this is a disease. And this is an orgasm. And this is a hamburger. - Everything is the same even if it's different. - Exactly."
This makes me feel better. Knowing we are all part of cosmos. Its comforting. Thanks for listening.
Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize - we're floating in space -
Do You Realize - that happiness makes you cry
Do You Realize - that everyone you know someday will die
And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round
Do You Realize - Oh - Oh - Oh
Do You Realize - that everyone you know
Someday will die -
And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round
Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize
i can't stop to start
*Disclaimer* I can not understand the concept of finishing a story it seems. There is always more to be written! The stories I post will most likely end abruptly for no apparent reason. The only excuse I find to stop writing a current story is to sleep or work or write a new blog. Help me Tom Cruise.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Nov 5th - Anyting you want.
The sleek lioness slips through tall textured grasses as naturally as water flowing through the deep stream to her side. She disturbs nothing in her path and nothing keeps her from her prey. This barely bruised pink little piggy barely a youth and completely delicious. Why should she single him out when there are far far more attractive things to devour and most likely much easier to catch? We may never know the way it works out in her mind. Some call it instinct. I call it fate. The little piggy rests in his little world. He is content. He has no understanding of the lioness and her intent. He has never encountered one like her before. Alligators and hyenas. These are familiar dangers. Masks of instinct and fear ripple through the memories of those encounters. The looping laughter and the watery hissing. How those sounds resonate into the little piggy's memories, into his muscles and even fine hair fibers. Nothing remotely similar to Her. Nothing whatsoever to remind him of those horrible teeth and claws, glazed eyes and snapping jaws. In fact this little piggy finds the lioness to be a stunning and gorgeous creature. So unlike himself and so mysterious. The initial meeting of the two beasts plays out differently, more so than any third person could possibly foresee.
The lioness has every ability of endless combination to conquer and divide ham hocks from tenderloins, innocence from stupidity. She does not even consider her precise deadliness as it's natural for her to not have to think about these things. Like the pink piggy, she too works mainly off instinct.
The lioness has every ability of endless combination to conquer and divide ham hocks from tenderloins, innocence from stupidity. She does not even consider her precise deadliness as it's natural for her to not have to think about these things. Like the pink piggy, she too works mainly off instinct.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Nov 4th Big Decisions
Unlike others posts regarding this topic mine will be anticlimactic to say the least. I am just a'warning you dear reader.
My biggest decision is not to make decisions. The important ones I keep on the back burner mostly, letting them simmer until I have been distracted long enough for them to boil over and I am forced to make a quick and hasty decision. I call this Living in the Moment while others might call it procrastination or avoidance. Without going to the car to find the mascara and eyeliner left over from Halloween I will try to keep this as least emo as possible. My biggest decisions are waking up in the morning, going to work, interacting with people and being a good father (not fooling anyone by the way). I am proud of myself when I wake up on time to be at work by nine forty five in the morning. I remember not waking for days or not having any friends at all. I make these choices and, in my opinion, they are some times very difficult ones. Bravo to me for being the lamest poster of the century. :)
My biggest decision is not to make decisions. The important ones I keep on the back burner mostly, letting them simmer until I have been distracted long enough for them to boil over and I am forced to make a quick and hasty decision. I call this Living in the Moment while others might call it procrastination or avoidance. Without going to the car to find the mascara and eyeliner left over from Halloween I will try to keep this as least emo as possible. My biggest decisions are waking up in the morning, going to work, interacting with people and being a good father (not fooling anyone by the way). I am proud of myself when I wake up on time to be at work by nine forty five in the morning. I remember not waking for days or not having any friends at all. I make these choices and, in my opinion, they are some times very difficult ones. Bravo to me for being the lamest poster of the century. :)
Monday, November 3, 2008
Serial Killer 11-03-08
The endorphin rush gets me home with just enough energy to clumsily lock the door behind me and collapse on to the hard unforgiving living room floor. The cold tiles are a welcomed contrast to the heat pouring out my over worked body. Who is next? I can only wait for an answer. He will eventually crawl out from the darkest corners of my mind, dance on the tip of my tongue and molest my eyelids until I am forced to open them again. Until that time comes I will think of nothing that he is so concerned with. The destruction. The blood. The tears. The laughter. Fuck! I am thinking of the darkest things after all. Or is he? I can never tell these days. He is so good at tricking me into this mindset. This irrevocable pattern.
I used to like it when I could escape from them all. I would be the one crawling into his darkest hiding places to find precious sleep. I didn't want to change the world! Sleep was the hidden treasure I was after and I suppose I found it too. That is where we met, him and I. In the world between sleep and those darkest places. I remember the long talks we would have. I thought he was the smartest person I had ever met. Funny too! He was so clever. That was how he eventually made a cozy little home inside my life. We simply spent too much time together. I let him search through the deepest places in my mind, places I had never even traveled to before.
