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various thinkeds
Current mood:  bitchy
Various bits of writing and whatnot…
Note: if you find any of my spelling or gramaticle ;) errors, I don’t care to hear about them. I just don’t care. I’m not a writer, don’t profess to be and don’t care to be. These are just my thoughts, I’m sure you’ll at least get the idea if you care to, and should you read this crap, I’ll assume that you care to- and that’s all I care about. Have a donut, they’re good.
Demons
“Demons” is a book by John Shirley. I recently did a movie called “Pulse” which will probably be out in early 2006, I’m guessing. The director, a great guy and a friend, strongly recommended a novel to me called Demons, which he’d just finished. Having not read a book for pleasure in over ten years, his enthusiasm prompted me to read it, or at least try— for books I’ve found and failed to finish over the years just didn’t interest me. This book did how ever; it gripped me with talons and claws alike!
The book is beautifully written, a truly masterful story, not so biblical as you might conclude by the title—though it does in fact deal with Demons. The thing plays itself out in you mind, you watch it as you read and it was nearly impossible to take my “eyes” away from.
Characters just don’t come any richer. John Shirley, who I’ve now corresponded with, and would like to consider somewhat of a friend at least, has one of the healthiest, yet most sick imaginations I’ve encountered. It’s a horror novel obviously, and while I’ve happened to work on nothing but horror films so far, in my infantile film career, and am not a big fan of horror movies myself, have indeed become a huge fan of horror novels because of this book alone. It’s a purely awesome book, one great ufcking ride!! I highly recommend it.
o
SO MANY DEVILS IN THE CITY OF THE ANGELS…
I had found myself in this trap. I had trapped myself in this place-- the place being a situation. I walk with my heart, and found me, before I’d known what had happened, caught in a bear trap, each metal tooth in the steel jaws a different person. Some I hardly knew, others I’d proclaimed many times over that I’d loved them- and I did. Now though, I’m confronting the situation, realizing that each of them, in varying portions, are dug into me, into my flesh, my heart. With enough effort to move many miles, I’ve gone nowhere. The harder I tried, the deeper they dug, and the more it hurt. I was in love- madly in love. This was a mature love. Unlike the one I’d had years before which was an obsession, a fascination, a trap all on it’s own- an insanity altogether. This one was different. I’d met an angel, one with broken wings and wearing a blindfold. So sweet was this angel that she couldn’t see evil. Even when she could, she couldn’t do anything about it. She was powerless to do anything about it. Taking action against it would be evil in itself- something like that. So she “dealt with it” over and over. She ended up accumulating these evils; like a locomotive pulling cars, not willing to let them go, though, she knew who they were and what they did- she knew these cars were empty, they were dead weight, the ones that did carry loads, carried her failure, thick bundles of it, crates of it. The more of them she pulled the slower she would get, the larger their loads, the more dense, the slower she would go. She must have for seen that inevitable stop coming at some point. I too was the locomotive. The train which strained was us, the couple, just wanting to go our way, infested with these lifeless, chitinous vampires, these monsters, voracious human leeches who were freeloading, stowaways who had nothing going but their small, dark and dense massy beingnesses by which with they were going to bring us to a halt. Motherfuckers!
The funny thing is that she saw it first. I was blind to most of it, to most of them. She spotted them, and what they were about, what they were doing before I did. She noticed the mosquito, but didn’t smack it. It sat there drinking the very blood that beat thru us, and when I go to smack it dead- she defends it! It’s a living thing; you have to look at the good sides of it. And here is where the trap closes in, where it’s sprung. I wanted to cut them all loose, let them lay there on the tracks, idle. Leave them for dead? I guess- if that’s how one might put it. They were dead already, in my opinion. Dead, feeding off of the living. They were parasites, slurping away the life from their host. Things had boiled down to bare bone here and there was do or die in the air. I was thinking, smack ‘em, watch their little stick legs curl up, them on their backs, little needle-suckers pointed straight up. I was thinking let them sit on the tracks with no one to pull them/ no one to slow down. Leave them there for a bigger train find and plow through. I was thinking fuck ‘em. That’s about that. By the time I’d come to that conclusion, I look over and she’s petting the mosquito, offering it more of our blood. I cannot live like that. I tried and tried to make things work; I became the futilitarian, the worker for the never-will-have, and the waiter for the never-will-come. I’ve left, my mind has strayed and I’ve gone on. She’s still there. She still bares this blindfold I’d mentioned, a big, beautiful bag of blood, surrounded by leeches, ticks and mosquitoes. Hey, beats being alone, right? Not in my opinion. I’m not here to feed maggots. I’ll do that when I’m dead, but I have other things to do, more important things. She’s no dummy. Maybe on some level, she feels she deserves it. I really don’t know, but to know that someone is consciously stabbing you in the back, floating out little venomous whispers about you, to know that and stay there, within their reach- I can think of only stupidity- just plain stupidity or possibly being deserving of it for personal reasons. I don’t know.
