My Offerings to Thee, O Wise and Powerful Internet

too drunk to make any sense

2011-07-14T00:33:00.001-07:00

or am i? What is the dividing line, that magical barrier that one cannot cross without sacrificing the ability to communicate? Do i even require such a badge, that of standards? surely the truly dedicated, the deliciously hardcore, will accept and absorb this message, this communique.
Here i sit, squat, rest in repose. while the world turns around me, while existence plays out in tones of clarity and beauty and wonder. Doomed am i, perhaps, to squander what wicked energy I've absorbed on fruitless vanity and decadent squalor? Is squalor even a word? Yes, children, I sit, here atop a throne of ridiculous concepts, of impossible indulgences, attempting to construct something out of nothing more than vapours and bad ideas. to be continued my sires, my offspring, my darlings.....

2010-04-14T20:39:00.000-07:00

So here we are, or are we? Questions concerning the legitimate status of our existence are more or less par for the course at this point. I've long since abandoned any hope of answering the question of why. From what I can tell, the game is rigged. We comprise not only both teams, but the referee and the audience and the announcers as well. Purpose and meaning are not something handed down to us from on high. They are ours to craft, from whatever raw materials we can assemble. Human beings are basically empty. what if nothing fills that void? what if our brains simply produce a chemical that allows us to feel desire, and whatever we accumulate, physical or emotional or otherwise, can't prevent that feeling from returning?
If this path of logic leads to truth, then what exactly is the point of our obsessive collecting? Are we not merely feeding a deeply rooted addiction, something given sanction by every major aspect of our society?

2010-01-27T17:21:00.000-08:00

What little capacity I still retain for honest emotional expression is in danger of slipping away. I've been doing what I do best. Carefully burying all that I've uncovered, blocking and burdening any progress I've been able to make. In the wake of a negative experience, one with long-term repercussions on my psyche, I simply force myself into a state of blunt contentedness. I run, I hide, I distance myself from the problem and the area of my mind that allowed the problem to occur in the first place.
I guess the point is that I feel really grey and gross right now. I think I'm just at a place that craves human interaction on even a really basic, fundamental level.

2009-12-07T11:30:00.000-08:00

I remember him, he had many different names. He was very thin, pale white skin, with pitch black eyes. They swam with phosphorous green, it played over dark rooms like a children's toy at night. He never told me anything about himself, like how old he was, or where he was from. I remember he came back from some late night venture one time, he had dark stains like blood all over his clothes. I asked if it was his, he said some of it was. But when he took off his shirt, there were no marks on his body of any kind. I guess, maybe he lied to me. But about what? What did he do at night? What was he looking for? Maybe a night job. It'd be impossible to get regular work with eyes like that. I don't know...
Maybe he's the villain.

I'd been tracking this one for years. He would commit some horrible atrocity, make every headline for a week, and then vanish. Every time, eyewitness accounts would prove useless. People would either see nothing at all, or some ghastly bogeyman from the depths of their nightmares. The only connection between crimes was the crime scenes themselves. Bodies pasted to walls, ceilings, impaled on light fixtures, occasionally scattered to a fine mist over a thirty foot radius. It was horror on an utterly baffling level.
One woman lucky enough to survive an attack staged two years ago was now locked up in an asylum. She did nothing but write on the walls, repeatedly chronicling her trauma in a shaky, childish script.
She had been a bank teller, a lifetime ago. The attack had commenced without any warning, any sign of danger. He walked in during the busiest hour of the week, on a Friday afternoon, and began his grim work. No requests for money or valuables were made. He took no hostages, and had only allowed her to survive as a witness, to tell others what she had saw.
She couldn't communicate with anyone anymore, screaming until her throat went hoarse every time she had a visitor to her cell. The walls were covered with crayon and felt marker, smudged and dirty and crude. Her hands and face were that of a terrified child's caught scribbling on the kitchen floor.
I had visited her once, months after the attack. The attendants had to sedate her in order for me to gain entrance to the room. Without her cooperation, I'd been forced to piece the story together from the walls. The look of horror frozen on her face, even while comatose from the drugs, had convinced me never to go back. She was the only living witness to his crimes.
After every attack, he disappeared. In the beginning, he had only surfaced to strike once every six to eight months. A few people at an empty restaurant, two men at a convenience store, little strikes into the civilized world. The murders always committed in the same mysterious fashion, like he had forced them apart from the inside. Sometimes the trauma came from sudden contact with walls or ceilings at high speeds, but it was always in a completely impossible fashion.
Then, a year ago, the attacks began to grow more frequent, with locations more and more public being hit almost once a month. I was beginning to lose hope of ever seeing him, when I finally got a tip. An old man running a curiosity shop in the southeast quarter.
"You are looking for someone, correct?" He piped up, moments after I had wandered in. I had heard in a bar down the street that this place had answers to unusual questions. I paused, an old stone statue of a demon still in both hands.
"that's right. How'd you guess?" I put the statue down, my interest piqued. He picked up a long wooden pipe and lit it, inhaling deeply.
"You have that look in your eyes. Are you sure you want to find this man?" He looked up from the pipe, smoke trailing from his mouth and nose.
"Very sure."
His eyes narrowed. "Success in this case is almost certainly going to mean death. You understand that, don't you?"
I walked closer to the counter, opening my coat enough to show off the long-barreled .45 at my hip. The ivory grip was barely visible in the shop's low light.
"I know what I'm getting into, old man."
He laughed then, long and loud, slapping the counter with one hand.
"Good! Good, young man! You hold fire within to liven the loneliest hearth!" He leaned a little closer, his voice dropping almost to a whisper, charged and serious. "If you're certain of your path, you are definitely going to need a little help." He turned around, walking slowly to a shelf on the back wall. He arrived at a small metal box, dull, gray with age. Lifting it with both hands, he walked back to the counter.
"This is a weapon my friends and I built, a lifetime ago. It glows from within, whenever his kind are near." He opened the box, turning it towards me. It was the hilt and the handle of a sword. Simple and economic in design, about the length of my palm, and wrapped in red leather.
"Will you accept it?" He pushed it towards me slightly.
I paused, my hand hovering over the box's open lid.
"His kind?"
He cleared his throat. "deadwalkers. More common occurrence than you might believe. My colleagues have been hunting them for generations." He pulled a pendant out from his shirt. It was the same dull metal as the sword hilt, a simple sphere with one line dividing it neatly in two.
"We act not as the last, but the only line of defense against the beasts, the wolves at our gates." He placed the pendant back in his shirt, his movements calm and slow. "They are cursed to use their latent abilities, to draw from this world and stave off descent into the next, or die."

so there's that.

2009-11-14T13:38:00.000-08:00

I'm in a pretty bad place right now. Mostly because my girlfriend dumped me last night. Yes, it's a fairly raw deal, and I'm pretty choked up about it. She says she has unresolved issues regarding her previous boyfriend, and in order to deal with these issues, she's going to go it alone for some indeterminate amount of time. Whatever. I guess because she's done everything significant in her life on her own, she feels this can't be the exception. Whatever I said was ultimately meaningless. Had I been the best boyfriend on earth, it would have spurned her even more furiously to dump me. She's convinced that this is something she must do herself, she's too terrified of opening up to other people to break in front of me. I personally think that kind of trust is important. Like maybe if you really plan on getting married some day, like the least you could fucking do would be to maybe open up to that person a little bit. I just don't understand how being alone will help you at all in developing this ability to trust, you'd think isolation would actually be detrimental to your fucking progress, but hey what do i know?

tree stories (b)

2009-09-16T20:20:00.000-07:00

Or maybe the setting's too rustic. Something more modern, perhaps?

-So tell me about these dreams you have.
(pausing to light a cigarette)
-Trees, man. The dreams are all about trees.
-Like a nightmare? Massive redwoods and oaks and pines lumbering through valleys to dismember you sort of thing?
-No, man. Nothing like that. I'm not leaving out any crucial plot elements when I say the dreams are about trees. That's literally it, man. Just trees.
-Are you seeing multiple kinds of trees? Can you identify them at all?
(takes a long drag)
-what? No, of course not. Look, my dad wasn't like in the forestry business or any obvious shit like that. I'm rooted in this city, here. Have been my whole damn life.
-Maybe that's part of it. Maybe you long to get back to nature. It could be a, you know, sub-conscious desire or something.
-I have no idea. I figured the dreams would get more interesting, but it's pretty much been trees for the last maybe five years or so.
-How often do you have these dreams?
-More or less every night, man.
-....
-....
-Weird shit, huh? Look, thanks for the drags, man.
-... No problem.

John had been in

work in progress.

2009-09-14T19:08:00.000-07:00

I am dreaming, taking steps like stone through jelly, glacial and stiff. The passerby are moving the same way, never seeing one another, held in place solely by my fascination. Or perhaps they too are trapped in strange dreams of their own. My pulse radiates outward, causing the sidewalks, the bricks and steel and mortar, to breathe with me. The clouds overhead breathe faster as they dissipate, the new blue of the skies above breaking the chains that bind me to the streets. I'm pulled away, everything blurring and streaking into a solid mass of wind and noise. The sun, once a far off reminder of time's march, now greets me anew. I tumble and roll through clouds tall as skyscrapers, wet and shivering with moisture, with rushing air. My clothes grow stiff with new ice, my left side is covered like it snowed last night. I turn full, straighten out to a man-sized torpedo, pointing at the distant ground. It's all spinning now, faster then I can track, dirt and stone reaching up to embrace me. The winds have cut lines of force into my face, pain like racing stripes tracks along my sides. Then there's that brief moment, one second before impact, that holds everything still. My mind doesn't know how to recreate this meeting. It feels like I might stay here forever, drifting in stasis above the last thing I see, when I wake up.

The underside of my bed sharpens into focus. Familiar scratches and grooves decorate the heavy wooden frame. The black and white shoebox remains at its station, gathering dust. A small pile of shirts and socks is pushed against the darkest corner. There is a fan shape around me where dust will not gather. I have not woken up in my bed for almost two years. My alarm clock is the only light in the room. It reads a flashing 4:57. The flash is another pulse, a presence in my room that breathes with me. I push aside one corner of the curtains, peeking out into the city. The sun will remain a figment of my dreams, it seems. The daily ritual completed, I turn back to the cold shelter of my apartment. Most of my friends stopped dreaming about the sun a long time ago, but some nights I wake up feeling it on my face, still. That one moment when I break the clouds and face the day star head on, it stays with me, I cling to it like a nun to her rosary of wood and scented oils. My friends and I, we stopped even talking about the skies almost a year ago. Like a son or daughter lost in battle, it's too disheartening to discuss openly.

The train ride to work is a crush, gray faces suspended above dusted overcoats and scarves, almost a hundred to a car. No one moves until the doors slide open, a soft rushing sound buried in the stomping of work boots and heels. A voice too polite to be real announces our arrival at station thirty two. The air that meets us at the door is stale and cold. Second in my dreams to the sun is wind. Only at these doors, dead air meeting dead air, do I remember the fleeting sensation of winds.

