Dios Ex Machina Infractus

"El diablo es de gran alcance no porque él es malvado, pero porque él es viejo."

There is something to be said for ceremony, even though I can't help to believe that most of it is based on superstition. They hold people together who originally huddled together in the darkness of time and stared out into the abyss of nothing. We hold on to them so long that we lose the meaning of why we do them and simply blindly follow them out of some sort of duty and obligation that no one dares to question.

I think this is what would classify me as evil really in an olde Biblical sense which is associated with stoning and sacrificing calf to an angry deity as we wait for the reincarnation of a David to lead our Armies against an evil that had lost it's meaning. I dare to question when most would see it as sacrilegious and dangerous. And it's true, if I was in another part of the world a primitive form of the Thought Police would come for me and sever my cortex from where my thoughts keep me awake and thank the maker for doing their righteous duty.

I think I can question cause in truth I can say that I have play numerous roles in this situation. I know how blind devotion cause lead a man to fall and to allow insidious thought that caused fire to fall from grace and turn to our nightmare under our beds. Then again, I'm a romantic and partial Milton's Satan not because I have a child's imagination of what is and what should be, but because I've walked in his footsteps I've also gnashed my teeth at the heaven in hopes of a solution from above instead of my agnostic doubt.

There are moments in time when I find my words fail me. I write in some desperate hope of finding some sort of solution or to see what I can work with my own hands cause I'm am told that I will be helped if I help myself even though I've never seen the cavalry arrive when I so wished it to.

I've spent the past couple of weeks mentally pacing at everything set before me and I have to be honest, it frightens me so. I've seen this day coming for some time, but I always hoped that I can make it through somehow and make things right. In fact, if I knew I would have arrived at this point I would have not have boldly taken measure to place myself in this situation. And yet, I've honestly have to say that no matter what may come it will not end nicely.

And yet moments like these I can not help to try to find the third option. I learned early that the game is usually played with a set of rules that offer a progressive pace to a game which so many are willing to take part and not question, yet if for a single moment we stop and redefine what are the end results we somehow can not see anything but winners and losers. Yet, if we can redefine how the game is played and how we follow the rules we can always redefine the outcome. It's sometimes how we can cheat death or leave the game taking the sweetness from losing.

This is often a desperate resort to those who I often call Survivors. I still wait for the heaven to boom it down. I still wait for the numbers to add up. I wait for a sage to give me a straight answer rather than to allow my own interpretation to manifest. I can not help to ask the questions that many refuse to answer. I can not help to feel that I need to return with an answer. Something that people will accept and find solitude while I remain vigilante.

There is so much to say and yet I feel that I've already said it in every possible way. I've made my words and actions the same. I've pushed on with brave faces and smile as poster children are supposed to, to some sort of gains which people can hold up and thank. I've sat in darkness with only empty bottles to console me and to remove the bitter taste of losing another inch. I've stopped celebrating and consoling at this point only to know that as long as I have tomorrow I will continue on this Sisyphean existence. Survivors learn to take what they need and to abandon what they soon lean they do not need. To travel light and to move unseen least difficulty acknowledge our efforts and decide to challenge us further. I understand that things will get better and I know that when moments are finally good to enjoy the taste of not victory, but of solitude before the beginning of another trial.

There is always another trial.

Always outnumbered and always outgunned.

There is a reason why I'm saying this. In a way, this is as close as I can lie to myself without having my hypocrisy call me on it. In a way, I finally understood the meaning of my questioning my answers and answering my questions. I've finally seen the the difference of losing and winning in this situation and I have to be honest now. Why I haven't tasted my own end at this point is something I've question now. If it's held on some remains of a code passed down to me that I now suffocate on or if there is some sort of flair of ending that I must please those who still watch this macabre action. It's why I honestly wish that there is no one watching over me in fear of me casting a finger of indictment towards the cruel and sadistic.

I would at this point pray that the machine is broken. God is dead.....or killed....or the top layer of the tower is empty, than to be the point of a moral or of an experiment for cold calculating minds.

There is only so much one can take and there is so much one can give up.

As I said before, I am a survivor. Childe of Survivor. People who in truth should not complain after they have made through. After all, those who walk away and have not otter scars do not have reason to complain. This had finally became clear just yesterday. The cold fact that stares at you as you stare at it.

