The Lover You Don't Have to Love

You Know...I feel sorry for you

2007-01-04T01:33:00.000-08:00

Terrorists kill hippies.

Sometimes, I feel really sorry for you.

Coming Clean

2006-09-17T01:28:00.000-07:00

Well, I've made up my mind.

Not a good day. I don't really know what's wrong, but I just want to chill out by myself and do nothing.

Very short story:

I wanted in. I wanted to belong. I wanted to not be everything and nothing at once.

No one could figure me out and that's the way I liked it. And now, everyone thinks they've got me figured out. I'll show them.

One day, I was sitting around in my apartment building. When a man cam up to me and said, "I beg your pardon, sir, but why are you crying?" I averted my eyes and continued to sob.

I cracked a slight smile and lit a cigarette. It's always cigarettes. Cigarettes and alcohol. That is what I've built my life on. That is what I will continue to build my life on.

Now and Forever.

Forever Red and Forever Dead

2006-09-11T00:27:00.000-07:00

I honestly don't know what's been going on in my life recently. I want to make friends; I want to be accepted; I want everyone to be happy; I want my old friends and my new friends to get along; I want to bring everyone together.

I have a new story. I don't know if it will convey my emotions properly, but I'll try.

So, I got into my car and I drove. I just drove until I couldn't drive anymore. And then I stopped. I got out of my car and I stared up at the sky. They say I'm a Cancer, unpredictable. A fire symbol, emotional.

The weird thing about astrology is that it's very accurate a lot of the times. Granted, the stars can't tell you everything. But what can? I certainly can't.

I walked off the road and into the woods. There was a potent smell in the air. You know, that woodsy smell you smell when you're out camping with your dad and your uncles the weekend before school starts again. I didn't really know what to think of my situation. Weighing out options for situations is always difficult. Even for Lady Justice.

Lady Justice is supposedly blind. She carries the sword of the law in one hand and the scales of unbiasedness in the other. I'm not sure how fair she actually is these days. Life deals you seven cards, you play your best five. But happens to those other two cards. Lost opportunity. Granted, you play your BEST five. Sometimes the cards you think are the best aren't always the ones you should play.

In the seven cards I was dealt, I had four Queens, a King, a Jack, and a Joker. Each card meant something.

Queen of Hearts. The women in my life that romantically interest me. As a fairly emotionally unstable Cancer, I always let ladies get the best of me. I often fall in love and rarely fall out very quickly.
Queen of Clubs. The women in my life that are my plutonic friends. They always offer me comfort when I am weak and when I cannot carry on.

I lit a cigarette and let the smoke run over my face as I exhaled. Next cards.

Queen of Diamonds. This would represent my mother. The woman in my life that has done everything for me but is never appreciated enough. I wish I could give her something better than diamonds because she is better than that.
Queen of Spades. These are my random girls that kill me in every aspect of my life. The meaningless ones that make me hate myself and make my feel inadequate.
Jack of Hearts. The boys in my life that help me pull through. Without them, I would have no outlet for manliness. The pain they feel extends to me. The pain I feel extends to them.
King of Diamonds. This represents my father. The man in my life that made me who I am today. My model for how I want to be when I am a father.

I start to think of my best five when I flip the seventh and final card.

The Joker. This card represents all the expectations I have for myself and all the expections everyone else has for me. I try to be a wild card. I want to appeal to everyone. I don't want to be disliked by anyone, but for some reason I never seem to accomplish my goal. No matter what, no matter who, no matter what I do; somebody hates me.

I lay the seven cards out and I finish up my cigarette. I can only choose five, the rest have to be trashed.

Which five should I choose?

Its my trademark move

2006-08-15T00:28:00.000-07:00

This story is dedicated to Michael Thornton. He is leaving us very soon. I also dedicate this story to Shaun Tyson who will become the newest member of the Gang of Debauchery and Sex in due time.

It was warm outside. We met near the pool. He was drunk, the other one was high. I was sober. I wanted to be drunk.

He was leaving. One of my best friends. The boy that I had watched grow into an incredible man. I loved him. We were beyond friendship. I couldn't explain it.

Everyone has that one person that they want to influence. Everyone has that one person they turn into their "project." He was mine. When I met him, he was introverted, shy, and insecure. When I was done with him, he was loud, likeable, and quite the lady's man.