Fast forward to my cube, cold gray walls, gunmetal floor, a ceiling that brushes my scalp. Hands hook into my terminal, a lover's embrace between man and machine. Automatically, I am linked to miles of fiber optics, currents rushing to connect with points all over the building, all across the city, the globe. My seat shoves forward, sandwiching my prone body between it and the terminal. i can feel my eyes water already, light ebbing out from the porous gel that acts as the visual interface. A sedative finds its way inside, and the day is gone. The "work" day ends with the same rude shock, being dumped into a massive lobby with all of my coworkers. The floors are lined with a foam that feels too fleshy as you lie on it. We stumble out in droves, some of us unable to walk, still disoriented from the dream that is our work day. A lot of people become insomniacs after taking this job. Natural sleep impossible once the chemicals become a part of your work routine.

tree stories (a)

2009-07-10T22:35:00.000-07:00

I want to create a world. nothing huge, at least not right off the bat. start somewhere small, like a town or a village or a hamlet. A place called stoneridge falls or something. Is it a modern place? no. how much technology are we talking about here? Not sure yet. Pre-industrial to be sure. I want forests. Huge, towering trees covered in moss and vines, countless leaves creating a canopy that filters everything in pale green light. A tiny village dropped in the middle of a vast, beautiful forest. what appears to all it's inhabitants to be the only civilization for weeks in any direction. Mostly autonomous. Livings made harvesting minimal amounts of the forest surrounding them. Why only minimal? It would be nice if people were wise enough to be careful about available resources, but it isn't plausible at all. Something must be keeping the village a certain size, keep them from venturing too far from it's borders. Warring tribes of savages? No, they too would harvest the fuck out of the forests. Low population rate perhaps. But again, why? a combination of factors. It was decimated, far in the past, not by any one cataclysmic event, merely the old world's natural course. Resources dried up, population grew, eventually one problem was fixed by the other. But something happened. As the human race was reduced by famine and drought to a fraction of it's original size, nature returned bit by bit as well. Over the course of hundreds of years nature was alive and well, with her one enemy beaten senseless. How though? Man did such a fantastic job of mining the planet to a husk, what if anything was left to start over. And that's the rub. Nothing was left. The planet was a massive barren wasteland one year, and the next it was not. But you can't make something out of nothing.

You can't make something out of nothing. For generations this was the unofficial slogan of our village. Toothless old men, safe and secure in their forefathers' tradition of entropy, had long since settled in for the end of all things when it happened. All of our history, be it spoken or scripted or sung, was of deserts and their unrestricted growth. Of trees and their place in myth and myth alone. Of death and decay. Ours was not a species meant to survive, everyone had said. Old books were survival guides to the apocalypse printed in vast quantities. Church officials and street preachers alike were smitten with glee that all their howling had borne bitter fruit at last. The great cities had gone dark, the shanty towns erected in their stead were well-prepared for the slow rot of starvation. The people were ready to tough it out, regardless of whether any food was to be found anywhere ever again. Unfortunately, some men came to the conclusion that the fewer who were left, the more food that would remain for the survivors. war is an inevitable part of the history of man, but no battle is bloodier than the one fought to eat. what had been a slow decay erupted into a ruthlessly efficient formula of attrition. Immaculately maintained communication and data storage systems, powered on batteries that were one of the civilized age's last contributions to man, gave a horrifically accurate tally of the food remaining on the entire planet. Wise men under savage whip and chain were forced to conclude that a very small population indeed was required to survive on the remaining stores for longer than a decade. The results were unfathomable. The global population, already reduced by a third due to widespread famine, was mercilessly ground down to three percent of the number obtained during the final census some thirty years prior. And so we came to the twilight of our time as a species. What had once been an air of grim determination was now simply grim. The remaining shreds and tatters of the old world began to truly break down due to a lack of interest and ability to maintain them, and we began to wait.

And then there were trees. Massive, towering trees growing in all corners of the globe, far from man's desperate reach. Trees so tall as to touch the clouds themselves. There had been no indication that anything would ever grow again, yet in the span of one year there were trees.

I'm dreaming of a desert I've never seen before, night skies stretching endless over cracked and broken earth. The clouds are missing in one spot, like the oversized eye of a storm. Everything is perfect stillness, anticipation holds me pinned in place. A single crack appears in the ground in front of me. The seconds rush by, like time has something to make up for. The crack becomes a chasm, green light crawling out a hole too big to measure with the eyes. The wind has introduced itself as a major player, three directions at once and blowing to break me in half. The hole in the clouds is mirroring the glow of the ground. Every hair is standing on end, every light is this light, green and getting greener. As the next moment passes a lightning bolt strikes, the light meets itself in a flash that almost takes my sight. The thunder that follows blots out my senses. I begin to freefall, tumbling towards a light i don't see but feel. I open my eyes and see just for a second this tree,

ruminations on the point, the 27th in a series.

2009-01-25T03:31:00.000-08:00

Lately, and i mean for the last few years or so, it's been all about purpose. All about the point, the end of the journey, the goal. I guess the journey along the way lost a lot of it's significance. Maybe it's because the steps started all looking the same. I mean, that does get boring, but maybe we choose routines to slip into for a reason? People do the same thing on a horrifically repetitive basis for some greater underlying reason, right? But then again, i seem to have a fixation regarding variety. My music, my videogames, presumably my books and my written work, if i still did that sort of thing regularly. i guess all of us fall within preset patterns in one way or another. My need to fall outside of the norm still falls within a pattern, or at least it could be defined as one.
Here's a thought. Why don't you try to work within the boundaries of your attention span, instead of trying to change it in some impossible way?

the angry atheist part 1

2008-09-24T03:07:00.000-07:00

Okay, so let's look at it this way. The Gods are not real. Not in that absolute fashion that sweet, sweet science demands. Instead they occupy the collective headspace of an entire race of crazy people. If we were to interview each individual faith-based human, they would all give us their slant, their angle of the collective idea that is man's favourite imaginary friend. It is only because these people can agree on a couple core ideas that the gods "exist" at all.

Let's go further into this concept. Specifically my case. I had two main figureheads at which I aimed the poorly-constructed weapon which was my faith: Isis and Thoth. Now, the only way I could identify with these ideas was how they related to me. Isis, symbol for motherhood, for life and love and all that other fun stuff, was the only way I could love myself. Indirectly! How cheap and dirty is that shit? To be so entrenched in the idea that unfiltered self-love was somehow wrong or weird or to be frowned upon or ANY of that shit, to be so caught up in this that the only way I could allow me to feel love from me was through an imaginary fucking friend?!? Now that's an example of a stunted mind, of a mind incapable of experiencing anything positive except through a series of filters.

the absolute truth is my only weapon, it will be the spear that pierces the heavens and brings down the gods, the land the sea the skies are ours to claim....

Never allow anything to get between you and the truth.

Big whoop, wanna write about it?

2008-09-24T02:26:00.000-07:00

This is how it is. You have no purpose. At least, no one has come gliding down a light ray to drop one off. And they probably never will. But so what? No one comes to just hand you anything, you have to rip it out their hands, pull that bloody bundle from the monster's drooling jaw, so to speak. It's simple. You have a limited time on this earth to do as you wish, the manner of your days and their passing originates from the raw work of your will. And what have you chosen to do up til this point?

Grind.

Yes dear writer/reader, you have dedicated many, many hours of your life to the simple and soulsucking motion of decay. This is a world of absolutes. There are no grey areas, no safe havens in which to dwell between creation and destruction. Either you are working to make something of your time, your life, the hours you have been gifted with...

Or you are simply working as hard as you can to blur the lines between the hours, the days, the years, trying to eat huge chunks of time to speed your advance to the grave.

Our society seems geared for distraction. Massive sensory assaults from every side seek to ruin our ability to think clearly about anything but what's on. What's new, what's cool, what we can drink in like elixir to take away our worries and our fears. Viewed from a distance, media resembles a weapon, built of light and sound. I have had this weapon pointed at my temple for most of my life, now I barely notice it. I don't know that I would recognize it but for it's sudden absence.

But here's the rub, oh beautiful bloodstained boys and girls: It's a weapon of choice. We allow it to remain fixed upon our vulnerable minds, we allow it to exist. I allow it to exist. Maybe I can't nullify this, maybe I can't reverse the tide of history and take media from the hearts and minds of people the world over, but I can choose to remove it from the seat of power it holds in my mind. Just because the controller is there, doesn't mean it needs to be in my hands.

That's pretty important. Probably the point of this whole ridiculous tangent. In fact, lets see that one again:

"Just because the controller is there, doesn't mean it needs to be in my hands."

This is a big deal. I've not been a worshipper of mindless escapism for years, but I've played the role because it allowed me to bond with those who did. But it's a fucking lie! I have one true obsession, and I've been ignoring it for entirely too long. It isn't healthy. I'm not a gamer. That's a side dish.

I'm a writer, through and through.

June 18, 2008

2008-06-18T00:29:00.000-07:00

Like a saint, I love you...

I've got more scars now. It's pride I feel, a savage primitive joy at knowing it was I who altered my image forever, that it was I who chose these marks carved into my flesh. I catch myself looking at them in the mirror every time I pass one by. There's a stark sense of reality in a scar, a moment that can't be forgotten drawn in a line on your body.
But what am I trying to remember? What message communicates itself so cold and clean every time I touch my shoulders with my fingertips? Perhaps it's a need to create that drives me. I've been so sound asleep for so long, drifting through my days like ironwood on ocean waters. Creativity of any sort is a ray of light piercing the fog, the scars are something I can look on with pride, in much the same way I look on my written work.

The presence pf mind in my life has sparked a conflict within me. A crisis of faith, if you will. Except I don't think you can call it that, because I've never really had faith, not in that shiny happy way that my sister does. Not like anyone does, really. The process of belief to me too much resembles the place where thinking stops altogether. I can't accept that, so I can't call it belief. I've got a lot of good ideas, ones that most people don't have simply because they can't be bothered. People it seems choose certain paths so they don't have to think. But lately I've been thinking like an atheist which bothers me intensely. Atheists don't believe that God exists because they have no idea what God is. Truthfully, neither do I. But that's kind of the point. Look, it's like this. Divinity begins where human understanding ends. When we can't explain it, we go to God. That's why the first ideas of god were always associated with the sun, the moon, and the stars. With the earth itself. With the animals, and the elements. God is a placeholder, and empty buzzword we use to wrap up our grand estimation of all of existence.
When they say god moves in mysterious ways, is that like a polite way of telling someone they're too dumb to understand physics?
Worship is a heavier word for love. What do I love about this world? Basically everything, really. well, no. There are terrible things about this world, but they work like the rough that hides the diamond. It all has a purpose, at least to me. People ask about the purpose of existence and everything in it, but they can never be satisfied with their own answers. I think the answer to the meaning of life has so much more significance when it's you who came up with it. I mean, why sit around waiting for somebody else to hand you the solution on a plate? That kind of victory always feels so hollow, you know? Cheat codes take the fun out of videogames, they take the meaning out of life, I would think.

2008-05-25T01:48:00.000-07:00

I feel this powerful need to express myself without any understanding why. I think that in some time that is not now I will awaken to a world I don't recognize, listening for signs I can't hear. Perhaps the degredation, the slow destruction is something that has already begun. I remember my scars, won from over a month ago. Time is this thing I can't recognize for some reason, I try and try to grasp it . But I keep consistently failing.

words I cannot speak for you will not hear them.

2008-05-14T00:42:00.001-07:00

I miss you. I don't understand this place I'm in, this world where I can't be a bigger part of your life. You're so close, yet so very far away. The walls that separate us seem so fragile, yet nothing I do will break them. My fists are bloody and raw from the effort, I'm afraid you might be the real architect behind this catastrophe. I'll never understand the way I feel about you, it's never going to be clear to me. There's a light you radiate, it shines out from within. Shadows gather to steal it away, I'm paralyzed by fear, my heart breaks at the thought of losing another one. I love you dearly, you mean so much to me and there's nothing about you I would change, not one single thing. I know this is sounding all wrong, every time I've ever done this it's been heard or read wrong, that's because it doesn't make any fucking sense. I'm lying to myself, I'm just insanely jealous, there's a light within you I want to be closer to, and I can't be, and it depresses me intensely every time I think about it. I'm really fucking greedy, I want a lot more of your time, so much more, and I can't have it and it drives me batshit. My mind is moving too fast to catch it on this measly fucking page, why am I so greedy with people, why do I have to be the center of the story, sometimes I feel like everytime I interact with others I'm lying to them somehow, like they're not getting the real james, maybe that's because every time someone sees the real james or even gets a glimpse they freak and they run they can't handle it I've ended every relationship I've ever been in because they saw who I really am, full power, 100%. I fucking hate it so much. For all my life, I've been told to calm down, to be quiet, to cool it, to fucking chill, I'm not fucking doing it anymore.