o O o o … o o o o o o o
THE TWELFTH PLANET
I recently read a book called The Twelfth Planet. I highly recommend it to anyone. The author’s name is Zecharia Sitchin. This book is book 1. of a series of books, as a sum called The Earth Chronicles. The covers of the book have, to sell it, phrases like: ”Astonishing documentary evidence of Earth’s origins and Man’s celestial ancestors”, …”A revolutionary body of work that offers indisputable documentary proof of humanity’s extraterrestrial forefathers. Travelers from the stars, they arrived eons ago, and planted the genetic seed that would ultimately blossom into a remarkable species… called man.”
Again, I cannot, cannot recommend this book any more wholeheartedly.
“The Twelfth Planet”, aliens—I know, I know how it sounds. I too thought it was out there in more ways than one. It came highly recommended by a great friend and the idea of it or its possibilities were immediately an itch I couldn’t bare not to scratch. Besides, it’s a popular thing these days, to have an “open mind”.
There are a myriad of questions man still has about himself, his existence and his environment that have yet to be answered. Much of Earth’s population seek answers in the Bible. I myself have never been too heavily a believer in the bible. I’ve acknowledged much of it as being true, or sounding right. It’s a good foundation for basic moral codes which I would, on my own cognizance, adhere to, but there are far too many “what the f___s!?” in it. So much of it seems utterly silly. I’ve, until now concluded that it’s one of the greatest stories ever told—until now. It turns out that I now find much of it to be accurate, though wild, and accurate historical recording. It’s just the way it’s been misread, poorly translated and so on that it becomes a somewhat laughable work.
-Were there an Adam and Eve?
-What is this “rib” business?
-Did the Deluge really happen? If so, what caused it?
-Evolution is apparent and factual; life on this planet really did start with very small life forms which crawled out of the waters, but where did they come from?
-If man evolved from apes, which is the current, most popular theory, how was his evolution so gradual, so painstakingly slow, for such a long time, then, in the blink of an eye, considering the whole track of time—civilization! How is this possible?
-Noah and his Ark, was he real, did it happen? If so, what was his real name?
-Eve’s dealings with a “snake”, their conversation about some fruit, did it happen?
-Why in the Old Testament is God referred to with a name which in Hebrew is a plural—referring to gods and not a god?
-Where does the religious symbol the cross originally come from?
-Why are most of earth’s continents on one side of the planet and on the other side, why is there the immense pacific gap?
-Scientists have recently concluded that the moon was actually a planet long ago. How is it that writings from the first human civilization speak of the moon as a planet thousands of years ago?
-Pluto, known as a planet, has recently been found by science to once have been a satellite of another planet. How is it possible for there to be existing writing, thousands and thousands of years old, from the first civilization, that speak of this?
-Where do comets come from and why do we have and asteroid belt occupying the orbit where astronomers feel another planet should be or should have been?
-Why is it that all of the earliest civilizations, Greece, Egypt, Babylonia, Mesopotamia and so on all root back to one civilization?
-Why does this one civilization, who still speaks a considerable amount considering it’s age, speak not at all of any civilization before it—and all of it’s origins refer to the “gods”?
-Who were the gods and were the merely mythological characters?
-Technologically and scientifically are we leading the charge or playing catch-up to someone more advanced?
-What was Earth’s moon’s name when it was a growing planet in it’s own right, with it’s own orbit of the Sun?
-Where was the Garden of Eden?