We took the cooler out of the trunk and looked for cars. A car rocketed passes. Our hearts skipped a beat. The last thing we wanted was a minor in possession before we departed for school.

The gang was a familiar one. The leaver, the musician, the stoner, the communist, and myself. We all understood the world. We all understood each other. We all loved each other.

We darted into the woods and found a secure location. And so it began.

Beer after beer after shot after shot. We grew closer. Our hearts were poured out.

"I'm so apprehensive about school," the leaver said.
Why? I replied.
"because he wont have anyone to smoke weed with," the stoner retorted. His grammar was always horrible, but I didn't bother me for some reason.
"I just don't know how I'm going to get by without you guys." Tears began to rise in his eyes.

They always say that the only way to understand a place is to leave it. I agree. Perspective can't be obtained while you're absorbed in a situation.

He began to cry. We comforted him.

"I don't know if I'll ever be able to find someone that helped me as much as you guys have," the leaver spouted.

The musician, the communist, the stoner, and I all sat in silence. We held our glass high and loudly proclaimed, "Here's to the friends we've made, here's to the hearts we've broken, here's to the shit we've pulled, here's to the beers we've consumed, here's to the things we've fucked up, and here's to the end of an era."

We were all crying by then. We all knew what had happened. We knew our lives would never be the same.

The Dirt of the Vineyard

2006-08-06T23:32:00.000-07:00

Existentialism-noun-A philosophy that emphasizes the uniqueness and isolation of the individual experience in a hostile or indifferent universe, regards human existence as unexplainable, and stresses freedom of choice and responsibility for the consequences of one's acts.

New story...I hope you like it. You know who you are...

My foot pressed on the gas pedal as I choked back tears. I knew this would be the last time I would see her in a very, very long time. I knew the choice I made was a rash one. I knew the choice I made would be a difficult one. I knew this decision would be worth every second.

I loved her.

Flash.
Give me hope.
Flash.
Give me strength.
Flash.
Give me emotion.

Jump forward to our last moments.
I held her in my arms for three minutes. The only muscle in my body that moved was my heart. I kept fighting back tears.
"I'll miss you," she whispered in my ear.
I'll miss you too. I responded with a faltering voice.

The little photographer in my held was burning through flash bulbs like a bullet through the chest.

Flash.
Give me fairness.
Flash.
Give me justice.
Flash.
Give me terror.

I held her tighter and shed a tear.

Flash.
Give me strength.
Flash.
Give me courage.
Flash.
Give me prowess.

She pursed her lips in the pouty way that always drew a smile. A smile crept over my face as the tear reached my lips.

I made a decision that day. A decision that would change my life forever. This decision kept her in my life.

Flash.
Give me her.

If only I had written it

2006-07-25T16:27:00.000-07:00

Not my words, but a great expression of how I feel sometimes.

I am the stone that the builder refused
I am the visual, the inspiration
That made Lady Sing the Blues...

I'm the spark that makes your idea bright
The same spark that lights the dark
So that you can know your left from your right...

I am the ballot in the box, the bullet in the gun
The innerglow that lets you know
To call your brother son...

The story that just begun
The promise of what's to come
And I'm a remain a soldier 'til the war is won

Driftwood: A Fairy Tale

2006-07-24T00:02:00.000-07:00

And he would sulk and drink and mop and cross his arms and hope to die.

This story actually isn't a fairy tale at all.

"We all need something to fight for." she said quietly. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she poured her soul out to me. Everything from her boyfriend to her best friend to be the politics of war came out in that long car ride. I had everything to say to her. We agreed. Our friends were immature. They didn't understand the real concepts of life. They didn't think.

Thinking is very important. We all know that. We just don't want to accept it.

Flash.
Give me strength.
Flash.
Give me knowledge.
Flash.
Give me courage.

We DO need something to fight for. We needed a war to keep our world together. If it isn't us vs them. It's us vs us.

The generations before us had wars. World War I, World War II, Korea, Vietnam, The Cold War. We have nothing. The war on terrorism is a lame excuse to villianize some unknown entity that we can't grasp. We have no great war, no great depression. The war we fight is a spiritual war; our great depression is our lives.