Friday April 18, 2008

2008-04-18T00:48:00.000-07:00

I dream sometimes of the city. I paint idyllic pictures in my head, perfect scenes all happening at dusk, soft music plays in the background, people are seen in all those positions that give the scene such a wistful feel, gritty and real and emotionally safe and indulgent. None of it reflects the reality of my future spent in a city of the magnitude I'm dreaming of. I find it strange that we can imagine perfection encompassing a place so much larger than we can even process all at once. My life as a mere mortal binds itself to the walls of a square city block, my senses and their capacities stretching no further. The delectable sensory opportunities are counterbalanced by isolation, a self-appointed mantle that hangs like a shroud. My regular journeys inward, expeditions through the landscape of the mind, far outshine mindless trudging on cold concrete paths.
I don't know what I'm doing with my life. Well, I know I'm living it successfully. That's about it though. What is the definition of a successful life?

I'm sorry we haven't spoken in quite some time, the fault that makes this distance, I know that fault is mine, I awoke with the strongest urge, feathers brushing past my lips, heart that skips a beat, light hands touch my fingertips, my eyes scan the lines that make your face, your descent makes paradise this place, touch awakens inner light, embrace burning back the night, I feel inside the reaches of my calm awakened mind, a heart to beat in time with yours - a soul to spark in kind, I pray before the goddess wings attempting at the sky, I ask you Lady Isis let this last until I die....

morning drew near, yet sleep would not take him.

2008-03-13T03:50:00.000-07:00

My attempts at sleep have been met with abysmal failure. My mind still races with the days events, unable to escape the ugly truths that assault my psyche on a regular basis. Ever since truth became my standard, the measure by which all I see is judged, so much has begun to fail me.
"Lies are the weapons which attack the very fabric of our reality."
With this song playing in the background, my world is destroyed with almost clockwork regularity. I can't fight this way anymore. I can't continue slogging through the mire of depression and darkness that is this path. Only truth in its purity will allow me to forge ahead to clear blue skies and sunlight roads.
My creed must be set against every aspect of my life, repeatedly and relentlessly, until the answers lie before me. With Truth as my weapon I will slay the demons of ignorance and deception. With weapon in hand I march, always pressing forward, eyes on the horizon ahead.

exercise 01/07/2008

2008-01-07T09:12:00.000-08:00

I'm an inmate in an unlocked prison. There are no guards, there is no uniform, there is no sentence to speak of. But that sense of imprisonment still remains.
The walls are in my head, the walls are in my room, the pale and sickly color of flesh consumed by malnutrition and rot. It's tiny, dark, and smells like sweat and smoke. The lighting is sharp and clinical, no room for shadows or secrets of any sort. I sleep on a cot, again resonating with the sensation of imprisonment. I sometimes catch myself dreaming of the soft bedding and warm sense of home that awaits me when I get out, only I was never in.
Everything about this feels temporary, except for the fact that it's been this way for a year at least. I can vaguely remember when I still told myself that things would change soon. Now that seems like the mindless chatter of a completely different person, one with hopes and dreams for a life that means more than this.
Perhaps this has been a long time coming. Perhaps the fact that I have gone the last five years without anything even resembling a purpose is starting to really wear down on my fragile self-esteem. Something like a hideous fear-of-failure complex overshadowing my every move and sucking away my will to act. This life has never been anyone else's but mine, but it seems like almost anything I've ever taken an interest in was someone else's obsession first. I just kind of hopped on the bandwagon because if they thought this thing (whatever it may have been) was so deadly wicked then there must be something to it.
But this is all speculation. One of the nice things about being a total head-case is never being afraid to admit a possible mistake. Quite the opposite, in fact. Over-analyzing my own mistakes and failures, and obsessing over things about which I can do nothing, has become a regular part of my day to day life.
Although, really? If one were to delve in a clinical fashion into my mind in an attempt to figure out why I've gone nowhere, the answer would come up pretty fast. If ten doctors examined me, five of them would automatically say ADD. Just because. I mean, let's face it. Those offices they hang out in don't just pay for themselves. The prescription drug racket, or "industry", is like a gold mine where new gold forms itself about once every hour. A lame metaphor, but hopefully the point is illustrated. The other five would slap on my record a series of "disorders" with names so stupidly complicated only a pharmacist could make sense of it. So on a medical level, my problems do have answers, but they are expensive and soul-consuming, so I think I'll just stay broken.
And now we come back to the issue at hand. How does one discover purpose when his attention span doesn't allow this discovery to take place? Do I simply wait for this purpose to come ambling along, making use of ancient principles involving the manifestation of desires on a subconscious level? Do I pace around my room brainstorming until I force some great revelation into being? Do I make a formal appeal to the gods I don't even pay basic lip service to, in the hopes that my lackluster devotion will somehow arouse their attention? Do I keep running in this mindless rat race, performing menial tasks at a dead-end job I don't even have the energy to hate?
The stark facts are as follows: I'm 23 years old, I'm not doing anything with my life, and I'm absolutely terrified that this is only going to continue on a perpetual basis, the years grinding in some vacuum devoid of intelligent life until I'm too old and frail to continue fighting the good fight against all things bland, boring and normal.
Fear does some funny things to a man's mind, doesn't it?

a-17

2007-11-22T13:30:00.000-08:00

The marks on my wrists have faded, it has been long since my last struggle to escape the means of my confinement. Although it seems impossible, the entire outside world is still there, I've just forgotten it altogether. I'm trying to make this sound more flowery and beautiful than it really is, which is just another way of lying to myself about how I feel. It's like everything I know is in this fight, there's this grey haze that's struggling to take over the scene, but everytime it advances these flashes of brilliant colour leap forth and fend it off. The world is still real, I know it is, but my existence keeps trying to shrink down to these four walls, my mind keeps trying to forget about everything else but my room and my possessions and my job. Everything is on this downward slope, my senses, my true senses are deactivated. The world is real and incredible and beautiful, but I keep trying to forget about this fact and I don't know why. Maybe it's a defense mechanism, by blocking out feelings like this, i lose access to depression as well as joy. It's a shitty trade though. I'd rather whip back and forth between misery and ecstasy than stay trudging down this stupid narrow little pathway of safety and neutrality.

think about it.

2007-07-24T06:18:00.000-07:00

we as a species associate the unknown with the divine. God is a word to simply describe the sum of everything we do not collectively know. We place the unknown on golden pedestals and raise these ideas of things of concepts we don't know or completely understand to divine levels in our collective understanding. perfection is the thing we cannot ever achieve in the most complete sense of the word and god is perfect. We know nothing on a grander scale about god whatsoever. The unknown equals the divine.

2007-07-21T22:34:00.000-07:00

prayers to the one of the word may the wasteland flourish and thrive with life once again soon soon I can't live in this for much longer.

It's soooo the loneliest number, you know.

2007-07-04T07:35:00.000-07:00

I've been very hermit-like as of late in regards to my daily routines. I feel as though everyone I know and care about has been collected, labeled, and set on some shelf in a far distant corner of my room. Put out of my head, as it were. This in the long run results in feelings of loneliness setting in, depression, disgruntlement as it were. A bad thing, this hermit-stuff, yes? Except I am unable to rid myself of the circumstances which create the scenario at this point. Two important points: My job keeps me away from people as a rule. As in the schedule is not one that fits in with the schedules of others. But the larger issue at hand here seems to be something more subtle, more elusive to the mental grasp. People have been shying away from me, causing me to lose enthusiasm in social encounters on a level resembling the disassociation of the mind with that of the collective majority. It continues to power itself at a level perpetual, a vicious cycle without end. Soon I am never seeing anyone for weeks at a time. I bounce between my coworkers and my roommates with seemingly no hope of crawling out of the groove that has been dug.
So now I am here.
What do I do at this point? What are my moves I need to make to start seeing people again outside of home and work?
In time, the solution will present itself. In the interim, I simply have to be patient, and remember that my abilities and skills will yield a solution faster than I currently realize.

fucking clouds

2007-06-10T18:27:00.000-07:00

There are beggars wandering outside the walls
of a massive stone labyrinth, begging for a spot
of polished, gleaming steel, something to gain them
entrance into the high stone walls
everyone wants a chance to lose themselves
within the confines of cold and old and unfeeling
everyone is pleading for an opportunity
to fall to the pits at the edge of reason and
die in some lonely alcove carved from the most
uncaring of materials.

I am, in retrospect, getting a little bit impatient with this whole process. But I had that feeling, twisting in the wind in the hollows of my guts, that it wasn't supposed to be this way. I was told, I suppose, in the ways this lovely little universe is best at, that things would change quickly, as they have a habit of doing. I know what I need right now, what would be better than anything else, and that girl simply didn't have it. She was, is, simply a manifestation of my escapist side, a creature seemingly composed entirely of my more immature outbursts of expression and desire and thought. I'm sick of searching, but it feels right now like anyplace I look will only generate more negative results.

I need time, time to calm down, stop whining about what can't be affected, and figure this shit out.

raining outside

2007-06-05T08:23:00.000-07:00

Its raining outside a cold cascade to shock the senses into vibrant clarity
You drift like a wraith through the sheets that hang endless from the skies
every colour viewed by countless lenses shattering on the pavement
baptism in grey filtered by deified fingers and cloudy globes like glass
pain falls through the cracks gathering in puddles and gutters and alleys
saturation of purity bursting veins running with black sludge and heavy sighs
You double over as it rushes out your mouth in a struggling torrent
spilling into every corner merging with the shadows lining your sight
everything blurs and drifts as the last of it escapes you in a trickle
darkened landscapes bleed into a haze hands find cold pavement fast and hard
sunlight feels you out slow and careful and quiet
now the day begins anew

movement in the dawn

2007-06-05T08:20:00.000-07:00

she sleeps beside me
a shell that holds
barely containing
all of the beauty
one could ever hope to experience
expressed in the motion
of a shifting slightly to the left.

i hated myself a lot more back then.

2007-05-17T23:56:00.000-07:00

so tell me about you when you were young.

well, he was a really sensitive kid, very emotional, not very well-versed about the real world and it's ways, quite completely immersed in fantasies of his own devising, and not particularly interested in anything the real world had to offer. This meant he didn't know how to deal with stuff like anger and sadness and disappointment and loss and failure and weakness, and so for a long time he was essentially emotionally stunted, growth-wise. He would basically throw temper tantrums when shit went wrong, and this happened regularly, so naturally he was completely ostracized through most of his school years. more or less all the way up to high school, when he changed schools and tried his very best to leave that whole nightmare behind. This was crystallized by a moment when his english teacher asked his name, jim or james, and he said james without a second thought. This to him was an opportunity to leave all that horrible shit behind, to forget about the fact that he had to go to therapy in grade five because of anger issues, where the therapist tried to help him and help him work out his issues, and the boy is pretty sure that the therapy was abandoned either for financial reasons or because he didn't appear very responsive at all during the two or three sessions they went to. So basically the issue of the anger had never been resolved during the course of his childhood, he'd simply buried it out of necessity once high school had started. He was rejected constantly by his classmates, and was alone most of the time, he didn't really have friends growing up with the exception of a few kids in the subdivision who were isolated along with him out in the boonies.

where were we? yeah. The boonies. Don't get me wrong, fine place to raise a family, dogs, cats, hermits, whatever you want really. Of course, things get a little dicey when at 14 you're faced with the grim decision to either force yourself to fit in with the like seven kids that live in your area or be a giant loser. I was pretty much already a loser most of the time, so this decision was pretty easy. So at home I was a tiny bit less/lot more isolated and alone. Depending on the day I guess.