-We have references to different ages, the “stone age”, “bronze age”… the “golden age” and so on… which came first?
-The idea of a biblical place called Hell was also and originally known as an “underworld” or “netherworld”-- where was it?
-The god who was assigned its rule later became known as Hades or, you know, “The Devil”. Who was this god?
-Where exactly is this “netherworld”?
-We were created in God’s image. This never made any sense to me, since God is supposed to be a supreme spiritual being who is omnipresent, everywhere and in all places all of the time, how then could we be physically fashioned after “him”?
All of these questions and many, many more are completely answered, leaving no room for doubt. If there exists a question as to what happened, the best way to get the truest answer is to go back to the source, and then to it’s source and so on until you have gone back to the source. The Bible is based on source, but “based” also my just imply some altering here and there, but the bible too has it’s sources. The very first recordings of the people, god(s), and events mentioned in the Bible all trace back to the first civilization of Man.
To put it lightly, in my strongest opinion, you are automatically ignorant if you have not read this book, regardless of your IQ, education and so on. The book itself claims to have indisputable evidence… and I back that claim up 100à422 pages total that will keep your jaw dropped as you read You’ll go into it, holding it in mind as science fiction, but will come out of it embracing it as historical literature. I myself love pretty much above all else, answers to questions, knowledge and truth. An absolute must read!*****
o
Realizations on love
(this is an older piece of writing, don’t really remember exactly why or when I wrote it)
I’ve spent a third of my life seriously loving people who whom either weren’t serious or were just messing around, in more ways than one, while all of this time for me was merely preparation. I want to be married. I want to already be married. I don’t need complements from any number of people but one. If this one person found me attractive, found me smart, desirable, sexy, talented and whatnot, I wouldn’t care at all what anyone else thought.
When I am in love, which has only happened twice, I give all I have but my problem is that I expect back what I give and if I feel I’m coming up short, it becomes a big problem. I expect a lot. I’ve always thought of myself as being a very simple man, a simple person who wants to have simple things and a simple life. I’ve recently come to realize that I’ve been wrong. These things I think of as simple aren’t simple at all. They’re simple at a glance, as they appear but without much thought. To want one person, say, a wife and a relationship with her that is built on trust, understanding and all that fairytale stuff, it’s not asking for much, just a few things, and much of everything else is open- empty canvas, let’s paint a million pictures together. Seems reasonable, seems kind of simple. But, it isn’t. you know what would be simple? Dating one person after another, breaking it off when it just isn’t going your way, while falling in love with every other one, thinking they are ‘the one’. Betraying one to leave the former, for the new one makes you feel like a new one. To live for feelings and not for reality, while in reality you are hurting the feelings of yourself, unnecessarily, as well as the feelings of all the others you take on and discard along your twisted way. Telling the truth seems to be the simple thing, you don’t have to be creative, it takes no thought, and you would be simply stating the obvious, at least what’s obvious to you. You would only be acknowledging what’s already real. The problem is that many people have a hard time with this when it comes to things they have tossed into reality that they are not proud of, things they are ashamed of. If you don’t want to deal with the toughness of confronting the truth, don’t do bad things, simple. Then you can be an easy-going truth-telling fellow. It’s not hard to tell the truth when you’re talking about what your favorite dish is now is it? Also to lie to another is deny them of a basic right, the right to the truth, to protect you own misdeeds--that, my friends, is true selfishness.