She nodded and grabbed the wheel to give me free hands so I can light my cigarette. I smoked it down to the filter and felt the nictone flow into my body. It gave me a calming feeling only acheived from fulfilling my addictions.

We all need to be addicted to something. It keeps up going. My friend is addicted to love and the idea of love. I'm also addicted to love. The pressure of finding the right girl is enought to drive a man insane.

She loved me. I loved her. We should have been brother and sister. We could talk about the world for hours. We could talk about each other for hours. We could talk about absolutely nothing for hours.

We poured our hearts out that night. We became closer than ever that night. Our lives touched that night and became one. I want her to be happy

She will be happy one day.

Butcher the Song

2006-07-19T22:21:00.000-07:00

Where do I fit in? In this jigsaw of a relationship...

New story...probably won't be too good...

I sip my coffee. It's a little too hot. The roof of my mouth is horribly burnt. But I don't care. I'm not there to enjoy the coffee. I'm there to meet him.

I received a private message in my mailbox. It was just a crumpled up piece of paper with few words scribbled on it. It read: Coffe shop. 10 o'clock sharp. Come alone. If anyone comes with you, you will both be killed.

He came in. Sat down. Slid me a fifty dollar bill and said "Did you do it?"
I took the money, peered into his piercing blue eyes, and shook my head.
I couldn't do it. I said. He looked too helpless.
He slammed his fist on the table. He was angry. He has every right to be. The roof of my mouth still burning from the coffe.
"I told you to kill him. Why couldn't you kill him?"
I don't get joy out of killing an innocent man.

The Germans always said "Die reinste Freude ist die Schadenfreude" Our purest joy comes when people we envy get hurt.

He pulled a gun out. I knew this was coming. He always was the brash one of the two of us.
"Get on the ground, you filthy piece of shit."
So I did what he said. I got down on the ground. On my knees. Getting ready to give a blowjob to a magnum. I just hoped it didn't get too excited and go off in my hair.

He always envied me. My ability to detach myself from situations. The ability to kill without regret. He thought I had the perfect life.

So there was a gun in my mouth. And the gun had bullets. I didn't need to see the bullets to know they were in there. I could smell the gun powder. He had used the gun earlier in the day. I tounge the inside of the barrel to taste the freedom.

"Now, you kill him or I'll kill you."
I shrugged my shoulders. It didn't cost me anything but my life, and what was that really worth?
The barrel rubbed against the burnt roof of my mouth. What a little bastard. He knew that hurt me.

I didn't really understand him. Very mysterious, that fellow.

I'd be back. They would be anxiously awaiting my return. They told me once.

"We'll be waiting for you. Everything will go on. But we'll be waiting."

Come Fly WIth Me

2006-07-16T21:05:00.000-07:00

Come fly with me, let's fly let's fly away. If you've got the groove for exotic booze, there's a bar in far Bombay.
I haven't written in a while, so here it goes.

I stepped into the light and began to climb the steps. The worn strap of my duffle bag lazily across my shoulder. I opened the door to the house and took a deep breath. It smelled like shit. Cigarette butts and empty beer bottles were strewn about the floor around my passed-out friends.

I don't know why I put up with this shit. Then I remembered.

Jump back to the day before. North Alabama. No one really knows too much about it. Nothing too terribly important happened there. But it was where I met her.

Jump forward a couple hours.
What are you running from? I asked her.
"I beg your pardon?" She responded.

We're all running from something. Whether it be death, life, the past, the future, our parents, our friends, our addictions, our dreams.

You know. I said. What are you trying to get away from by being here with me?
"I don't know," she snuggled up closer to me, "you go first."

What was I running from? Probably my shit job, my dead end schooling, my great friends, my loving family.

I'm just running from fear. That was my response; a little passe' but it fit. She didn't buy it.
"What are you really running from?"

We all knew at that point...

Flash.
Give me compassion.
Flash.
Give me power.
Flash.
Give me lies.

I guess, I'm running from all the things of my past. The way I used to prowl around in the shadows shouting "You are nothing! You can't amount to anything until you've become nothing! To Hell with those dead guys! We live now, we'll destroy the past! We'll stalk elk in the canyons of Rockafeller square and we'll make a real garden out of Madison Square!" The way I controlled the world. The way I had everything. It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything. I taught it, but I didn't believe it. So I left it.