I study motive and action for meaning. I question, research and offer hope to others who sadly look to me for answers I do not have. I fight where no one see and come to the aid of those who have no one. I try to make every action and word have some sort of meaning, wasting no second on frivolous chases. My eyes do look over to my Windmills. My thoughts do escape between the twilight of sleep and consciousness to rare moment and stolen time when I can be who I wish to be and forget who I am. Sometimes people get the rare sight of who I was, am, may or can still be and it bring me a joy and love that at my naked moment, where I do not defend myself from Secret Wars, that I do shine out for the moment and simply be.

Buddha mentioned that if we can lose ourselves in the moment that we arrive to the truth of who we are and what we are. We become not what the situation makes us or how society, people, life, family, obligation, past, sins, shame, desire, or need makes us, but we become who we really are. In those single moments that I push myself against everything that is, I finally lose myself and become me.

Those moments are too far between and almost nonexistent.

So sitting here I once again come to the point where I stare into nothing. I do not know what may come my way of if there will be a tomorrow to fight on for. At this point I know that survivors sometimes have to let one thing drop to allow them to save everything else they hold on to. And each and every time that they reach that point a lie is told that they will be able to come back to pick it up again. That once things get better that they will be able return to what they let go. That it's only the moment. The lie is told that they will come back when they are able to. A promise which at a certain point loses it's life and hope and becomes that lie. A lie that we often time can not live with.

I'm saying this because it's what I have to come into terms with. It's what I have to understand before I can move on again. It's the price I have to pay again in order to endure tomorrow. As much as I would love to go into the reasons, I can not. I don't think I can honestly do so. I have to let go of something else once more in order to keep everything else. I have to sacrifice one more thing in hopes of keeping everything else that I come to realize that I can not let go. One day I may pick it up again or I may relearn to live without it and remain a survivor, a vagabond, someone who is never part of what is there nor would understand if they are ever welcomed. Sometimes our actions to survive come at a terrible cost that in truth we do not know until we are able to be among those who have not lost what we gave up.

It makes us feel that we can never belong among others if not for a moment of life.

I pray I will not have to lose what at this point I'm trying to convince myself that is not an important part of me. That it will not make me hollow or distant at times to will force me to leave those around me when I secretly wish to remain. I seem whole on the outside but I'm know that I am not able to remain near others for too long. That I have given enough of myself to survive, but not to live. That I will never close my eyes and simply be, but waiting for the next way to come. Always waiting.

It makes me distant and cold. It makes me flaky and odd. It makes some people look at me oddly and other even wonder what makes me "interesting". Eliot said it best.

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow

My only hope at this point is that the price I paid allows me to do what many others can not. it gives me the ability to what must and needs to be done, especially for those who I love the most but I can not show.

I will be positive is not to set up a dramatic rescue that will come to me and allow me to be then to simply cheat what I face from the sweetness of it's victory. I will smile and I will have faith and above all I will continue to push against what I face until I can push past it to another task that will try me as the previous task could not. I will push on because all true Romantics push on and will never turn heels and allow what will beat us to savor its win. I will continue to be defiant and rebellious. I will curse with my last breath and laugh until I can not. I will not give in and will not go down without a fight. That I can do. I'm a survivor after all and it's what I am able to do.

Ha ha.....not one to make things easy for anyone.

So .....I guess I'm sorry. Perhaps all of this is my way of apologizing to so many of you who have tried and yet have been disappointed in me. Survivors make for terrible friends. There is a limit to what I can offer and what I can give. I can not help to feel cold and heartless in moments that demand me to be kind or giving, knowing that in truth I will not trust or allow those around me to feel that I place my confidence in them without having an exit plan. It's a whole lot easier for me to give what I can and to cut when I am no use to others. I would rather not be a burden to those who I love the most. I would rather cut them out of my life knowing that they will do better without me making their live harder than it should be than to be a burden. I've already been told that this is stupid by many, but it's my worry and fear. It's what's always son the back of my mind.

Or......I can believe in the machine. The crank will move and Jack will jump and everything will be ok. I can believe that when I need it the most, everything will be better and all will be fine. Things will be better this year and I'm worrying for nothing. I will laugh and laugh at all of it and we will look back and know that it will be all in the past. I have nothing to worry about.

Perhaps the Machine will work.

Perhaps.

Then again, I'm usually the one telling everyone, and perhaps you also, that things will get better.

Things will get better, right?