The truth is that I just don’t believe in love anymore. Yeah, I’ll still look for it, but I don’t have any faith in the existence of that which my eyes are opened for. I don’t trust women. Sorry, it’s the truth, and I’ll put it out there- not sure where but there it is. Actually, I’m quite sour when it comes to the whole subject. The words “I love you” now sound like, “I’m going to fucking crush you in the near future, prepare all you want, but you will never see it coming…” I had more there but cut it short. So, what do I think it is? I no know- a delusion maybe, possibly a root insecurity of some kind. I’m so psychoanalysist- thank dog, but somehow, some way I’m sure I’m onto something, at least with love being bullist. Has is ever existed? Sure. My grandparents had it. Was it worth it? I don’t know. I like to think so. They were with each other for just about all of their lives. They were never ever in any way ever with another, either of them. Things were different when they got started. Things were sane, people were more sane. Morals were higher, much higher. They had a stable launching pad. My grandma passed last year. They made it to the end, and couldn’t stay together anyway. What’s the fuggin’ point? Why bother? They managed what seemingly no one can manage to do these days, especially where I live. But they still ended up heartbroken. Nothing else was able to tear them apart. They withstood time, WWII, who knows how many other people (they were both lookers- eh hem! Just kindding) but, in the end, wham!- sad ending. Again, why bother, and that’s my question. Why search for something or someone that you know you will surely lose one way or another. Don’t mean to get you down, and we all know that we all need something to do, something to keep us busy while we wait. The concept of love seems to the magazine of choice in the waiting room of life’s dentist office. You know what, I think I’m done. I just don’t care anymore. If there is “someone for me”, pfft, and I just haven’t found her yet, let her remain hidden. Let me never find her. I’m sure she’s much more likeable for me in my mind, my own image of her. This way I can have something to keep looking for. Could just be that I’ve heard great things about apples. Tried a couple and loved them like nothing else until I found the worms. One after another, worms, worms, worms. Now all apples have worms. Apples are worms and love is b.s. cookies, donuts, chewing gum, carrots, pool, pens, drawing, good music, my dog, gadgets and so on, now these things are just plain awesome. I think I’ll stick to these. I’m not writing in the right frame of mind right now and apologize for that. I’ll still post this tho, it’s just how I am. I’ll write more on the subject either when I fall blindly in love again and backtrack on everything I’ve written here, or the next time I feel like performing a goose-dive off a bridge. Eh, they seem to go hand and hand, day and night anyway. Cheers, oh and fellas, when it comes to women, give the whole bunch a big shrug, and be carefull. Ah, a joke:
So, as you know, god is strolling about the garden of Eden, and as he approaches Adam, he comes to a decision. “Adam” he says, “ I’m going to make you a companion. She will be smart, beautiful, faithful and honest.”
“what will it cost me?” Adam asks.
“An arm and a leg.” God replies.
Adam hesitates, wiggling his fingers for a moment before asking, “What can I get for a rib?”
Some of you may have heard that one before. That just makes it even more of a classic.
o
Drugs
I have problems with drugs. They’ve always been around me, since I’ve been a young child, in one way or another, there they’ve been. They’ve played major rolls in some of the problems I’ve had in my life. They did their part in my family parting into smaller fractions than I would prefer. I’ve taken issue with them in relationships I’ve had, be it with lovers or with friends. I’ve done drugs before. Nothing heavy, just minor stuff, still I feel that I understand the effects well enough to at least voice my opinion on them. Talking with a friend/ client of mine about the subject, he said something that I’ll never forget. He said that he just values his mind too much. Couldn’t have said it better myself. This leads me into the creative defense…
The Creative Defense:
I’ve heard it many times, drugs make you more creative- some of the most creative people in the world use drugs, and that the drugs play major rolls in how creative they are. To some degree this may be true. To some extent I think that this is true. But then, you are assigning your own creativity to something else. Why not test your own level of creativity? Why not find its apex? Strip it of it’s clothing and it’s makeup and then you’ll see just where you stand. From here you can push your own limits. I think that, in many cases, people are more creative when they are intoxicated. But, I also believe, that once they start using drugs for “creative moods” or for “ideas”, the more they do this the more dependant they become on them for this. I too, value my mind too much. I would not want this for myself because when you are “more creative” you are simply feeding off of your intoxication and not so much your mind. I’ve found, for example, that the more I read, the smarter I get, the more articulate and the more imaginative—sober all the while.
Just like a leg in a cast for an extended period of time, unused, it becomes dependant on the cast; it becomes weak and frail. Take the cast away and you are left with a thin, weak and less useful leg. I value my mind far too much to let that happen. Now I’m remembering the good ol’ Natural Defense…
The Natural Defense: it’s natural!