Her soft lips pressed against mine. It's true. I pressed my lips against hers pulled her body close to mine. The heat from her body made me feel comfortable and safe.

They say you always hurt the one you love.

Jump back to now. I drop my bag and sigh. My friends, still drunk from the night of debauchery, begin to stir. I pick up some of the beer bottles and decide to step outside for a cigarette. As I stand out on the deck, the light streams onto my shoulders.

The closer you get to the light, the bigger your shadow becomes.

Down and Out

2006-07-05T09:19:00.000-07:00

My return from the European Union has opened my eyes. New story...

I wanted to give up the idea of being in control. Shake things up. To be saved my chaos. To see if I could cope, I wanted to force myself to grow again. To explode my comfort zone.

No one is really interested in you when you have nothing to offer them. Nothing can bring people together like the mutual using of someone. Nothing ever goes unpunished. You know that old adage "No good deed goes unpunished." Well, no deed at all goes unpunished. Newton's Third Law.
Flash.
Give me intellect.
Flash.
Give me strength.
Flash.
Give me brilliance.

Jump to the house. Sitting outside, drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and talking. We call this ritual "Man Time." God comes up. "When we were born, did our parents become god and she-god?" The muscular one asks this question to the triumvirate of virilty siting around the table.
I suppose so. And if you think about it, we're like the followers. We start out totally devoted and then we rebel.

Give me faith.
Flash.
Give me dominance.
Flash.
Give me truth.
Flash.

Jump to my last cigarette. My lucky. The reasoning behind the lucky cigarette is that after you smoke it, you'll get laid. Therefore, smoke a pack a day, get laid everynight. The cruelty in that is that most people that smoke a pack a day don't get laid every night.

Jump to the time I let everything go at "Man Time." When I laid all my cards on the table. I told them what I was going to do and then I did it.

Jump to the day after the accident. I'm sitting a hospital waiting room awaiting an answer.

Jump back to the house. Jump back to "Man Time." Jump forward to my tenth beer. Jump forward to the hospital. Jump forward to the recovery room.

Jump forward to outside my comfort zone.

A Fault Line in the Soil

2006-06-23T22:18:00.000-07:00

I figure one more story before I travel to Europe will be enough.

Cut. Replay. Cut. Thats what I wanted. I wanted a way to keep everyone's attention and still have my own thoughts playing in my head. I wanted to be the warm little center of everyone's sad little world. They're dying. I'm just fine. They cry. I cry.

There's a condition, kind of a shoot off of insomnia, called Hypomania. Most people that have it can't sleep because they're in a manic state. The world stands still but the person speeds up. Sleep depravation can cure this. The only problem with sleep depravation is that nothing is real when you haven't slept in four days.

Every night, I tried to sleep. And every night, I failed. I took to collecting little knick-knacks. Cleaver objects that grabbed my attention. Pornography, music, movies, games. Everything you could think of. Nothing helped though.

I discovered things about the world that I had never known. Nutmeg, when taken in doses of 1.5 grams or more, will cause violent fits of hallucination. Mix that with a state of manic insomnia. Well, you do the math. Also, you can make a pneumaitc air cannon out of a vaccum cleaner engine and two pieces of PVC pipe. Launching an orange four blocks down the street will pass at least two hours a night when I should be sleeping. I also figured out how to make blasting gelatin. You know, the stuff that is used to implode buildings.

I sat up one night and watched late night infomercials. The magic of Bosle hair restoration interested me greatly. It was about as riveting as watching a cat clean himself in the gutter. My phone rings. I answer. It was her. She knew exactly what I wanted. It was her.
"Come on out to the house tonight, it'll be loads of fun."
It's three in the morning, I'm in my underwear, and I don't feel like going anywhere.
"Ok. You know, you should go out more often. You're really starting to becoming a bit of a recluse."

So, I went out. I watched people vomit in the streets from too much alcohol. I saw people get arrested for drug violations. And I was there, the warm little center of the universe. I became addicted. Every night I went out. Every night I saw people going to Hell in a handbasket. Every night I became a little less manic.
Every night I died.
And every night I was born again.

