Keeping away from the Places in One's mind that Scare us all

Writing has always been an organic process for me, meaning that it has more of a flow of movement that I often times can't control even if I want to. For the past week, I've been staring at a blank screen wondering how I would begin to write with others attempts has been made well into a couple of paragraphs when I erase it all realizing that it's not something I want said. Not for the sake of censoring myself, if you know me well, I never censor myself even when people believe I should not say something. These are the moments when I usually cut to the fucking bone and get it out, but it's hard to cut through something when there is nothing to cut through.

The sentences that I know as much as I would know the faces of my children that are perfect sentences that would allow me to pour out everything that needs to be said happen in moments that I am not able to take advantage. The last time was between mile 3 and 4 into my run on Tuesday Morning. It was perfect and inviting and knowing that I was nowhere near any form of writing materials, much less capable of resembling human from a 5-month lapse in my running regiment. I would have placed it up there with the point where you know you are going to win and win big with any offense made mute by months of preparations and the awaiting arms of a lover with only a draped sheet separating us. Not joking. Those magnificent sentences are worth more than my weight in gold or what you'd find valuable. And to see those moments of great brilliance slip between my fingers are the equivalent of hold one's arms wide in giving some idea how large the fish was that got away.

Writing is difficult for me, something I have to be in the right mind or mood to flow without mental opposition. To connect the thoughts that I have been mulling over for longer times than most decide to choose a life-altering path in their future. If there is a more personal thing to me I would not know it. I have changed clothes in the open in front of many who either turned away or simply stared on and sharing my thoughts have always been more intimate than I could imagine. I've befuddled people who'd I shared a bed with only to have them declare me distant and cold when they could not pull the thoughts that I would sometimes chew on for some amount of time. Part of it is that I do not know I'm doing it and others have been simply too lost in the process that would have most consider my existence on the level of some cats who stare off to distances unknown only to lick themselves in a second with no continued exertion of mind.

I've before shared my thought process only to horrify and confuse many who do not realize that when I do have enough nerve to share my thoughts that it's usually to gain some insight to their reaction with a partial or even an impromptu thought experiment. A miserable few have ever been willing to give into the processes I endure daily. Most have to have that mental foot being slammed down, not even willing to entertain things that are disturbing and horrid, never knowing that they are proving my point and would have never considered anything outside of orthodoxy, almost as if they want to hide something bigger than they are willing to admit when I'm more than willing to expose my shame for some reflective insight that can assist in my train of thought. Never things that just get yucks from people like, "wanna fuck a dead body?" or stupid waste of effort in thought, but usually, attempts in placing myself in shoes of individuals that would have made other to cross themselves against figments of imagination when their own dogma does not require it.

I enjoy studying the edge. The place where most have crossed with enough pariah shame placed upon them while others would never go near for fear of it pulling them in and never allowing them to escape. I entertain the thoughts that people believe I have and the moments when words become useless and barbaric acts usually get justified in the end to redeem blood on hands. I subscribe to the Stephen King academy of villains being broken people who are pushed too far and usually are conditioned to being under the heels of monsters. I've met my fair share of family loving individuals who do share some tidbit of their process only to have it chill me to the bone. I've seen grandmothers justify rape as an act of beneficial gain for society. I've seen women condemn their own gender to toil when they have never had a callus. I've seen people who growl and foam at the mouth like rabid animals and wonder if they hold small children and tell them they are loved and protected. I've seen people laugh at some of the most horrifying things that can happen and thank their personal deity for it.

And I'm more than one willing to admit I have been among them and in some cases taken part. It's why I can not help to rethink and rethink the moments that I have been placed in those horrid moments without some inner conscious of telling me to leave as I do now. Most of my actions are often fueled by a guilt had in times of such ignorance that if I spend too long pondering I often times snap out of my thoughts with shock at tears shed. There is few moment of raw evil. The kind that children's tv always tell you exist. For the most, they are people who'd are more than human as must of us are, but somehow will debate you against another individuals or groups conceived humanity and how "they are not like us". Those words always chill. That strong assumption mistaken for law, revelation, or epiphany. Those thoughts that you'd shake your head and tell yourself that it could never be you. You are a good and kind person.