The quickest and most readily used defense or justification for using drugs, especially marijuana, is that it is natural. First of all, what is natural? Would it be—coming from nature? Produced by the earth? Found naturally in nature? Or possibly a good definition would be: originating in nature. So then, thinking big like, what the hell isn’t natural? A cell phone—certainly a phone couldn’t be natural! In this form, in the form of a phone sure it’s clearly man-made, but, this isn’t the beginning of it. It may be man-arranged, that may be a better term to use—because what it’s made of is all natural. So then, the person using this argument should have no qualms about eating poison, playing with jellyfish, swimming with hungry sharks, kissing rattlesnakes, jumping in volcanoes, getting cancer—there’s a good one! It too is natural! Want to know the one think in nature that I think is most unnatural? I would have to say the mentality of human beings.
Human beings are millions of years pre-mature; we are children playing in our playground, destroying it, fighting over toys amongst each other. “Natural”!—pfft! It reminds me of “free” and “nothing”.
There, I think I made my point. Still, people will continue to do what they do. They won’t care, I’ll tell you my reasons for doing or not doing something but I’m done trying to convince other people of it. I tried that and it didn’t work. People know it’s not good to use drugs. They know. I’ve been offered and declined, telling them that I used to do them but quit and most of the time the reply is “oh, good!” if it’s so pure and natural and right and clean why would they say good. But most people who use are aware of the damaging effects they have on the human brain and mind (yes, I’m aware that I’m speaking of them separately) still they do them. I conclude that these people just aren’t happy with the world they are in. they aren’t happy with themselves and their lives. They don’t like the way it’s all colored. So, instead of getting up and doing something about it, getting out their brushes and actually painting it the right color, the opt to sacrifice their own ability think and feel and react to their fullest by pulling this screen down in front of them. They prefer to look thru this screen, which at least shows the world to them the way they wish to see it. Anyone who would even offer me drugs clearly doesn’t know me too well and clearly isn’t my friend. And, in the words of Forrest Gump, dedicated to these geniuses, I leave you with this, “ That’s all I have to say about that.”
o
In Darkness Waiting
In Darkness Waiting, is another book by John Shirley. I read this one after John expressed wanting to know what I’d think of it. I’m no expert and was more than flattered by this. I read it after I read Demons, it was the next book I read. The idea of it was a bit goofy to me, honestly, I had no idea how it could be made to work. I was so high already from Demons and still had them clawing at my mind, so, IDW had quite a fight, a long road to travel in my opinion. The book just was simply awesome. It gave me bad dreams. I don’t want to give anything important away, but I will tell you some things about it. The way it’s written is wonderful. It goes from one scene or arena of the story to the next—it’s linear, but not, in a way. The prose is smooth, very easy to follow, hard to put down. I’d read it every night, mostly at night and would then go to sleep. Not the brightest move to make but hey, I’m already known for that, got to keep up the momentum. It starts out rather thin, normal like, like the outermost part of a sphere—the skin. As the story progresses and builds it works it’s way in. again, covering one area and group of characters at a time, moving from one to the next, boring it’s way deeper and deeper as it goes. I tell you it’s like watching a movie—the way you want to see it. Things and characters in the book are described so clearly, you can’t help but fall in love with some, feel repulsed at others. The story builds and builds, moving faster and faster, getting darker and darker until it hits the core where it’s almost both an explosion and implosion of itself—climaxes would be hard pressed to be much more climactic! The very ending of the book gives me physical reactions still when I think of it. There is some philosophical undertone to the book as well, which won’t let you down, and will probably get you thinking. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that you were able to relate this book to your life, yourself or especially others you have known or still know, as did I. Absolutely one of my very favorite books. I highly recommend it! ****
o
Trapped
I feel trapped. Trapped yes, but not trapped within places. I’d rather be trapped in places, they are easier to out yourself from- these are those dark nooks, the old dusty inbetweens where the only inhabitants are those who aren’t really there anymore. The only things that exist there are things that don’t exist to me anymore. Like being in a place with things, in times and surrounded by people you adore but you cannot interact with any of them. I am a vapor or a static, a flicker of someone’s imagination in the real- a wet lick of real in the turbulent sea of false.
o
The present starts to look like the past when you are looking so hard to the future. As my dream comes to it’s end, I must decide where I’d like to wake.
o
When you truly love someone you are going to be more than content with them, content with whom they really are. I can conclude that I wasn’t really loved in the whole sense of the idea, by the fact that I was continuously being bickered at to do more of this and less of that, be more like this and less like that. She loved an idea who was based on me but was entirely different.