God Gave Us Many Things

2006-06-21T23:38:00.000-07:00

Tonight was filled with many interesting events. I was inspired by a particular girl to write a story. She knows who she is and should be very proud of herself for everything she is and will become.

This story will probably be quite different from the rest of my writing.

Laying around in a close friend's room will make you think about pretty much anything. The desire to leave that friend's room will make you think even harder. So, I left. Another traveling song and the voice of the boy I trust the most guided me to a house. I walked in the door. I talked to the Mayor. I sat down. I was offered a beer. I took it.

Beer will reveal many truths to you. The futility of trying. The reality of death. The consequences of breaking the law. The fact that nothing matters except knowing nothing matters.

The kitchen seemed like the ideal place to meet new people. My best friend sat at the kitchen table surrounded by girls. He was always the ladies man among us. I sat down with him and made conversation with a beautiful girl next to me. Her eyes were green like July. So, I threw back another beer. I figured there might be a chance with her. All around me, vapid conversations were being carried on about God know's what.

Blah Blah Blah. Too many people trying to talk at once starts to sound like the ramblings in a Pentacostal Church. But at the end no one feels saved.

I wandered outside to see if there were more intelligent people out there. Only people smoking dope and cigarettes. I light a cigarette to fit in.
"What's your name man?" a nameless boy asks me.
My name is of no consequence.

I never like to tell people my name. Names are just titles assigned to us at birth that are destined to decide how we live our lives. Everyone's name means something. We're all predisposed to certain attributes. I like to think my name means "knowledgable about stupid shit."

"Alright, you're a strange kid." he responded.
Wanna know how to make napalm?
"Uhh...sure?"
Mix equal parts of gasoline and frozen orange juice concentrate. Or equal parts of gasoline and diet cola. Or crush up kitty litter into gasoline until the mixture. I'm full of all kinds of useful knowledge like that. Just ask me how to make a car bomb.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he responded.
The real question, sir, is what the hell is wrong with you? If you want to love someone, you have to know how to hate. How can you ever give your life, if you don't know how to take a life away?

I was starting to scare them. Not one person understood these eternal truths. Except one. The girl whose eyes are green like emeralds. She started to cry. Those green eyes transformed to a deep red.

What's wrong?
"I don't know," she responded.
You met me at a very strange time in my life.
And I grabbed her hand. I felt it slowing create friction on the inside of my hand.

Blah Blah Blah. More rambling. But at the end, we all felt saved.

Another Traveling Song

2006-06-13T23:44:00.000-07:00

I had fun at work for the first time today. I had a lot of time to think about things.

I have another story in the works. I'll post what I have so far. The following is the first draft:

The point of the assignment was simple enough. Piss someone off. Cut someone off in traffic, yell at someone at work, throw some litter in someone's yard. Anything to get people to give into their emotions and do something.

In the past, people had to fight for their causes. Spartacus, the ancient Roman slave, led the Third Servile War against the tyranny of the Roman Empire. Now, people just want to go about their business and try not to make changes for the betterment of society. It sickened me. It sickened him too.

He handed us our assignments in sealed envelopes at the end of every meeting. I didn't know if my assignment was the same as every else's. But then again, I didn't really care. If we could get people thinking, it was good enough for me.

Religion is an easy way to piss people off. Most people think religion is some untouchable entity that remains undebated. They make me laugh.
So I wanted into a church, sat down, and started talking. The pastor was preaching on Hell today. Great, my favorite topic. He has no conviction. Every other sentence was a contradiction. So I decided to step in.
Actually, you're all going to Hell, I interupted. The pastor glanced at me. I gave him a sly little smile.
You sit up there and claim you're a minister of the Lord. You don't even understand His word. This got the pastor going. He soon droned on about contradicting a man of God and blah blah blah.

I was reminded of my first meeting. Sitting around the table with my brothers while he told us our first assignment. Vandalize something. I suppose committing a crime is a small price to pay for happiness. The leader of our meetings once said, "One day we'll all hit bottom; we'll go back to the way things are supposed to be. We'll evolve. We'll hunt deer in the center of Rockafeller square. Vines will grow up to the top of the Sears tower. And Rome will fall again."