The Machine will work.

Oatmeal revisited.

Upon waking I knew that I had to eat. For reasons not given here, I have a love hate relationship with food. If alone, I've been known to eat a block of cheese instead of taking full advantage of the ingredients within the pantry and fridge. If someone else is in the house with me then I run towards the kitchen to make a meal, yet lately I've not been in the kitchen very much.

The kitchen represent everything that I love in truth. Food, nourishment, flavors and accents to marvel any pallet. Within the kitchen, I've made meals that express what I feel within. I've made chili con carne to inflame the soul, Alfredo with sweet scallops within a luscious bed of linguine. I've roasted pigeons, turkeys, and succulent beef to the wet any mouth who enters my radius of smell. If food my nourish the body, could it not feed the soul and inspire love?

To say that my emotions are connected to my culinary mood is to say the least. There have been many times in which I would rage with insult as to discover my omelet skillet scratched as failures of my attempts would only burn. I've thrown my share of tantrums and cutlery to discover other hands within my work. I've even prepare "poisonous" meals in which the unknowing fools angered me before or while at a hot stove only to taste why true feelings. I've gained many apologize after a spoonful.

And yet, I've discovered my passions had left me years ago as I stared into an empty kitchen and empty beds. there would be no reason to wake up sleepy faces with promises of French Omelets or toast. Pancakes would not take for of famous mice or other shapes that many would challenge me with milk mustaches. Laughter over meals only to be silenced with sounds of greed and gluttony are silent now.

Simply put I showed my love through my food.

My grandmother did the same as she would give food to families in need. So little to feed many and to make empty stomach filled with joy. So much effort and care would be behind her ingredients and motives. Even now I think of her and my heart aches. Perhaps I shall leave her memory in peace. It's still too fresh a memory.

Perhaps it was the rain throughout the night that caused me to enter the cold kitchen. I slept well and found myself hungry. I knew if I simply waited an hour more my hunger would disappear and I would not be bothered. Yet, the missing piece of my health is still food related as I fear of moment of not waking and continuing my sleep in a coma. No, I've made attempts to correct this and knew that it took a great effort to eat. Though this morning I felt hunger.

I stared into the pantry and decided on oatmeal. I would be kind to myself and heat water and pour over whole oats and be fine with my minimum effort. Staring over to three bad bananas I took two and left one behind. They remained green for most of the time, never ripening to their soft white flesh. They reminded me of plantains as they turned from green to tan without softening. No one would eat these. I might as well see to them.

Slicing diagonal after peeling the fibrous, stiff peal. Heat would make them better as I removed the nonstick pan. Within the pan they were soon joined by a few spoons of rich brown sugar and a pat of butter. The caramel melted slowly as I it lovingly enveloped the slices in a warm embrace. The cinnamon soon joined, as I cursed within for nutmeg. The smells warmed around me. Turning towards the fridge I reached for milk and a bit of cream. With a shrug an egg soon joined. While the bananas warmed and toasted in the caramel, a quick egg cream was made.

As the sugar slowly crusted over the pan the egg cream was added. The smells were awakened in the mixture as I opened the oatmeal. I mumbled a good morning to the Quaker and wondered where Baker and Candle stick maker went off to. As the cream went a golden color I added the oats slowly, quickly enveloping the oats into the mixture as I marveled how great of a cookie this should be. As soon as it reached the point where the starches melded, inspiration took hold and
shredded coconut was added. I shook my head towards the golden raisins knowing that everything now would compliment the oatmeal. I didn't need an upstarts. The oats were what I was after.

Heaping spoons was added into a bowl and a spoon added. I stared at the floor, remembering of oatmeal past. Thankfully the oatmeal placed on the table. I was good to wait a few minutes as the oat meal rested and cooled.

Bliss.

This was well deserved and worth the wait.

Lyrical Bounce

(If you are reading this then you must have nothing to do. Get on your music machine and hit the shuffle. Whatever song hits, you pick the most interesting lyric and so on. Once you get a repeat it's over.)

Like some cat from japan, he could lick 'em by smiling

I said, "Stand and deliver or the devil he may take ya"

I'm worse at what I do best

I am the heretic and I crave your excommunication

Karla Valdarama on the beach at Balmaha with a disposable cigarette lighter

So you think you can love me and leave me to die

Yeah, I dreamed that I saw Dali

I surfaced and all of my being was enlightened.