I question, what it would take. What would have to happen to cause you to be the nightmare you'd never want to have. Do you have to lose more or gain some? Would you need to be pushed or coerced even tempted? Would you have to have a way out or know that the one thing that keeps you a good person OR ELSE does not exist and that would naturally become your default setting? If the worst has happened to you would that be the justification? Is breathing justification? Is it by default justification? Would you feel this way 10 years ago? 10 later? Could there never be a moment where you'd simply snap or are simple people who do not share the seal of OKness that you project only susceptible? Are only the weak able to become such or do you have to reduce "good people" to such an inhuman state to be capable of said actions? Are some people simply made of shit or are they conditioned to be shit? These are only a few thoughts I ponder, especially when large groups act out in a way most are taken aback by and mockery is the only thing acceptable by small minds.

Perhaps I'm distant for a reason. Perhaps I'm just an ass. Maybe I have no idea what intimacy is or that my definition of it is something that would never be taken to the definition. I ask these questions now. Therapy is said to work, in which I can not believe, but most have said that there are most definable changes in my persona. I can't tell. I'm deep in and only attempting to find the hard questions I shy away from in hopes of not being trampled on by life once more. I know they exist if only because I am this way and I can not "openly be".

Sometimes I wish I had those perfect sentences like now. They would prevent me from digging up more things that pull me in ways that I'm told are harmful. I never noticed. Then again, I am in therapy and I am learning.

1409 words in 50 minutes.

Surround yourself among those who inspire Fear and Awe

I'm in that limbo space where you're waiting for a friend to do an event and where you are simply keeping time until it happens. It's that point where you are watching all these different people warm up, talk and work out personal jitters before they go through routines that would amaze people who are not familiar with what's going on and others who are in the know would consider failures.

My friend loves freerunning and parkour. Something I wish I was able to get into 15 years ago despite my aversion to anything challenging gravity. It's quite amazing, but the muscles and reflexes I've built up scream contrary to everything being taught. A personal shame really, but I'm good with it to a certain degree. I'm with her significant other as we with sit in the stands waiting for her moment to test into another rank that still confuses me. It's awesome to watch her do all the things that seem to mock the concept of gravity, although her significant other does have issues with keeping her whole and safe.

I feel the same way, although I more than understand the need to defy things all too well.

It amazes me how people drive themselves to work at something. It's beautiful in open spaces as each person go through routines, movements, and actions demanding balance and a strong stomach. All of us have at least something that causes others to cringe or make uncalled declarations of "I could never do that" to somehow soothe our own damage sense of value and to slightly diminish anyone with a weaker resolve than most. None of this is my thing, but the drive and the focus are more than admirable.

Watching her prep and watch coaches ask her to "do the thing" is cryptic as we watch her make moves and motions not quite understood. How the mind is able to store explosive movements in an almost mundane list format in order to process the sequence is almost blasphemous. Everything people are doing is more than enough to pull away one's attention. Even "failed" flips are amazing as landing are made with a bit of corrective stumble rather than knife like swiftness. All of it is amazing in the classical sense rather than in the post-hipster movement of "meh-ing" words into bleak guttural snarkiness with limp impact. "Don't think", "just drive" and become the flow" is chanted among others and to personal spaces as each of them, my friend especially, silently, yet sternly correct themselves to against "stupid things". Once more, all of this to the layman is spectacular, but these people who drive for a perfection unknown are not pleased.

Human anatomy is really a delicate design as intricate and delicate processes finely tuned yet still efficiently inferior to a mechanical process always striving to perfect the form. All of it driven by thousand of years worth of striving and reaching towards something better and reinforced by random chance and beneficial mutations. All life push and drive towards an unseen goal that is rather felt, yet mostly driven by a reptilian mind that simply wants to eat and not be eaten. Given enough time and we have Jordan slamming baskets, Serena slamming rackets and everyone else in between looking over to personal challenges with a drive rather than a "hold ma beer".