I could see the color coming back into the pastor's face. I could tell his emotions were working within him. Like a young boy about to have his first orgasm. He clenched his fists with a modicum of rage and stared to breath heavily. He was about to go over the edge. I gave him a little wink.

Nothing ever phased me. I already knew I was going to Hell. So I really had no problem condemning myself further. It was probably what he wanted anyway. We do his work for him. He gets rids of us. We go to Hell.

The pastor caught my eyes. I knew what he was thinking.
At least he was finally thinking.

I said, "Thanks can I follow you."

Something Vague

2006-06-09T13:39:00.000-07:00

If you walk away I'll walk away.

With the passing of each day, another enemy is rooted out and destroyed.

Why do we think we have the right to play World Police?
Just because we're the most powerful nation in the world does not mean we have the right to violate national sovereignty.

Landlocked Blues

2006-06-04T12:33:00.000-07:00

I smiled and walked towards her.

I'm trying to write another story but this one isn't going as well as my other one did. This one is a little different.

I was the last one left, or so I thought.
I sat in the bathroom of the Atlanta Airport.
Fuck you was scratched into the wall. Faggot, next to that. Eat shit and die, next to that. Suck my cock, next to that.
In the wall next to that, a hole with stains around it.
It's called a Glory Hole. Most bathrooms in big cities have them. You go in, stick your dick in the hole, and the lucky soul on the other side performs sexually acts anonymously. No chance for a relationship. Just sex.
I looked through the hole to my right and I saw a pair voluptuous lips staring back at me. I knew who it was. That harlot. The slut. She would burn in Hell right beside me.
Where have you been? I whispered into the hole.
"I've been waiting for you," the lips whispered back.
Why?
"Because you're the one who's going to set me free."
Someone sits down in the stall to my left. A gun barrel comes through the other glory hole.
I wonder if I should go ahead and suck on the gun barrel now.
Who is that? I whisper to the lips.
You know who it is. They whisper back.
No, you don't. The gun shouts. I knew who it was. I knew he would come all along.
"I've got six bullets." The gun utters.
"No you don't." The lips retort.
"Shut the fuck up." The gun shouts.

If I could imagine Hell, this is what it would look like. The girl I love and the man whowants me dead shouting over my bare, white lap in the middle of a crowded airport while I await my flight to God's knows where.

My original idea for my own world-broadcast suicide was a bullet to the head. I sat with the loaded gun in my pocket for fourty-five minutes while I converted people to Christ. My second idea was to mix ammonia and bleach to create deadly chlorine gas in a water bottle, then open it on a plane. I was ok with suicide, but mass murder too. Not really up my alley. I went through every suicide idea known to man: pills, building jumping, heroine overdose, cut wrists. You name it, I thought about it.

"Suck this barrel, bitch." The gun whispered through the hole.
I was wondering how clean that gun barrel was as I wrapped my lips around the dirty metal barrel.
I was on my way to Hell, and all these sinners were coming with me.
"I love you." The lips whispered to me.
I thought love was when you would do anything to make a person happy. Not letting someone be shot in the bathroom stall of a filthy Atlanta airport.

Lying. Coveting. Impure thoughts. Masturbation. False worship. Dreaming up ellaborate murder schemes.
These were just a few of my sins. My most grevious sin though. Is hurting the one I love.

Welcome to Hell. Enjoy eternity.

2006-06-04T12:30:00.000-07:00

A Bowl of Oranges

2006-06-03T14:15:00.000-07:00

The entire world leans on the fact that people will tell the truth. Our laws, our religious institutions, our monetary system.

What if someone decides to throw a wrench into our plans?
What if someone thinks that the truth just isn't worth telling?
What if that someone had enough power to convince everyone of a new truth?

No one can really say what tomorrow brings. The people with the influence and the power will decide the rest of our lives. The lawmakers govern our morality, the preachers condemn us to Hell, the bankers inflate our money.

What if we rise up against these false prophets?
What if we finally decide the truth is worth it?
What if we take the power back?
What if we make everything ok?

will you make the world stand still?

The Happiest Place on Earth

2006-06-03T00:42:00.000-07:00

I visited the spectacular land of intoxication land today.