Spitting in a wishing well

A highway with no one on it

And its one more beer and I don't hear you anymore

Everything is clearer now

And I know that it descends down on me

This boy's too young to be singing the blues

If I don't meet you no more in this world then uh

Just when you needed me so

If you tear yourself in two again

But yes I'm still running

Behind my smile

Sorry but I cant take you.

Although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend

Cause where we been is who we used to be

But I guess that there's just no pleasing you

I reached out for the one I tried to destroy

If that don't get it you can catch it on the b-side

City is restless, it's ready to pounce

Bloody your hands on a cactus tree

We eat and drink while tomorrow they die

Yeah, I'll miss the boredom and the freedom and the time spent alone.

Tryin to talk to me koi koy

While everyone's lost, the battle is won

You think not telling is the same as not lying, don't you?

threw our shoes into the ocean

Celebrated victim of your fame

Oh, and do I deserve to be

My head is somewhere in between

We just wanna scream it louder and louder louder

We're beaten and blown by the wind

you'll think I'm dead, but i sail away

I care, don't think cos I'm talking were friends,

And you don't know where you've been

Shame you won't be there to see me

But there's work to be done now, work to be done.

Well, you tell me things I know you're not supposed to

When I look out there, it makes me GLaD I'm not you.

You disappeared from me

Even if it was would would you still come crawlin'

(My first repeat so I stop)

Saving a world not worth saving.

I honestly do not know how to start this. To be honest, I just rather not deal with this ever again, but it's not up to me. It's never up to me.

I was asked a while back if I believe in ghosts. I shook my head no, but I shared with them that some things, made of strong emotions, often do survive where or when we are. There are places that simply haunt us. There are things that happen that are so painful, moments in time when we realize what we really are and how fragile we can be, that the walls just soak up that energy, that emotion.

What am I talking about? Give me a moment. This is hard when sober for me. Why am I sober?

I held a friend tight once as we sat on the bathroom floor. She did something harsh to herself in the pursuit of ultimate joy when she realized that life was fragile in those moments. I held onto her as purged and cried. She told me her fears and what haunts her. She was honest for once in her damned life, as she began to tell me everything she believed that she needed to tell me. She believed she would not see the end of the night as her own Secret Wars waged within. She swore me to promises and exposed everything.

I simply held her. I held her and promised that she will return. I swore to keep the nightmares at bay and nothing would come of her. It was a sleepless night. There was no shame. And in the end she woke up in her own bed with me at her side. She picked up her tattered dignity and looked at me with accusing eyes. Nothing was said. Breakfast was served, small conversation was made as I left my hands to become busy cleaning any evidence of what may trespassed and left the next morning.

We were never really friends.

There have been many. I've had these moments myself. I've been there many times in fact. The feeling of lost control and knowing that this may be your last moments. The feeling of abandonment and horror.

How could you not reach out?

Avey was more then a mentor. Even now I miss him dearly. So much that I know I always get his name wrong and I hate myself for this. I hate myself a lot really when it comes to him. I'll get into that in a bit. I have to be careful walking this road. I've gotten lost many times here and no matter how many times I deal with this there is no resolution. There is no ending, but just .....

I can say that his presence in this world made my life not only easier back then, but it actually made me feel better about myself. He was someone I looked up to and wished to be like. He helped me not only understand life around me, but he actually taught me that thought proceed action. That actions not only affect me, those around me, but it creates an environment for things to come. That I'm connected to those everyone and everyone is connected to me. He taught me to think and choose my words carefully before speaking by thinking at least 7 times before speaking, something not only very valuable to me, but a skill that had taught me to know how to avoid trouble. A priceless gift when you are 17, naive and know that the choices that you made were not the wisest.

Time came when he moved away. I lost tract. I ended a life in some respects, but I always figured that I would be able to redeem myself and see him again. Kind of show him that I got things under control and that I turned out better than most would believe. Yet some years ago, around this time of year I was told that he died. No, no just died, but that he took his life. I got the news that somehow, my hero, this person who I looked up greatly to and helped me get my life in the right direction had committed suicide. It still feels not right. He had his doctorate in Psychology. He pulled a lot of people out of the mud. Not just me, but many others. He was a great man.