Her movements are now inspected and analyzed with a precise eye and calculative thatI do not possess. As long as she doesn't fall and land "wrong" I'm more than content. Judges keep poker faces in place and perform her rituals as we look on with subconscious held breath. I steer my gaze towards louder movements as people fling themselves towards objects that have my instincts screaming while others peacefully observe and nod with smiles. This is heavy. I never had these moments of impotent observations outside of my tourney days where I would simply scream out key phrases that demand harder strikes and cunning tactics ingrained with hard pressured sparring matches. A child off to the side drops from a failed attempt at the bars and lands correctly enough to be safe, but loud enough to raise concern among parents. A tiny voice stating "I'm ok" is raised as other cheer.

My friend cuts the silence with an odd giggle, not attached to the moment I focus on. I turn back and watch her once more.

She launches herself toward obstacles, tucks under while flinging herself towards a wall that limits her progressions with only fingertips pressed against the lip of the top. Only soft "fucks" are emitted until one was enough to break the judges stone facade and emit a nod. Her significant other and I exchange looks and nervous laughs. We make promises to exorcise our anxiety on her afterward over treats. Once again, we have no idea what's going on, but hand slaps are shared and we wonder, "was that a good?"

I'd like to apologize to everyone I place in this position over the years. Sorry.

She climbs up high once more much further than before and tosses herself off stoops to lower stoops while still considerable high up and far off. I can not be more descriptive at the moment simply because it rubs on my crazy towards heights and probability or happenings due to heights. Once more giggles, nods, and hand slaps. Cheers erupt as a child attempts to flip over a bar as all of his companions and those near him offer encouragement. He drops successful and we all share a moment of human struggle that even I comprehend.

She returns to us for a sip of water as we relieve ourselves of all the moments and meanings and sounds that can not find the proper vocabulary. We all nod and we wait once more in limbo wondering when and how it will end. In a blink, another test taker blitzes through a barrage of obstacles and in 17 seconds, almost expelling the residue of movement with an impact to his face. Significant Other and I both agree that mouth guard if not bubbles must be given to prevent faces from being smooshed.

My friend finishes doing some flippy thing as we both gaze back and realize with disappointment and relief that we missed something exciting and nervewracking. I'd like to apologize once more to the people....sorry. Once more she flings herself towards another obstacle on the bars as she slips through a smaller space made by an upright mat and the bar she holds. Nods and giggles are shared. We are still holding our breaths.

Sorry.......

I know she'll do well. She's made of amazing and this is the process in which she tries herself. Always surround yourself with people made of awesome, once again original term used. The kind of awe that causes your breath to stop and hold in your throat. That kind of awe where you shake in wonderment that you witnessed something too huge to break down at the moment. People who inspire stories that make those not there spur themselves in envy and lost opportunity. Never be the most interesting person in the room, unless your ego is fragile and delicate. Do place yourself among the giants of your thoughts who dare confess challenges that would cause lesser individuals to be driven away by their own awkward self-imposed limitations to dwell in safe spaces of their constructions where mundane moments thrive as weeds. I will never do most of these things without the inspiration of chase from things more driven to bit than mine, but it does push me towards the remaining windmills I would never dare to forgo for excuse of age or injury.

Dare to be magnificent. Your failures only disturb cowards.

.......sorry once more.

Hour and 9 minutes, 1,301 words.

When Birds of a Feather have to Reclaim One of their Own or I get by with a little help.....

Today was a curve ball. That's as best as I can describe it.

There are few moments when I can reconnect with people at home. I think I had that moment, if only for a second. Things got stupid for someone who somehow was expected to work the impossible when it was not her burden. It was a similar moment I had when I learned what a boundary was. It was literally cartoony, blatant as hell at how insanely stupid the moment was and against everything my better judgment offered I still reached out, not as a relative, or someone who is also surviving tendrils of abuse, but as a human being who wanted to offer a solution almost as fresh as spring water, cold and refreshing to them. In my most earnest and open way, I reached out and offered advice on how they should learn to create sure boundaries that prevent people from assuming you are the scapegoat of their ineptitude. I think I reached, but I will never know and I do not have that hope that most deluded or innocent people have. My time was running out, I needed to go, but I stayed as long as I could, hoping my words had meaning and that they reached them. Perhaps I am nieve, a small child who simply wants us all to do well, to be healed, to be free of nightmares past. I had to reach out and only when nausea hit me I had to go, trying to hold in imaginary sustenance.