I realized something today during work. The majority of the people I work with have absoutely no education. They make a living doing what I dread doing every day. I am very thankful that the tasks that I so dearly deplore are not my means of living. The following is a short story inspired by recent events involving my good friends and myself:

This one time, the agent asked me where I saw myself in five years.
Dead, I told him. I myself dead and rotting. Or ashes, I can see myself burned to ashes.
I has a loaded gun in my pocket, I remember. Just the two of us were standing in the back of a crowded, dark auditorium. I remeber it was my first big public appearance.
I see myself dead and in Hellm I said.
I remember I was planning to kill myself that night.
I told the adent I figured I'd spend my first thousand years of Hell in some entry level position, but after that I wanted to move into management. Be a real team player. Hell is going to see enormous growth in the market share over the next millennium. I wanted to ride the crest.
The agent said that sounded pretty realistic.
We were smoking cigarettes, I remember. Down onstage, some local preacher was doing his opening act. Part of his warm-up was to get the audience hyperventilated. Loud singing does the job. Or chanting. According to the agent, when people shout this way or sing "Amazing Grace" at the top of their lungs, they breathe too much. People's blood should be acid. When they hyperventilate the carbon dioxid level of their blood drops, and their blood become alkaline.
"Respiratory alkalosis," he says.
People get light-headed. People fall down with their ears ringing, their fingers and toes go numb, they get chest pains, they sweat. This is supposed to be rapture. People thrash on the floor with their hands cramped into stiff claws.
This is what passes for ecstasy.
"People in the religion business call it 'lobstering.'" the agent says. "They call it speaking in tongues."
Repetitive motions add to the effect, and the opening act down onstage runs through the usual drills. The audience claps in unison. Long rows of people hold hands and sway together in their delirium. People do that rainbow hands.
Whoever invented this routine, the agent tells me, they pretty much run things in Hell.
I remember the sponsor was Countrytime Old-fashioned Lemonade.
My cue is when the opening act calls me down onto the stage, my part of the show is putting a spell on everybody.
"A naturalistic trance state," the agent says.
The agent takes a brown bottle out of his blazer pocket. He says, "Take a couple of Endorphinols if you feel any emotion coming on."
I tell him to give me a handful.
To get ready for tonight, staffers went and visited local people to give them free tickets to the show. The agent is telling me this for the hundredth time. The staffers ask to use the bathroom during their visit and jot down notes about anything they find in the medicine cabinet. According to the agent, the Reverend Jim Jones did this and it worked miracles of his People's Temple.
Miracles probably isn't the right word.
Up on the pulpit is a list of people I've never met and their life-threatening conditions.
Mrs. Steven Brandon, I just have to call out. Come down and have your failing kidneys touched by God.
Mr. William Doxy, come down and put your crippled heart in God's hands.
Part of my training was how to press my fingers into somebody's eyes hard and fast so the pressure registered on their optic nerve as a flash of white light.
"Divine light," the agent says.
Part of my training was how to press my hands over somebody's ears so hard they heard a buzzing noise I could tell them was the eternal Om.
"Go," the agent says.
I've missed my cue.
Down onstage, the opening preacher is shouting "Andrew!" into the microphone. The one, the only, the last survior, the great Andrew!
The agent tells me, "Wait." He plucks the cigarette out of my mouth and pushes me down the aisle. "Now, go," he says.
All the hands reach out into the aisle to touch me. The spotlight's so bright onstage in front of me. In the dark around me re the smiles of a thousand delirious people who think they love me. All I have to do is walk into the spotlight.
This is dying without the control issues.
The gun is heavy and banging my hip in my pants pocket.
This is having a family without being familiar. Having relations without being related.
Onstage, the spotlights are warm.
This is being loved without the risk of loving anyone in return.
I remember this was the perfect moment to die.
It wasn't Heaven, but it was as close as I was ever going to get.
I raised my arms and people cheered. I lowered my arms and people were slient. The script was there on the podium for me to read. The typewritten list told me who out in the dark was suffering from what.
Everybody's blood was alkaline. Everybody's heart was there for the taking. This is how it felt to shoplift. This is how it felt to hear confessions from my friends about their errant love affairs. This is how I imagined sex.
With her on my mind, I started to read the script:
We are all divine products of creation.
We are each of us the fragments that make up something whole and beautiful.
Each time I paused, people would hold their breath.
The gift of life, I read from the script, is precious.
I put my hand on this gun loaded with bullets in my pocket.
The precious gift of life must be preserved no matter how precious and pointless it seemed. Peace, I told thme, is a gift so perfect that only God should grant it. I told people, only God's most selfish children would steal God's greatest gift, His only gift greater than life. The gift of death.
This lesson is to the murderer, I said. This is to to suicide. This is to the abortionist. This is to the suffering and the sick.
Only God has the right to surprise His children with death.
I had no idea what I was saying until it was too late. And maybe it was a coincidence, or maybe the agent knew what I had in mind when I'd asked him to get me some bullets and as gun, but what happened is the script got really screwed up my whole plan. There was no way I could read this and then kill myself. It would just look stupid.
So I never did kill myself.
The rest of the evening went as planned. People went home felling saved, and I told myself I'd kill myself some other time. The moment was all wrong. I procrastinated, and timing was everything. Besides.
Eternity was going to seem like forever.
With the crowds of smiling people smiling at me in the dark, me who spent my life fucking around and doing bullshit, I told myself, why rush anything?
I'd backslide before, I'd backslide again. Practice makes perfect.
If you could call it that.
I figured, a few more sins would help round out my resume'.
This is the upside of already being eternally damned.
I figured, Hell could wait.

