Subliminal's blog: "Subliminal Lies"

So, here we are, once again upon the proverbial 'silly season', and things are just as silly as ever. From the personal aspects of life, with one thing and another, it is what it is, and from the outside world. It's getting stranger than ever. It's been getting that way for awhile now, for the last, oh, i don't know, thirty years or more. Hell, since the beginning of the big bang, maybe. I don't know, I'm not that old, nor is anyone else I know. Days like this, I wish I had the longevity and memory of DEATH. The anthropomorphic personification, of course. I wish I could remember all the things, and had the longevity to fill in the blanks left by History. 

It's a funny thing, History. "History is the version of past events that people have decided to agree upon." Napoleon Bonaparte. Has to be one of the truest statements ever made. History, like the Bible, is a collection of fables, with maybe a hint of truth (Unlike the Bible, but that's neither here nor there - the Bible is a collection of fables to scare children into submission), and what is it's purpose? A fantastic question, that I have no proof-positive answer for. I could say, it's to show us the mistakes we've made in life, but of course, if that's the case, it has thoroughly backfired, especially the further we get from it, and the closer we get to the center of the continental United States. 

Okay, maybe that was a little rude, but it has the benefit of being true. But really, I will say this, in the last, say, 10 years, it's becoming nationwide, from the jerkoffs on Wall Street, to the whores on Hollywood Boulevard. They're buying into the same line of Bullshit as the backwood Midwest, or worse, the degenerate South. Don't get me wrong, I love this country and all it's weird little factions, from the belligerent rednecks to the two-faced liberals. It's quite interesting to watch as a side-show attraction, but some days, it's not very fun to be smack dab in the middle of. It's a bit scary, actually. 

There was a news story in the summer about Texas, essentially, removing Benjamin Franklin (I believe) from the History textbooks, because his stance was too anti-religion. Those books get shipped out to the entire country. If it was just Texas, it'd be worth a giggle and further proof that they do, in fact, need to secede from the Union. Would I have any problem with that? Absolutely not, all the good Texan Exports are dead, from Janis and Jimi and SRV to Bill Hicks. It is what it is, the only reason to keep Texas is for ZZ Top, but really - they can get Visas, or dual citizenship. It would be allowed. 

Especially if I were Supreme Chancellor or Mugwump or Head Dragon or whatever. 

History is a funny thing. Any history, from the History of the World to the History of ones life. It should never be doctored to be something that it isn't. Frankly, nothing should be doctored to be something less offensive. If people can't handle it, for whatever reason they have, then they should get the fuck off the planet. This is Free Speech, the First Amendment to the Constitution. They have the Free Speech to get pissed or hurt, this is true, but they do not have the Free Speech to stifle someone else's Free Speech. 

As much as I hate the cocksucker and wish he would crawl into a hole and die, buried with a maggot infested Enema, Fred Phelps has his right to do his thing. Speech is Free to All, not just the people you want to hear. 

While I would be forced to consider myself a Democrat/Liberal, because god forbid we have more than 2.5 parties in this country, there are a number of their points that I disagree with, and one of them is the stifling of Free Speech. But that's on the Republicans, too. They preach about wanting to uphold the constitution, but they often forget that First one. I love the constitution and all that it stands for, though I do agree with the Founding Fathers and say that it is Temporary, and should be rewritten periodically. Fact of life, Time's change. 

But the fact of the Matter is... pretty simple, actually. Nobody really wants to give OTHERS Freedom of Speech.

I know, I'm someone who is pretty relaxed and groovy on some things, This is not one of them. I agree with Freedom of Speech for all, be damned whether or not I approve of their Speech. From Glenn Beck (Fucking psychopath) to Keith Oberman, from George W Bush (Voldemort) to Barack Obama, they all have the Freedom to Say as they please, and here's something even the smartest people tend to forget when they're arguing against Freedom of Speech, people have the Right to turn it off, or to listen. There are several buttons on the TV, two change the channels, and one turns it the fuck off. It's so simple, that must be why these Nazi's don't think about it. 

This all goes back to Censorship, just from a vaguely different Angle. Censorship is one of my few Pet Peeves, on a personal level and a global level. I loathe with every fiber of my being the concept of Censorship. It all boils down to the First Amendment, period. The End. Case Fucking Closed. 

There are ugly truths in the world, like that there's a bigot, a religious zealot, a communist and a nazi on every street corner of America. If they're out in the open, you can see them, and keep your eye on them, but if they censor themselves to fit into this plastic world of tolerance and nonsense, then they will be a hundred fold more dangerous. Because they will sneak in and under the radar, and they will fuck everything all up. Why not let these bigots crucify themselves? Why do we try so hard to hide their bullshit and rhetoric from public view? Why do we, as a nation, try to protect the people from the Truth? 

Just a thought, something to consider. Something to think on. 

What does censoring the world and yourself do for the betterment of said world? 

I know, there are arguments that they're doing it for the children, and I find that to be the silliest thing I have ever heard. Why protect the children from the truth? They're going to find out eventually, and if they're so fucking protected, when they do find this out, they're going to die from the culture shock. Should they be thrown out into the wild? Well, part of me thinks so, because I am a fan of Darwinism, as you all well know, but really - no they shouldn't be thrown out to the world at birth, but they shouldn't be kept oblivious and ignorant. The children are our future, which is a scary, scary thought in and of itself. It terrifies me, to be quite honest, because of the irreparable damage these parents are inflicting on them, by trying to keep them "safe" from the torturous truth of reality. 

The thing is, by shielding, hiding, and warping the Truth, there is so much more harm being done than good. The world is not fair. The world is, Life is, a zero-some game, and it's important that people realize this and remember it, and it should be taught to the children from the first day of school, if not Birth. They can't be protected forever, and they're going to kill themselves when they get kicked in the face by the Real World. 

[I WOULD RECOMMEND 90% OF YOU TO STOP READING RIGHT NOW]

There are a thousand other things I'd love to discuss, from the nonsense of changing letter grades of A-F to something else, whatever it is, because it is too "psychologically damaging", but really, so what? Would students actually hold themselves to standards? And if they really broke down because they failed, then maybe they should shuffle themselves loose this mortal coil. Bosses, Banks, whatever, are not going to word things in a way to protect the delicate sensibilities of the fucking grown children. It's a harsh reality, and these fucking kids need to be prepared for it. 

The children in this country are being kept Too Safe. Period, they're not learning to take Responsibility for their actions, or to suffer the Consequences of their mistakes. There are many important lessons to be learned in this life, that include that examples must be made. Once again, it boils down to Natural Selection. We'll use the example of the School Zone Speed Trap, as it's one of my favorites, and one of the easiest to explain. 25 MPH during school days, 7:30-4:30. Maybe the children need to learn that the Car will win. That dropping the speed of the car by 15MPH isn't going to do a damn bit of good, anyways, but they need to learn, that if a human gets hit by a car, they will lose. They will be a greasy spot spread across the asphalt. You can tell them that 100 times in class, at home, but they won't truly learn it until they see one of their school chums get smacked by a speeding car. Examples must be made to learn from. In this case, the lesson is simple, stay the fuck out of the way of Cars. They will win, no doubt about it. And if the kid is so dumb as to get smacked by a car? Then so be it, he obviously wasn't going to cure Cancer. He was going to be a burger flipper at fucking McDonald's, and as far as I'm concerned, we should kill all their employees so that they will go out of business, and maybe we could begin to examine a Healthy Lifestyle for a change. 

That would be a shock, wouldn't it? To quit feeding these obese motherfuckers twice-fried food... 

Another thing I've been itching to get at, and part of me is glad that no one reads this, because I'm definitely not going to make any fans. Can we please cut it out with this Support the Troops bullshit? Please? The first round that went, yes, I can see that, because all they were looking for was 3 hots and a cot, they weren't wanting to go to war, but all these motherfuckers who signed up after the fact? Screw 'em, they volunteered. This isn't like fucking Vietnam where there was a Draft and people were going unwillingly into combat. NO! These motherfuckers signed up, volunteered, all gung ho and shit. They can have their reasons, and I'm sure some of them are good reasons, and maybe even truly stand-up reasons, but they still V O L U N T E E R E D. They knew what the hell they were going into when they put their X on the line. They knew they were likely to die, to get blown to hell by some 9 year old kid strapped with a bomb. 

I have sympathy for the Draftees of Vietnam. These cocksuckers who think War is like a video game? No fucking way. If they were lied to by the recruiter, okay, I can half-sympathize for them, but they should be smart enough to see through the smoke screen bullshit jarhead mentality. Another thing - FUCK MARINES. 

What I also want to say is this, You motherfuckers who want to Support the War in Iraq, Afghanistan, Turkey, North Korea, Yemen, Syria, wherever the hell we're at War with right now - here's a thought, go over and fight and see the real HORRORSHOW that is War. I have never been, but I've seen enough casualties in my life to know that the old saying, War is Hell, is absolutely true, and how DARE YOU SUPPORT A WAR.

My thought on this? We need to start a lottery. A good lottery where no one has to buy a ticket, they just have to exist in this country. We haven't had a war fought on our soil in well over 100 years, and I think these Red White And Blue motherfuckers need to be reminded of the HELL that is WAR. So, here's my plan. 

We get a map of the Country, and we get a Monkey, and we get darts. The Monkey throws 5 Darts a week, and wherever those Darts land, gets mortared heavily for 24 hours. It is wholly indiscriminate, and there are rules, if a dart lands in an area that's already been hit in say, the last month, the Monkey has to throw another one. It's only fair. Unless it's Wasila, Alaska, of course. Or Crawford, Texas for that matter. Bloody thirsty gits. 

There's a point in this, and not just to show these daft motherfuckers what REAL Terror is, like those people in Kuwait or Israel or Iraq or wherever else actually knows. The fact is, these people don't know what War is, most of them, they see it in the movies, glamorized like all holy hell, or the fact that it is 7000 miles from home, they have a good cushion and barrier there, so they need to be awakened, and maybe after a couple months of this, all around the country, people will begin to realize that BOMBING THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF PEOPLE IS NOT CONDUCIVE TO FUCKING PEACE!!!! 

I hope people realize that by bombing the shit out of Iraq and Afghanistan, stormtrooping through THEIR countries, is not a way to win friends and influence people. It's going to piss them off and proliferate their brand of Freedom Fighting. You go into someone's country holding an automatic weapon, you better be ready for some action, Jack. And RETALIATION!!!!! It's to be fucking expected, unless you're a fucking Jarhead moron. 