Men who love whole-heartedly are boring for women. No challenge. No game. I have noticed that many woman actually don’t seem to really want to be actually loved. Well, of course everyone does! Or most of them do, but, I think many are seeking only one part of it- the beginning phases. It’s the beginning of being loved that most people seek. They want the moment of being fallen in love with. It is the hunt. It is far more exciting to chase or tease a guy who is unwilling or unable to love- that is where the excitement is. Once he loves you and he has fallen; that’s that. There he is and there he stays. Here is your stalk, hunt and capture. And while you pace within the bars of your cage, the hunter is stalking new pray.
o
Woes, heartaches and pats on the back with daggered hands
Hard times, heartaches, pain, frustration, depression, confusion, jealousy and so fourth, it’s like shit, I know it exists and I’m ok with that because I know it must exist. Flowers would and could never smell so sweet and look so pretty if they weren’t rooted in shit. All I’m saying is that I don’t want it continually put in my face.
o
Just because it’s enjoyable doesn’t mean it’s good. Often times the worst things one can do are some of the most enjoyable. It’s the outcome that is important. It may be one great free-fall but how will your landing be? I’ve found that the best overall actions one can take are not always, and often times are not all too enjoyable but their end results do in fact bring about a pure joy. It’s the rocky climb, the jagged trail up, against all gravities alone, which lands you upon crisp snowy peaks, beholding vistas of divinity.
o
MEMORY
My computer ran out of space. I could hardly make a single move without it turning itself off. I had to free up some space. I’d already backed every thing up, but was still carrying all of this stuff around with me. I decided finally to delete some photographs- I had over four thousand of them. There they were, floating about in my laptop. Going thru them all was painful. So many times from my past came rushing right back at m. they hurled thru time from the past, where they’d been sitting there, waiting, and whipped right at me, right thru time into the present. The feeling was almost palpable- like wet pieces of rubber slapping me in the face one after the other. There were pictures, hundreds of them of my travels in Europe, and with them I felt the way I did when there. Most of the photos though, were of or included my past love. There were private times with her, and many of these times were just us goofing around. I snapped shots of her sleeping all of the time back then. I had tons of pictures of us at her family gatherings- huge family! Many of these were of us holding one of her cousins or the other, babies that I secretly, from time to time used to picture us as a family, holding our own child. That was something I have never told anyone until now. Quite a few of them, some of the cutest or most endearing were of her, with the faces she made when whining about something. And with each and all of them came their context, down to the temperature we were sitting in at the time. The level of recall was intense and even though the memories I was re-living were mostly very happy ones, some of the most pleasurable ones I’ve had in my life so far, they brought with them a deepening and collecting sadness. I must have really bookmarked these moments with a special order. It was like reading the journal of a loved one who’d passed. I found in looking at her, even for just a moment or two, which felt like a very long time, each time, and was pretty much all I could take- that she still photos of her seemed to move, she seemed to move. In looking at them, these brief but everlasting stares at her, just how much I loved her. I was looking at this person, who has, had indeed caused me great pain and suffering, still, when I saw her, her eyes, what I’d seen glowing in them in the beginning was still there. Within them I saw me. In her I saw the parts of me I liked most about myself. I deleted some of them, but for the most part I couldn’t bear to. I took those photos for a reason and it was that same reason that stopped me from deleting them. It’s strange how the most pleasurable moments of your life can so easily become the most painful.
o
The forks we spoon
I’ve been drawing a lot lately- many conclusions. I’ve noticed that every road in life fords, not just this and that way, but also many different ways. You can slow down your time, the time in which you travel, but you cannot stop. So, sooner better than later, you’d better make a choice as to which way you plan to go. This new road forks the same way and it just doesn’t stop.