Down to Suffragette city

2006-05-31T22:17:00.000-07:00

Work is weighing in on my life. I'm trapped all day in that sweatbox with no time later to enjoy with my friends. I'd like to say I've seen the fruits of my labors. But I can't say that and tell the truth. I've seen no money for far too much work. Being blue collar sucks.

Oblivion has been a nice replacement to WoW.

Under Pressure

2006-05-30T22:03:00.001-07:00

Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink. I finally understood the meaning of this phrase today when I was stuck in the back of the store washing dishes for 5 hours. The cleansing water coursing over my hands and upper body almost all day.

I think that one day I'll be able to look back on this experience and think that I am a better person for it. I just hope that I'm not wasting my time. Wastes don't really exist, but negative effects do exist in this world.

Why can't we give love one more chance?

The Wheel in the Sky Keeps on Turning

2006-05-30T01:27:00.000-07:00

I sat outside my house today and wondered if I was becoming one of those weird maladjusted kids my parents always talk about. You all know them, the kind of kids that sit around a table of unfamiliar people and make an off-color comment. No one laughs. The kid laughs it off. I wonder if I am that kid now.

Work tomorrow. Dinner with Tyler and his girlfriend.

2006-05-29T02:27:00.000-07:00

I quit WoW. Too much time. Too much effort. Not enough fun.

Rebel Rebel

2006-05-28T23:53:00.000-07:00

I think the smartest decision I ever made in my life was to start smoking. My parents hate it. A lot of my good friends hate it. Most of modern society does not approve of it. I love it. Sitting in a dark room and lighting a cigarette is one of God's little miracles. The way the flame illuminates the world around you for that one second before the nicotene courses into your system.

I don't really believe in wastes. The priest pastor of my parish was recently relocated to a different parish in South Alabama. He's a brilliant man, but a little too full of himself. I think he's done a lot for my parish while at the same time ruining it.

Listening to a girl give herself a thirty minute praise-fest has to be proof that Satan roams the earth seeking out souls to trade for the glamour of evil. If I was a weaker man, I would have exploded on her and gave in to the temptation.

Egotistical people make me glad I am a smoker.

You are very special to me.

2006-05-28T13:51:00.000-07:00

Getting Started

2006-05-28T13:13:00.000-07:00

Welcome. You're the last one. The last remaining person on the earth I care for. You have touched my life in so many ways. I can tell you that you are the reason I'm still alive today. Without you, my life would be nothing but an empty void of vapid and inane hedoism leading directly to a sink hole of failure.

I decided I want to go to law school today. Prosecution law probably. White-collar prosecution law. Securities fraud, inside trading, embezellment, stuff like that.

My living room is so boring. I've been sitting here for the past few days playing games and watching tv. Every day I notice the dust that languidly settles on the top of the lamp next to me. I wonder if I'm like that dust, just settling.

Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici- By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe.

...punk rock girl...give me a chance.