These people.... The people in this country have no fucking idea what it's really like. Soldiers returning home do. Yes, you should support the Vets, to an extent, because they learned their lesson, if you will. They have learned what hell war is, and most of them speak out against it once they come home. Good on them. War is not the answer. It has NEVER been the answer. It's only another Problem to contend with. 

How about we try to solve the world's problems with fucking intelligence and not a belligerent drunk in a barroom brawl. Would that be too OUT THERE to consider? I know, it probably is, and I'm sorry for shocking your delicate sensibilities with the idea that maybe the brain is a better weapon than a bomb that will destroy everything except the fillings in their fucking teeth. Maybe, just maybe, if we can reach a state of enlightenment, we can find a way to perhaps bring Peace to the world. 

War? The only thing it's good for is population control, and even then it's a piss poor way to do it since the advent of contraceptives... if only the Christian morons would use them. 

Thank you and have a nice day. 

[NINE INCH NAILS : THE WARNING]

Some say it was a warning

Some say it was a sign

I was standing right there

When it came down from the sky

The way it spoke to us

You felt it from inside

Said it was up to us

Up to us to decide

You've become a virus

That's keeping up it's host

We've been watching you with all of our eyes

And what you seem to value most

So much potential 

Or so we used to say

Your greed, self-importance, 

And your arrogance

You piss it all away 

We heard a cry 

We've come to intervene 

You will change your ways

And you will make amends

Or we will wipe this place clean

Your time is tick, tick, ticking away

Your time is tick, tick, ticking away 

I don't want to be here, he said as he beckoned her around the corner

with a whisper and a haze, he smiled and swayed against her breeze

I want to fade into the everlasting and the infinite, he said

I don't want to be here anymore, he said with a brush of a finger upon her lips

a subtle breath wrapped around the finger and brought him a sigh of warmth

lost in the frigid freezing of night, in the foot of snow around their ankles

a million flakes, all individual but essentially the same, like the people they were

I want to live forever in the stars, lost in the ether of space, he said to clouded eyes

that saw without seeing, without understanding what lay beneath the surface

of his Forever, and his Skin and the Breath that hung from his Lips like a low fog

she saw without seeing and did not understand as he said, I don't want to be here

one more time from the lips of a confessing man boy child grown up lost

under the current of the sea, sucking him back out to the oblivion.

She shook her head, misunderstand and walked away from the boy in the snow behind a broken brick building

she left without a second glance, lost in the haze of his breath and words and cologne.

She was just as lost as he was, but into something else, disparate and different, 

she would never understand those last words as she walked into the night toward the coven of friends,

young children chanting a witch's prayer in tongues that spoke beneath their inane words.

Ideologically starved and depraved, deprived of what had come before them and she realized something

something true and beneath the surface, the words she understood, the meaning and intent in a flash

like the brilliance of god, she understood without a second guess and the haze left her eyes with a shake and a sigh.

A turn, a nod, a glance over her shoulder and the boy under the phosphorescent light was no more

lost in the snow and the space and the stars, and that ethereal ether of Oblivion. 

Called back to her world, on those trails through the snow under the lights and down the road

they could almost see those rough painted lines here, broken and jagged yellow and light 

devoid of colour under these lights. She whispered to herself and smiled a subtle thing no one noticed, and 

she plucked from the congregation, speaking in tongues beneath the surface a beautiful boy

tall and lanky, greasy hair hanging over his eyes, and she pulled him into the desecrated alleyway

with a whisper and a smile, and she told him, lips brushing his ear with an inaudible whisper, she told him

I don't want to be here, anymore. She said, with nothing more than a white fog breath 

and she turned and left into the darkness, and in that darkness, between the buildings lost and defiled.

She faded into the fog of her own breath and tall and lanky was left on his own, 

on the brokendown street under a burnt out street lamp. I don't want to be here, he screamed 

a scream that echoed through the silence without a squeak, and he felt the tremble of his heart.

Lost in the forever of mortality, there was no escape and his head pounded with an abstract torment

he stood gibbering to himself for a long moment, lost in the chill that ran through his veins. 

He breathed, and he returned to the handful of boy-girls and girl-boys outside the mouth of the alley,

under a streetlamp and rhyming themselves into oblivion, chanting out a warriors call.

Surrounded by them on all sides, circling around him like a hunting pack, he had never felt so alone

he had never felt so - lost.

He took a breath that hung on the stickiness of the 3 dollar wine that was meant to warm his insides,

tall and lanky tapped a girl on her shoulder, black hair and blacker eyes still, glittering with stainless steel and silver

and the crimson of costume stones, and he smiled with coherence. It was understanding in the deepest level

and he left her there, with a scribbled note on her palm. I don't want to be here, it said in black jagged strokes.

They called after him, they screamed and with a turn, a twist, a nod and a smile, he said -

I'm going home. 

Chapter One.
[Do I look like a guy with a plan? You know what I am? I'm a dog chasing cars. I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it, you know? I just Do things.]


[He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.]

Normalcy. Weirdness. The only people who try to be *weird*, who say that they are *weird*, are weird, because they're being dishonest and going for the *money*, for want of a better word. No, they're trying, and trying is dishonest. It's hard to explain, in a way that can be understood with the English language. It's more of a fluid stream of consciousness. The point is, really, it's all relative. There is no Normal and no Weird. 

[When the going gets Weird, the Weird turn Pro]

It's all so convoluted, but in this world with a million different possible personalities, how can anyone be considered *weird*? It's all just - different shades of Normal. Especially in this country. We're an odd beast, to say the least. Really. To say the least. We have unlimited possibilities to be unique, to be Individuals (don't mind me, I'm just going to giggle a bit), but in the end, we always follow the trends. Even those who try to Stand Out and be Different. They're sheep as well. It's a sad, sad state of affairs, to be totally honest. The only people who break the mold are those who truly don't give a good goddamn what anyone thinks, which is hard in this country, as we're inundated with television and magazines and films and everything else telling us who to be, how to be, what to think. It makes 1984 look like a joke. The book, that is. By the great George Orwell. 

Baah baah black sheep, has you any wool?

Mm... Pigs... Dogs... Sheep... Animal Farm. Pink Floyd's Animals. 

Such a great album, and I suspect the book will be a coming purchase. 

Anyways...

Sheep. We're all sheep. It's sad, it really is. We're controlled by the coasts. It starts there, on either side, and trickles inward... but whatever. We're drones, it happens in all societies. Amongst the million personalities we're allowed, so to speak, there are about a dozen, and sadly, most of them, in one way or another base themselves around Religious beliefs. It's a sad state of affairs that in like 10k years, we've never evolved from those quaint Superstitions. It would be amazing and awesome to watch as a truly objective observer, from the Stars... but the fact is, we're all ground down into it, so Objectivity is a bit, hard. True Objectivity. When you're amidst the quagmire this has become, it's next to impossible to be truly Objective and not worry about the repercussions of this Madness. 

Madness - does not exist. If one of us is Mad then we is all Mad. Which is the problem with being comfortable with True Individuality for most people - They don't want to be thought Mad. Which is hard for people. 

The straights, the squares want to believe that there are two types of people. The Sane and the Insane. The Straights and the Freaks. Supposed Freaks, I must say, to clarify my position. When dealing with these B&W people, one must get down to their level and try to explain it, the best one can. Like I do with Neo-Conservative Republicans. Part of the reason it's easier to generalize. I'm not Playing Devil's Advocate, per se, I'm merely explaining it from a kind of amalgam of Points of View. Mine and Theirs. It is fun, let me tell you, but things tend to get confused. 

People, they're an interesting sort. 

Funny thing to know, We're one night away from becoming Neanderthals again. Exciting, isn't it? 

24 Hours without Electricity or Communication, and this country would resort back to Barbarism. It would be fun to watch, once again, from Space. 

But think about it, It would be Fun as Hell to watch this country come apart at the seams, but of course, I'd feel kinda sorry for the rest of the world. Some Numb Nuts would find a way to Launch Nukes, dig? That would be bad, and ...okay, it wouldn't be bad. It would wipe the planet of this filthy disease called Humanity and Gaia could commence her healing. 

Really. People want to pretend that they're Such Hot Shit, as a Species. Especially Republicans and Morons with their Petrol Guzzling SUV's (of which they have Absolutely No Need For) - as though this beautiful BlueGreenBallWeCallEarth is Nothing but the land in which we live. But think about it friends, Without Gaia, we would be Gone. Dead. Not here. 

Trust me, I'm not a Tree-Hugger, I have no qualms with you motherfuckers ripping up Forests and State Parks to build Home after Home for the Ever Growing Population, I think it's Great. Why? I'm a fan of Natural Selection. *A Big Fan.* Like OMFG Big. Once you burn out all the resources and deplete the Earth of all its resources, you will be GONE. Dead and Buried under an Epic Layer of Ash, and my dear Gaia can begin to heal from your fucking wounds. And she will. She Has. Remember the Dinosaurs? Yeah, they were wiped out by a KICKASS Asteroid that plunged the Earth into a Thousand Year winter, but she came back Fighting and Spawned us. 

I wonder. How long were the Dinosaurs here? A few thousand years? I wonder if it really is a Biological Experiment. Open Ended of course, because our Goddess Gaia cannot really Throw Asteroids at us when she's tired of us (Which I'm sure she is), but you know, We've had our turn. 

And let's Pretend that the Republican Party (ie. Reagan) didn't spread AIDS to get rid of the blacks and queers (I like conspiracy theories, and this is an interesting one), let's say Gaia spawned it, to start ridding the planet of us. Which, in a way, it has. Well, it has begun. And then Trojan had to make BILLIONS from the ... actually, contraceptives are no longer in use as Abstinence Only Sex Ed banished them from the consciousness of these numbskull 14 year olds fucking and getting knocked up. Babies having Babies. One thing that will be fun? AIDS and/or other Terminal Diseases will be running Rampant amongst you silly folks. It will be fun to watch. And This one I can watch from outside, Because I ain't fucking no more. Well, I will, I know. I can't go the rest of my life and NOT dip my wick once or twice a year, but I'm not STUPID. Condoms are our friends. I will not Breed and I will not contract Disease. Okay, I know, Condoms aren't 100% effective (they have to cover their ass), but 99.9% is good enough for me, and they've not failed me yet. 