I’ve been hitting many forks in the road, one right after another. Some via seem to go up while others seem to go down or just continue on seemingly straight ahead. There are those that slant off downward, these are often lined with smiling faces, clowns, pleasant fragrances and gentile winds thru scenic vistas. They take no effort to stroll thru and are commonly chosen by many. The roads going up, from down there at the decision point, can often times look like more than just a little hike. They have that distant whistle of a stark wind being cut by the jagged drops and their sharp rocky edges. Sometimes even a skull or scapula resting here or there. But there are decisions that must be made here- and I’m learning as I go. I’m trying to think with the destination and not the journey. I’m climbing, man, and I can feel the tips of my fingers beginning to peel back, by knees often hurt and it can be hard to breathe. Up there, though, is where I want to end up. I look back at those I once knew better, from a better the more difficult vantage point and see these fools, living “for the moment” and “going with the flow”. I’ve got to listen to my gut, it knows what I hunger for. I must try to remember my wrong turns- for they were the ones who landed me where I now climb up from. This is something I don’t care that you understand. It’s as real to me as I am to myself and just felt like writing it.
o
Bound and free
We were linked once and because of it I look back and feel as though I were chained.
You are as cold and heartless as steel and I now become the lock.
I’ll just be what I am, locking you to yourself- binding you to yourself, strapping you endlessly to who you really are.
Struggle all you want, try to strike me, go ahead, feel free to.
Bruises will ensue. Bruises caused by shackles smelted by your fire, in your image- that cold dark metallic reflection of your core you.
And the bruises will be caused by you.
And the bruises will be endured by you.
I’ll imprison my rage so as to not set you free.
I’ll hold you here in this bitter echoing place, to force you to see yourself, no matter where you look.
Your hatred, your fear, once unleashed on me, become truly your own and your hounds turn on you, you turn inward on yourself.
Taste it, a scented echo of my blemished breath. Taste it, dive in and be reborn,
Your own lock now holds you to you.
o
Solitude
Sinse I have been back in LA I’ve pretty much just been on my own, lost in my work and in my mind. Certain people, situations and feelings I had left to escape and now I feel them tugging at me, at the back side of my mind. Clawing to get in, they are like a presence just around the corner, the smell of something I cannot taste, something I hate the taste of- though some part of me wants to eat. I’m starving myself and the hunger burns. I want to leave again. I have been back just one week now and feel like I’m in some sort of crooked therapy session with some quack, taking me back to some place in my past, and leaving me there. I have a job going that will keep me more than busy for the next 10 or so weeks, and while I’m grateful for it and am enjoying it for the most part it also feels like a trap, keeping me here in this place, back here in this time.
I felt so much more alive in Florida. It wasn’t Florida itself that did it. I suppose I could have been anywhere- hell would have done just fine- anywhere but here. I liked being, existing there. Things were interesting, life was fun, people were attractive and sane. Out here it’s different. It’s more like living in a commercial, one of those commercials for some silly medication to handle clammy palms or something but the side-effects are outrageous and so numerous. Everywhere around you people are skipping thru fields of flowers, standing in ethnically diverse random groups peering up to the heavens at the sun coming out from behind purple clouds and so on, but then, if you listen to what’s really going on, you’re ending up with dry hands, yes, and possible head aches, a crotch that leaks this or that, dizziness, twitching eyeballs, swollen feet, hair loss and a slew of other problems. Meanwhile, the grinning, perfectly happy people keep acting their parts out. I honestly feel like I’m living in a ghost town. Sometimes, wishing I never went to Italy- because I would never have this comparison to make.
I get back and immediately I have old friends yapping in my ear about other people. I’ve damn near 30 years old and I’ve got people around me acting like teenagers, bickering and moaning about this and that- I’m just so tired of it all. This solitude is just killing me, it’s tearing me apart, from the inside out, still, working it’s way further in somehow. I see all of these people but they don’t seem real to me, they seem like ghosts of people who once were, who came here, slowly died of unhappiness and were left as statics with only diarrhea filled grins to forever bare.
As I’ve been told before, it could all be me. It could all be my imagination- me making my own life more interesting, and to some degree I’m sure that could be true. Yet, I know what I know, I’ve seen what I’ve seen and have experienced what I have. Call me crazy and I’ll point out that sane person in the room full of psychos is suddenly the only crazy one there.
I bought a box of candy the other night and on the front of the box it said, “Win a trip to LA!” This had me chuckling a good bit. And what’s the point? No point, that’s the whole point.
4:23 AM
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