As a coping mechanism I read a lot of books. Anything and everything of any interest in my fathers' collection I greedily devoured. Plus most of what my school libraries had to offer that wasn't totally awful or dull. In fact as I recall my grades in high school actually got worse with all the reading I got done. I finished four books in the wheel of time series, math pure drops to 54. Devour more stephen king, chemistry and physics plummet to the low fifties. I mean, I had fun, so fuck it. Right? Could I have gotten away with it, I would have shut out the teachers altogether and spent my class time listening to music instead of their lectures. So to bottom line this whole school bit, if they'd allowed headphones in class I would have failed. Period.

Bringing me to the other coping mechanism, music. As I got older, like 13 or 14, I started listening to stuff by guys who sounded even angrier than me. Kept the hilarious temper tantrums under wraps, as they were all acted out in my head with the help of bands like the deftones, marilyn manson, korn, ministry, all that good stuff.

I'm sure there's more really good meaty stuff that totally puts my childhood in proper perspective, if it comes to mind we'll all get to read about it.

and in other news,

2007-05-16T23:59:00.000-07:00

WHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, I feel a lot better. How about you?

and I have no patience for virtues

2007-05-09T01:23:00.000-07:00

I think I'm losing it. And when I say it, I mean my ability to maintain control over a situation to a certain degree. And when I say losing it, its more like I'm pretty sure I just never had that ability in the first place.
And yeah, like always, its about a girl.
In the past, I've always been able to make a connection with a woman without saying a damn word, using mostly the language of energy and of the body. It's served me pretty well, and allowed me to get through all the usual barriers with a minimum of all that awkward conversation and such.
This time I don't have that luxury, I'm not in, nor will I be, in a situation where I can just mosey on in to that comfort zone with just a pass of my hand and the good vibes. No, here I'm going to have to actually talk, and talk about how I feel, and work my way through the standard barriers and borders more or less with words alone. It's feeling like really foreign territory, like I'm walking through a minefield with a blindfold and a cane.
I'm being forced into a situation where the way of the ibis will be the correct path. It bothers me a little, but it doesn't shock me in the least, and an understanding of the associated imagery and powerful symbolism that comes with such an idea will no doubt serve me well in this situation.
The words will come. The moment to use them will come as well. My instincts in this situation are indeed correct, but the time must be right for me to utilize my gift of gab, or else this strong desire to form those bonds with this girl will go unrealized.
I hate being patient. Every time her and I are together, I have to work to control my tongue, to keep beautiful yet brutal honesty from spilling out and widening her eyes in a depressingly permanent fashion.
The time will come, as thoth wills it, as the gods will it, the time will come as ordained by the will of the gods.
The time will come as Thoth wills it.

"Again?" "Yes. Again and again and AGAIN!!!!!"

2007-04-23T21:22:00.000-07:00

I am not in a good place right now. this house feels like a prison, this woman the jailer. It's like she's got this switch, and when it's turned off I don't exist. I'm not saying I want this woman to be my wife or anything, no quest for true love will be undertaken in her name, but for christ's sake let's show a little something here. That something? It could be love or affection or even attention of some sort that doesn't feel like it's being directed towards a fucking doll, or a prized posession. My worth as a human being is tested every time I interact with her, and I hate it. The worst part is that I'm pretty sure she's like this with everyone she knows. Like she's a fucking sociopath or something like her capacity to feel for others has been completely deactivated. I reach out for something and there's nothing fucking there outside of her current physical attraction towards me, and I genuinely worry what will happen between us once that burns out. It's not like she doesn't care about me, it's more like her love for me is for a thing inanimate, and it's fucking terrifying. Right now, right at this very moment, I wanna leave this house and never fucking come back. Right at this very moment I feel like maybe the last time we tried something dumb like this should've been the last time we spoke. But I know how it works. She'll come home, I'll wrap my arms around her, try my good god-damndest to get some sort of reaction out of here, and we'll continue this retarded dance until we eventually fuck, like two corpses being thrown around inside of a huge dryer. Sometimes I wonder if this intense hatred I'm capable of feeling for her is just my way of coping, like at least with hate it can be one-sided and still be felt as real. Love of any sort just bounces off this woman much like hate does, and so even that eventually becomes hollow and meaningless.
I suppose the only solution of a sort would be to find these walls she erects and shatter them, destroy the barriers protecting her from the whole world and allow her to feel something for once. This isn't the solution that would simply help her, it would help her and be particularly satisfying to me as well, because nothing feels quite so good as breaking a person so they can be new again and eventually whole. Or maybe I just wanna break the heartless bitch out of spite.
Now I just have to decide whether she's worth it. worth helping worth hurting worth even one more goddamn minute of my fucking time.
this will be an interesting weekend indeed.

music and it's echoes.

2007-04-22T22:24:00.000-07:00

i heard a noise the sound of the gods rushing in through the limits of man's comprehension and washing over the walls and borders of man's perceptions a steady constant hum to eat at the very edges of a person's sanity this is what we listen for when there is nothing left to define as sound or fury this is the noise that we hear when everything else has been stripped away a single throb to drown out everything we know and understand as noise as sound our limits have been tested those tests have been failed all that we know has been disproven or discarded as irrelevant madness stalks the fields in which we have laboured to grow our notions and our ideas that drone will be what drives down the defenses and breaks you this noise will break you sound beyond our limits that is how one defines the noise of the gods.
a tribal sound to pound away and break down the walls that line your skull
there is no drug like introspective journey.
there is no chemical that can truly replicate spiritual and mental growth.
there is no sound like this sound.
eventually the madness that is noise will infect you to the point of complete mental corrosion and everything you know and hear will be tainted with this noise and everything you understand will have a sound attached that you cannot ignore like the world itself has a pulse and a rhythm and a beat and a tune.
I am addicted to noise because I am terrified of silence.
I am terrified of silence.
I am terrified of silence.
Please fill the void that threatens to concave my mind and send me spiralling into the hideous darkness that lurks within.
i am afraid of the noise that is absence
the sound that is no sound.
all noise wears a mask of madness to hide the insanity that is silence.
I am terrified of silence.

May the gods grant me an eternity of noise.

tangled webs

2007-04-10T10:02:00.000-07:00

as I become more acutely aware of my situation the weight of it becomes more and more difficult to tolerate. The situation is simple. I cannot continue spreading myself so thinly throughout each and every one of my... aspects.
Who is he? Is he a geek? A stoner? A hopeless romantic? A goddamn sexual deviant? A scholar and a sorcerer? Or is he simply a fool?
Perhaps the man encompasses all of these things, perhaps none. Mayhap he is simply, as miss fortune put it, a dabbler. Not truly and properly walking any road at all, merely taking those first hesitant and meaningless steps down each path he encounters, leaving a piece of himself behind each time.
This weird routine can do nothing but destroy me eventually, as one day I shall have nothing left to give out, to give away, no more roads left to walk that will actually go somewhere.
choose. For the love and understanding of all the gods in the cosmos, choose.
Perhaps this trip you seek to take will afford you the clarity of vision you so desparately need.
Maybe you will just go blind.

poem.

2007-04-06T10:07:00.000-07:00

should I stay or should I go?
The decision's made, oh I should know.
my bags are packed inside my head
I can't escape that sense of dread
some wicked scene all done in red
yet to unfold
black story told
should I stay or should I go.

i don't like it here. but where is here?

2007-03-15T08:29:00.000-07:00

this place in which I trap myself is an experiment in psychological assault, a massive maze consisting of leagues and leagues of moving bodies, sick and dying disfigured destroyed distorted this is not a vacation but a vocation a task to complete and a blade to insert within between the ribs just one more shock another blow to my already sensitive and staggering emotional immune system it seems to start with something small every time every instant is nothing remarkable or incredible but a few choice words a passing glance a carefully chosen phrase something that does nothing less than break down every single wall and force me to deal, to cope, to survive, to fend off...
I saw him and it broke me a little maybe a lot I can't fucking stand it like a picture a painting all done in colors of slow rising waves all pain and suffering and anguish this isn't how it's supposed to be the gods would call it justice or karma or some retarded shit like that and I would strike them for it, I would strike them down with baseless sound and fury and rage, no man should suffer like this man, not this man, why him, why of why goddamnit would they choose such a savage fucking punishment for such a crime as one committed so goddamn long ago, what were the circumstances I don't think I'll ever understand they can just fade out for this just fall to the waysides and the wastes, I know nothing but the rage for this cruelty, I know not how long it will be before I can cope with this and accept it and deal and just sit back and say, "well, I suppose it was all for the best in the end." you know? that's gonna be a long time coming, a real far ways off, some distant point in the horizon I care not to embrace right now or step towards, maybe there will be great life lessons in this, but right now all the lessons I wish to learn are how to forget, how to drown my sorrows and my sickness in a wash, a haze of hideous glory and smoke and stims and lucid gazes, to die a little and break this chain that covers my exits, to step forward and howl in the mists to avenge my own deaths, little as they were, to break free of this miasma this mire I want out and I will do terrible things to get there.

vitamin e

2007-03-04T02:28:00.000-08:00

my body is a liquid thing uninhibited by silly foolish things like rules or restrictions or borders my ideas are freeform and disconnected from the material plane this is the process of the evolution of the human mind the step by step procedure with which one may separate themselves from the world around them, shun and banish the negativity that infects this place, bathe in a glorious sea of sweet and simple joy.
I am in love with the sound
I am a fool for the noise of your soul
nothing in this world can touch me
as long as I'm walking with you

I am a filthy jRocK prostitute

2007-02-28T01:19:00.000-08:00

please please please let me touch you just a little maybe for a moment make that a tiny eternity a single second to feel every part of you which screams and bellows in silken tones to melt my defenses and break my every wall the sound of you running up and down my spine I want all of you want to be there past all the barriers into the confines of your sweet shallow river to take but a single drink maybe that means I've gone over the edge now my hands want to remember the sensation of the small of your back as I pull you towards me feel strong gentle hands taking all the woven shields from this body of mine if I continue I might die from it just the feel of something so good makes you wonder if there can be anything else after this ever again all heat and inner light and small secret smiles soon I taste you on my tongue its ambrosia filling my head with that soft glowing radiance I'm almost floating now this is just too damn good.
One day I'll be there and it won't be this but better can you even comprehend that?

ayu(trance expressive)

2007-02-26T10:02:00.000-08:00

I am under assault by the sound of synthesized joy, it ensnares my head and heart, pulls apart my tiny body, and scatters me to the four winds in a grievous display of relentless power.
Someday when all minds collapse in on their own supports, and the islands are destroyed in a wave of sound and fury, you will understand me, and you will understand my joy.
For now my strange movements and captured expressions are mystery, to remain so until those dark and delirious days fall upon us.