But really - It makes me happy to envision a World where People are no longer a Problem, but are gone and a Prehistoric Memory. We'll be dug up by an intelligent species and they'll Giggle, just as we do with Dinosaurs and CavePeople, and they will Giggle at your Gods the same way we Giggle at the Romans and Grecians and Druids. 

I wonder if they'll have their own Gods. I hope not. I hope by then that the biological Evolutionary Imperative will have weeded out Superstitions. At least once they get a good Roll going with Science and the like. That will be Awesome, 'eh? I can dream, can't I? You Bet your Sweet ASS I can. I'm an Optimist. 

Chapter Two

Can you see it? A World without People? Imagine it. Sit back and Imagine. 

[Imagine there's no Country. It isn't hard to do. Nothing to kill or die for. No religion, too]

It would be absolutely Beautiful. Sure, the Animals will perish too, and that's sad, but they'll come back. They will, I assure you, but People won't. The skies will be clear. The trees will be tall. The rivers and oceans will be clean. The Earth will once again be Blue and Green, no longer shades of Black. I can see it and it makes me Giddy inside. So Incredibly EXCITED!!!! 

Excited for the End of the World? Why yes, yes I am. It's like, a dream come true. Really, it is. I'm all a dither thinking about it. I'm speechless and Giddy as a Schoolgirl at Prom knowing I's gonna get some at the Hotel Afterparty. 

Sorry. I'm better. 



Some days, I feel like Major Tom, floating above the atmosphere, watching the world self-destruct in ways I could never imagine to Self-Destruct, and I'm pretty imaginative when it comes to Self-Destruction. 

[This is Major Tom to Ground Control, I'm stepping through the door. And I'm floating the most Peculiar way. And the Stars look very different today. For, here I am sitting in a Tin Can far above the world. Planet Earth is blue and there is nothing I can do.]

Tell my wife I love her very much... 

Sigh, it's sad, though. It's not happening fast enough. The population just keeps getting bigger and Bigger and BIGger and BIGGER. More and more peoples, but they're not burning the resources and the Earth as fast as they Can. Fucking hippies and tree-huggers.

This is a call to you: Let them!!!!! Let them Obliterate this world and you'll get just what you always wanted! The roads will deteriorate and fall away, disappear and go bye bye. The Earth, my lovely Gaia will reclaim what was hers and stolen by the White Man and pfft, there you go. Just what you always wanted, the great Goddess back in control.... and the Earth saved from the raping and pillaging Humans...

Oh wait. 

That's not what you want?

No?

Damn...

You just want more bicycle paths?

You just want to perpetuate the Human Disease? That Virus with Shoes?

Sad. 

Pathetic Humanists. You're not Earth Friendly. You Bastards!!

You just want to Make Things More Comfortable For YOU!!! Cocksmokers.

DIE!!!

No, really. Think about it, if they were really for the Environment, they would Wish for the destructions of Humans just as I do. 

Funny thing is, I generally like Humans, in an abstract sense. They're alright, I guess. They just got lost along the way, and if I were a Catholic, I'd call on St Jude, the Patron Saint of Lost Causes. 

But they are beyond saving. It's sad but true. 

We got lost along the way and need to be wiped out. Maybe brought back with a better Operating System. We're like Vista 32. Or Windows ME. Like, let's say - The Dinosaurs were Windows 95-98 (really, they're the same operating system, no real change), a good Operating System (for the Earth), and we're Windows ME. So our Predecessors will be XP and maybe they can make it alright, maybe they can do it better witht a clean slate (Really, I've given up on Our evolution. We've been stuck at being excited for the Opposable Thumb for far too long. We [They] don't understand we have Much More Potential than this) so, there we go. Then the next one, a few more million years down the road will be Vista 32, they'll evolve to Visa 64, then they'll be expunged, then we'll have Windows 7, which totally kicks ass, so there you go. That's how it works. How it will work. At least the Dinosaurs didn't pollute and they ate what they killed

Think of it like this, if you will. 

We've been here 6k years, which is just a blink for Gaia, She's got Patience like a motherfucker. She's eternal. Everlasting, and she'll be here long, Long, LONG after we're gone... And it will be okay. It will be awesome and Beautiful and I just wish someone could get me pictures. 

Happily Ever After
A story of true love

The room felt tiny, constricted, like the walls were closing in as his face flushed and perspiration beaded across his brow – Edward, Eddie to his wife, rose from the table with a pack of miniature brownies in his hand, sealed in thick white plastic, a simple snack for work. He was packing his lunch the night before as he always did, and from the front room he heard the choked sobs of his wife. They had gotten into an argument only a few moments ago about kids; she wanted them and he did not. He had voiced his opinion time and again, it wasn't that he didn't want kids, it was that he didn't feel right bringing a child into the world as it was today.

When they were younger, before they had married, they had agreed. The world, as they saw it from their windows and the world news (BBC America), from what they read on the interweb, and felt in their hearts, they saw that the world was becoming the sort of place an innocent child would not, could not survive without becoming an asshole. He spoke calmly and clearly, and reminded her of the point, of the politics of the situation, of the overpopulation being perpetrated – they were amidst a baby boom that had long since surpassed that of the 40's, and there wasn't a Great War to accommodate the space. Essentially, all the math pointed time and again, that having children was a bad idea. Well, maybe not a bad idea, but not a good idea.

He inherently loved children and understood their ploy, they were cute and small and fragile and didn't always smell of sour milk and shit. Sometimes, they were actually pretty awesome and they made him smile, and he enjoyed playing with them. There was an innocence there he had missed in his childhood, and his wife Alison felt the same. He saw it in her eyes every time she picked one up (there friends were coming to that age of 'responsible' breeding, and it was everywhere across their internet feeds, of someone being pregnant or having a child, baby pictures galore, and whenever they went over to a friends – well, you get the picture), and he saw it in her eyes tonight. The longing of a child, of that innocence and beauty, and he felt it too, but he would not allow want to get in the way of logic.

Sure, there was a chance that their child (both parents being fairly intelligent and well-versed, well-educated) would save the world, show the world both sides of the argument until they put down their arms and shared a joint in peace. It's possible, and he knew it, in fact the logic pointed to it, but would it make them any better than the parents popping out eight kids in one go just because they're cute? He didn't know and couldn't decide, and he wrestled with the idea on nights he couldn't sleep, tossing and turning as she lay there like a stone. It was the way they had always been, that. He had always been hard to sleep, and she was out as soon as the lights went dim. It worked, really. He often found time to sit and watch the movies she didn't enjoy, read, work in his den on his taxidermy – whatever, it was his time, in a way, and he was glad for it. He knew that otherwise, they may not still be married after ten years.
He wanted to smile as he crossed the threshold into the front room, but the tear stained face, blotchy and broken that looked up at him from the couch and sobered him up right quick. They had a happy marriage, and he loved her dearly, he just wanted her to understand... to understand and to be happy again. He missed her happiness. He sighed and bowed his head as he approached the chair, the plush recliner.

"Alison..."

"Don't, Eddie. It'll be okay."

"...I know you want kids, I do too, and for all the right reasons. But babe, I want you to be happy," he choked on the words and looked up at her, leaning toward her in the chair so that the foot of it dug into the carpet. The house had been his parents before they divorced and his father's after. He had inherited and with everything else, he was unable to sell it. Partially out of nostalgia, and partially that no one wanted it. The housing market had crashed and selling houses was a right pain in the ass. He often cursed the realtor for lying to his parents, but that's neither here nor there. It had become his, and with a little work, it had become a home.

A home his parents had never had, really. They had a slightly dysfunctional life, but it all worked out for the best in the end, really. He could fault neither of his parents for the way he was raised, as an adult, not a simpering frail thing unable to do a damn thing. His mind's eye smiled as he remembered his parents and looked into his wife's eyes.

Eddie tore open the miniature brownies and put one in his mouth.

"Babe, be happy."

"I am," she said, her voice soft and a little strangled.

"Want a brownie?"

"No, thank you," she said with a small, watery smile.

"Have a brownie," he said and stretched out his hand, flat as a board with a small round brownie in the centre.

"No, really. I don't want one."

Something snapped and he pushed a brownie into her mouth. He had no idea why, but he did it and cried out, "BE HAPPY!"

She sputtered on the dried up bits of brown sugar, and spat it out, laughing. She thought it was funny, she was happy, she told him. Quite and very happy, but he rounded on her and forced another brownie into her mouth. She choked for a second before spitting it out and the look in her eyes changed. A flicker of fear as she looked at him, and her vision around the edges went dark so that all she could see was his raging face. There was something wrong – as she was force fed another brownie, and this one lodged in her throat. She couldn't breathe enough to cough it out and she felt the world going completely dark as another whole brownie was shoved into her mouth, lodging the one before it deeper into her throat.

He screamed those two words over and over at ever increasing volume as she pleaded with nothing more than unintelligible mumbles that she was happy, happier than she could ever be, with him. That she loved him, that he was her everything, that there wasn't anything she wouldn't do for him. She pleaded as he screamed with nothing but unadulterated rage.

She felt the heat of tears stream down her face as she collapsed, and the warm puddle of urine spread from between her legs. The death throe. As the world went silent and impenetrably dark.

The odour filled the room and prickled Eddie's nostrils. The black fog that had consumed his brain faded as quickly as it had arrived. He collapsed onto the floor, sobbing and reaching a hand out to touch his wife's rapidly cooling face, petting her softly, the fingers of an angel, feather soft. Her face, mired though it was in brown goo and tears, had lost the blotchy complexion from earlier and was painfully beautiful... he stroked her face in silence and cleaned the flecks of spit and tears and brownie away.

He breathed a sigh and leaned down to kiss her face, her eyes, and lifted her into his arms. I love you, he repeated over and over in a hoarse whisper as he carried her into the den...

