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Welcome to Montana! First stop, Wolf Point. (Who knew?) So... here we are, my new home State. The land is flat, and the sky is grey. The clouds are so low, it looks like you could touch them if you jumped in the air. We're heading for the mountains. The mountains. Those snow capped ones I always used as desktop pictures. Those mountains that remind you of yourself, that give you perspective. Those mountains. Heading to the bears, the elk, the wolves, the ravens...

All is as it should be.

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This is fucking amazing. I'm on the train...very very happy. I ate and had a smoke. My laptop is hooked up and the cell phone plugged in. Stylin'.
I'm still reeling from today's HUGE coincidence. Waiting for the train, I peer between two ticket dispensers, and who do I see? Jackrabbit. Fucking Jackrabbit!!!! Even more, he's on his cell phone.... with Paradox! PARADOX!!!!! Holy fucking shit!!! Rabbit was in, visiting from San Francisco. That's where the two of them live now. Completely overwhelming. Haven't seen Rabbit since about '93. I don't think I've seen Paradox since I left the squat in '86. It really was a wonderful thing... knowing that they're both still alive and well means the world to me. I exchanged info with Jackrabbit, and I really hope that we keep in touch. He tells me that he's in the process of writing a book about the squat days. Simply amazing.
Happy indeed. Although it was very difficult saying goodbye to S., I'm completely elated. I'm going HOME. I'm on my way to where I belong... with my Sara. You can quote me on this.... Life is good.

Got Brains?

I have about 76 hours, and a list of things which I have to do that is a mile long. Nowhere on that list is sitting in front of the computer, blogging.

I lost my mind years ago. This is just plain crazy.

and

they didn't take the desk.

Fuck me.

I have no clue as to how I'm going to get this beast out of here.

Wish me luck.

Missions

I have about a hour until the furniture people (aka The Trenton Rescue Mission) might get here. I was told they'll be here sometime between 8 and 2. Hopefully all will go well.

I can't say that I envy them. This place is ridiculously difficult to move anything in or out of. Hopefully I won't be liable if one of them gets killed while attempting to get my desk out of here.

Are you supposed to tip when you're donating to a charity?

I hope that whoever gets the desk also gets the luck attached to it.

I should tape a note into one of the drawers... "Give it about 5 years, and your dreams will come true." Maybe a p.s. too... "Don't drop this thing on your foot, it'll leave a mark."

One more week...

fucking incredible.


I'm smiling.

Finishing up

I have 8 days, 4 hours, 26 minutes and 12 seconds until my train leaves.

I have a lot to do... on many levels.

Settling into Blogspot. That's something I'm doing. I added a hit counter just now. I like to know if my blog is being read, and how often. I'd prefer an invisible counter, but that's a pay service, and right now I'm not wanting to pay for it. I shelled out 20 bucks for my last blog, I'm not shelling out more for this one until I have some time to settle in properly.

Today's "to do" list is, although short, very time consuming and, well.... icky. I want very much to drink a beer and just not do anything having to do with cleaning or furniture.

Maybe I'll drink a beer and then get started. No sense freaking out about the whole thing. It's just cleaning. I like cleaning. I just don't like venetian blinds.


I have 10 days, 13 hours, 54 minutes and 37 seconds until my train arrives. This makes me very happy.

Until death

It's said that when you kill in self defense, it's not murder.

I think that I'm having issues with defining "self defense".

What is it when you kill someone who is making you want to kill yourself, rather than exist another minute on the same planet with that person?

What is it when you kill someone who will completely destroy your life, making it a living hell until that person chooses to stop?

What about when someone is a part of you? Is it not then self defense to kill someone who is torturing that person?


Yes, issues.

rrrrp

Saranac lager is a very very tasty beer.

My Path

Have you ever wished that you could go through life honestly? I mean, being 100% honest with people... telling them how you really felt about them, the good, the bad, and the ugly, all of the time. I've often wished that. I think that I used the Internet to play around with that... to see "what would happen if..."