to the lord and lady

2007-02-24T14:40:00.000-08:00

O! My lord, my lady, that I may tremble in earnest supplication before your gracious and glorious presence!!!! Woe be the one who deals you even the slightest deference or disservice in light of these newly revealed factoids of absolute and utter
fucking
insignificance.
your temple is ablaze ashes falling to the ground like snow sorrow crushing your windpipe and choking out your tiny voice the light you ignore is the one that will blind you
the ape of thoth is making faces behind your shuddering back, eyes bulging out in mock horror with your every sweeping gesture the truth you seek out is stained and shattered by your foolish self-centered attempts to subjugate and control it.
I hold in high respect the sharpest point of his sword because he stuck it in me and I actually felt the fucking thing, cram your dogma down my throat and I will vomit it back up, drenching you in the fruits of your glorious labour the light that radiates from behind my eyes is leaving you blind with it's simple beauty and its incredible capacity to illuminate the whole world around me love is too simple a philosophy to be dragged down by the brittle chains of self-assigned power and worth
it's sort of hypocritical to puff yourself up and knock others down at the same time but realize this, I see outside of myself and recognize and love my weaknesses while you remain blind to yours.
LIGHT!!!!!!!!

chaos

2007-02-23T10:01:00.000-08:00

I was given a task within the quiet and complete confines of my mind to attempt to describe the chaos concept, to give rules and regulations to the very thing created to defy them. It's art, as simple as that, when you create a work of art, there are no rules you follow, simply choose and seek out what you need to make this thing perfect, whatever that thing may be. Choose to create or destroy or hurt or heal or reveal or simply say what the fuck you feel this is simply a word to describe the method with no method only sweet madness simple psychosis given form and function, do what you have to how you have to do it, don't get caught up in what would be proper or fitting it's what you need nothing more what's perfect for this dance to the depths of a bright and brilliant abyss, this brief connection to the impossible, to the indescribable, to the gods.

the marrow of a bone

2007-02-22T00:08:00.000-08:00

dear gods what is this noise I hear this cacophonous wave of screaming and howling and inhuman madness to a beat, such torment and anguish, such power in a message delivered so honestly, like a complete descent in a motion and a movement, no time to breathe between heavy waves assaulting the psychosis and the soul, there is fear unleashed from the heart of this beast, I relish the sensation of gathered energy left after every line, every note, every shrieking guttural word, the attack is made and received in a kind of hideous sonic ecstasy with my eyes lighting up blazing savage joy rapture formed with the message received, solid forms and boundaries destroyed within the mental environment at a glance, intertwining peaks and valleys spiraling towards a sharp and sudden destruction no room for gawking tourists hawking cheap inquiries concerning matters of a truly baseless physical nature, absolutely trivial jibberjabber really, all in all strange reactions to a very powerful piece of work the marrow of a bone speaks of pain or deep wounds maybe random cultural reference no match for that voice in memory pain is too real beautiful

just to let you know...

2007-02-19T09:58:00.000-08:00

Now I'm not saying I was pissed off, but the thought of sealing shut your fucking nose with your own badly scarred tissues was a pretty fuckin' happy one.
I'm over that now, so I think I'll just return the favour you did for me, and be a complete cold-hearted cock for as long as I'm still privileged to know you.
Isn't that just sooooo fuckin nice of me?

wow, don't I feel empowered!

2007-02-15T15:38:00.000-08:00

I'm out of shame and the sensation is a strange one. I don't know when this phenomena made manifest, but at this point I don't care. There are simply too many activities I take part in that are supposed to be taboo, I no longer invest in this shame crap even on the smallest level, it's a farce from a larger perspective, the act of feeling guilty for something you love, no matter what that thing may be. I think it's something invested in us by our parents, by the environment that created us, like this shame thing is a result born of our desperate efforts at one point or another to fit in. The moments when we did not, the times when we stood out as completely out of sync with everything around us, these are the moments that give birth to the emotion known as shame. It's just too foolish to be indulging in once you come to understand exactly what creates the sensation in the first place. On a higher level of understanding, I simply have no good goddman reason to be wasting time feeling like my life and what's it's composed of is inferior or improper in regards to my peers. Pride in what i do and what I believe in, the next step up from this escape, this rebirth from the death of a society-spawned shame cycle.

teeny tiny moment of clarity

2007-02-15T12:36:00.000-08:00

I promised myself (well I didn't really, but it's a nice thought) that I would never go so far as to permanently damage any of my closest companions, no matter how they begged. In reality, I simply haven't the heart to do something so horrible that I can't take it back. Not to say I haven't the heart to do something horrible.
Quite the opposite, you see.
Although the idea of "horrible" is guaranteed to shift in a very drastic fashion from perspective to perspective. Really, what you may call a genuinely despicable act, I might simply deem an act of love, something done to fullfill secretive desires that might otherwise go unrealized. I am a man willing go to great lengths for a good friend, to perform what you may call evil deeds, all in the name of love and trust and mutual understanding.
Although it wouldn't be unreasonable to call me a touch unbalanced for going to these great lengths in the first place. Let's face it, if we were all allowed to act as we truly pleased, this whole bit about what is and isn't acceptable would be a moot point in itself. Most people are simply unwilling to cross that line between desire and destination, to make manifest some of our most potent pleasures, the ones that wake you up in the middle of the night and leave you wondering whether or not you're even completely human for wanting what it is that you do.

Although this could all be irrelevant. Maybe I'm just a sick motherfucker, and maybe whatever I say is simply me attempting to justify my hideously warped ideals. That will be for the final judge, for my maker and master, to decide.

the dance of death act 1

2007-02-13T10:05:00.000-08:00

I woke up with these awesome ideas I wanna use and abuse you until I collapse, I've never had a toy that I could train to scream before, this is gonna be so much fucking fun, I'm gonna play with you until the sun comes up, we'll....
yeah that's a good idea.
The gods will not be absent from this celebration. Our sweet union of energy and flesh and soul, punctuated by your gutteral howls, maybe we can make something really interesting out of it. I know some really neat tricks with symbols and circles and lowborn incantations. I know ways to redefine fear, to bring all the old ones rushing to my side as witnesses to our fun. This could be a crowded party, what with all the spirits of the gasping dead pulling at your skin while I stuff you like a fucking turkey and beat you like a bad little girl indeed.
Some would call it perverse. Some would have me burned at the stake. I think that's a terrible way of looking at it. I think how much we love each other will set the sky alight, and everyone in the whole goddamn world will be in awe of this glorious...
...thing that I've made out of a queen.

"I want you more when you're afraid of me"

2007-02-12T13:03:00.000-08:00

I don't think we were quite perfectly clear on the gravity of this situation. I'm at a crossroads, you see, wherein I may either submit completely, (the comfort of the leash is a pure one) or allow my dark side total control of the situation. The problem is I don't think the submissive side will succeed here.
I'm certain of this, in fact.
We need rules to this game, borders and boundaries that I may not cross, lest my fiendish desires to see you quaking in terror overcome me completely. A clever fellow such as myself should not under any circumstances be allowed this kind of freedom. Nobody wants to wake up in a fucking motel room across from the walmart wearing nothing but 32 feet of nylon because the expression on their face was so... priceless.
Energy is the fuel of this beast, you see, be it sexual or emotional or spiritual or what have you. Once satiated in this fashion I can and will fuck like a overloaded machine, without mercy or malice or anything at all, a cold stone pillar of duty and determination, no higher goal than to see you broken and bruised and hopefully bleeding internally. The light of life gone from your visage, the crown torn asunder, your current position a cruel mockery of the power you once held.
One day dear, and one day soon, I will break you.
It will be glorious indeed, I think.

inspired talk of the crazy variety

2007-01-30T18:00:00.001-08:00

this place by place I mean within my head a landscape crafted by sounds and ideas and visions borrowed from all sources external meaning the scape of the mind, this place is shifting and changing with the tides with the moment, the colours are moving back and forth as quick as they can the feel of it is something fluid something unpeggable that you can't as they say put your finger on. I don't know much about it aside from what they tell me... unravelling. untravelling. reverse progress. the complete inability to move forward. sucked back into the skull like eyes of jelly absolved and resolved through a straw.
I think that maybe once all this hooplah is said and done that I shall go towards the sun a single thread to be undone this cause is lost among the throngs of right and true believers madmen and sweet deceivers what was it that you asked for what was it you last said these ears are so faulty so completely incapable of piercing the miasma you call a mind how did you get so far your maps are all so useless...
my guides have all collapsed and fallen off the edges of reason and right and true, rotting in the valleys of madness decomposition slow sickly smells wafting up from the dust and bones

cold winds bring the miasma once again

(G)0thIc picturebook

2007-01-26T09:58:00.000-08:00

Abuse delivered to a body like this one is guaranteed to generate results of a serious nature why is it that everytime I see myself reflected in the eyes of another I always look so twisted mutated distorted expressions puked from the maw of a monster oddity in one mirror is never anything but oddity in any other someday I will be remembered by my peers as someone incapable of reconciling with society's virus, the man who could never take the cure in silence, the beast that muttered and gibbered and begged with the powers that be, in a serious effort to destroy everything that makes me normal all that keeps me trapped within the confines and walls of this miserable species, I pray for escape, to be carried away on wings of leather and latex and mascara, rescued by an angel of aesthetic horrorbeauty, consumed and crushed recreated and spat back out in a fury of filth and shameful ideas, these hands will take your body and not give it back untarnished these hands will take you and where will you go but the darkest corners of your own mind what will you find what will you see everyone's even more scary than me.

glass walls

2007-01-22T15:41:00.000-08:00

This is not anything like a diary, more like an attempt at genuine expression that may or may not fail. What's the expression, the feeling is isolation, the idea is an island, no man is an island surrounded by safety, I grow ill tired of the bipeds that plague my days, that leave my head in a stinking haze, that keep me wondering whether or not the bonds I'm attempting to form are worth anything at all. This is an exercise in futility, a hamster wheel where every step is deceit the idea that you're making progress when the reality is quite different indeed. I just want people who aren't so fucking shallow and cold to come strolling in anytime now no hurry no stress just you know get here I'm not dying or anything just a little disgusted.

choking on strings(a)

2007-01-09T23:02:00.000-08:00

she told me to write about what I felt, to just get it all out, ya know? I think that maybe this could be a rather difficult task, maybe I'll just get all goddamn hesitately, or pull some bullshit where I don't talk about them at all, but maybe that's just how I feel right now, like nothing I do is right or the best path for me at all, but that's just me second guessing myself at a rapid ridiculous pace I can't shut this shit off, I need to readdapt in order to regain my focus, there's a huge rush of strength, of mental power raw form that I need to focus and hone, this gift this wicked boost must be controlled lest I go crazysauce and we really really don't wanna fuggin deal with that, no I think that'd be an awful thing to have to reconcile or come to terms with I guess is the idea,
do you believe in fire and it's gifts in the idea that manifestation of a particular element within oneself is important in establishing control that this energy you are experiencing is something you need to focus and hone but on what well what do you want I want...
I want the noise that fills my head silenced I want all that useless dredgy bullshit that does no one any good to be gone.
I want it and I always get what I want.
crystal shines within sunken hollows
every fibre every filament is lit
roots snake down to unknown depths
the fire is deep
the fire is white
the light and the heat
my body ignites
patchwork assemblage of written body of ideas expressions put it from pieces to the whole a string of concepts bound by a singular theme.