(The sun was just beginning to set when he closed the door, and had begun to slowly rise across the horizon, staining the land with its massacre of colours)

[Sweet lovely death, I am waiting for your breath. Oh sweet death, one last caress]

The door opened with a rattle and he stepped out into the hall, facing the bathroom and realised his dire need to have a piss. It exploded from his body, and the ache in his bones and muscles subsided for a moment. It was early, just this side of 5 AM, and he searched through his pockets for his cellphone. A sick day would be required – he would tell them his wife had left him, that they had been up all night raging about her boyfriend, that he needed the day to recover. He would tell them with the choked sobs in his voice, the knots of pain and torment that were, indeed, there. He would tell them and they would be shocked, surprised. The manager would feign a surprised "Oh! My god, I'm sorry," or this early in the morning, maybe he would go with the silent approach. Eddie cared not, there was still work to be done, and it was early enough to get it done.

He choked on a tear and called his manager's house.

His manager was one of those pricks who was the first one in the office and the last one to leave. People said it was dedication, but silently Edward wondered if it was paranoia that he was being thieved from in one way or another. He wanted to keep an eye on his employee's at all times, and he did. His co-workers were too terrified of his beaklike nose poking around at the inopportune moment to do anything but work, or at least – pretend to work. Edward did not like his boss, but the paycheck was needed. Doubly so, now. The phone rang, and the alert voice that answered the phone spoke of being awake for an hour, at least, already. Edward had been right on both thoughts, there was a moment of scrutinizing silence, as if the bastard had been trying to read his mind through the phone, and then a forced "Oh! I'm sorry."

Edward wondered if the prick had ever been married, if any woman could possibly stand him long enough to go out on a second date, let alone marry him. He probably paid for sex. Edward smiled silently and hung up the phone. He was off for the day, and he walked into the kitchen to fetch his wife's keys. They were on the peg, behind the half-full bottle of water, and as he pulled them down and palmed them, he filled a small paper cup.

God, how he'd kill for a smoke.

He had quit the day before they moved into the house, together. She wasn't an asshole about it, but she wasn't a smoker, and she could handle it while they were dating, as she was sparingly forced to endure it (the habit itself and his home, they spent most of the time at her apartment, really), but once they decided to move into together, she kindly suggested that he quit. He had been wanting to for years, and this was his motivation to do so. But now, damn he wanted one. To feel the burn of smoke as it filled his lungs. The first drag after 11 years would surely make him cough, but he didn't care.

Edward fired up the engine and pulled out of the drive onto the silent road that he lived on, full of retiree's and the like, few people were up this early in the city, let alone on his street. Her car had a nice feel to it, really. He liked it, but he couldn't afford it. A thought crossed his mind and he cursed loudly over the stereo. Her work, her job. Her – fuck. He kept driving on auto-pilot as he tried to figure out an answer. No call, no show, and if they called the house, he'd tell them about the fight, about her boyfriend, about her running off into the night. It might raise a couple eyebrows, maybe, but it was the only option he had, and it would work. He hoped.

The car floated down the roads in the amber warmth of dawn. It would be a hot day, he knew it would be a hot day, this was one of the hottest summers he remembered. This would be no different, and he growled at the people who made light of global warming. He wanted to call them imbeciles, to rage and scream and point fingers, to blow whistles, to wake them up, but from now on, he would have to be exceptionally quiet, yes. He listened to his teeth grind as he drove, trying to push it all from his mind, to remain calm and cool and collected. He tried, and maybe it worked, at least on the exterior. He was like the duck on the pond that he approached – cool and sleek on top, regal, but beneath the water, his feet were scrambling like a terrified, drowning child.

He could play his part well, and he would.

As he pushed the car into neutral and stepped out, edging it forward from the open driver's door. At the last moment with an unintelligible curse, he jerked open the rear door and pulled out her Ipod and headphones. He thanked god as he dropped them down onto the parched earth and continued pushing the car into the pond. The cold water licked at his shoes and pant legs, at his hands as it rushed over the car door and began filling the inside. He stepped back and began pushing from the trunk until the undertow, the force of the water pouring inside drove it forward of its own accord, and so the pond swallowed the car with hiccups and burps as it purged the air from inside.

The cicada sang from the woods and his eyes surveyed every inch for any observer, but as he had seen no one on his way there, he saw no one amidst the trees. He scooped up the music and set back toward home, the heavy muff headphones covering his ears and all the noise around him. The music was slow and soft, an instrumental and mournful album. He could hear the emptiness and the ghosts that surrounded it, flowed through it and into his head with his own ghost.

[Grandpa died last week, now he's buried in the rocks. Everybody still talks about how badly they were shocked. But me, I expected it to happen. I knew he'd lost control, when he built a fire on Main Street and shot it full of holes]

The house creaked with silence as he stepped inside and went downstairs to the darkness of what had once been the garage but was now dubbed the family room, with a rickety couch and large LCD television – it was one of the first major things he had bought for himself, and really, thirteen years on, it was still a source of happiness and of accomplishment. It was simple and silly, but that described him and his happiness, to a degree, but we're not going to get into that. He needed the cool darkness of this room, of a movie, and a nap.

Yes, a nap, and then he would fix lunch. He smiled and stretched out on the old couch to watch a movie. It was brief and dreamless, and he awoke with a phone call around noon. The sweat from the long walk home had dried and left his skin feeling flaky as he reached over his head for the cordless phone. It was the wife's firm, and he did his best to explain through yawns (thought to be choked back tears) what had happened the night before, that she had left, run off into the early morning. They offered their condolences, and hung up without much else. The woman who had called was a bit more sincere than his own manager, and he understood why she had liked her job so much. They seemed to be, from that brief call and the occasions they had met (office Christmas parties and the like), to be goodhearted people. He supposed it happened with people who wanted to save the world and human rights. He smiled at the thought of her good deeds and rolled over to the flickering menu of his DVD.

He groaned as he sat up and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. He remembered how they used to lay on the couch, her fingers wrapped loosely in his hair and his stroking hers out of her face, playing with it, just wanting to be close to her. They could never be close enough, and when they hugged, it was so tight they threatened to become one and their ribs ached with it. He sighed and looked to the floor, where an empty soda can served as an ashtray. He searched his pockets for the fresh pack of smokes and a colourful Bic lighter. She would have liked it, the colours. Bright and vibrant pinks and greens and blues and purples swirled together in a spiral.

The first drag after eleven years had been hard, but the ones that followed and this one went down like fine, fine wine. It calmed his nerves as he stood up and went into the kitchen, where his lunch pail from the night before stood (luckily nothing he had already packed was perishable, he thought), and he began to search through the fridge to find not much. Left over's and a doggie bag of Thai, a few bacon rinds and a mistake he had tried to cook a couple nights ago, that she didn't have the heart to throw out as they ordered pizza. She wrapped it in cellophane and placed it in the foreground of the fridge as a consolation prize, a Good Job, Honey But Leave the Cooking to Me award. He smiled and poked it, back against the milk.

Two baked potatoes (a little dark and crunch at the edges of where they had been split down the centre) and a pair of baked chicken breast later, he set the table for two and wondered what she would think. If she would have liked it, or laughed. Probably both, a kind-hearted laugh that came from the very bottom of her lungs. He already missed the laugh. It would always fill the room and was painfully sincere and good-natured. He smiled as he placed a candle at the epicentre of the table and lit it with the bright Bic lighter, and laid a single pink rose from her garden above the plate. She would like it, he told himself, as he walked out of the small kitchen and down the hall to his den.

The door opened and he walked inside, watched by the glass eyes of various animals, most were varmints he practiced on, or birds, nothing too attractive but he was getting better, in fact, this last one may be his masterpiece, as he picked it up off the heavy metal desk he had gotten from a doctor's office that was closing for cheap. He carried it in his arms to the kitchen and sat it at her place at the table before he took his chair and placed a silk napkin at his throat, tucked neatly under the collar of his shirt. The shirt he had worn to work the day before – he would shower after lunch and change.

"I love you," he said softly over the silence of the small dining room, the first sincere voice he had used since last night hurt his throat and his heart, made his entire body ache.

[Call an optimist, she's turning blue. I'd like to sit and stare at you.]

Her lips did not move, but her glass eyes flickered under the candle light and he smiled as he cut into his chicken.

"So, how did you sleep, my dear? Well? Well, that's good. Did you have any dreams? No? Yeah, I suppose you wouldn't after the night you had last night. Probably slept like the dead, heh? Yeah, I just woke up from a nap. It was alright, after the crazy morning, it was refreshing and it was – well, you know. I slept like a log. Oh? Yeah, I'm sorry about that. Don't worry, it's okay, you can sleep in the bed with me tonight. I'm sorry I made you sleep in there last night. I know, I know. I love you, babe. I'm sorry, okay? It's alright, I understand. We'll always have disagreements, it's a part of any marriage," he ate at the potato and chicken as he looked at the glass eyes he had implanted into his wife's sockets, staring at him without blinking. He smiled at her as he ate and finished the lunch. "Are you done?" he asked, taking their plates to the sink, depositing her half a breast and untouched potato into the trash, and the plates to the dishwasher after having been rinsed.

"If you don't mind, I'm going to go shower, is that okay? Alright, I have a surprise for you when I get out," his smile was deviously flirtatious as he left the kitchen, undressed on his way to the shower. The water was hot and scorched his flesh, leaving it a bit pink as he stepped out and looked into the mirror, noting the dark circles left under his eyes from too little sleep, and began shaving his face and chest, and down around his pubic region. Her surprise, he told himself.

When they were first together, he shaved on a fairly regular basis, but as their relationship progressed and they were married, he grew comfortable and in short, lazy. She had made a comment about it, the last time they slept together, after coming back up to kiss him full on the mouth, that maybe he would start again, that it was a bit uncomfortable (She made some other comments about it, but we'll leave it there for the time being – you get the picture), and so he did. He was freshly shaved, everywhere but his head and eyebrows, and with naught but a towel around his waist, he returned to the kitchen to whisk his wife out of her chair, and carried her to their bedroom.

The drapes were pulled tight, leaving it dark as night, and through the afternoon until the first streak of dusk rang like a division bell outside, they made love. Exhausted and drowning in his own sweat, he collapsed next to her bare body and draped both an arm and a leg over her, his face nuzzling her neck as he kissed her once softly and fell to sleep, lost in the soft perfume of her hair, whispering I love you, one more time before drifting off to the world of dreams...