One Friday night after work I was depressed and thinking of the life I have lived, or not lived, and I wanted to chat with him to clear things in my head. He was the best listener I had ever talked to. It was as if he could read my mind. Every topic of discussion was laid out exactly as I would have wanted it. So I went searching for him. Desperately. I searched for what felt like days. I looked in any place we had hung out. He was no where to be found and the others, well, they were never keen on having conversations with me. I traveled through the that world for days and checked every corner. It was as if he had disappeared completely. I was frustrated and beyond tired. I lost my temper and struck one of the others. They spoke to me then, in fear of what I would do if the silence continued. They explained that he made them promise to never speak to me. He told them that he was leaving their world and I was to take his place. He was the creator and they could only obey his orders. I reminded them of him. They told me that I was very similar to the boy they remember in the past. He was young once. He was a kindhearted person. He didn't creep through the shadows talking to himself back in those days. No, he was much like me then. I couldn't take it. The way they would look at me with such hope and admiration. They were only trying to distract me. Just like him! I told them that I would not stay in their world. I had a real life elsewhere that I had to be in. I had a daughter and a family that cared about me. They didn't care about these things. These once quiet and peaceful strangers became enraged and grew to become monstrous and frightening. They said I could never leave. It was his plan and nothing could stop it. I surprised every one there and myself. Instead of running or fighting them all, I simply slept.
I slept for so long that he eventually came back to me. He was a changed man. He told me that he was sorry to have tricked me so deftly. He was selfish and naive. He didn't know then what he understood so clearly now. He needed me. He needed the long talks. He was dying without me. I felt so relieved to see him. I had slept for so long that my dreams became a reality that was hellish and repetitive. I agreed to his offer wholeheartedly. We had to see each other to survive. I would live in my world half the time and then in his world the other half. We would never discuss what happened while we were in each others realms. I was happy again. The others were not happy at all. They tried to plead with me though he would not hear of it. They retreated back to their homes and were silent once again...
{And this is the only logical place I could find to stop. I could write about this story for a long while but tomorrow is another blog. Sheesh.}
I used to like it when I could escape from them all. I would be the one crawling into his darkest hiding places to find precious sleep. I didn't want to change the world! Sleep was the hidden treasure I was after and I suppose I found it too. That is where we met, him and I. In the world between sleep and those darkest places. I remember the long talks we would have. I thought he was the smartest person I had ever met. Funny too! He was so clever. That was how he eventually made a cozy little home inside my life. We simply spent too much time together. I let him search through the deepest places in my mind, places I had never even traveled to before.
One Friday night after work I was depressed and thinking of the life I have lived, or not lived, and I wanted to chat with him to clear things in my head. He was the best listener I had ever talked to. It was as if he could read my mind. Every topic of discussion was laid out exactly as I would have wanted it. So I went searching for him. Desperately. I searched for what felt like days. I looked in any place we had hung out. He was no where to be found and the others, well, they were never keen on having conversations with me. I traveled through the that world for days and checked every corner. It was as if he had disappeared completely. I was frustrated and beyond tired. I lost my temper and struck one of the others. They spoke to me then, in fear of what I would do if the silence continued. They explained that he made them promise to never speak to me. He told them that he was leaving their world and I was to take his place. He was the creator and they could only obey his orders. I reminded them of him. They told me that I was very similar to the boy they remember in the past. He was young once. He was a kindhearted person. He didn't creep through the shadows talking to himself back in those days. No, he was much like me then. I couldn't take it. The way they would look at me with such hope and admiration. They were only trying to distract me. Just like him! I told them that I would not stay in their world. I had a real life elsewhere that I had to be in. I had a daughter and a family that cared about me. They didn't care about these things. These once quiet and peaceful strangers became enraged and grew to become monstrous and frightening. They said I could never leave. It was his plan and nothing could stop it. I surprised every one there and myself. Instead of running or fighting them all, I simply slept.
I slept for so long that he eventually came back to me. He was a changed man. He told me that he was sorry to have tricked me so deftly. He was selfish and naive. He didn't know then what he understood so clearly now. He needed me. He needed the long talks. He was dying without me. I felt so relieved to see him. I had slept for so long that my dreams became a reality that was hellish and repetitive. I agreed to his offer wholeheartedly. We had to see each other to survive. I would live in my world half the time and then in his world the other half. We would never discuss what happened while we were in each others realms. I was happy again. The others were not happy at all. They tried to plead with me though he would not hear of it. They retreated back to their homes and were silent once again...
{And this is the only logical place I could find to stop. I could write about this story for a long while but tomorrow is another blog. Sheesh.}
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