Someday all of this will be wreckage, with no one to sift through it but the madmen, the crooks, the social cockroaches, the edges of our polite society. My words will provide cold comfort to the generations beyond this desperately seeking refuge in the ideas of their own, poring through relics and ancient tomes in an effort t oreconcile the chaos that envelops their world.

hands stained with mud and scorch

2007-01-02T10:01:00.000-08:00

this is not a dream, nay, this is a long and strange nightmare, one populated with all the traditional elements of groundless fear and panic and tightly wound energy. This is a tribute to the evolution of cultutral insanity, our grand and glorious leap from the impossible to the obscene, with only minimal pain in the transition phase.
I can't feel the bonds of this anymore, there's a lot that I'm having a really hard time experiencing, what with that goddamned girl distracting me something like 23 hours a fucking day. I don't like this. I know it isn't going anywhere for a while if ever at all, I know we have so little in common it's laughable, so what's the fucking draw? Why is it that when I start thinking about her I can't stop? Why is it that this fucking ball of energy in my gut isn't ever completely going away anymore? you have found the fire you dug and you found it isn't it just fucking glorious and great and absolutely beautiful i don't think that this is bad at all why what the hell is so terrible about having the fire within you my boy?
burning burning i think this might be what drives me nuts drives me off the edge down into the sweet abyss slap at the walls while you fall put some bruises and marks on your palms this is rushing air sucking wind white light burning holes through all your clothes it shines through and there isn't anything you can do about it maybe if you're already tumbling off the edge that means you aren't going but gone crazy loopy separated on a permanent basis from the majority society this is a sweet release to take you from your body to someplace really nice.

dumped. Again!

2006-12-22T15:42:00.000-08:00

This feels like every other relationship I've ever been in with a woman and we weren't even dating. It seriously feels like she fucking dumped me. "I'm sorry, it's over, I shouldn't have to explain why" some retarded entry level shit like that. No matter who the woman is, or what kind of relationship we have, it's always ended by them, and I'm left to puzzle out by myself why. Nobody ever wants to talk about shit in an honest fashion, it's always what I should've known or what I should've done.
Fuck you.
I don't know, okay. I am actually relying on you to teach me a thing or two. If that isn't what you're looking for, fine.
Catch you on the flipside or some shit like that.
fucking whores, always leaving me hanging when I feel I deserve a more clearcut ending.
like a bunch of really terrible authors.
all joke and no punchline.
fuck.

who is this sandman and what has he brought me?

2006-12-20T17:03:00.000-08:00

I dream. I dream as soon as my head hits the pillow, and it doesn't cease until I awaken. Until I came to this city, this phenomenom was utterly foreign to me. Now they come to me in full force, evry moment of sleep now full of half-formed memories and ideas viewed from across sheets of misted glass. I have come to accept in a more complete fashion the idea that what I learn within the realm of dreams is something that I can actually take with me to the waking world. More importantly, I almost feel that the sensation of transition from dreaming to waking carries with it something so strange and so vital that to recognize it and isolate it may be crucial. That brief fleeting moment wherein all previously retained knowledge is in the midst of being carried back to the dreamland from where I retreived it.
And where do I go in these moments of sweet slumber? No places of note, surely not. The people are what I remember in these strange times that may or may not have actually happened. Young girls fallen under my influence, that endless dance between me and whoever I see. Men and boys in various states, mostly irrelevant, bit players in a production of my assembling. Boys seem to be present in my dreams solely to present that proper sense of competition while I'm engaging in my... pursuits. Other nights are of a separate purpose, a search for something I am destined to never find, or the crushing feeling of being hunted like an animal, that savage and primitive sensation that gives you the impression you are barely seven inches tall. Perhaps one day soon I will decipher the meaning of this new onslaught of memory, this rushing torrent arising from the center of sleep, and the discovery of this knowledge will perhaps complete me, or at least put together yet one more piece of the puzzle.

excess pressure on the skull

2006-12-15T07:42:00.000-08:00

My world is opening up, all of the secrets and hidden half-truths being drawn into the merciless light and exposed to the populace for their cold hard judgements, their ruthless final descision. I woke up one day and the ghosts of my delirious past were knocking at my door, crying shelter from the storm, tattered clothes telling tales of their journeys. I just rented out the very last room, I'm sorry, isn't there anywhere else you can go?
no.
This means we get to stay up all night long, warming by the hearth and exchanging smiles and sorrows of these long years apart. I don't know what to believe anymore, maybe you can help me out, shed a little light on what's true and what's utterly see-thru and false. Two long pulls on the dead man's bones and the dust comes flying at you, all of the stereotypes making their legendary final charge. I don't think that the next wave is going home tonight.
Droplets of nostalgia like fed through an iv turning into this flood that I can't stand against and survive. Every breath is chased down and weighted with these chains of joy or anguish the difference is neglible I don't know that I can figure this for the facts the fiction...

Never underestimate the power of a prisoner.

sun.

2006-12-12T12:07:00.000-08:00

I miss the sun. There is no better way to describe how I feel right now, with music like light streaming in through the cracks of my consciousness, taunting me with memories of what the sweet seasons were like before this miserable weather staked its claim in such a pronounced and foreboding fashion. I don't mind the cold, I honestly don't. But I really do miss the sun. Maybe because I work during the day this takes away from my opportunities to take in the sun's pale rays, this glorious living god that makes his journeys across our skies every single day, journeys that now just seem like some kind of fading afterimage in my head. There's no way something so beautiful could've been real. Like I'm starting to hallucinate and this paradise I keep imagining never actually existed in the first place. Maybe it's just this job that makes me miss the brighter days, this huge prison that slowly eats at me like a pack of rats consuming from the bottom up, relentless and methodical in their work.

Until this season in hell relinguishes its grip on me, I'll just keep on dreaming of the sun, of the days that glowed and the nights that cut this beauty in chunks with surgical prescision.

Gods, how I hate this place somedays.

memoirs of an evolving mind.

2006-12-11T19:35:00.000-08:00

The following is an only slightly edited version of the fuzzy down time following shortly after a serious drug experience, some gloriously obscene night off during my halcyon days as a janitor. It's set in the early spring of 2006, a time well remembered by me for it's dark tones of indulgence and sin.

James you have just taken mushrooms, downed a powerful hallucinogen sprinkled with some form of giant bong assaults. Granted you were already tripping balls by this point, but whatever. At the end of this lucid dream I remember Tika. And laine. Jesus christ that was so fucking weird. NOW you must know that these drugs serve no purpose, they take you to a place you cannot go, Such a trip is not meant for you, a place where you cannot remember anything of what went on after a certain point.oh good gods what was I feeling I can't remember the lust(a bold inaccuracy, the feeling was too pure and physically detached) was beyond the fucking word I couldn't picture or place anything coherent it was so fucking trippy and so terrible I couldn't even imagine work was impossible for me, it was beyond my power I did not know this place. I am so goddamn hungry right now what the fuck is wrong like I've run a fucking marathon race inside my room. Oh christ (shellaine?) was just so fucking gone and so was george
I COULDN"T REMEMBER to believe my surroundings were real, OH GOD I'M SO fucking hungry or what I don't get it you wake up feeling more alive than you ever could've thought possible as if the whole life to the previous was a foolish notion of ill worth I think I forgot english again oh gods how could've it all been so easy. It took only two songs to get back to the house oh christ what was with shawn were those drugs no he was too lucid it's usually so obvious when he's on mush, I think my whole existence before this was not real I still don't feel real I don't get it like I've been walking around dead this whole goddamned time and I'm still dreaming I can just control it did i eat? How long was I gone to that fucking place where all was joy and horny and the gods only know what the fuck else with whom did I offer communion the whole thing was impossible my drugs must have greater purpose than this I must do them for some fucking reason or something not just to escape, a task I long ago completed without previously fucking realizing it I must have been howling or something nothing makes any sense shit this is all so weird I don't know you get really tired and then you dream it's a mushroom dream and nothing is real after that reality just fades away I knew nothing but what I'd done it was all so strange locked in the groove as it were like I was doomed to relive that single scene for the rest of my goddamn life and then I got up christ why did I fucking get up? why not just submit to the mushroom dream and collapse, let reality fall apart before my eyes and go someplace else for the rest of my days?

As an afterthought, I seem to recall that feeling being too chaotic to control or properly enjoy, the experience being my first step in realizing that chemical bliss can never for a moment supplant the real thing. Drugs were my way of learning to really appreciate my spiritual pursuits, to truly understand that when you really want a goal achieved, the hard way is the only way that actually means anything in the end.

morning star glorified junkie fuel

2006-12-11T19:16:00.000-08:00

Wrote this a good while ago coming down off something really strong.....

This morning I am awake alive the very essence of existence courses through my veins she hurt me oh gods she hurt me so fucking bad but it felt so enlightening awakening it felt like i was being born in the grip of her deadly touch and spat out screaming into the world and the whole world was new is new is so beautiful now jesus this is all too much this is something i have never before experienced not since watson tore open my third eye in a cascade of pain channeled through her goddamn vagina evil hateful bitch no matter not important i need to feel the skies caress my face with slight fingers and the breath of the gods exhaled from the light of the sun and drifting into my lungs canals carved into my skin and my soul this heart may burst this heart is whole every single brief touch of every single surface is too much to take the textures the sights the tiny countless sounds that accompany every night i am set loose on this earth if i listen i can hear it the heartbeat of this earth the pulse of all things living and all things life running like a river below the common perceptions of man yet they can be heard with the ears given t ous i can't believe this was all so obvious yet so well hidden i can't perceive the walls and boundaries that make up existence like i used to one day they will be gone forever do not fear pain embrace it surrender to it and be reborn i am alive awake I AM

prayer

2006-12-08T22:34:00.000-08:00

Isis
I need to speak with you
to dream of you
to bathe in that pure light which you radiate forever
with every breath
every sigh
every perfect word
I beg for communion for that channel to open up
between my soul and your infinite love
oh great and glorious goddess of
the shifting sands the calm ocean the river that runs through all which is
mother of the new dawning sun
giver of the life which pulses in my now-blessed veins
every kiss of the sun
every breath of the wind
every drop of the waters
is a tiny reunion with you
more than any man could
as much as every man should
I love you

SI731 SUX

2006-12-07T12:47:00.000-08:00

This place is like a refugee camp for the morbidly obese(MO) and socially incompatible. The few people I see here in a position to be working anywhere else usually end up doing exactly that in short order. Honestly the whole MO population here kind of scares me. I get this irrational fear about me like six more months in this building and I'll need a crowbar to get out of my fucking chair.
Also there's a slight depression problem working in any office building for someone like me. This place is two-faced in the worst possible fashion, and the masks everyone puts on are just too creepy for me to really stand. Thankfully there is the small respite that comes with knowing that every day I get to leave this place, if only for a short time.
Soon I'm going to start sending out a daily sos signal for all who walk by, a little flaregun shot to remind people that there are still real living beings in this office and not lifeless soul-sucking drones, evil ugly stat zombies feasting upon tiny sparks of individual strength and crushing it like it went through a goddamn printing press.
Oh, and if there's any of the ignorant redwhiteblue cocksmokers out there I like to call my customer base who are reading this right now?
Fuck you.
Fuck you and your entire family for making such a poisonous contribution to this planet's gene pool.
If I ever visit your part of neighbourhood I'll be sure to leave with nothing less than your leader's empty fucking head.

just because we don't exist doesn't mean a damn thing

2006-12-03T23:10:00.000-08:00

jenisteen cantrell and christoff dirano the light that lives within that place is gone don't go any further what are you doing this is so unlike you i don't understand please stop this is too cruel i think that maybe this is going to be the last time we meet the last time these stars fall beneath our feet the lights glide by and lift us up above the gods above the very last tower that they ever built i can see you from here it's a glorious view it's no view without you i can't feel what i used to forget what i used to know this time we won't come back this time we'll just keep walking the cruelest joke of all he's still laughing i can't stop crying blood coming from my fists in short drops my nails are that sharp it seems the day is dawning in which all power is waning old gods dying new thrones built from blood and bone and sinew and sweet sweet flesh i can make a crown out of all that long black hair but i don't think that she would approve please believe me when i tell you that nothing you see is real and nothing is forever nobody ever listens and nobody hears me that long last scream will cross entire galaxies to find the one ear to hear it and forget and shrug it off and walk away i think that maybe one more breath will do it one more sweet sigh a motion trapped in movement i think that i could die.

brief report on The Conversation

2006-10-27T20:41:00.000-07:00

This isn't a real story, just the events as I remember them...