But, suicide? I still don't understand how. They told me he had troubles in his marriage. That things went bad for him somewhere. That he left his children behind. My daughter was his youngest son's playmate. I mentored his older son and secretly wished I would have a son like him. Sure, my life fell apart, but I would get things situated, placed in order and one day come back to see him to show that I was not a mistake. That I would prove myself to him. Show him that I made something of my self and he helped me do so.

But he is dead. He killed himself.

Where was I?

When I say unto the wicked, Thou shalt surely die; and thou givest him not warning, nor speakest to warn the wicked from his wicked way, to save his life; the same wicked man shall die in his iniquity; but his blood will I require at thine hand. Ezekiel 3:18

Meaningless words. Another life. A life that in some ways I was force to leave. It honestly does not matter really, but the lessons learned are still with me. I mean, the world was worth saving back then, wasn't it? I was going to save the world. I was young and optimistic. I would reach out for those who needed me the most. I would pull them out of their nightmares and give them a way out. Sure, some would be willing to leave the mud and some needed to be pulled extra hard and sometimes kicking, but they would be pulled out of the mud. If they choose to return to it once out, it was up to them, but I at least pulled them out.

I pulled many out. I even pulled someone I called brother out only to have him shove me in. He helped end my life then. He was the reason I had to go, but I pulled him out of the mud. Avey told me once that even if you pull someone out they may want to go back. He mentioned that some will pull you in with them in an act of fear to get themselves out. Some will even curse me for pulling them out.

My own "brother"?
He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother
Am I my brother's keeper?

So I started a new life, but old habits die hard. I'm not one to walk way. I'm not one to abandon anyone. I'm not one to quit simply because life was hard or the work great. I would push on. If someone needed me I would be there. If you needed help I'm on it. Old habits die hard. I'm too stubborn to give up.

So many helped. So many, but the world does not stay safe. The world must be saved everyday. It never stays safe no matter what. Dog warriors may be able to keep their circumference in check, but the world was huge. I pulled so many out. I held so many. I stayed the nightmares away, but.....

He killed himself. He killed himself. He fucking killed himself. What the fuck can I do now? He was not supposed to kill himself. He was supposed to stay strong and pull others out. He was supposed to be a rock. He was supposed to never fall or die.

He killed himself.

What could it had been? What was it? What the fuck got you? What pulled you down? What was it? What could have made you betray or give up what you taught me? Why did you give up? What crushed you? What made things so bad that you decided to just end it? What happened? Where where you? Who was there? Why didn't they do something?

He killed himself.

And where the fuck was I?

Where was I? Isn't that the real question? Where was I? What was I so selfishly doing that I could let him kill himself? What was I doing? Is it more important that his life? He helped me, why couldn't I help him? What the fuck is wrong with me? How did I fuck up this bad? How is it that I let this happen? Is it my fault?

Isn't it my fault?

The world is never safe. The world can not be saved. How is the world worth it now? Would I trade everyone I helped to be there? Would I give their lives up and leave people in their hell to get to him? To help him like he helped me? To repay a debt? To make sure that he can get out? To pull him out of the mud? To do what he taught me to do which I was not able to do?

Yes. I would let them all suffer. I would leave them on the floors, conscious or not, to get to him. his life is worth more than any of them. Some simply ran back. Others still don't have their shit together still and never will. Avey died somewhere alone and I helped some asshole just because he took one to fucken many hits from a bong.

Seriously?

I can't help to laugh really. I can't help to laugh cause I don't want to cry. How cruel can the world be? How can the world crush him? How can the world crush him and leave me feeling that I let him die. That I abandoned him. You call it hindsight? That does not make things better. It does not make me less ......lost.

I cut a lot of people out of my life recently. It was my survival that was in stake. I saved the world, but the world still needed to be saved. The world still needs to be saved even though I feel I lost track of what is needed. I save the world, but the world does not save me. The world seeks to pull me under.

I hate the world.

But I save it, still?

Yes.

I still pull people out. It's almost as if I attract the lost souls. As if they look for me with begging eyes to say something that will end their pain. Something that will make things right. Or they just want to know that what they feel, I feel.

Fucken world. I hate you more than anything. I almost hate you more than myself sometimes. I hate the world, because I know no matter what, I will never stop trying to save it. One day, I may even have to pay old debts and I understand that. I'm comfortable knowing that that day may come, but I still can not help it. I have to try.

The world needs to be saved.
We can not always save those who we need to.
We can not save ourselves nor would we try.
The world will always need to be saved.

