~My happy place

You know, I'm really in love right now. This is a good thing. It feels really really good. Too, it feels healthy.

In the past, I've thought that I was in love. In time, you begin to see your feelings for what they were, and you start recognizing things for what they are.

I'm actually in love.

I like being in love.

~Don’t forget to flush

I don't like it when I can't get my head to the place it needs to be in order to write. Sometimes, I think that I write easiest while hiding where people can't find me... in a book with a lock on it. Yet, here I am on an open blog, attempting to.

I remember, when I was about 10 or so, hiding in the bathroom. I think that the bathroom didn't have a lock on the door, and that alone freaked me out. I used to go in there, sit on the floor, in front of the door, and do my "rituals". I had a white box. It was an old white purse which had belonged to my (step)grandmother. It was basically a box, covered in white patent leather, with cheap metal chain as the strap. I removed the chain, and turned it into my personal box... where I kept my holy things.

Writing in my diary was part of the ritual, but too was reading/murmuring passages from the Old Testament... the ones you're supposed to say every day, or so I was told, in order to be a good person, safe from the wrath of God.

So, the bathroom was the place I went to protect myself, and express myself, thanks to my own back.

Sometimes, where you have to go in order to protect yourself, smells like shit.

~18 part 2

December 5, 1987 10:35 PM

Here I sit with a quart of Miller. I'm tired, frustrated, and confused. I feel violent, yet I feel like giving up. I hate what life is, I hate society and the ignorance it stands for. I don't want to die, I just want to really live not merely exist.

There's Polly, and I do love her, but the whole damn situation is beginning to be a bit tiresome. There's nothing I can do for her, and she refuses to do what she can help herself. She has to kiss ass and won't, she has to lie. She's 15 years old and has no choice, it's lie or get locked up. It's sad, but it's the truth.

I always get myself into these stupid relationships that emotionally tear me apart. I guess I ask for trouble, I don't know.

I guess it's the beer, maybe it's making me depressed. Ugh.

~About stalling at 18

I figure I can continue with the storytelling/journal entry thing, or I can simply pick pieces of writing, some from my journal, and some not, and toss them out there. I'm actually feeling like I don't want to keep storytelling. I don't want to keep scratching my scars... especially the ones that don't even itch.

It's my blog. I can do whatever the hell I want to do on it.

I wonder why I have to keep reminding myself that.

~Blood Money

If I let the demons play on other pages, imagine how much fun they'd have. Imagine what they could do.

Do you think that most fiction writers worry about influencing people; about giving them bad ideas? Do you think that they worry about creating serial killers, rapists, and pedophiles? Do you think that they worry about their families fearing that they themselves are the characters on the pages, or worry about their families fearing that the writers are indeed demons wishing to escape the pages?

I worry about these things.

So, I don't write fiction.

Maybe I should stop worrying so damn much. Fiction might pay well.

~Mating

It is my understanding that with wolves, the Alpha female leads the way. The Alpha male follows the pack and protects every other wolf in front of him. It goes without saying. It's just that way. He trusts the Alpha female to know where to go. She trusts him to make sure they get there safely.

So I howl, and I growl, and bare my fangs.

She offers herself to me.

...and I circle...

~A Special Place In Hell

That I know of, there have been two people in the course of my life who have violated me. Yes, there were more who violated me, but in this case, I'm speaking of violating me in a specific way.

There are many things I've done throughout the course of my life, in order to keep myself safe and alive. The one thing which has, in all likelihood, worked the most effectively is my journal. My journal is where I can let the "demons" out, so to speak. The journal is where the serial killer in me can play. The journal is where the child in me can cling and cry. The journal is where the asshole can piss all over people. The journal is where the sick, twisted, mother fucker can break every law in the nation.

Taking the safe space of my journal away by entering unwelcome, takes the place away where the demons live. If someone reads my journal, then they see those demons. If people see the demons anyway, what reason do they have to stay in the journal? If a person looks into the pages of my journal, and sees me as a horrible person, what reason do I have not to be one? It's not that the truth is in the journal, and I'm living a lie. The reality is that I'm a really nicer guy, because I keep the bad stuff at bay.