[Dead as dead can be, the doctor tells me. But I just can't believe him, ever the optimistic one.]

reach out a hand to help others

instead of helping myself

their happiness and well being is far more meaningful than mine

reach out to help those in need of an ear

to take my mind off the pain and emptiness inside

not as a distraction but a true sincerity

i care too much and i play my role

it's not an act, it's just a face to keep them stable

and going, talking, venting it out

letting it out onto the shoulder of someone who can bear it

it's okay, it's alright - i can handle it, i'll listen and do my best to help

and ask for nothing in return, because it's not your concern

here to be used, to be useful, and it's okay

it's alright, i don't mind

touch the tulips with two lips and whisper your secrets

i'll guard them with my life behind my wall

the wall that keeps me propped up for you to lean on

[nine inch nails: beside you in time]
i am all alone this time around
sometimes on the side i hear a sound
places parallel, i know it's you
feel the pieces bleeding through
and on, this goes on and on and on

now that i've decided not to stay
i can feel me start to fade away
everything is back where it belongs
i will be beside you before long
and on, this goes on and on and on

ooh - we will never die
ooh - beside you in time
ooh - we will never die
ooh - beside you in time

[nine inch nails: right where it belongs]
see the animal in his cage that you built
are you sure what side you're on?
better not look him too closely in the eye
are you sure what side of the glass you are on?
see the safety of the life you have built
everything where it belongs
feel the hollowness inside of your heart
and it's all, right where it belongs

what if everything around you
isn't quite as it seems
what if all the world you think you know
is an elaborate dream
and if you look at your reflection
is that all you want it to be?
what if you could look right through the cracks
would you find yourself, find yourself afraid to see

what if all the worlds inside of your head
just creations of your own
your devils and your gods
all the living and the dead
and you really are alone
you can live in this illusion
you choose to believe
you keep looking but you can't find the woods
while you're hiding in the trees

what if everything around you
isn't quite as it seems
what if all the world you used to know
is an elaborate dream
and if you look at your reflection
is that you want it to be
what if you could look right through the cracks
would you find yourself, find yourself afraid to see




a few years back, i wondered just that... if all this was just inside my head... delusions. a crazy persons line of thought, and i quickly (okay, it took 2 years to really) dismissed it. because i realised, it was the quick and narrow path to insanity. questioning everything, not as i do, questioning it as fact, but questioning it as a delusion. a mirage. a true psychotic break... is it possible? of course it is. i've spent a lot of years really truly alone in my life. really, if life were a year... and 'friends' were snow... let's just say 2 winters ago would've been a good analogy. we had two patches of snow. two streaks of snow... and that's about it. i had a stretch in high school that actually kinda lasted until Des. the beginning or the end, it doesn't really matter. From there on out, i was alone... in a way. oh, i had plenty of company, but they were - something to do. literally. a lot of vaguely anonymous people, and the only reason they're not so anonymous is because i had to write their names down.

then there was another streak around ash, and it's slowly dwindling. the last one i have is Suzie, and a fact's a fact, it's been a few weeks. whatever, it doesn't matter really. it's just... the last month i've spent isolated and inside my own head... do i have people that i could talk to? of course i do. do i think they'd really begin to understand? not in the least bit. not really.... i met someone yesterday that did, to some degree, and not in a placating, smile-and-nod kind of way. the politeness that has infected this society ...it was sincere, and they actually "got it" in a way no one else has. but that's... in short, that's what makes a friend a friend. there are those who "get it" and those who don't, and those are what we call acquaintances. the people who... have no clue what's going on, and are pleasantly oblivious.

do i, would i ever fault them for it? hell no. i'm sure one or two of you have actually gotten me to talk, and it's one step away from gibberish. it's an incoherent mess of words that has no beginning or end. my mind, my thought process, is a moebius strip, and if you have no clue, wiki it. they're pretty, and i want one. actually, the more and more i sit and think about it, it does resemble a moebius strip, but that's neither here nor there.

i want a moebius strip...

and i don't expect anyone to really understand, and i sure as shit don't expect them to attempt to listen more than once, and to those who do... i feel so sorry for you. i wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemy. listening to me talk and trying to assimilate the pieces into some coherent line of thought. it would be a fools errand.

what separates this statement from some idiotic "misunderstood" emo teenager? i've tried and tried again. i'm not so daft as to make a foundless assumption. i've tried with every single person i know, and it's most often answered with a blank stare. a confundus spell stare. or concession. they concede, throw their hands up and walk just... just like tori just did, but that's neither here nor there. it all goes back to that, i'm impossible to get along with... i've become truly impossible over the last... 10 years, let's say.

there was a time. maybe. where i was still in my pseudo-formative years, that maybe someone could have gotten through to teach me. to teach me how to communicate in a way accessible to the people as a whole.

(another good analogy... and in no way am i trying to compare it to this, but it makes sense, in a way - the last 3 David Lynch films... Lost Highway, Mulholland Drive, and Inland Empire. You either get them, or you don't. Even if you don't get them initially, your curiosity and need to answer the riddle will force you to watch them over and over until you get an inkling.)

does any of this matter? not at all. maybe i've gone off the deep end. maybe i am insane. not psychotic, but insane. a docile vegetable sitting in the common room eating yogurt endlessly, staring out the window (really - you need to watch One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. It's a demand, a moral imperative) ...but no, my sanity doesn't matter. i am who i am, and i'm okay with that. i don't suffer labels. period. call me what you want, but not to face, because all i am is me, and it will piss me off. not because i'm insulted or i think you're taking the mickey, but because i fucking loathe labels, of any sort. i don't go out of my way to fit anywhere. i just am. i exist. i live. i breathe. i eat. i shit. i sleep. real basic. mate feed kill repeat.

so what does any of this matter? even in a crowd of people, i am alone. because they don't understand, they can't read my mind and cypher out what they want/need to make sense of me. i'm not anti-social or even angry. i'm quiet... and confused. very confused. and i'm lost, and i have gone too far out. i've lost my way...

i'm the sheep who got lost...

and in the end, i will be alone. my parents will die, sooner or later. i don't plan on them outliving me... but whatever. those people that i know will do as they do and we'll grow apart. essentially, they'll lose their fondness of me, and they will leave to be replaced, by other people, who will leave, and eventually i'll realise truly that i'm simply repeating the same fucking cycle and just give up, and close myself off entirely from the human race. i will go to work. i will eat. i will shit. i will sleep. and i will die.

"Every second wounds. The last one kills."
-unknown

can i deal with that? assuredly. i was there naught 2 years ago, i had no one but myself and really, it was pretty fucking okay. it took a couple years to really embrace it... i was tormented by the loneliness, as i am now, but i began to realise that... i was better in the long run. and maybe this is the last cycle i'll bother repeating. maybe once everyone has grown up and away, i'll shove the rest of it away and be... content. with my periodic adventures in the sheets until one of them kills me (diseases can be a motherfucker)

...was i getting somewhere?

[nine inch nails: non-entity]
the sky is not the same shade of blue
every single thing, i believe isn't true
missing in the maze of monochrome
how did i get here? how can i go home?

the echoes in my eyes
of all they used to see
burning down the world
the ashes and debris
and all that's left of me
a non-entity

tried to stand in line, tried to obey
the ghosts of what i was keep getting in the way
staring at the sun, blinded by the light
now i'm afraid i'm fading out of sight

the echoes in my eyes
of all they used to see
burning down the world
ashes and debris
and all that's left of you
and all that's left of me
all have washed away
non-entity


[nine inch nails: sunspots]
sunspots cast a glare in my eyes, sometimes, i forget i'm alive
i feel it coming and i've got to get out of it's way
i hear it calling and i come because i can't disobey
i should not listen and i shouldn't believe, but i do - yes, i do

she turns me on
she makes it real
i have to apologise
for the way i feel

my life, it seems has taken a turn
why in the name of god would i ever want to return?
peel off our skin, we're going to burn what we were to the ground
fuck in the fire and we'll spread all the ashes around
i want to kill away the rest of what's left and i do, yes i do

she turns me on
she makes it real
i have to apologise
for the way i feel

and nothing can stop me now
there is nothing to fear
and everything that ever was
is inside of here

i won't i won't i won't i won't inside of here

now i just stare into the sun
and i see everything i've done
i think i could have been someone
but i can't stop what has begun

when everything is said and done
and there is no place left to run
i think i used to be someone
now i just stare into the sun



what is there that's left? what's the point? there is tomorrow, the ultimate unknown, because tomorrow never makes it here, it's still just today.... and while today may be lost, tomorrow might be - something else. it's possible, yes.

honestly, it was interesting today... i saw eric and nicole's kid. he's a cute little shit, and would be a fascinating subject to observe. to examine. his little fingers and toes. littler than any i've ever seen, and so perfectly formed. just in miniature. like a perfect 1/16 model of a human... but there's more to it, really. more to seeing the kid and celebrating ron and suzanne's marriage (4 months late, but they were married in Jamaica, lucky bastards) until i realised i don't really have anything in common with any of these people. they have.... other people to ... they have "settled down", as they say... and i have nothing. nothing concrete, here, substantial. nothing that won't explode and fall apart on a whim. my life, my everything is... a balloon, and they are concrete. at any given moment, i could lose it all, and lose a whole lot more. in the blink of an eye. they have families. i have nothing. they have that unconditional, unwavering love ... that unangry love. that... something i don't have, nor will i probably ever truly have it. not in the really real world.

so what is there to do? disappear and leave, and travel the world as an anonymous stranger, absorbing as much knowledge and culture as humanly possible to fulfill my life? that's a thought, and an inviting one. no one would really miss me. not long enough to really matter. suzie and brandy and ron and the boys would forget in a month, nicole and eric in a couple weeks, and tori in about six months, i say. once she's healed and moved on. my father... the only one who would truly miss me, because he's the only one who truly needs me. he needs me in his life, and he is the only reason i don't pack a bag and just start walking. what have i got to lose? weight, of course. which i would, without money to eat... but i could learn to eat scraps out of the rubbish bins.

i could learn to survive... and be a nomad. a man with no name. no birthday (which come on, i don't really have one anyways, i sure as shit don't celebrate it). i could leave it all behind. the cell phone and the computer. i could take a few books, a few changes of clothes and pick up spare change to wash these things. and quit being a burden on my father and those who i infect.

it's a dream... a true and free dream, where i have nothing to worry about. except the police. they have issues with vagrants. bums. walkers. whatever you want to call them. whatever... but i could get around that. i'm a short, pudgy white man. i pose no threat to anyone, and if i were to get picked up, then ... at least it'd be 3 hots and a cot, dig?

you'd be better off without me in the long run... and i don't have the balls to blow my brains out. i'm too curious, tomorrow could in fact be different. but ... it would just be better. in the end. if i just disappeared... in a way, i've done it before. but not as substantial.

i severed all ties with acquaintances and started a new life a few times... but i remained stationary in indianapolis, because i was too scared to just leave and never come back. could i do? do i have the nerve? the balls? probably not.... but it's a dream. a boy can dream, right? it's still allowed... i think.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help your black ass?!"