I wish there is a better place.

I miss you Avey. I'm sorry I was not there. I'm sorry I failed you. I know there was nothing I could have done, but I still feel that I failed you. That I could have least done something to help you. I wish I can blame myself and be done with it, but it just does not cover it. It honestly does not cover it.

It's just fucked up.

The world is just fucked up.
It has to be saved.

6 to 9 feet

I'm going to start this off easy for most of you simply because the logic further on will bend and twist along the way and there for I'll warn you now and place the answer to it all in your hands now so that when things get a bit surreal you can always look at what you are holding on to.

I trust no one.

I've learned early in life that I have the uncanny ability to lie horribly. I can not lie to someone to save any of our lives, yet just as some develop methods of survival when they lose something that would make life easier, I've learned the magnificent art of shuffling words and playing with the long lost art of the innuendo. So that when some bring me loaded questions with maliciously silent motives I've learn to see discover how to disarm would be metal assailants. The Old Man least gave me that much.

I am a student of Machiavelli, a disciple of SunTzu and a follower of Musashi. When Malcom said, "..by any means necessary...." I lived it. When Nietzsche proclaimed, "What does not kill me, makes me stronger", I agree that this is true, yet just as any balance equation I've discovered that there is a price for all exchanges, especially strength. Do survivors have a right to complained if they made it out "whole'"? Do they have any right to recourse or should they simply be thankful to have survived?

I still ask myself today.

Trust is important. It's what allows some to become close and bonds to form. It pulls strangers into alliances and it's the foundation of honor, love, and goodwill. It allows people to slumber peacefully in a hope that things are safe, secure, and will remain so in the morning. It give pretense that life will continue and root will take. It's the cement that holds our society as one and it drives many to create change. Trust is something that many overlook, undervalue, and give too easily.

Those who understand how trust work and it's deeply ingrained significance have often learn how to take advantage of it. Promises are offered for the moon, a new tomorrow, freedom, redemption, a chicken in every pot, and their everliving service. Many have taken the form of those who we would place our trust in. They masquerade as those of authority in order to gain trust and in hope for blind devotion. They are only able to commit some of the greatest atrocities in humanity once trust is gained.

To explain to you why I don't trust leads me to do that which I can not do. It's probably why this is so difficult to write and more tempting to erase. It forces me to expose what I substitute for trust and why so many of you have realized that I do carry a hard look time to time. I'm having difficulty exposing myself because I'm getting nothing in return. There is no quid pro quo here. There is only me in the center exposing what I would never dare to in person. Here you have the advantage while placing myself in the disadvantage. I'm stalling.

You're still holding on to that, huh?

I used to trust. In fact, I used to trust blindly as many of you do. I trusted many on principle rather than merit. Even no I see myself carefree and smiling in my mind's eye, not knowing the nature of man and the motives of many. I trusted many with things simply for the assumption that humanity is something of worth. That everyone, as I once believed are simply doing what is best for all. The greatest pessimists were born from mild tempered optimists.

And yet, in my years here I've learned that I was an easy target for many. For various reasons and logic that only they could admire. To go over the trespasses of those who paths I crossed would make this too long and not worth mentioning. Many have gotten away with what they wanted while others are still near and wait for those moments to return. Some I shared beds with and others I've pulled out of the mire of life only to have them pull me in their place.

I've saved the world many times only to realize that it always need to be saved. That and each and every time you return a little more jaded, a little more colder and a whole lot more aware. Perhaps it's having someone wake you with a punch to your face. Perhaps it's having someone sell you out to get what they want. Maybe it's just using you until they are able to move on to someone else.

And yet, perhaps it's because I can not shrug things off. I can't walk away thankful or count my blessings in the end. Perhaps I'm not willing to use others as well as they use me. I can not take from someone without making sure they are willing to share or willing to give. Perhaps I was the only one who listened in church. Maybe I paid too much attention philosophers and took the words of poets to heart. Perhaps I watched to many after school specials. Maybe John Lennon lied all along or just died like so many others with their well intentions under a gunshot.

So no, I don't trust anyone. Not just blindly, but at all. Those who approach me with smiles are under suspicion. Words are weighed and analyzed for hidden meaning. Compliments are not acknowledged and my worth as a human being is only valued by what I'm able to offer others. Distance is kept between us to allow me to leave at any time and not turn back. In a blink of an eye I'm able to cut ties and move on. If needed to, an entire life is ended and a new one made. I'm am recreated and new people are given 3 years. Anything more would only make things harder.