I think that Stephen King's "Dark Half" had something to do with this, although I'm not sure. I only saw the movie, I didn't read the book. With writers like me, we often use the page to give that which is evil in us a home. Too, we use it to give our weakness, our doubt, and our fear a place to be where it won't destroy our lives.

When I tell people... make them promise not to ever read my journal without my permission, I do it not because I'm attempting to hide something from them, or because I'm lying to them, but because I need that safe space. I need that place where I can let out the part of me which would cause harm if let loose, where it is safe for that part to exist. It protects me, and it protects those around me. It's part of my job. It's doing what I need to do in order to not kill myself, or anyone else.

Think of that which you fear most. That's me. That's what needs to live in the journal.

We all have a "dark half". I like to think that I'm a whole hell of a lot safer to be around, because mine has a home.

My mother violated that space when I was very young. She let out some of that darkness. In 1993, my girlfriend violated it. She let out more. There is a special hate I have for both of them because of this. All is not fair in love and war. There are certain courtesies you even give to your worst enemy. When you don't, then you become a demon, and demon wars are forever.

I am a very sick, twisted, dangerous, mother fucker. I live on the page. I live on the page because I'm also a nice guy. I live on the page, because the page is there for me to live on.

I tell people never to read my journals unless I give them permission, because pissing off a demon is not something you ever want to do. They will reserve a special place in hell, just for you.

~Complete Twain

I've been up for a few hours. Managed to make coffee, and do some reading. Talked (online) briefly with my brother about these books I'm wanting to sell. He said that he'd help me to sell them on e-bay... help that is much needed and appreciated. It's not that I really don't want the books, I do, but I need the money, and they'll get a good price. I've had them for years. It's a complete (29 volume), hardback set of Mark Twain's work. It's never even been read. I've seen it go for about $500, so I'm hoping that I can get at least that for it. It weighs a ton though. Probably about 60 lbs.

There's a lot of stuff I have that could fetch a good price on e-bay. I just go brain dead when attempting to manage the logistical end of selling. Too, getting things to UPS or the post office is something I have to rely on my brother for, so the stuff sits and waits (luckily, increasing in value).

Anyone want to buy a genuine WWII German car flag? I'll throw in a copy of "Mein Kampf"! What better way to be anti-nazi than to burn those things!

Hmmm... that might be a good e-bay ad.

~I forget

I'm supposed to go on with reading/posting my journal. I can't seem to get there though. Sometimes I want to burn every last word. Sometimes I just want to let my memories recreate themselves... forget about the truth... just go with the most seemingly interesting thing that pops out of my brain at the time.

I don't have to justify my pain.

I don't need to prove anything.


Sometimes, it's ok to forget.


Why am I doing this, again?

~Jade

I feel like I should write, but my brain is sort of just sitting there being a lump of grey. I feel tired. I feel a bit old and jaded.

I appreciate the wisdom which comes with age, but I don't like being jaded. I don't like the fact that I've learned to always be prepared for/expect the worst. I don't like knowing what the worst is.

I'm not a kid anymore.

Today, being 34 is freaking me the fuck out.

~Clarifying the negative

After a conversation, last night, I started thinking about what I mean when I say certain things; specifically, things which involve the use of the word "can't".

"I can't" - a) momentary "can't" as in, "I can't lift 3,000 pounds" with my pinky." b) long term "can't" as in, "I can't jump off the Empire State building."

a = At the moment, I can't. b = at the moment, I can, but it will lead me to a dangerous place.

To clarify "I won't" - "I won't" is definitive. There's one meaning. "Won't" = will not, whether or not I can.

There's also "I don't feel like". That means I can, but won't unless my feeling changes.


It's rare I don't do things because I don't feel like it, but it is occasionally the case. Most things I don't want to do though, I push myself to do.

There are a few things I won't do, but they often change. I can be stubborn, but I often give in.

There are many things I can't do. Many of those things, like lifting 3,000 lbs with my pinky, are things that most other people can't do either, but there are also things I can't do that most other people can.