[NWA: Fuck tha Police / Amanda Fucking Palmer: Do You Swear to Tell the Truth, The Whole Truth and Nothing but the Truth so Help Your Black Ass]

"Now I am 33, unmarried happily

No plans in life, but I'm planning to keep it that way

I do kissing with only one mission

Do you like to kiss, then you have my permission

I've already spent too much time

Doing things I didn't want to

So if I just want to make out all the time

You can bet your black ass that I'm going to"

[Amanda Fucking Palmer: Do You Swear to Tell the Truth, The Whole Truth and Nothing but the Truth so Help Your Black Ass]

"How the hell did it get here?

I can still hear her cry the blues

Been in a daze for ten years

And she still can sing the truth

Heaven knows where we all go

When all we have is what we get

When it's gone then will I know

Then I haven't found it yet

Of all the gin joints in the world, I had to walk into this one, and there she was – with those big eyes, and that big voice, and the truth – nothing but the truth. Well maybe a few other things, like you know, a great pair of legs and that ass! Aw man! But I left it all behind, and like Yogi says, deja vu all over again. Well, let's see if she'll talk to me this time. Just blowing me off. Waiter! Check please..."

The truth is a fickle beast. They say honesty is the best policy, but really, I can contest that, from my role as a truthsayer. What it comes to is, people can't really handle the truth. Not the whole truth and nothing but the truth. They take it as... being mean? Calling names? Whatever, it doesn't much matter, but it is what it is – they don't like the truth. They can't handle the truth. Like – god, that bad Tom Cruise movie, A Few Good Men with the great Jack Nicholsen screaming YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH! and as a general rule of thumb, it has become true.

Look at someone, watch them long enough, and you'll find some unpleasant truths, like the fact that their... well, we won't get into that. Every one I have found is a truth, a true-truth that is directed to someone, and even though I kept it anonymous, they would annoy me trying to figure out if it was about them, and remaining stoically silent on the subject would leave them to think/believe that it was – silence isn't golden, either. Though, it's better to keep your mouth shut, which is why I don't talk. Not a lot, anyways. Because I know I will say someone that will piss someone off.

I'm not an idiot, nor am I an idealistic fool. I do not like everything about everyone I know. No one is perfect, and there are bits of everyone that rubs me the right way, but on the whole they're okay, so I keep my mouth shut and just smile and nod... because, while I could rip into them with the truth, it wouldn't make them too entirely happy.

Personally, on a sidenote, I'd like to bitch slap every motherfucker who is looking for any form of "prince charming" or "princess docile" because these people don't fucking exist. No one is perfect, and anyone who expects their mate to be perfect in all ways, they're fucking morons who should probably be executed before the hard truth of reality strangles them in the undertow and leaves them a rotten floating corpse in the ocean.

I'm not pessimistic, fuck you. I'm an optimist and a realist. I'm a cynical optimist, because I'm aware, I'm cognizant that it could be much worse. Do Tori and I get along all the time? Is it hearts and flowers and fucking rainbows and perfect and like a bad acid trip on the Disney lot? Fuck no. We have our moments where we want one anothers blood, but we work through it. In a way, more or less. And I'm happy, because tit for tat, she's pretty much all I could ask for. We get along enough on the big things that it's okay. Sure, sometimes she's whiny and emo, but christ, sometimes I'm a brutal fucking asshole who has absolutely no tolerance for fuck all. Like tonight, for instance. I want blood at the drop of a hat, and I want it by the gallon. It probably won't be a good night for talking, or maybe she'd make it all better. That's possible, she has a way of doing that. Some nights, like tonight, she will either make it all better and calm the acid burning through my veins, or she'll set me off into a flaming fuck.

Which, I guess is how I segue into the truth.

The truth is, there are many days where I'd rather be alone. Like truly alone and away from everyone, even the interweb people who have no direct impact on my life. I want to be locked inside my own head with a stiff middle finger telling the universe to fuck off for awhile. It's those days – that – well, okay. Let me say this – I haven't had direct human contact with anyone other than my father in 3 weeks, and I'm getting into that mode again. It's becoming stretches of many days where I want nothing to do with anyone. Where it is simply more peaceful and all around better to be left alone. No im's, no texts, no phone calls, no smoke signals or Morse code. No telegrams or telepathic communication. Nothing, I just want to be alone in the dark, watching a movie, listening to The Ramones and thinking. Fixating. Fucking obsessing over shit until it's – as close to fixed as it can be. Or do nothing at all. To do my best NOT to think – what a joyous life that would be, 'eh? To be able to just switch the brain off.

It's the world of a dream. Unfortunately, I'm not an idiot, I'm not one of the docile masses. I'm not a square. I'm always thinking, always working in my head like a 45 on 78 speed (and for those of you who don't comprehend vinyl, fuck off) or is it a 78 at 45 speed? JK

Really... seriously... that would be wonderful. To have just one day where my brain is filled with static and not the dissonance of a hundred thoughts firing at once. I get snippets of everything, and not the whole picture of fuck all, and some days it can be annoying, but it's always daunting. And why don't I expel some of these things? Why don't I just carry around a notebook and do a true stream of consciousness? Because it would make even less sense. There is no punctuation in my head, it's like a jumble of ideas that makes sense in there but nowhere else....

Where was I going with this?

That's right, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help your black ass....

Loneliness is not a bad thing. It's not, and anyone who thinks so is drunk. We all need time alone, away from the world.

"Locked in a place where no one goes"

Led Zeppelin: No Quarter

Pretty basic, really. I don't know, I just feel like being alone for awhile... which runs into a dilemma. I don't want to upset, disappoint, anger, or do anything to Tori except make her happy.

Which involves talking nigh incessantly. Okay, that sounds worse than I meant it to. I'm as much for it as she is, and it sucks not being in constant communique. Hell, I tried to go a day without it, with just myself and no one else (as I don't really have anyone else that I talk to on an even remotely daily basis... they get to me when they can, and that works for me) ...and it failed. Abysmally. Mostly because.... I'm ... I dunno, I couldn't help myself. There was a handful of hours that we didn't talk, but yeah... whatever.

Was I going somewhere with this?

I don't know...

The truth is a double edged sword and it's best to keep your fucking mouth shut to not wrinkle the delicate balance of life. Your life, their lives – it's better to keep the truth to yourself because people fucking suck and can't handle it. Worthless scum. See? Truth that will surely piss off a few people.

Luckily no one reads this that takes me too seriously. They know to take it with a grain of salt and to giggle. Hopefully, if not, I have no time for those kinds of people.

Which is another subject unto itself...

Oh, and fuck Dr Phil and his "lying by omission" line of shit. He can suck my tiny cock and get fucking hammered by a donkey. He is a worthless cocksucker. There is a time to keep your fucking mouth shut, and nine times out of ten, it's that time for me.

So, really – fuck the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help your black ass!

PS. Just because you have epic tits and dress/act/look like a whore, doesn't mean you're cute or even vaguely attractive. Actually, it just means you're annoying. :D

[Danzig: Mother]
Mother - tell your children not to walk my way
Tell your children not to hear my words
What they mean, what they say
Mother

Mother - can you keep them in the dark for life
Can you hide from the waiting world?
Oh mother

Father - going to take your daughter out tonight
Going to show her my world
Oh, mother

Not about to see your light
And if you want to find hell with me
I can show you what it's like
Til you're bleeding

Not about to see your light
And if you want to find hell with me
I can show you what it's ---

Mother - tell your children not to hold my hand
Tell your children not to understand
Oh, mother

Father - do you want to bang heads with me?
Do you want to feel everything?
Oh, father

Not about to see your light
And if you want to find hell with me
I can show you what it's like
Til you're bleeding

Not about to see your light
And if you want to find hell with me
I can show you what it's ---

[The Misfits: Attitude]
Attitude - you got some fucking attitude
I can't believe what you're saying to me
You got some attitude

Inside your feeble brain
There's probably a hole
If you don't shut your mouth
You're going to feel the blow

Attitude - what you got?
Oh baby, attitude

Inside your feeble brain
There's probably a hole
If you don't shut your mouth
You're going to feel the blow

Attitude - you got some fucking attitude
I can't believe what you're saying to me
You got some attitude

[The Misfits: Braineaters]
Oy! Oy! Oy!

Brains for dinner
Brains for lunch
Brains for breakfast
Brains for brunch
Brains at every single meal
Why can't we have some guts

Oy! Oy! Oy!

Brains are all we ever get
In this rotten fucking place, oy! oy!
Brains are all we ever get
Why can't we have a change of pace

Brains for dinner
Brains for lunch
Brains for breakfast
Brains for brunch
Brains at every single meal
Why can't we have some guts, oy! oy!
Why can't we have some guts, oy! oy!
Why can't we have some fuckin' rotten guts

[The Stooges: I Wanna Be Your Dog]
So messed up, I want you here
In my room, I want you here
Now we're going to be face to face
And I'll lay right down in my favourite place

And now I wanna be your dog
Now I wanna be your dog
Well c'mon...

Now I'm ready to close my eyes
Now I'm ready to close my mind
Now I'm ready to feel your hand
Lose my heart on the burning sand

'Cause now I wanna be your dog
Now I wanna be your dog
Well c'mon...




SO! (actually, hold on, I need to tend to some status comments)

SO! (Take Two) What's up? Really, I'm hot as fuck but in a pretty stellar mood. Full of all kinds of hyper, and I kinda wanna watch Watchmen. but, I wanna finish the original (read: REAL) Star Wars trilogy... and really, I'm finding some serious ........ inconsistencies. Well, okay, nothing serious, and I suppose a lot of it can be summed up in what Obi-Wan says toward the beginning of Jedi: "It was true from a certain point of view", which does in a way say to me that the view is very subjective, and the plot holes aren't necessarily plot holes. Well, they are, but they aren't. Bugger. I know, I'm getting philosophical with The Wars, but fuck you, it's about story telling, and I enjoy story telling, I enjoy examining story telling and how it works. Movies, books, whatever. It doesn't really matter the story, because in essence, all stories are the same.

