The Life and Times of EzraCold Blog by Ezra Cold
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     I hadn't imagined the day was one of any given exceptionality.  In fact I had simply decided to go out for a couple drinks.  The bar was a cheap sleezy pool hall with a known reputation of unpleasantness.  The first step through the door was like walking into a room just after a badly financed porn shoot.  Sweat, beer and the simple yet pungant oders that screamed "get out if you don't want syphalis" perverted the air around me.  I remember smiling the second I walked in.  I was alone and the band playing was one featuring a former Ms. Teen New Jersey who was blatantly lied to in terms of her ability to sing in a heavy metal band.  This was clearly a place for fallen dreams and those who cut their feet walking on the shattered remnants.

I have decided to post a list of the type of Salutes I would like to have.  Mostly through the kindness of those I know.  At first shot there are 30 Plus a KING SALUTE, which is the rarest one I don't think I'll ever find but is a nice ultimate goal. 



1. Paper near Boob
2. Paper on legs
3. paper on chest
4. While Holding a Sock
5. while wearing a sweater
6. Written on titty
7. Written on stomach/Abs
8. Written on Leg
9. included in a valid FUBAR SALUTE
10. Paper being eaten
11. With a Squirrel
12. Includes Cowboy Hat
13. In Just a bra
14. Complete topless
15. with at least four Stuffed animals
16. With a KITTY!
17. While smoking (not pot or hookah or bong.. a bloody cigarette.)
18. With a Taco
19. Dangling from a tongue piercing
20. Painted on Canvas
21. Painted on a Banana
22. Painted on a Skull
23. While licking a Skulls Teeth (cause lets face it.. thats just hot.)
24. With a Celebrity.
25. While Holding a toothbrush, and a bra that DOESN'T Belong to YOU. (must say who it DOES belong to.)
26. With A Reese's Peanut Butter cup or other product.
27. A GIF or moving salute..
29. Written Near a tattoo so as to look like it's PART of the tattoo
30. With A Sword

The King Salute: Includes the following items: A Megadeth CD, A Peanut butter cup, A sword, A Kitty, A book of reasonably decent lenght, (anne rice and Twilight books BANNED) A crown of some kind, Written on Boobs, while licking a banana. 

     The title should say it all. I talk to myself too much.  There was a time when I had someone who could listen to me.  This isn't to say that people no longer listen to me, because they often do.  The problem is what they're listening to isn't really ME.  It's the response to what was said and more than likely just something said to encourage further conversation.  It's social intereaction.  It's not a moment where I get to show myself.  I don't really belong in society these days. 

     Anyway returning to the point, hopefully....

I talk to myself because it's how I reason things out. How I manage to put together the pieces of my own interpretations of Quantum Physics, Occult studies, Psychological and Sociological information.  It's how I assimilate information and solve my problems.  I rant.  It's hard to do though because not a lot of people can simply listen and hear what I say.  They know what I vocalize, but not always what I say.  Yes thats a tricky thing to understand.  Life itself if tricky. 


I miss someone to talk to.  Someone to listen to and someone who is able to listen to me and while I don't expect people to always follow my logic perfectly, I'd like to think they had a base understanding that didn't require my more advanced ramblings to have to sound like a term paper and list a series of dates, refferences, and basic scientific principals. 

     But I may just be rambling again.... I guess... I'm lonely?  is that possible?  I mean I have friends, I have family, but I don't think I ever really get to talk to them... I mostly just interact with them... they don't really seem able to understand the world as I do.... is that arrogant? I suppose it is...



But is it so arrogant if its true as well?  I mean how can I expect to find another woman like her if I know myself that my brain has put me in a rather unpleasant fraction of the human race?  Frankly my odds have been cut down dramaticly I believe.  Crap... okay enough of this rambling it's begining to depress me...

    I look back and realize that I am suffering the same fate of being forgotten as my father.  Not that those who know me (such few that can count under that heading) will forget me, but I have little record of my existence.  Few pictures, fewer still social images that prove what kind of individual I am.  My world will fade away and despite the things I have done... from the crimes I've commited and will forever carry the burden for, to the lives I have saved and will never take credit for.... all of these will be forgotten as my identity fades into the nothingness of time.  I stand in the shadows, I face the things that crawl and lurk there more often than most people even look at the shade on a hot day.  And yet I will fade away into the very same darkness.   It's a hint more than a humbling thought. 