How do I measure what I can or can't do? I try. If I find that I can't, and I've tried repeatedly, I can't, and I don't give up easily.

I have two jobs. Don't kill myself. Don't kill anyone else. If something will cause or lead me to not being able to do my jobs, I won't do those things. I will say I can't do those things, because by my definition (definition b), I can't.

To define "I can't do my laundry today.":

I can put the clothes into the washer, put the quarters in, and do the laundry. Before, after or during this process the probability of my slicing myself to ribbons or blacking out entirely is 95%. To me, this translates more into "can't" than "won't", so I say, "I can't do my laundry today."

The reason why I'm on disability, is because I have limitations that most other people in society do not have. The reason why I'm not locked up, in the gutter, or dead is because I've spent 34 years learning what those limitations are, often the hard way, and I respect those limitations. I know how far I can push myself. I know where the line is. I push myself as close to the line as I can get on a daily basis. In the past, I pushed myself over the line repeatedly. This was not good. Pushing myself over the line is not doing my jobs. Going over the line will kill or hurt me, or kill or hurt someone else. I simply WON'T do that, if it is in my power not to. I can do my jobs. If I get to the point where I can't, I can and will ask for help from those in society whose job it is to help me. This is called "taking care of myself".

I cannot do what I cannot do. I won't do what I won't do. I'll constantly do things I don't feel like doing.

I will always walk the line.

~Harold's Publicity Shot

Well, it's the only one on the roll that came out, but.... *points to the left* Heeeeeeere's Harold!

~My latest photo

My new "most recent photo"...

Although I'm not sure this picture is very flattering (I very rarely like pictures of myself), the smile is genuine.

On that day, there was nowhere else in this world, or any other, I'd rather have been, and no one else I'd rather have been with.


I love you, aX.

~I want

There's so much to think about... so much to write about... so much to do.

I don't feel overwhelmed, and that is a bit surprising. I feel determined.

Knowing what you want is half the battle. The other half is figuring out how to get it.

I know, and I have a plan.

~Home yet not.

I don't want to be here.

I want to be there.

I want to be where I belong.

I don't belong here.

I belong there.


Time for MEGApurge.

~Chickin in

I'm here.

I'm happy.

'nuff said.

~The number you have reached...

I have birds to follow, and a heart to guide me and welcome me home.

That's where I'm at. That's what I'm doing.

Please leave a message at the tone.


beeeeeeep

~3 days and 46 minutes

I have a lot to do, but I'm feeling pretty brain dead. I can't even really seem to write.

Things will get done, I'm not worried about that, but I don't like feeling like my brain cells are having bad communication days.

I think that I'll drink a few beers, try going to bed a little early, then take care of things in the morning.

Hopefully, by then, my brain cells will get the fuck over it.

~The poopy dance

Waiting on the UPS man.

Don't you hate it when you know that you'll have to answer the door as soon as you hear the buzzer, and you really really really have to go to the bathroom?

~Look what I can do!

Well, look at that. #13 on the "Hot Blogs" list. Still not as popular as suggestive looking school girls, but not bad for someone who doesn't do anything but write in order to get hits, and who can be a real dick when it comes to comments.

~Keep your hands off my pen

Sometimes I think about all I've written here so far, and I feel a little guilty. So many people... so many names left out of "the story"... so many stories left out of the blog. Many people were very very important to me... people I loved... and they're not reflected in this chunk of writing.

I've got a few years left, I think. True, I could die tomorrow, and right now I've never felt less like dying, but it is a reality. I guess I can only hope that I'll get the chance to tell all my stories before my pen is snatched from my fingers.

Better stop thinking about this. I'm going to get myself feeling pretty crappy.

go to a happy place go to a happy place go to a happy place!

~He who follows

It'll be a couple of weeks before I get the chance to blog 18 part 2.

I guess it makes sense... a break before tackling "adulthood". It would've been nice if there had been a break in the past, when I actually was first expected to play "grown up" full time.