Three years is the cut off. People never last longer than 3 years. It's odd how I've came up with the time through observation. People drift off and life interrupts flow. I welcome it and see it as a pillar of life. In three years I'm able to give my all to someone and to show them the best of what I am and what I offer. After those three years it becomes difficult. Distance is shortened and lines are often hazed. I'm not able to remain unbiased and withdrawn. I'm not able to offer free information as I realize they as an individual have become closer than I would desire. Leaving is harder as I wonder harder questions which I can not find answer to. Questions which force me to not look into mirrors and wake me up from sleep.

Those questions are the hardest.

Are you still holding on to that?
Good.

I've made those sacrifices. I've given up more than I realized I have. When you pull someone out of their hell it rubs off on you. When you try to free someone of their nightmares you see them too. When you hold onto people right at their breaking point you also realize that you hold on what is and what should be is not the strongest either. It's like knowing how you will die. I'm knowing how the end will be instead of being blind to that. It's knowing it's ahead of you and you can not do anything. It's walking around with the taint of past horror and can not allow you to sit among those you care for the most in fear of it taking them also. It's the knowing that you may make their lives harder than it should ever be that you come to realize that you are not going to do that no matter what.

So you leave.

You erase numbers and cut ties. You get away from them and hope they do not get around you. You remain silent when they mention getting together or spending time to catch up. You pull from others and change subjects to hint to them that your lives can no cross paths and that they(you) will leave on day. That it's easier for them(you) for them to move on than to bring you along. You will only get in the way.

They have tomorrow.

You have today.

.....

Does it take a toll? I don't know. Perhaps it's why I fall out of beds. Perhaps it's why I can not tolerate a kind touch not from my children. Why there is only a cold feeling if someone embraces you, knowing that you are able to cut them out easily. Why it's easier to acknowledge your worth as a thing or tool rather than as a human being.

How much humanity is lost with surviving? Is getting stronger worth the lost?

I still don't know.

So when I say I trust someone, I do not tell them that I have a firm reliance on the integrity, ability, or character of a person or thing or committed into the care of another. I really telling them that if (and when) they decide to sell me out and betray my confidence it....I will be ready for it.

In the end, I only fool myself. I believe that I have a mental bullet for everyone I know and in a moment I'm able to cut my ties without a price. I tell myself when it happens that I was ready. I may even say that it was the right thing to do and everything worked out for the best. I nurse my wounds and stagger on. I curse myself for remaining in that position and it was my own fault of allowing it to happen. Months will pass, I will tear the moments apart for some understanding. What I can take away with me as experience I welcome. It's the meaningless moments where nothing makes sense that haunt me. Time explains all, but offers no absolution.

.....

How much do I trust people? As far as I can....

Loving Bastard

Sitting in the Summer sun in the main courtyard, he pulled out his food from a brown bag when he noticed the first group coming towards him. A few of them dare come closer, now accustomed to this daily routine. He stopped eating fries for more than 6 years already and he's gotten used to not wanting them, but still gets them especially now. He's already given up reading around this time.

This would be one of the few moments of peace he would see again.

Some of the more impatient ones are already close enough to touch as he pulls his sandwich from the bag. Next time he'll ask for no bag. He feels guilty only walking 40 paces (and yes he did count them since this does bother him) to only toss the bag out. Such a waste he thinks as he takes a bite and then sips his soda. The noise is already loud enough to make some people look in between their conversations and pompous serenades. Not everyone should carry a guitar.

He ate the first two as usual, as the others protest more. He then sees the others tossing a fry here and there, noting the more selfish ones and which ones have their meals taken from them. he corrects this by tossing larger fries to the smaller ones. Little by little their songs become silent as they all eat in the summer sun. Soon the larger seagulls will come and spoil this small tranquil moment, but for now they all eat together.

Some people take pictures as others smile and walk on. No one stops and talk in fear of spoiling this moment. It doesn't matter since he's still not the most talkative person at the moment. He still has a lot on his mind as he wonders what needs to be done and the cost of such actions. He keeps asking if he loves her enough to do this even though he already knows the answer. It's at this moment he will discover one of life's hard lessons. It will return to haunt him as he wonders if the means are equal to the result and is the cost worth the effort.