I would have to be a fool to say I am that jaded. I just don't want to be hurt anymore, even if I have to grimace and pretend it isn't to ruin any victory to those who find nourishment in the pain of others. I am strong, but there are moments when I have to lay down in seclusion and fall apart from holding in so much. I was already feeling that I was getting sick and that would ruin what plans I had left that was not taken from me. As much as I hate to show it, it kills me every time that I disappoint anyone I care about. I once repealed so many until they forced themselves into my morbid and empty life to accept that I was their friend and even brother in this small moment we call life. I never wanted to be loved or depended on. I've failed so many before and failing more only weaken me in ways that I can never display to others. Moments that make me wish for early death. Moments that I know that once you disappoint someone you lost that mercy when they see you as you wish you were rather than what you are. That is my only chance to hide among so many of you. 

Yet, I drove off pondering my time now. Things were looking better and I have yet to explain to many patient people what pulls me so only to realize that it doesn't matter. In the end, it really doesn't. The law is cold and sharp and cuts where it chooses to despite what you exclaim as truth or why it happened. There is no gray because it takes time to consider it. It's simple to line everyone up, ignoring motive and effort and mark them as you see fit. I was starting to accept that I'm was going to have to swallow some more. I was going to have to ingest something that I still believe was not my lot or what I am. Does not matter. Because I was placed in the role despite of those whose hands wroth such actions are worse off than I ever could imagine being. Haunted by the actions of individuals who I would consider forces of nature and destruction that you'd have to be a fool to believe they ever had compassion or free will of their own. Individuals who still seek forgiveness that I can no longer give despite of how hard I seclude myself from them.

It's why I whispered those who suffered the hells for another's hand and whispered a merciful thought that they can walk away with no connection. There is nothing and no one to bind them for decades.n Once they find the strength to walk away I myself will ensure they will never follow.

I wish I was so lucky. 

In my melancholy reflection, I've realized I missed my exit and had to endure with my waiting to exit a congested street that only led to slow drivers and construction. With unknown patience, I suffered my way to the parking structure and exited for a bowl of happiness and a friends time. Too stuck in my own mind to see them already ordered and seated I walk about wondering if I sent them elsewhere and I now must contemplate how to beg forgiveness. Mercifully they arrived to pull me back from my own mind and into the restaurant. Fighting nausea and possible stressed sickness, I choose a regular bowl of what I usually can not have enough. Soup so well prepared that it can always fill you up with warmth and happiness. Immediately, I remember how delicious a friend they are as they pull me back to who I am supposed to be. My closest friends know when I am lost and in their ways, they either snap me out of my mental imprisonment. This one friend I am more than convinced is a Disney Princess despite what can be seen, but what is felt. They are of a gentle nature that they can soothe even my apathy with almost an erupting song of hope, joy, and love that seem to be sung as if The Rose was near. They are One of my most cherished Unicorns who always have a way of pulling the small, trusting child out. The child that loves freely and fears nothing. People such as them are rare and I have two who share a bond that would cause envy to any antediluvian deity.

In minutes, I lose the weight upon my shoulders and I feel free. We laugh and they shares moments saved for my enjoyment since we are not able to spend days together. We share laughs and insight and even an occasional stroll in order to digest what we had eaten in the most enjoyable way. They understand my fury and angst against places which does not serve Taro, especially since it's almost a birthright to said places. They understand that I say the most oddest of things and even allow my puckish nature to escape if only to show them that I can be roguish, I just choose to behave due to their Princess song. Then naturally we end up changing roles allowing me to sing to birds who will do my chores and have them play with mirth and mischevious acts.

I mean, thats what friends do.......share, no?

We find a cafe and we sip our forms of tea, them with boba, I with delicate glass tea cup and saucer. I always regret that I can not find a monocle and top hat to exclaim to the world how posh I am in these moments and realize my pinky extended is my only method of conveyance. Yet we sit and sip and soon I arrive at the point where I can speak. And they listen.