Although I'm putting them off at the moment, I have real "grown up" things to do... and like it or not, I'm a real "grown up". (You know you're a grown up when your tattoos are old enough to vote.)


I have to take a trip.


I have to follow the ravens to their nest.

~Grumpy

I've got a sour stomach. Ouch. Drank some Bass Ale last night, and my stomach is, obviously, not very happy with me about it. Real beer was good for a change though. My stomach will get over it.

As usual, I'm up but still tired. I'm always tired. Damn sleep disorder.

I need to ungrumpify myself.

Beer for breakfast?

~18 part 1

1:13 AM 10-16-87

Ah, time for another fun entry in this stupid yellow book.

Things are going a little nutty. I had what you might call a relapse on Monday, I flipped out and sliced my arm up again. I don't know why I broke down, I just did. Sometimes it feels that the whole world is on my shoulders, and I just collapse under it. Monday was one of those times. I guess I have to get my ass in therapy again before any more "break-downs" follow.

Needless to say I had to be stupid about the whole thing and run to Drue for support. Wrong, bad bad move. She'll fly away the minute she thinks I need her too much. Some lover I've got, here when she's horny, gone when I really need her. She's got Brian to lean on when she needs someone right away, I run to her for support and offer mine but she doesn't need it, he's there. So, who can I count on when I need support and a shoulder to cry on? No one. These are the drawbacks of loving a taken woman, you give her all you can but her happiness comes from another. She wants to run my life, but won't budge an inch for me. Stubborn, big headed, selfish woman, and I have to fall in love with her. She can be so kind and loving one minute, and the next she can be so cruel. It hurts bad enough when I get depressed and suicidal, it hurts even more when she turns to ice. I give and give but what do I get from her? Some good sex? I don't know, I'm just pissed at her right now so I'm being overly critical, things may clear up, I guess I'll find out soon enough.

~Sticky

You know it's hot and humid when the honey roasted peanuts stick together in the can.

~Hot and Cold

The walk to the shrink will be disgusting. It's too damn hot out. I like it here in my igloo. The last thing I feel like doing is sweating my way to the office to spill out all my fears and insecurities... my stifled desires and twisted wants.

Around these parts, I prefer to stay in the igloo, where things are safe from me, and I am protected from them.

I need to go play with the other penguins.

~Long and winding road

In the morning, after I smoke half a smoke, I wash my face, rinse my mouth, and put my clothes and coffee on. I then plant my butt in front of the computer, and attempt to come up with something to write about.

It feels like starting the car engine. Not that I would really know what that felt like, being that I don't drive and am not a car, but I can guess.

It has become a ritual for me. I've done it for 5 years. I don't even really remember how I used to start my day, before my long, strange trip in cyberville.

The night my net service started, five years and one month ago, I sat down in front of my computer and continued my life long quest. I had a mountain of clues, and a whole new world to search.

I remember asking people, when I first started exchanging cyber words, "What are you searching for?" hoping to bring to light the fact that just about everyone is searching for the same thing when they become part of online communities. We're all looking for "The One".

Five years and a month ago, the trail of bread crumbs I followed... and my ravens... led me to the Internet. I picked up the bread crumb, and I typed the word "Vampire" into a search engine. There, the online leg of my quest began.

My ravens then led me over the river and through the woods, over hill, over dale, in circles, through tunnels and caves, down long and winding roads. They led me here.

They'll lead me to your door.

~The other edge of 17

Yes, the story does continue.

I hit "childhood's end" out of school, jobless, living with Art, hurting, and continuing my affair with Drue.

I want to make a joke about "the rabbit dying", but I won't. I loved my Bunny. I had to give her to the school because Art was allergic, and didn't want to help me care for her. Oddly enough, before I found out she'd died, I had a dream about it. Guess that was my preparation. From what I heard, she got out of her cage and was killed by a cat. Made me very sad.

So, what happened with Alison?