I played. I watched people play. I let people think that I didn't have a clue. I let people think lots of things. It didn't matter. It wasn't real. (right, sk?) I fooled a lot of people. I successfully fooled myself. It was necessary. I did a swan dive into cyberspace and took care of what I needed to take care of for me... had some fun... helped a few people out now and again. I flew around, breathing fire like a dragon and when on the ground, hurling feces like a good primate... and I howled. I howled until the howl was answered.

It's coming to a close. It's been over 5 years that I've had "Internet" as my full time job. It's an interesting field. It's not just writing. It's not just navigating. It's drama, social skills, art, psychology, occult studies, P.I. work. I think I have my Masters degree now.

I did say that I didn't play well with others. I didn't lie about that. I'm as selfish, cruel, unfeeling, hypocritical, and egotistical as I've ever accused anyone else of being. I was trained well, and I trained myself well. I'm very good at being very bad. Did you know that you can make others feel good about themselves by simply being an asshole? It's crafty, yet rather effective.

We're all just entertainment to one another. We're not real. We project our emotions and insecurities onto one another. We turn each other into who we want each other to be. We love, we hate, we laugh, we cry, and sometimes we even die. We use one another. We're all just psy-vamping through cyberspace, "Aren't I wonderful!"(ing) and "Woe is me!"(ing), until we feel like Gods or Demons. Freaks and Geeks. Humans.

Did we really care, or were we just hungry? Does it really matter?

I followed my Ravens. They led me to the other side of the country, to my family, to my home, to what I've been searching for my whole life.

My name is Jx. I'm a thief, a liar, a whore, a beast, and a manipulator.

I'm no angel.

Strokes

I suppose that there's plenty I could write about, but lately I'm finding it difficult to blog. I suppose that it's about spending the last 5 and a half years online... writing and writing and writing... I suppose that I'm pretty over it. Every now and again you get someone who gets something out of what you write, but generally speaking, no... at most, you can pat yourself on the back for being a good drumming chimp. It's just entertainment... drama, for other people.

Do I really care? Maybe a little. I'm sure that deep down inside of me I want people to care about what I have to say, but I can't care too much. I did that for a few years, and it did nothing other than make me want to hunt people down and shoot them. When you care, you put your heart on the line. Not a good thing to do with the Internet. My conclusion, after 5 and a half years? As quickly as possible, take it offline.

It's not real.

I argued that point, once. I used to want it to be real... to be typing back and forth with other real people... to believe the "I love you!s" and "You're family!s"... It's not real though. The words were, generally speaking, empty. News Flash: If only one person thinks it's real, it's called a delusion.

So, why do I continue writing online? I don't know. I think that right now it's just about killing time... and getting the occasional ego boost. There's nothing quite like hearing "you're right!" to give me a stiffy. Doesn't take all that much to make me happy, I guess.

In a while, I'll drift offline. I'll go back to pen and paper, and Word docs. The thought is a pleasant one. I don't even recognize my own handwriting anymore. My writer's callous is gone. It's sort of sad.

Instant gratification. That's what it's all about, I suppose. It used to be that I didn't care if anyone ever read what I wrote. In fact, I preferred that no one ever did. My writing was for me. It was an outlet. Then, I wrote online and people ooh!ed and ahh!ed... and the rest is history. More! More! More! Feed me! Feed me! Feed me! Stroke my ego! Harder! Harder! Harder!!!

I used to be able to get myself off just fine.

Sad indeed.

My love

I'm coming to you... myself... all of me. I'm not going to drag old baggage with me, and I'm not going to leave doors open in the least that should be closed. I don't need an escape hatch. I don't want an escape hatch.

You are my destiny. The path of my life lead directly to you.

I'm closing doors with a smile.

Cave in

Often, I feel completely socially awkward... sort of like one of those little rocks in the Paxil commercial. Is it Paxil, or Prozac? One of the two. Anyway... sometimes I wish that I'd shut up a lot quicker than I do. I say things without thinking, then beat myself up for how I must have come across.

Often, it's easier just to hide.