They know my ache. They know well what poisons me and what causes me to lament in seclusion. A story that always causes me to lose effort and desire to be, only to realize compassion sits across from me. I always risk losing people with my stories. No.....memories. they sadden me thinking of them and the only way I can speak them is monotone to prevent me from shedding tears. I used to tell my tale decades ago as just that, tales. I always lost people whose constitution was not prepared for such. I used to lose people who always looked at me differently, either with pity or dread as if I would get misery on them. They are made from....well, Disney princess stuffs so they listen, nod and tell me what I never want to hear.

"It's not your fault. This horrible thing just happened to you and you're trying, we all see you trying to get out of it. Please keep trying."

Right? Warms your heart, huh.

We spend out moments together a bit longer as we wince from soreness and perceived age. We embrace and promise we will see each other soon. They are a goodness. I need people like them in my life.

I end my nomadic pilgrimage at the residence of the Shorte Blonde who greets me with warmth and love at the door. After fixing her meal and-and allowing her to stretch her legs she joins me in the spare room and find her usual nook to curl up with me and slumber. We are at peace until her people arrive at which more of my closest friends arrive and I slowly awaken to see their most adorable progeny grinning a smile of pure sunshine. Her namesake, or what I perceive as her namesake, just won the Nobel prize for literature and decades ago tramped his way across the nation with an open tuned six string and a book of lyrics. I embrace her and lift her above me to land into loud smooches and smiles. She is also happy to see me. We sit and dinner is offered with close embraces and kind words.

I am lucky. I have so many magnificent people. It was how my Crazy Doc pulled me up, by my love. How can such a wretched creature be surrounded by such magnificent people if he too was not one of them? 

Boom, right? I still don't think I'm special, but I have the most amazing gathering of awesome in the form of people. 

We spend time, they allow me to join their family as if I was their own as so many do, and I offer what I pass on for love. 

In the end, I collect my thoughts now, everyone including the Short Blonde slumbering in peace. I look over to my watch with my small collection of picks, CPR mask for that case of horror to come, and a small disk with a tiny dagger next to it. In harsh moments, where I need to give myself the benefit of the doubt and a bit of leniency I look at the words etched upon it and remind myself I have another delicious friend who boasts that I can not abandon her for the amount of time passed has endured a decade and that I'm stuck with her. I laugh now, realizing she also has pulled such a pessimistic ass out of his own idea of angst. Due to distance, her, like many, can not be close enough to arrive at my door and force me out. She has to rely on the most amazing banter, pleading for my stubborn ass to visit North, and small reminders that she is there even though she can not be there in person.......to tell me I'm being stupid. 

"Not Today"

She understands how close I've been and how closeI can get to the Abyss. The Abyss is distant now, but there is always wisps near and a threat that I can lose my initiative and fail all saving throws, even though I love to say, "I'm fine."

Sitting now, writing to another I realize I am wealthy. I have people throughout the nation who knows who I am. I mean the real me. The one who isn't scary, or stupidly odd, or *shrugs*.

I mean, for someone to endure me is amazing. And if I honestly sit and think I'm surrounded by so many who love me, who think I have some value, who know I always aim to do the right thing, even if it's......odd...that my social anxiety always drives me to oddness and when it's really bad they can lure me out with a cookie or two.  I mean, can I honestly complain?

No.....I can not. 

Life is hard, yet life is also good and if I work hard, it will become better. 

Peace and love.

Be good to each other, no?

When Pets get so Comfy they become at Risk of Darwining

Pets in some ways are kind of "de-evolved" versions of their undomesticated relatives on the tree of life. Usually, most animals have an ingrained sense of self-preservation that kicks in to make sure they don't suffer anything that may kill them. In fact, most of our weirdness comes from the fact that we are not listening for the rustle of weeds that will give us a few seconds warning of the big monster that plans on dining on our entrail. So all things considered animals are pretty good at not dying from their environment. That considering, the pets I'm looking after are a bit derpish in this department and I have no idea why.