I'm pretty sure I told Alison about my (re)involvement with Drue pretty soon after Drue and I slept together again. Alison always knew about Drue. I met Alison in the hospital. She was there for a lot of my rants and ravings about Drue... she listened. She loved me. Alison and I "hooking up" happened because I got to the point where I said, "Why not?". If I'd followed my gut, Alison and I wouldn't have hooked up. My heart was elsewhere. Not that she was a bad person. I loved her. To this day I wonder how she is, what she's doing with her life, where she ended up. She was good to me. She just wasn't "The One". "The One" was busy ghosting in and out of Drue.

One day, maybe I'll understand the whole ghosting thing. All I know now, is that it happens. It always has happened, and it's still happening now. Traveling without moving. Being two places at once.

I suppose if I'm actually delusional, it won't change my life much. What's one more label? Right?

~Steel

Pebbles just bounce off
Better find some bigger rocks
If you can lift them

~Monday Morning

This morning it was some sort of rap or hip hop bass line that got me up. It wasn't directly below me, but it was still loud enough to vibrate my apartment.

I really need to do my laundry. That's looking like it's not going to happen though. As usual, the machine is in use. I can hope that it'll free up at some point today, but I'm not going to count any chickens yet.

I'm itchy. My skin is broken out. I have a cyst in the worst place, and it hurts. My face hurts from pulling at my beard. My stomach is sore. I'm still tired.


deep breath

deep breath

deep breath

Focus on the moment.


I love you.

~Lights

Getting close to bed time. Drinking what I think might be my last beer for the night. Miller Lite is evil. Tastes great and less filling. Right. That just means you drink four times as much. Not good for poor people. If you're going to go for a light beer, "Natural Light" is the way to go, if you're poor. It's cheap, tastes like shit, and burns your stomach. You don't tend to drink a whole hell of a lot of it, so it's much better on the (already skinny) wallet.

So, today was Independence Day. (Well, technically yesterday, but...) I have my own Independence Day, which is in the beginning of November. I think I understand the meaning of "Independence" better than most. I understand the cost of taking it, how difficult it is to fight for, and what the benefits are.

It's more than just a bunch of fireworks.


...and I understand those too.

~G force

I've had people accuse me of "living in the past". I disagree with them. True, my past does affect me, but I don't live in it. If nothing, other than the present, I live in the future.

I worry.

A LOT.

I plan and figure and anticipate and plot until I'm completely frozen.

You can't move forward if you're that far ahead of yourself. It just doesn't work that way.

You can't jump from A to Z, without tackling the rest of the alphabet first. If you try, invariably, mid jump, something like "G" will jump up and bite you in the ass, sending you right back to "A".


One day at a time.

One hour at a time.

One minute... second...breath at a time.


Must remember to breathe.

~The real thing.

(1987)

Nobody understands. I guess that's cause I can't explain it. It's not depression, it's despair. It's not confusion, it's frustration. I like the physical pain of cutting myself. It's tangible. It's pain derived from an action that's supposed to cause pain, as opposed to life, which shouldn't be painful but it is. I like the sight of my own blood. I like blood, period. Call it a fetish, call it what you will, but it's plain and simple - I just like it. It's so late, 4:00 in the morning. I have to get up early tomorrow, but I can't sleep. The urge to destroy is upon me, along with the urge to crawl into a hole. I'm feeling insane, or like I could go insane in an instant.

~Bla Bla Bla

I'm feeling fat, scatterbrained, and otherwise insecure. I hate when I get like this. Good time to write.

Many loose ends to tie up... laundry to do... the extra pounds will eventually be shed

metaphor

reality

sign sign, everywhere a sign

it is the seemingly least cryptic which holds the deepest meaning


I like people who can speak "Bla". I like it when I can say "bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla" and be understood. I understand "Bla". I just like people who can speak my language, I suppose. Words are fun. They're fun to play with... to paint with... it's all "bla" though. The meaning is not in the words, it's in the energy. Not speaking or understanding "bla" causes misunderstanding, and the ability to be lied to. Understanding "bla" helps one to see the lying hypocrites most are, yet swear they aren't.

My name is Bla. So is yours.