We go from the true story tellers in pre-historic times, telling stories, literally, those who spoke. Spoken word stories that would change with each retelling, various embellishments, whatever to other forms of story telling. From the spoken word, we go to the written word, then we go to the radio shows (going to listen to the original War of the Worlds radio programme by the late great Orson Fucking Welles, to study that and hopefully find other radio programmes, which there used to be many, the serials and such) to the movies, which to me does include the old Serials of the 30's and 40's, the golden age of Talkies. It all involves story telling, even the silent films (ESPECIALLY the silent films), they had to convey their story not with words, but with actions and camera movement. I respect silent films a hundred times more than I do the original talkies, and a thousand fold more than I do recent film. I also have a dear love for any film pre-dating... Star Wars, actually. The original Star Wars, Episode IV was the first to really use computers in any capacity. It's true, and that's when the magic began to get lost. It was still another 20 years before it went overboard (CIRCA Terminator 2: Judgment Day)

But whatever, this isn't a film critique, necessarily, even though in a way it is.

The art of telling a story and telling a story well. It seems to be a lost art, in a way. A truly compelling and memorable story. Tell me the last movie that you saw that really grabbed you by the balls and made you want to watch it over and over and over and over and over and remember it for always? I can say Mulholland Drive, but as I've said before, David Lynch is not a conventional moviemaker, so I consider his films exempt, in a way, though the use of digital effects is still nowhere to be seen, really.

But nonetheless - The last film you saw that was truly compelling, that was memorable. Can you tell me? Pre-dating Mulholland Drive (and David Lynch to any capacity), I'd have to say Jedi... The original Star Wars movie (because really, it is a movie in 3 parts) because they did maintain that kind of magic... but really...

Okay - digital movies, digital effects are not an artform. They are cold and they are calculating. The story can still be good and compelling, but it's rare. The films coming out today are geared to the lowest common denominator, for the big tits, big explosions and big laughs crowd (even though the humour is juvenile and asinine) but whatever. Where was I going? I don't know... I'm... fuck. I don't know, I lost my train of thought and as Tori won't be on tonight, there's no point in really writing this, as she's the only one to read this nonsensical bullshit....

Let's just say - movies today really are not worth really watching. There are exceptions - Watchmen being amongst them, because.... even though it's big on the digital effects, it's used to tell the story, and the fact that it's another in the long-line of comic book movies (a trend I can't fucking wait to see end, but know it won't as long as Hollyweird is raking in the money), it finds itself exempt from that category as well, because it's not a typical comic book, there are some pretty heavy issues that it deals with, like V for Vendetta, that really need to be discussed in our culture and society, though no one is doing it, because they've all become docile fucking swine happy as a pig in shit to be raped by the politicians and national media (all media, none are really exempt... even Music, Popular Music has gone to shit) ...but whatever. What the fuck can I do?! One man against the entire fucking machine!?

To be chewed up by the cogs, I might as well just kill myself and be done with it.

Meh.... fuck it.

[The Misfits: Last Caress]
Well, I got something to say
I killed your baby today
It doesn't matter much to me
As long as it's dead

I got something to say
I raped your mother today
And it doesn't matter much to me
As long as she's spread

Sweet lovely death
I am waiting for your breath
Come sweet death
One last caress

I got something to say
I killed your baby today
It doesn't matter much to me
As long as it's dead

Sweet lovely death
I am waiting for your breath
Come sweet death
One last caress

Oooh oooh oooooh, ooooooooooooooooh oooh

[Guns N Roses. 14 Years]
I try and feel the sunshine
You bring the rain
You try and hold me down
With your complain
You cry and moan and complain
You whine and tear
Up to my neck in sorrow
The touch you bring

You just don't step inside to 14 years
So hard to keep my own head, that's what I said
And you know, I've been the beggar
I played a thief
I was the dog, they all tried to beat
But it's been 14 years of silence
It's been 14 years of pain
It's been 14 years that're gone forever and I'll
Never have again

Your stupid girlfriend's tell you
That I'm to blame
Yeah and they're all used up hasbeens
Out of the game
This time I'll have the last word
You'll hear what I say
I tried to see it your way
It won't work today

You just don't step inside to
To 14 years
So hard to keep my own head, that's what I said
You know, I've been the dealer hanging on your street
I was the dog, they all tried to beat
But it's been 14 years of silence, it's been
14 years of pain, it's been
14 years that're gone forever and I'll never have again

Bullshit and contemplation,
Gossip's their trade
If they knew half the real truth
What would they say?
I'm past the point of concern
It's time to play
These last 4 years of madness
Have sure put me straight

Don't get back 14 years in just one day
So hard to keep my own head, just go away
You know, just like the hooker she said,
Nothing for free
Oh, I tried to see it your way
I tried to see it your way...

[Guns N Roses. Dust N Bones]
He lost his mind today, he left it out back on the highway - I-65
She loved him yesterday, yesterday's over, I said okay - that's alright
Time moves on, that's the way, he lived and hoped to see the next day - that's alright

Sometimes these things they are so easy
Sometimes these things they are so cold
Sometimes these things just seem to rip you right in two
Oh no man, don't let 'em get to you

She loved him yesterday, he laid her sister, she said okay - that's alright
Buried her things today, way back out deep behind the driveway - and that's alright

Sometimes these women are so easy
Sometimes these women are so cold
Sometimes these women seem to rip you right in two
Only if you let 'em get to you

Out on your own and you
Take all that you want and you
Forget about your home and you're
Just fucking gone

There's no logic here today, do as you got to, go your own way - I said, that's right
Time's short, your life's your own, and in the end we are just - dust and bones
Dust and bones
Dust and bones
That's alright
Dust and bones

Time is an odd sort of beast - it comes, it goes. Sometimes unnoticed and oblivious, sometimes, it leaves scars - welts and bruises. It leaves a mark, even if the mark is invisible. Sometimes, those scars are the worst. I have my fair share of scars, knotty sinew across my skin that will never truly heal, they'll always be there and visible. Most of which are self-inflicted. Some are from picking up broken glass and shit when my mom went on a drunken tear, but that happens. One scar from when I was like 5 and walked into a kerosene heater in a dark room just after it had been shut off. Some days, that scar is almost invisible, but it's been 20 years. 20+ years and it's still there. That says something about scars - they're not some benign source of sympathy, they are a reminder of what to avoid. Even the self-inflicted, and the stories that tie into them. I've learned from all my scars. At least - most of them.

Some of them, the hidden ones I will never see as they happened when I was too young to recall, I even learned from, actually. I learned not to have kids, and not to trust certain people with my kids if I ever do have them (from the story I was told, a baby bottle was thrown in my general direction because I was crying and it shattered on the floor as i fell onto it - something like that, but the source was drunk at the time, so it's to be taken with a grain of salt - one day, i might shave my head to take a gander, to see if those scars are still there if they ever were, or have Tori or someone take a serious gander... lol) BUT ... nonetheless, even those scars I don't remember the experience, I know the story and know to avoid them. Dig?

I was a kid, a little younger than Benny, so 5-6 and I broke my arm. Kid... Harlan Oliver, as I recall... He was standing on the bottom bit of the slide, on the edge... one of the old slides with the 3 sides, the Bottom, and the two shorter bits. Being a goof, like I was, I went down the slide and he was going to jump over me as I went down. Something to that effect, anyways, and pfft. Fucked if I remember what happened. It went dark, and when I came to, I was in a hospital with a broken arm and a cast. I vaguely remember getting into Genie's truck with the boys (her kids) ... Jeanie maybe. Whatever, it doesn't matter... and I think I've heard that we went to the hospital down in Decatur County and was promptly transferred to Indy (fuck small town hospitals.... LONG STORY)

What did I learn from that? To be cautious and not to be stupid.

Then, there abouts came the heater... Before or after, give or take. The winter before, maybe. I don't know.

Okay, there is one scar I have no fucking clue about - on my pinky, from the beginning of the nail and back at an angel for a half inch. I don't remember, but it's been there as long as I can remember, and there was nothing learned from it ...

Next would be this one around the centre of my palm. A puncture mark from a broken plate or picture frame or something of the sort... I don't remember what tear it was, it was around the age of 12, I suppose. 12 or 14. Old enough to be annoyed, young enough not to really see the warning signs... but in hindsight, I realise, it was one of the first bricks in the wall against booze. I fucking hate it. Alcohol. Manmade swill, and as someone who doesn't smoke pot and never really had a taste for it, I can say with no qualms that pot is much better than alcohol. Hands down, but whatever... it was there. It was one of those things that put me against it... that and the long rambling drunken nights that filled me with those invisible scars.... later, my friends. Later.

Hmph... There are a few others between then and here, but there's the big one - y'know. Well, if you know me, you know, if you don't know me, you've not got a fucking clue about it. No particular reason, I seldom feel the need to talk about it. Nor do I know, so I won't. That story is long and for another time. Funny as hell, though. Lemme tell you.

Then there's the ... 53 (give or take) on the inside of my left forearm... and what I learned from those was how to do it and hide it until they were healed, but also that pain was... comforting. It's the adrenaline rush, the warmth. There is passion in blood and there is love. Sweet jesus is there love in blood. As it trickles down. It wraps its warmth around you, and makes it just a little bit okay. It's the arms around me that I never really felt growing up, not until I hit puberty and started ... well, you know. We're all adults. Anyways... lot of scars there, all in quick succession, 5 or 10 at a time... there's probably a lot more, really, buried under one another... but what I learned... One that blood and pain kinda turns me on... but that's neither here nor there... but to avoid a certain type of girl. One of the 13 archetypes of women that I have encountered. Actually, it's like 6 or 7, but whatever. I'd have to ask Brandy, I wrote her this weird dissertation on the subject, broke them all down and explained them, and how all women seem to fit into one of those categories... the biggest being "Too Good For Me" ...right, so. This type of girl... the pathological liar, the sycophant, the emotional vampire. The Gemini. The Catholic. Oh yes.... That's what those scars taught me. That parasites take all manner of shape and form. Twitch...