The dog lives in a gorgeous building that is not only safe, but even outside is buffered with a large promenade on a cliffside area that overlooks the swamp land....oh I mean the wetlands near here. There is grassy areas and even a putting lawn for people who'd find that lovely. Plenty of fountains and poopy stations where they offer you bags for your pet's waste and a handy side compartment to place bagged waste in for your convenience at least 10 yards from each other. It's pretty plush. I know at least 20 dogs who'd love to take advantage of the area including two-hour street sweeping that just takes 20 minutes and their own bicycle police who peddle and look at me with prepared anticipation of mayhem. Yet I'm going to say that these pets are beyond soft. In the grand scale of things they belonged to some monster's supper or in modern day's time a victim of their environment.

The dog has no sense of danger. She's sweet and loving in an almost desperate, stalker "I'm under your bed smelling your socks" sort of way. Yet the biggest thing that bothers me is that she has no sense of danger. Mind you, it's probably because her people have her in this sheltered mind frame and that's fine. Not my pets, not my burden. I'm just sitting. Yet when there is only one-way traffic here so you just have to worry about looking left for the majority of time here, this dog blatantly walks into the street with no regard to what can happen with the eagerness of supposed lemmings. Most trained dogs stop at the curb and at least waits for instruction. She bolts across. I've known people who lost pets to an open fence and cars are usually the murderer considering they would venture out in break neck speed towards careless or even malicious drivers. Here the traffic is one way and slow. Yet this dog wants to be a statistic. At best I have her waiting  past the curb, looking back in her annoyed and derpish face. "Why aren't we running into the street?" Because I'm fucking in charge and your stupid will probably get in the way of my payment if I want to look at this coldly and at worse I am still trying to retain the few hours of peaceful sleep I have.

The cat.....the cat is what gets me the most. I've known many antisocial cats. Cats who'd retain their spirit of defiance and rebelliousness towards domestication. Cats who still murder, I say murder because they don't eat them, but usually have some sort of serial killer alter to their newly deformed prey, for the simple act of murdering. Cats who climb curtains and even attack dogs. So this cat has that. It has a kind way that's more of a "fucking human scratch here" only to be met with a slashing paw and hiss. This cat is savage. I leave it be and it wants to be left be ......when it's not in the fucking way. In the bathroom? I don't want to have bloodsport, I just want to shit. Under beds? It runs hisses and scares the shit out of you because you are a monster. So you'd figure it would have some sense of self-preservice?

Nope!

I honestly do not know if this is stupidity or just sheer will of "I do what I want, bitch." This cat walks on the stove. The hot stove while I'm cooking. I'll turn around and it's on the stove trying to eat what I'm cooking off the pan. And it has the fucking nerve to make a stand there as if I was fucking it's shit. Cat, I just want to get paid and the nice people her would like you not on fire and if you pull this shit on me again I'll light you on fire!

Grrrrrrrrrrr......no no really. I would never, but damn if it doesn't want to piss you off. The xenomorph from Alien has more charisma and cuddle factor. I have usually spent years trying to win over the most skittish of cats, but NOPE.....Fuck this one.......just don't light yourself on fire or want to have mortal combat when I just want to pee.

......I should have charged more. I might not come back. I love the pup......as it stares at me with serial killer eyes of affection and wonderment if my skin would make a better sofa or lamp, but with hope and effort, I can give it enough street wisdom to ensure it's survival if it ever went outside without a daunting amount of attention. The cat? The cat is on my fuck you list. I just chased it three times from the stove because it wanted to open up a covered pan with hot oil in which I made my morning eggs. So savage and yet so stupid.

Morning respite over Coffee and the Sundering of American Life or My take on Clint Eastwood's Pussy Generation

*sitting in kitchen with second cup of coffee listening to a lecture. This is his first time this week having coffee. Since he's running an average of 14 to 17 miles a week now, coffee is a no run day delicacy to be savored and cherished in these silent moments with headphones in ears. Looking out to the yard and street a large truck favored to construction workers wail on it's train like horn at a lowrider speed as it's large bounty of fruit glistens with freshly hoses mist. Blueberries would be lovely later if not for a fridge filled with them. It's difficult finding a decent sushi restaurant or a pho shop, but fresh fruit is never hard to find, often putting to shame the produce often shipped third rate due to geography and likelihood to fall for "organic" labels considering that the majority of people here have raised crops at one point or another in their lives*

...hmmmmm...they want a wall.....*sighs*....they actually want a wall......