~Yeeha

I'm still tired. True, I could get back in bed, but I'm up now. The coffee's made, the Dorito breakfast was eaten, and the clothes are on. I feel like I should at least try to do something before giving up entirely on the concept of "morning" productivity.

The Cowboy downstairs has started with his music. Insecure guy. Needs to announce to the world what a Cowboy he is.

Yes, asshole, we all know that you're from Nashville and that you can play the bass. We also all know that you think Country music is the best music on the planet and that you're very proud of your stereo system. Now, will you kindly turn your fucking volume down and go find somewhere to get trampled by a herd of cattle?

Prick.

~With love, Jx.

Her name is "Sara". It was always about her. It's still all about her. It will always be all about her.

We move. We travel. We come through others... some are simply easier to come through... and so we do. It can't be helped... we don't want it to be helped, only changed. We don't want to use any of you. We don't even like any of you.

Sorry. It wasn't meant maliciously.

We're simply magnets and madmen.

~That's why they call it "heat".

In May and June of '87, the stomach problems I was having at the time put me home from school. Drue was home from college. Drue was wanting. 1 + 1 = hell yes. Hell. Heaven. Both.

In the beginning of June, after some stomach x-rays the same day, I went to my "prom", which was basically a dance in the loonytute gym where all the students, both inpatient and day school students, showed up for a few hours. I played in the band. I wore what I usually wore. Jeans, a t-shirt, a ratty long sleeved shirt, biking gloves, and my leather jacket. (I wore Chuck's instead of boots that day because of the drumming, not because of any other reason.)

I was sick and full of barium (Did you know that barium makes your poop white? White! I kid you not! It's the coolest thing in the world!), but I was there.

My "prom" picture is of me, Alison, and our friend Brian, who was also the bassist in the band. It looks nothing like a prom picture. I'm glad it doesn't. The whole "prom" thing was not only something I found to be completely nauseating at the time, but completely ridiculous when you're talking about a school whose graduating class that year was 10 students total. I liked drumming. Drumming made it a good day.

Also in June, I hit graduation... a few days prior to which, my grandfather died. I was a complete wreck. I read a poem for him at my graduation ceremony. Wish I had a copy of it. Well, leave it to me to put any group of people into a state of depression on what is supposed to be a happy day. Gotta be good at something, right?

I had to continue school for another couple of months before I got my "real" diploma, but that was no big deal, really. Technically speaking, I did 4 years of High School in 3, so the extra couple of months wasn't too high of a cost.

Drue was home, I could love her again, everything was just perfect. Right?

ummmmmm....


This is my life, remember?

No pain. No gain.

~17 Part 5

5-19 (1987) 8:47 PM

I'm laying here listening to one of Drue's old tapes, the last one before we broke up. It makes me smile now, a month or two ago it would've pissed me off. It's so hard to believe that she's come back, I really thought I'd lost her forever.

So, our affair continues, now we both have something to lose if it gets out. I don't know why I love her so much, but I do. She gives me nothing but her time, but it's all I desire from her. Alison, who's my rightful lover gives me what I need, Drue gives me what I dream of.

~Forgetting

I've been asked, throughout the course of my life, whether or not I've ever cheated on anyone. My answer? "No."

I didn't lie about that. Every time I thought back over my girfriends and tried to triple check my memory, just to be 100% sure, I couldn't remember one time I cheated. I always broke up with a person before lying to them. It was a lesson I learned early in life.

It causes more damage if you lie to, and attempt to stay with somebody, than it does to break that person's heart by leaving.

I just forgot how I learned that lesson.

~Automate this!

Did you know that you can't recharge AT&T phone cards on the weekends? I didn't. They sure told me though, right after the automated voice recognition machine of an operator had me punch in my credit card number and expiration date

What a bunch of shit.


I damn well better not see any charges on my statement. Fucking assholes.

~Getting over it

Today promises to be another busy day. Much to do. My eyes are trying to re-close as I'm writing this. I'm wondering if it's because I'm really still tired, or if it's because I don't feel like doing things. I'd be more inclined to think it was actual sleepiness. I do want to do things, I just wish that I had more time to do the things I have to do along with the things I simply want to do. One of the things I want to do is sleep.