It was years ago, we were sitting in her room talking about all the fascinating information i had come across in my travels to the city down south. Of the keenest interest was what i had acquired thru the ex, the names of three spirits(A great warrior a mage and a strategist), remnants of fascinating characters from times long passed. i had, with little thought to the consequences, introduced two people to each other who were supposedly connected. kirri was telling me amazing things about her, and i had no choice but to believe it at the time. like who she used to be(this was hard to get out of him) he simply wanted to glorify the fact that he'd never fucked her but he killed her in a rage, implicating another(me) in the crime of stealing her innocence (repeatedly, apparently) he mentioned details of her death, like the weapon used and how strong he would had to have been to pull it off(how do you break a sword blade in half jam the dull end in her forehead clear through the skullplate), he also mentioned the punishment for the crime, which was unpleasant and involved a lot of bugs(scarabs) in a small room with no light. when i spoke to the daughter(isiza) weeks later, she told the same story, focusing more instead on the affair itself, how bored she had been without her almost husband's touch, or total lack of. they couldn't be physical because the marraige ceremony had never been performed, as the two gods had never been able to agree on a moon to marry under. The stories brought to light something important: one possible reason as to why such a powerful civilization had been brought to ruin. corruption from the inside seemed to be the culprit. the daughters were chosen based on appearance alone, with no basis in moral character or spirituality. this one had been especially savage, murdering people at a whim(point at him or her and give the word they died on the spot), and growing quite mad with her newfound power. she dwelled a lot on a servant girl, a young thing of maybe six or seven who took care of her in some frivolous aspect related to appearance. she seemed almost entranced by this girls' fragile innocence, her youth and beauty. she was also obsessed with her appearance, and cared little for the body she inhabited. she would never let me touch her claiming i was too far below her, everyone was. we spoke at length of the power she held, the cruelty it had given birth to, she seemed to delight in being able to cause pain to others, with no fear of consequence or retribution. Upon reflection of that evening's events, it is difficult to sort out whether i spoke to a true former daughter, or a manifestation of this innocent young woman's malicious and insatiable dark half. The truth is more than likely a combination of the two ideas, the vivid memories of this ugly past taking root and growing in a sort of rebirth. In the years since that i have known her, certain actions and developed attitudes have helped to heal this rift between the two possible sides of the girl, to allow those ancient memories to sleep once again without any disturbance or need to reawaken.

isolation a

2006-10-19T09:12:00.000-07:00

Transition phase in progress please stand by until new coordinates recieved/relocation process 66% complete at least/simple bassheavy beats pulsing through what remains of my skull tearing through this expensive upholstery and leaving only bleeding wreckage/this is the exercise indulge daily indulge hourly every moment if you can spill forth tiny nuggets of fabricated wisdom and scatter them throughout the landscape don't bother oneself with fooish bullshit like rules and regulations and laws and what's right and what's wrong these are arbitrary at best absolutely ludicrous at worst/soon I'll be somewhere else a whole new world for me to abuse and rip to shreds I can do it if anyone can can anyone do it have I been disillusioned have I been misled what is the nature of this crime that has been committed in my name?!#)(/////If you listen to dumb noise for long enough maybe you go dumb too who knows (perhaps this ugly virus of a corroding mind that spreads throughout my cranium is)

fatal infectious contagious falsified imagined impossible

maybe i'm not actually real and everything i experience in the midst of these long nights is nothing more than the darkness giving me a long embrace a tender kiss to open up a hole in my defenses to let the impossible in to blur that line between what is and what is not

the mind is not an island on which any man should be stranded

taken from the altar cloth

2006-09-21T21:35:00.000-07:00

white light sweeping away white noise a rain of blinding purity every droplet is connected the web is infinite a sea of strings life sweet life everything is connected never apart never alone I sleep sound in divine embrace discard the three letter word discover all the light that shines beneath your skin sinking slowly into an ocean of divinity the hands that guide my descent with motions like a lover discarding my clothes these hands are beautiful they're perfect I can't linger because my soul is being consumed altogether by the beings themselves gods are just manifestations always there they're just always... to be is a deep statement one could die trying to completely comprehend manifestations of perfection never assume perfect is uniform like beauty it is takes many forms and many ways you can either look at the all in one (impossible) or in all (not impossible) god is our word our way of expressing what we can't express I found god through beauty I find beauty in almost everything.

I don't know how to say this.

2006-08-25T23:45:00.000-07:00

where do i start at the beginning i guess but i don't even know where that is, so i guess i'm in trouble now, huh? I have self-esteem issues really fucking serious ones the kind so hideous and huge you just wanna run at the sight of them. I don't have confidence in my skills, not to read the cards, not to survive alone, which is exactly how I feel right now. I would cross the goddamn oceans on a hunk of wood, on an old weathered door, if it meant finding someone who could actually handle me. I can't drown in the solid waters of sweet mother earth any longer. This is no longer something I'm capable of, simple as that. Some days I just need people. You don't know how much until they're gone. Everyone's gone right now, and that sick fucking feeling of abandonment is gnawing away at my guts, eating a piece of me at a time until I just wanna explode, expel, export, something. My energy is huge, it is savage, an ugly beast I can't tame or control for the goddamn life of me. I hate being alone, I don't wanna do it anymore, I don't want to wake up and discover that this pain is actually mine and not simply something I've picked up along my travels. I don't wanna deal but I don't have any other options. I have no way to express it, and no way to alleviate it but to feel what I fear and thus to eventually understand it.

2006-08-09T18:12:00.000-07:00

This is not the end, merely another beginning, a milestone in a long series of strange ups and downs that I can no longer categorize or even make sense of. Once again I find myself trapped in this tiny sweaty pit of a chamber, more of a jail cell than a bedroom. My prison walls are lined with garish images of sex and sick fantasy come to life, and my companion in all this, as always, is the notorious Mr. Grant, a brilliant drug addict and a total madman with a penchant for irresponsibility and odd comedy. Our journeys and adventures are of the chemical variety, the roadways paved in creepy pills and exotic herbs. I find myself growing weary of these trips, as the distance is growing shorter by the day, with my only hope for salvation lying within escape. If only a temporary one, of course. My indulgent personality doesn't allow for a permanent cease and desist, but I can try my damndest. Perhaps if nothing else, I can at least make my days more interesting as they go on.

The boot of self-esteem is wedged in the small of my back.

2006-07-29T22:48:00.000-07:00

I'm surrounded by normal people and all their normal routines that penetrate every facet of their goddamn lives and it's frightening, it's fucking unnerving, I don't wanna deal with the normal anymore. I don't wanna be here, paradise is calling my name it's way out west where the trees are real and the mountains are tall and weird is just the way things are. I wanna be back with the magick users and the nature freaks and the real potheads not these goddamn strung out psychos who are smoking as much as physically possible just to chase away the hideous demons that perch on their shoulders like it's a second fucking home... this is a savage place with the right kind of eyes, an ugly hole where god's hand is shoved either down your throat or up your ass and all you can do is smoke fuck drink destroy everything that composes you everything that makes sense nothing really adds up here it's all equations without proper closure all pieces that don't connect at all.
the real question here is how desparate are you to escape this place? what would you be willing to do in order to be quit of this miserable province and everything it stands for? Truthfully I would leave behind everything and everyone in order to see the road ahead get even a little bit shorter. I've built up this journey in my head into this huge beast that's going to gently lead me into some shangri - la devoid of anything resembling a problem. Yeah man, just get to kelowna and you'll get a job a girlfriend all that good shit that makes life so much more complex. It's ridiculous. True change, the kind of life-affirming thing by which so many self-help psychos swear, it starts from within. You wanna better job? Start looking for the fucking thing. A girlfriend? Start giving a shit about anyone else but you and we'll talk. Become the person that you dream of being instead of just dreaming it. Get your god damned head out of those fluffy white clouds and accept that this life and this world in which you live will be moved, much like the mountain, of your own volition only.

2006-07-06T18:48:00.000-07:00

rain rain rain
storms to revive this life again
fail to fulfill in this vicious refrain
feelings of anguish rip through your brain
dry dead grounds to absorb the stain
rain rain rain

I want off but the attendant's dead.

2006-07-06T10:18:00.000-07:00

We're not dead and it's not dying but that isn't the illusion talking that's the real deal, ya know? nothing i see is believable anymore, it's all too fantastic or too ridiculous to take in without a grain of salt, maybe a whole bag of the shit. It's like I'm on a slide, with everything visual whizzing by and blurring into a short list of acceptable colours and shapes, the end of this ride not only fast approaching, but my view of the chasm beyond is just swell, thank you very much. All the grips and handlebars are failing, they just break away at my touch, leaving scars of attempted control on the walls that rush away behind. Eventually I'm going to get to the gap, that huge hole in my understanding of this world I've crafted for myself, and I'm not even sure if the bloody thing has a bottom, let alone something I can survive encountering. Knowledge is power, right now I feel as weak as a newborn, all my superpowers temporarily revoked until further notice is posted.
I can't control this, but perhaps with a little bit of luck I can ride it out, land at the bottom with only a couple of scars.

F**k you society I wanna be DIFFERENT

2006-07-05T10:30:00.000-07:00

call me hermit bob the introvert the incredible animal who can't even communicate properly but could let you in on the secrets of the whole goddamn universe if you're willing to listen. It's all about me this year it seems and I can't quite wrap my head around the concept. no one else seems to matter and I can't tell if it's selfishness or if it's just me learning some valuable and neccessary skills. This whole house is kinda fucked and I don't really care. Everything is kinda fucked... and I really don't care. I'm just so detached from all things occurring around me. Just music and visuals and brief bouts of glorious self-expression all manifesting in this ugly mess that doesn't really touch me. Maybe it's some kind of summer thing. I don't have time for the shit that can't captivate my attention without fail. if I walk a particular road for long enough then I'll just come to it's end, right? One more message of perseverance and persistence versus a staggering lack of motivation to do anything valuable with my fucking life simply out of a lack of desire in the most honest sense of the fucking word?
I could sit here all goddamn day and I think I might. Just listen to music and write and maybe read or something I'm not sure..
One day I will accomplish what I set out to do so many months ago...

This sentence won't finish itself.

2006-06-23T21:39:00.000-07:00

my room is a fucking center for the breeding and development of new diseases, there's so much cluttered crap piling up in every single corner right now it's probably gonna need a surgeon general's warning on the door pretty soon. they say a person's room is a reflection of their personality, so what does this say about me? unfinished business, that's what. A whole camraderie of half-completed projects lie in smoking ruin all across the shattered landscape that is my personal homestead. Every notebook I buy is eventually put into storage with an entire fistful of blank pages taunting my lack of dedication to a completely pointless craft known to the rest of the world as expression. not the cool kind that gets books punched out and novels and awards shoved into dark orifices and fame and tenure. That other crap that doesn't any other shelves but your own and gathers dust like a farmer in some poor country full of ugly people. I write until I get bored which is like until I can write no more but with a lot less potential for revival in the form of an extremely drawn-out miniseries.

classified ad

2006-06-01T18:39:00.000-07:00

wanted: single female 18-25, smarter than the average bear if at all possible, this is really important, I mean it is so fucking CRUCIAL that this particular qualifier be met, smart meaning maybe a little wise, quick on the draw, slick, sharp, posessing a proper block of intellect to be dispensed at one's whim and leisure throughout the land, you know? Eyes must be open, you must be able to SEE, really perceive this fucking world around you in all of it's incredible glory....
If I cannot see, how could I expect anyone else t odo the same thing? rather, my so-called perceptions don't reflect externally, like in my behaviour and my speech and my words. I have to change a thing or two, I think. shift my priorities a bit. maybe take off when I'm actually ready, not when my schedule says I should. Even the best-laid plans are totally bullshit, anyway. I know everything will fall into place when it's bloody well supposed to, and not a second earlier. Fall in love with the world, and the world will love you back.