Then, there are all the invisible scars... that are too innumerable to discuss... here. Pretty much. If someone had the patience, I might begin to be able to talk about them, but whatever. My biggest and most enduring, most impregnable wall - that invisible scar tissue. The bits of my heart and psyche and mind that have been swatted, cut and tore from my body. Keeps what's left guarded. Well fucking guarded and safe. The scars of wisdom. The wall that will be there... for the foreseeable future. I'm not a fortune teller, so I can't say it'll be there forever... but those cages have been rattled pretty well, and it has still stood. Kept me safe from suffering too much at the hand of any given relationship. Their tactics and artillery rattle and shake but does not penetrate.... Just the way it is.

The scars, over time, have built up...

As a for instance, those scars on my arm? They're so layered and so many that it no longer hurts. Desensitization, possibly... fucked up the nerve endings, probable... but what's done is done and there's not fuck all I can do about it. For better or worse, the scars and the wisdom has been permanently programmed into my being. Can you surpass it? Can you endure? Probably not...

[Guns N Roses. Don't Damn Me]
Don't damn me when I speak a piece of mind
'Cause silence isn't golden when I'm holding it inside
Because I've been where I've been and I've seen what I have seen
I put the pen to the paper 'cause it's all a part of me

In a song or a casual conversation
To hold my tongue speaks of quiet reservation
To urge once heard, they can place you in a faction
My words may disturb but at least it's a reaction

Sometimes I want to kill, sometimes I want to die
Sometimes I want to destroy, sometimes I want to cry
Sometimes I could get even, sometimes I could give up
Sometimes I could give, sometimes I never give a fuck

It's only for awhile, I hope you understand
I never wanted this to happen, didn't want to be a man
So I hid inside my world, I took what I could find
I cried when I was lonely, I fell down when I was blind

So don't damn me when I speak a piece of mind
'Cause silence isn't golden when I'm holding it inside
'Cause I've been where I have been, and I've seen what I have seen
I put the pen to the paper 'cause it's all a part of me

How can I ever satisfy you?
How can I ever make you see that,
Deep inside we're all somebody
And it don't matter who you want to be
But now I got to smile
I hope you comprehend
But the man can say it happened
'Cause this child has been condemned
So I step into your world
I kick you in the mind
And I'm the only witness to the nature of my crime

But look at what we've done to the innocent and young
Whoa listen to us talking 'cause we're not the only one
Trash collected by the eyes and dumped into the brains
It tears into our conscious thought, you tell me who's to blame

I know you don't want to hear me crying
And I know you don't want to hear me deny
That you're satisfaction lies in your illusions
Because your delusions are yours and not mine
We take for granted we know the whole story
We judge a book by its cover and read what we want
Between selected lines

Don't hail me and don't idolise the ink
I've held in my intentions, can you find the missing link
Your only validation is in living your lie
Vicarious existence is a fucking waste of time

So I send this song to the offended
I said what I meant and I've never pretended
As so many others do, intending just to please
If I've damned your point of view
Could you turn the other cheek?


Don't damn me when I speak a piece of mind
'Cause silence isn't golden when I'm holding it inside
I've been where I have been, and I've seen I have seen
Put the pen to paper because it's all a part of me
Don't damn me
I said don't hail me
Don't damn me

[Tool. The Patient]
a groan of tedium escapes me
startling the fearful
is this a test? it has to be
otherwise i can't go on
draining patience
drain vitality
this paranoid, paralysed vampire acts a little old

but i'm still right here
giving blood, keeping faith
and i'm still right here

wait it out
be patient
wait it out
be patient

if there were no reward to reap
no loving embrace to see me through
this tedious path i've chosen here
i certainly would have walked away
by now

going to wait it out

if there were no desire to heal
the damaged and broken met along
this tedious path i've chosen here
i certainly would have walked away
by now

and i still may
and i still may

be patient
be patient
be patient

i must keep reminding myself of this
i must keep reminding myself of this
i must keep reminding myself of this

if there no reward to reap
no loving embrace to see me through
this tedious path i've chosen here
i certainly would have walked away by now
and i still may
and i still may

going to wait it out
going to wait it out
wait it out
going to wait it out

[Tool. Parabol/Parabola]
so familiar
and overwhelmingly warm
this
one
this form i hold now

embracing you, this reality here
this
one
this
form i hold now

so wide eyed and hopeful
wide eyed and hopefully
wild, we barely remember
what came before this precious moment
choosing to be here
right now
hold on, stay inside
this body
holding me and
reminding me that i am not alone in
this
body
makes me feel
eternal, all this pain is an illusion

///

we barely remember
who or what came before
this precious moment
choosing to be here
right now
hold on
stay inside
this
holy reality
this holy experience
choosing to be here in

this body
this body holding me
be my reminder here that
i am not alone in
this body
this body holding me
feeling eternal
all this pain is an illusion

in this holy reality
in this holy experience
choosing to be here in

this body
this body holding me
be my reminder here that i am not alone in
this body
this body holding me
feeling eternal
all this pain is an illusion

twirling 'round with this familiar parable
spinning, weaving 'round each new experience
recognise this as our holy union
celebrate this chance to be
alive and breathing
a chance to be
alive and breathing

this body holding me
reminds me of my own mortality
embrace this moment, remember
we are eternal, all this pain is an illusion

I should have clarified last night. I have problems with clarifying things, sometimes (like, always) ... I said, in essence, that I could fake it with the best of them. Really, it's the happiness. The happiness is what I fake. The smiling, joking face. Sometimes, it happens to be genuine or true. There are moments where I get embraced in the silver lining and forget the grey cloud all around. But that's neither here nor there.

I used to fake it a lot better. It was a constant charade, so far I almost believed it. Then in the 4-5 years between Ex 1 and Ex 2, I fell into what we might call a very self-destructive path. I didn't give a good goddamn about anyone or anything, especially myself. I'm still not too keen on caring about myself, but that's irrelevant. Just part of the way I'm wired. I bury my own shit and drown it and ignore it, like the elephant turd in the punchbowl. Irrelevant, I say...

The point is, between the ages of ... meh ... 22 and 25 (give or take a year on either end) I straight up didn't give a fuck. I quit... hiding, if you will. I was surly and moody and ... not angry or bitter but something unkind. I let the machine consume me. The mechanical form that I had become.

This isn't me, I'm not mechanical

I had become ... really, the only way I can explain it is "a machine" not literally, I'm not a T-800 or some shit, no. But ... I had grown cold and oblivious. I moved without feeling, I thought and acted without feeling. Oblivious to the humanity and emotions all around me. I went through the motions and faked it with the best of them, not to be found out. But there was still something jerky in the circuitry. I don't know, I'm getting all sorts of twisted around in the timeline....

I hate telling stories about my life. The timeline seems to fade and twist within itself like a Moebius Strip ... (god, I want a moebius strip to play with) ...

Anyways... I lost the ability to put on the smiling laughing joking happy face for a fair few years. Then came Ex 2, and something stirred that wasn't quite right. It was an ugly thing... Something that I am far from proud of, but that's who I was. We were together, like I said, for just shy of two years. In some ways, she began the process of my healing and in others, she drove me deeper into the ground, into hiding. By the time she was done with me in January of ... fuck. What year was that? '07, I think. Something like that. I broke. Those 2 or 3 years of self-destruction I had endured were nothing compared to what was coming. The pieces still worked, but there was no real humanity left. I was dead inside, cold and ugly. Must have been '06... because this is '10, and yeah... this way the math syncs up in my head. whatever.

No, I wasn't out like I was, banging whomever would say yes, I was locked inside, living the life of a hermit, away from all humanity, because I had no use for them. I was best left alone. On my own schedule, on my own time, with no one to report to. The only responsibility I had was school and then work... and then nothing at all for a good 5 months until I started watching the boys. It was a damn boring life, but ti wasn't. Not to me. I read, I wrote, I climbed inside my head and threw down the gauntlet. I gave up on people and I sure as fuck gave up on relationships, at least to any seriousness. There were a couple ... tangles between the sheets, but nothing substantial, and I crawled deeper and deeper inside, reliant upon only myself. Much like those years between say, birth and High School.

So deep inside I couldn't see the light. I had what I had and wanted no more. Myself and my only true friend, my father. All we needed. It worked, for awhile.

Then came "the boys" in the last year. Between them and Suzie and Ron, I started to emerge... not emerge, but started to climb out of my hole. I began to learn how to fake it again. How to put on the smiling, happy, laughing, joking face. There were days it were truly true. Really real. And there were days where it was just an act. Then came the debacle of winter. A lot more time spent alone with myself in the dark. And Tori started to come 'round again. Can't tell a lie, I wouldn't have survived the winter without her. This year's was nowhere near as bad as expected, or the last 2-3 winters. And I owe her a great deal for that, but that's not what I'm here today to talk about...

Not that I had a set script or anything, but whatever. I keep getting distracted and/or sidetracked and I have totally lost the plot. Christ, I'm going through a midlife crisis. I lost the plot.

-shrugs- That happens...

Desensitized.

Maybe that's the heart of it all. I had grown numb and desensitized to it all. To everything and everyone. Oh me and desensitization are good friends, this much I do know. Many parts of my body have grown desensitized over the years, but I do not wish to go here. But maybe the mind, maybe the mind has grown the most desensitized of all.

-sigh- This requires thought and quiet contemplation...

[Tool. Stinkfist]
something has to change
undeniable dilemma
boredom's not a burden
anyone should bear
constant overstimulation
numbs me, but i would not want you any other way

because
it's not enough
i need more
nothing seems to satisfy
i said
i don't want
i just need it
to breathe, to feel
to know i'm alive

finger deep within the borderline
show me that you love me and that we belong together
relax, turn around and take my hand

i can help you change
tired moments into pleasure
say the world and we'll be well upon our way
blend and balance
pain and comfort deep within you
until you will not want me any other way

but it's not enough
i need more
nothing seems to satisfy
i said, i don't want it
i just need it
to breathe, to feel
to know i'm alive

knuckle deep inside the borderline
this may hurt a little but it's something you'll get used to
relax, slip away

something kind of sad about
the way that things have come to be
desensitized to everything
what became of subtlety?
how can this mean anything to me,
if i really don't feel anything at all?

i'll
keep
digging
'til i
feel
something

elbow deep inside the borderline
show me that you love me and that we belong together
shoulder deep within the borderline
relax, turn around and take my hand