     I carry no gun, I use only wit and on occasion a blade. I do not make the news overtly and never mentioned by name.  I am sure even this will go unread and mostly it is used as a sounding board for my own delusions and concepts.... anyway I must be off now...

     When it comes to my birth, all I really know is the day it occurred.  As to where it happened I don't know if it was Delaware or Pennsylvania.  I do however know that when I was young, before the age of five, I attempted to pop a wheelie on my bike and managed to end the scenario with a scar that lay upon my head to this very day.
     I know this occurred before I was five because that was the year that my father went on a hunting trip and the same man never returned.  He was shot three times with bird-shot and the pellets would have killed him if not for a single random occurrence that saved his life.  He was Smoking.  Yes, the cigarette saved my fathers life.  His hand was holding the coffin nail up to his lips and shielded his throat from the pellets. 
     Unfortunately, the gunshots and the resulting surgery combined with the later aneurysm resulted in the man who returned from the incident being a completely different person than the one that left.  A man who had trouble communicating, got mad and frustrated because of it. A man who had just one eye.  He changed but I was just young enough to know that he was still my father and my memory of the time before the accident was almost non-existent.  There was much therapy and many issues in my future because of this.  It wasn't long after an incident where he pulled a knife on me because I wouldn't finish my Fruit loops that he and my mother divorced.  This led to more issues.  In almost no time at all I found myself in a Catholic school and soon after in an Asylum. 
     My father is now dead.  It was ten long years after the accident, the aneurysm, the Divorce, two bouts with cancer the final one, Bone Cancer, the one that did him in.  That last year is when I discovered the depths of hate that I could hold in my heart.  I loved my father and still do.  He was living with his mother in that last year, as he had since the divorce.  This poor excuse for a woman however allowed my father to waste away in his bedroom, in a bed stained with his own feces and didn't even go it to talk to him.  She kept her son hidden away and tried to turn the whole event into a pity party for herself.  Her son, my father.  The man who taught me to throw knives, who introduced me to horror movies, who for some reason beyond my comprehension was the best player at the Zelda Nintendo games I have ever seen was allowed to rot in his room alone when his own mother was in the other room or downstairs. 
     Finally My mother, who again still cared for him as we all did, and her new husband were able to get my father into a masonic hospital to make sure he was finally cared for correctly until the day he died. 

     I learned a lot about the world from the whole experience with my father.  Sometimes fate takes people away from you, sometimes pain and suffering are almost endless.  Sometimes even a mother son bond is no better than a small decayed piece of twine.  I also learned that even through all of that my fathers humor was there, his kindness, his decency. 

     Goodness can survive agony, and evil can be anywhere.  In both cases, it's people who are the source of it.

      I cannot begin in any real way.  There is much to say should some poor soul take an interest in my life.  I could start at the begining but I find not doing so would allow me to place the more relavant and interesting aspects in the forefront.  There are many stories and many events... This is little more than an introduction to these. 

      I think I will place each story individually in this collection of blogs.  So that hopefully by title a given reader will be able to navigate them according to what interests them most.  From the ten year long death of my father, to my regretable engagement and subsequent breakup.  My injuries of youth, and the misdeeds of a drunken and educational High School experience. 



        Now, those issues have been stated, I will continue with the introduction.  A breif explination of my Name.  Ezra Cold.


        There is a movie, that I hope you have seen, called "The Mothman Prophecies"  In which a character or creature called a Mothman is mentioned.  This is a creature of actual urban legend.  It is said to appear before tragic events and can foretell such events.  A being capable of reading the incoming future.  In the movie the Mothman calls the main character and introduces himself as "Indrid Cole".  This was misheard by myself and my friends as "Ezra Cold".   

          I did not simply take the name for the sake of the name.  It was given to me.  My friends called me that as a joke.  I posses the ability, trait, trick whatever you may choose to call it to read people.  This allows me a sense of what will happen to them.  I am OFTEN correct.  This is not something supernatural, and it's not a perfect system.  I simply understand the corrupt being that is Humanity.  You will see why once this blog and all the tales are told.  This has jaded me horribly.  I rarely trust, I often seclude myself in order to preserve what little remains of my core being, and I hide behind humor and wit when I believe the truth of who I am is being revealed. 


          I say this now because I no longer wish to be that way.  I shall expose who I am in this blog.  For all to see.  Because I wish to become a more complete person.  One capable of trust again, capable of healing where I should heal and living as I should live. 




                                My Name Is Ezra Cold, Come into my asylum...

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