I'm not here.

2006-05-31T02:34:00.000-07:00

I feel like I've been asleep for such a long time now like I've been trapped in some ridiculous kind of coma some thing from which no one in recorded history has ever broken the rhythm of. I think I'm sick of this routine I've created for myself, I need to expand myself, to meet something in the way of new and interesting people, circulating between my roommates just isn't fun anymore but then whe nyou decide to go out and meet new people you have to deal with that sick sense of vulnerability that I can never really shake it's foolish to think that it's anything real, it's all in my head something I've made up and can only be held partially accountable for. You have no self-image right now, no definition of who you are that can be projected onto the rest of the populace for their own personal judgements, my image is blank, just some guy with his own little world to escape to. You've obviously gone quite insane, so why not communicate that in your appearance? either that or allow your personality to be the image, and don't let your appearance be a factor. But then where's the bait? The particular trinkets and charms that everybody adorns that attract a certain kind of person just the person you want to fuck and find out more about and maybe destroy just to maybe one day truly save yourself.

I've been trained and I don't like it.

2006-05-06T01:08:00.000-07:00

I've just come to the conclusion of the shittiest weekend I've had in months, and I'm starting to believe that maybe fun should be reserved for the other five days of the week or something. On top of that, I'm spending money like a madman, and my fucking savings account is getting smaller by the fucking day. I have no idea where any of my friends are, and it's anybody's guess as to whether I'm going to be able to relax at all for the next five days.
I'm stone cold sober in other words. It's really not all that it's cracked up to be, as all my previously established emotional defenses have been stripped to the bones, leaving me weak as a newborn kitten. I hate the feeling of a weekend taken away. We're taught and trained that r and r is only feasible on two days of the fucking week. It's ridiculous. I've got hoards of relaxation time, I work a night job, for chrissakes. I have the most stress free job in the fucking city, no car, no mortgage, nothing to that effect. It's all easy and relaxed and based on my own schedule.
The idea that I have to limit my fun and enjoyment to two days a goddamn week is ridiculous. Really, it's all about the drugs I wanna do. There's a part of me all mopey and shit because I can't get my fuckin ecstasy evening like I want it. What a goddamn joke.
Relax.
Take a deep breath.
try to ignore that mysterious headache.
Just be cool. Help, or some form of it, is on the way.

choking on endless red strings

2006-04-22T01:48:00.000-07:00

I've got a girl on my mind, not in a whole way, not in a good way. She's all screwed up and washed out and impossibly fiery and probably about to crack like a fucking egg on the skillet. She just ran out on my best friend and disappeared off to some unknown locale, some secret geek haven where the moniters glow all night long like neon tubing pushing some desolate watering hole. I don't have a lot to connect me to this girl now, just a note and some vague promise of contact, a weak signal in a raging storm. We've had such talks, that girl and I. We made promises we had no way of keeping, but that wasn't how it was then. Then it made sense, then it stuck. Will I see her again, will her promise of contact hold true? It's always so long before I see her again, each time we separate. Maybe this time We'll miss each other, go our different ways to far-off cities and live crazy lives, minds wiped clean of any memory of that person they knew back at the bridge.

I separate from so many people, so many hasty and heartless goodbyes sputtered out in a witless rush. It never gets any easier to deal with, only less surprising in the pain it brings. My bonds with people are never weak, and it's always hard.
So now I'm thinking about why I always move. How cold I am, leaving so many behind.
Now it's the bonds that form and their meaning.

I need to sleep.

I don't believe in holograms....... 1(a)

2006-04-18T03:35:00.000-07:00

my head these days feels as though it's gonna explode, like all the parts are begging to separate and go on to something more productive and maybe more meaningful. Everything that matters is starting to glow again, to sharpen itself and regain old definition for the coming days. I see and feel and perceive people as I never have before, with their needs and wants and feelings and fears spilling into my frames even as they're produced. It's always about them now, what I feel and understand is expanding about more or less everyone I know. At least it isn't a sudden thing, something sprung up on me without warning. But it's only gonna get crazier. The scope of my perceptions will expand to the point of almost cracking me open like an egg. I don't wanna have to deal with it, but It's gonna happen anyway.

One day the barbarians will breach the gates, and I will be the only one without a look of shock upon my face.

sweet self-assault of a verbal variety

2006-04-14T05:36:00.000-07:00

So I talked to my god this morning. You know, through meditation and prayer. The one thing that was confirmed absolutely was that all complex problems have similiarly simple solutions. Like all people my age, a series of problems and negative ideas run a silent race through the back of my mind, surfacing every once in a while to break my calm mask and send me into fits of hideous emotional expression.
What plagues me isn't the issue. They are problems of a pretty common nature. Every member of this species, at one time or another, suffers from simple shit like loneliness. like confusion about all the possible futures out there. like the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that never completely goes away that tells me what if the light you know to permeate every aspect of this existence, the light which is the very truth of existence, what if all around you but yourself are blind to the presence of this light?
Okay, so they're not all common problems. I'm going through a crisis of awareness. As in, I'm feeling like the only one aware within 1000 fucking miles and it's starting to eat away at the walls of my fucking cranium like some kind of ungodly disease with seven syllables in the name and no cure of any kind whatsoever.
I know I'm not the only one aware of the world around me and all that entails. But I am pretty much the only one I know. Which is still depressing and crazy and impossible to mentally digest without real pain involved but I can deal with it, because I don't really have a choice. cause if I don't deal with it that means I will actually go insane. And that's not really an option.
Being alone in any way really sucks, but that is an affliction quite simple to cure.
but like everything else in this world, you have to want it to get it.

random act of exactly that

2006-03-17T13:32:00.000-08:00

we are the victims. This is a species that loves to play itself as the hurt, the damaged, the destroyed. we are the people to be remembered for displaying and magnifying our wounds for the whole world to see. the drug addicts, the mentally ill, the abused. we are proud of our pain. Pay attention world, look how much i hurt. look how much stronger I am because I am still alive. Love me and love my pain.
Fuck you.
like attracts like. bringing attention to a bad thing will only bring about more bad things. Whether it's cancer or crack, talking obsessively over your wounds in whatever form or fashion will only hurt you in the long run. focus on the solution, not the problem.
To be honest, I have no idea to whom I am referring with this passage. Perhaps the memories are from a circle of friends that I'm no longer part of. Maybe it's me I'm remembering. I used to be pretty fucking negative, as I recall.
One more in a series of introspective jaunts designed solely to enrich and improve my life, a long chain of ridiculous incoherence made longer by my interference.

More words I shouldn't use cause I don't know what they mean

2006-03-06T14:42:00.000-08:00

I am the accumulation of my emotions. One of these emotions is known as love. We as a species seem to have lost our understanding of this emotion and how complex it actually is. Maybe that's how it works. Maybe I just feel like The emotion(Love) is getting more complex for me and it's still really simple for everyone else.
I am incapable of establishing a traditional relationship at this point in time because of two things. Either A, I can see the end of said relationship all too clearly, or B, Our feelings simply don't match up. Mostly because my feelings are unique. Or at least I'm so egotistical as to believe that I've got unique feelings. As if I could be separate from all other human beings in this one single aspect of my personality makeup.
My feelings aren't unique. It's just that somedays I feel as though my understanding of those feelings is. Perhaps this is what creates the detachment I've gelt during recent relationships. To be honest I'm not sure.
My relationship with, or understanding of the word love is patchy at best. Soon I wish to gain a better understanding of the emotion. I will post my findings as they are uncovered.

simmer down, simmer down, before the flames climb too high and burn away at the haze...

The Rat who would be at peace, part two..

2006-03-03T18:46:00.000-08:00

So I did some preliminary research on the whole animals to man thing, the connection in a spiritual manner with a manner of the animal kingdom. I spoke with a few different sources, flipped through a couple books, no giant deal. I mean I could've journeyed to the mojave desert or something, chewed on peyote, danced with the old gods, all that. Got an answer either way...

Everyone says Hawk. That's so weird, I never saw myself as a bird, but you can't accurately choose your own animal in a sense. Self-analyzation is just too difficult for most people in the first place, let alone making profound connections between themselves and the primal within them.

Hawks are considered messengers of the gods, more or less, they're closer to the gods than most animals. The Hawk in fact is Horus' big totem animal, representing him in the hearts and minds of the peoples of both upper and lower egypt. I think. Sometimes there were differences and dissensions between sects of the culture/country.

Aside from that, Hawks are most often associated with union with the gods, the great spirit, all things in general, it really depends upon your religious/spiritual inclinations. Because the Hawk is so close to the other side of the veil, he can either bring word from that other side or bring you closer to it.

Is there more? I'm not sure, maybe... time will tell, truth more than lies, seek the answers hidden within and all that.

The Rat who would be at peace, part one.

2006-03-02T17:18:00.000-08:00

I have never given any serious thought to the idea of an animal totem before. The very notion is neither outlandish nor implausible to me, I simply haven't given it any real energy or effort.

As a moderate to heavy student of the occult and all that entails in every sense of the word, I have a few sources for determining my own connection to the animal kingdom. The zodiacs of various cultures are all associated with animals in one sense or another. My birthdate determines two possibilities at first glance.

The chinese zodiac aligns me with the rat. The more common astrological calendar of modern times lines me up with the scorpion. This last one doesn't click for the simple reason that I know nothing about the animal. In fact, even the rat is a bit of a mystery to me.

This very lack of understanding I have just confessed may very well be the catalyst to an evening of frantic research in order to enlighten myself of any possible standard or even obscure connection to the animal kingdom I bear.

I believe that the ability to connect yourself with an animal allows you in some ways to adapt a similiar mindset, simplifying your day to day existence and clarifying some tough questions or dilemmas. Although lacking in higher brain function, animals posess a simple wisdom that we as a species would do well to adopt.

I shall report all my findings as soon as they are uncovered.

Future Mailbomb Target

2006-03-01T18:49:00.000-08:00

People use the word "God" so often these days it's a little scary, but it's such a small percentage that ever think about it, and it's an even smaller percentage that know what it means. Teenage girls have taken the phrase "ohmygod", or omg, and made it into some sort of weird intro piece for every juicy story that comes rolling and stumbling out of their vapid little heads. The word itself has for all intents and purposes, lost whatever meaning we originally assigned to it when this patchwork english language was first being formed. I've been scared to ask people what they think of when they think of the word god. What if there's still hordes and multitudes out there that see this charlton heston bearded guy with a fucking cane waving his hands over a pint-sized globe and controlling every aspect of our lives? I can't buy it. Christians and their ilk will often use a term known as "God's Love". This in my mind implies that their vision of the supreme being is one equipped with human emotions and a very human sounding mind. They also talk about god's wrath, his anger, his joy. The bible makes God sound like some ordinary guy sitting at the controls of the creation machine with a wicked bad hangover. Does this seem weird to anyone else? A supreme being is something beyond us in every way shape and form. Were God so close to us in composition as is described in The Bible, multitudes of plucky homosapiens would've started their own similiar Universe Creation starter kits by now. What I'm getting at is that the Bible's definition of God makes God impossible, or flawed. Perfection and Love as we understand the two concepts cannot mix no matter how we try to fit them together. Same with any other emotion Monotheists attach to the Supreme Being. It goes on like this. Will you hate me for it? Probably.