I don't even know what the fuck I'm talking about.

I do know what I'm not talking about though... and I'm getting sick and fucking tired of my own fear of the world.


I'm going to see aX in less than a week. I have a million things to do to prepare for the trip. All I want to do is spend the day with the phone attached to my ear. All I really want to do is be there already.

All I have to do is get through a few more days.

~17 Part 4

4-30-87 5:16 PM

So, here I sit at the kitchen table with a beer and a cigar, listening to Bowie. Classic. I'm pretty bored, and I should be studying, but I just don't feel like it, besides, I'm home early, I'll start any work I have to do at 7:00.

I think I'll be going over to Alison's tomorrow for the weekend. I really don't feel like dragging all my clothing to school, but I guess I'll have to. So, I have to pack tonight, and I have a test in Biology tomorrow so I have to study. So I have my work cut out for me for the rest of the night.

There's no food in the goddamn house and I'm really hungry, it's not fair. I want to have dinner! Oh well, I guess we can't have it all can we.

5:43

I started packing, and now I'm listening to Depeche Mode (Flip side of Bowie) I just have to wait til my pants are dry to pack them.

I'm getting hungry and drunk. Bad combo. I suppose I'll look around for some food, but I doubt there's anything around. Oh well.

6:04

Wow, a delicious dinner of tomato soup. Yum Yum. Jeez.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The epitome of life at Art's. This entry sickens me.

~If you don't like it, leave.

My whole youth... my whole concept of "family"... my whole concept of life...

That's all it ever was. That was always the bottom line.

I did two things, thinking that was reality... the way of life... the way you were supposed to be...

I learned how to get the people I loved to go when I "didn't like it", and I learned to leave... to hide... to protect myself by isolating myself... by shutting down. Yes, steel shutters.

The fact that it's not the bottom line all the time is a new concept to me. The word "try" is new to my vocabulary. The whole concept that someone might not be ok with my not liking something, and might want to make it so that I do like it, is difficult for me to trust as truth.

Some wounds take longer to heal than others.

~Kentucky Fried Cranium

Busy day.

Not that it was bad, but it was busy. I feel a little discombobulated. Think I need to write... but I need to eat too.

Busy head.

Maybe I'll be able to write later. There's left over Cheekun in the fridge calling my name.

~Got Grease?

Today is food store day. The food store is near a pretty little red and white building.

Yes, indigenous to the suburbs, the wild Kentucky Fried Chicken heavily populates this area. Its call carries across the highways, and its unique musk permeates the air, luring me to its source.


Please forgive the drool.

~Right now

I'm in a very very very good mood.

Thank you, to my Gods and Goddesses:

My brother
My best friend and hers
My girlfriend and hers

...and myself.

At this moment, life is good.

My smile is genuine.

~Touch

Did the thought of simply holding someone's hand ever bring tears to your eyes?


Never happened to me before either.

~17 Part 3

4-11 (1987) 11:30 PM

I'm on my way home. Drue called while I was out. Pain. It's almost a year. Why do I still hurt so bad? Why do I still love her? I'm so lonely. I need someone. I had a couple of beers maybe that's why I'm down. Could be. It still hurts though. Whether the beers are to blame doesn't really matter.

There are alot of assholes on this el. I'm down enough to kick some ass. And well armed. 2 knives and a scalpel. Deadly. Let them stare and talk, I could kill them if I wanted to. I feel like it sort of. Killing people just for looking at me wrong. Death is irrelevent when I feel like this. I'll get over it though. So, no, I won't hurt anyone.

What a life. Feeling down, celibacy, loneliness, and a rabbit. At least my rabbit loves me, and I love my rabbit. Some happiness in a grim life. It's wierd how such a small thing can mean so much.

It's a full moon. I like this night, even though I'm down. It's beautiful out. My paradise as a sunny day is to a surfer. The night is my kingdom, my world, my escape from the sun's death.