"Some one has to do it."

The cold mind returns.

"I wonder if I can two green chilies next time. What do you think?"

The small bird chirps in anger as the Seagulls finally come in to take the spoils away. He tosses more fries to them in one direction while flocking the smaller birds to the other side. When he's done he'll tear chunks of wheat bun to them until it's time for him to enter the new class room behind him and struggle with Avogadro's number.

He runs down to the bus stop and gets on the 8 as planned. Taking a seat near the end the empty bus waits a few minutes as he gets off it again. He walks to the small park near his parked car. Not many cars are here at this time as most of the students have already left for the day.

Walking to the trash can he takes off the hoodie and pushes it to the bottom of the can. Someone will rummage through it and will make it theirs. They won't mind that it's a little bloody especially since black hides it well. Inside the pocket is the wallet with a bit of cash in it and the other forms of identification and credit cards. He took only what was needed and made sure to leave no evidence behind. On his drive home he'll toss the shoes into a different dumpster along the way. A freeway drive home and he'll toss the rest of the clothes in the Goodwill bin and drive up to the gym. He'll work out for a few hours and then drive home to pick up his father and get him to work my 4:45am. He'll sleep a few hours more and then get to school by 11am.

Nothing happened.

He drives on wondering if he should get a burger and a Red Bull now or closer to home.

He meets her for coffee at a small shop. She's going to UC San Diego in a few days and is moving down. He has a hunch he won't see her again even though she says that she'll drive up. They've gotten close in the past year or so. They spend their free moments when they can and forget their worries and troubles for a moment or two. Together they are different people. Their past are erased and they become who they wish to be or who they most want to be at that moment. She has already gathered at least two of his keys. She has the uncanny way of making him laugh and even stolen a kiss or two without him knowing. She will always be remembered as the one who used a cookie to sleep with him.

And yet, they knew that this would never last. It's not the kind of thing that lasted the test of time, but was a moment of peaceful and loving solitude. A moment to be someone else with someone else. They in truth were broken people who found each other in hopes to heal. He held her one night as she cried into his chest. He held her as she told her story about the moment she would not be whole again. She recalled the moment in detail as a special moment turned into horror. It wasn't the four letter word. They were dating at the time. She loved him. She wrote his name hundred of times in notebooks, went to homecoming, family dinners, and were a couple. She loved him. She still loved him.

Even when he gave her the money and went by herself to the clinic. She loved him afterward when she came home feeling hollow and hurt. She loved him even after the break up and even some times when their families get together for the holidays. She still loved him. She kept telling the young man that she still loved him as she cried in his arms. She cried and she still loved him.

"Tell me his name."

She was a little late. She sat down and started into the story before saying anything. She mentioned how a few weeks ago He was mugged in the parking lot. How her and her family went over to see him. How he was attacked while leaving work and no one saw. How the mugger took the wallet and then decided to him in the face with a crowbar. He lost a few teeth.

She went on for a while as he sipped fresh roasted amaretto. She then went on and on about the madness of moving and enrolling. San Diego was beautiful and how she could go over the boarder to party in TJ and how she already found a few places I would just love and even a replacement to our coffee shop.

Then the talking stopped.

She stared at him as he slide over a driver's license. Her eyes gotten large as she stared at him. Stared at him as if she realized she let an animal loose. He took in her stare while holding the large warm coffee mug. Jennifer has started the roaster once again in the back room. She shook her head no and then asked why.

He wanted to say, "You wanted him to hurt. You cried in my arms and wanted him to hurt as he hurt you. You wanted him to suffer as you suffer. You wanted him to realize he took something from you that keeps you from being whole. " Instead he understood that there must always be someone to do the things that others will not. There must always be someone out of view to do what needs to be done. There must always be one person to do the dirty work. Someone to toss into the fire. Someone to be cannon fodder when the need arises. In the end, there must always be a scape goat. Instead he said the words that he would say countless times.

"No one fucks with people I love".

She leaves. She calls him a bastard as she walks out. He sits there and realizes that even though he lost her permanently he doesn't regret a thing. He gets up after a few minutes and walks to his car. He then tosses a tooth into the gutter. He never sees her again.

A few weeks later he does get an email. With only two words on it, it finally hits him that there is someone out there he loves that he will never see again. There would be more to follow.