I look at people, older people, wondering what their lives have been like. I look at middle aged women, beautiful, wondering what it would feel like to love them. I look at girls and pity their floosy ways. I look at myself, and feel alien. Not a girl, not a boy, not a man or a woman. Just another life form, alienated, It's strange.

It's gotta get better. It can't get much worse. Maybe one day love will prevail, and I'll feel content again, happiness, love, satisfaction. Their all so alien, so unreal.

~Got Slim-Fast?

Damn milk was bad. If anyone doesn't know this already, a gallon of milk does not last 2 weeks before spoiling. Sure wish I could remember that myself.

On the brighter side, there's nothing better in coffee, when you run out of milk, than (Vanilla) Slim-Fast. You don't even need to add sugar. It's handy. It keeps forever in the cabinet, and you can use one can at a time, thereby not wasting loads of it when you do get your preferred milk.


This tip of the day brought to you by Cutter, who's actually starting to need Slim-Fast again because of a beer, KFC, Cheetos, and no exercise diet.

~17 part 2

3:28 AM 3/1/87

It's rare that I'm in a writing mood lately. Inwardly I'm a fucking mess.

I'm trying to figure out what I need, what I want, who I am. Where all the answers are. There are so many questions, so many god-damned questions.

I thought I had myself all figured out once. I thought I knew what I wanted, where I was going. But now, I just don't know anymore. Everything seems so fine and easy when you're in love, when you are loved. Why is it when love goes away your whole inner self shatters? Does it make me a weak person? Am I so naive? So vulnerable? My lovers say that I have alot to give, that I should find someone worthy of me to give it to. But every time I think that I've found the right one, she says to find someone else. I'm not that wonderful. I don't deserve a princess, nor do I want one. I think what they mean is that I should find someone who can give to me as much as I give to them. Maybe.

Love is only part of life though. I've got school to worry about, college, work, family, money, music, friends. And a wicked urge to get wasted to battle with. Not to mention my all too often violence spells. How long will it be before I won't feel like killing someone every other day? I've just about conquered the suicide problem, now I have the homocide problem. It's ridiculous, one thing after the other. And people wonder why I'm strange.

I just don't know what to do. I'm going nuts!


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, what I did was snap. Some kid rolled a pool ball down the pool table, at school, really fast. My hand happened to be on the bumper. Given, this kid was making me nuts all day, but my reaction was a little extreme. I threw it at him. Hard.

I was expelled and being prepared for an "Anger problem" stint in lock up. It obviously wasn't enough of a problem though, because due to some issue with the insurance, I was just re-admitted to school after going through complete hell for about 3 weeks, worrying about having to go in to play with the rest of the nutters.

Drue and her new boyfriend, Brian, were around. That was complete torture for me. She was trying to act friendly... but failing miserably. Yes, one morning they stopped by with a bunny. It was a very nice gift. It didn't hurt any less though, or make up for the day when they came over and he was wearing my t-shirt. The whole thing was just wrong. She'd call me and things were back to being intense and connected... the "I love you"s were numerous. Then, in front of Brian... yeah. Might as well have been Marc. Might as well have been a year previous. Nothing had changed, and I was still sucked into it. I'm thinking that just maybe a bit of that anger came from there. Yeah. Just maybe.

To this day, I'm amazed that all I did was throw a pool ball at the kid. True, when I returned to school, the Principal made him lift his shirt and show me his back, which was still black where the ball had hit, but shoot, at least I didn't stick a knife in him.

That Principal, rumor has it, was removed because of being "inappropriate" with the boys. Yes, I do wonder how he knew what the kid's back looked like in the first place.

The world is a happy place. The world is a happy place. The world is a happy place.

God... it so COMPLETELY sucked being a teenager. I wonder why I occasionally idealize it. Maybe because it doesn't stop there. Maybe because it gets worse. Maybe because it just stays bad, and then you have more and more baggage the older you get, and it becomes more difficult to maneuver. Whatever the case, I do smile about that time every now and again. There is something to be said for being young, and social, and feeling like the world is yours... fearless... as close to fearless as people ever are, unless they can remain ignorant.

Ignorance is bliss.