*he shakes his head and tries to forget politics and the growing fear among most people here that the nation is actually going to bear down on them like in the 70's, or 30's, or worse. "Illegal" immigration have statistically not only ended in a trickle, but have regressed with families not able to afford their homeland once more and knowing that land is plentiful, they haven't seen their families in decades, and their children and grandchildren have thanked their sacrifice as societies "shit people" and "whipping boys" so that they can be citizens, gain the opportunity of an education, and actually give back to the society that once considered them vermin*

.....Pete Wilson.....Ronald Reagan......Roosevelt *sighs again*

*It's funny how it was the "Mexicans" now as it was the "Italians" then. Or the "Chinese" or the "Japanese" and the "Irish" and even the "Blacks". It's always someone else for the problems that never seem to be solved in centuries. Whipping boys are numerous and easy to find. Any population attempting to exist in a society that does not give them a fair shake out side of letting you live here will always find their place in some newsletter or web site or blog calling for the mongrels to be cast out either by political control or by weapon, all depending who the president is. Patriots become rebels in increments of four or eight years. It's either may way god bless america or it's don't tread on me you other. Nothing changes. Videos are made, people capturing moments of horror that only now the majority of White America is witnessing with a saddening response of either never knowing despite of the amount of history books or simply defending why a twelve year old child playing with a toy gun was deemed worth of immediate execution. People are horrified over a gorilla's death or "assassination" never understanding that young boys are sat down not understanding how sex works but how death may happen with a harsh word, not complying to every opportunity, or simply making the choice of buying something from the 7-11*

......nothing changed. Just more people realize it and are either appalled or even overjoyed......

*life was hard in the 80's. He was always a trusting child. If told police would give you baseball cards then they did that. He had several and the Dodgers were huge to him. In time he would stop believing them heroes as the violence of the streets he lived on increased with the drug war and the romanticized view of the gangbanger. It makes him laugh that word has changed meaning in time considering the horror he's seen and the friends he lost. Drug money, poverty and an easy score lured many to it only to have the majority laying bloodied in the streets, the young in prison, and a legal and political system not realize that opportunity is limited in these areas and the youth needed saving, but were condemned as animals, without family structure, or without morals. Their horrific warlike terror was seen as reasons why you would arm yourselves and that ignorant people are just criminals by nature. Ah, the 80's. Most see it as joyful folly, he sees it as twenty years of justified police killings and a funnel of prison to communities who needed FEMA or someone to realize that poverty kills. It kills, but it also fills coffers. Everyone feared the NWA, but no one realized that segregation and police brutality from Lynwood would fuel Compton's rage. Today what NWA alive are selling beer or overpriced headphones. "Hard niggas" of the 90's now have MBA's and are community leaders who suffered the hell of the day to give a new generation a new day*

.....privileged kids....pussy generation...*sips mug only to realize that it's empty, yet holds it to take in happy scent*.......trigger warnings .......and the fagot generation.....ha......"make my day"....ha ha....

*kids are fucking pussies. It's an easy thing to say. Almost trying to wash it's hands from what is and what responsibility have wroth. Clint Eastwood made his money by shooting niggers and thugs because Merica needed a dirty harry. Charles Bronson murdered rapist, spics, and hippy druggies to make his streets clean with a large manly gun. Arnold stopped smoking weed on camera and stopped chasing pussy to bulk down and say one liners while shooting gangs and Sandinista and commie shit that one day he would be given the chance to ruin California's economy. Bruce Willis stopped trying to play the blues on stage and picked up guns against the russkied and socialists and anyone with a funny accent. Chuck Norris has no testicles, no! Bruce Lee's bitch has only two more fists in his sack and be ejaculates spin kicks. Such a delicate thing, the male ego is and it seems the more "privileged" it is the more women and people of color has to bow to it to make it feel superior. Paula Dean isn't a racist really, all she wanted was niggers to dance in white like in those Shirley Temple movies. And Black people did back then under an age of oppression, lynchings and making any small move lead to death. They tapped danced, sang and smiled on stage. Women swooned at the turn of the century then wanted to vote even if they bleed all over the booths, the uppity bitches. Wet backs wanted a fair pay for picking poison sprayed produced that caused birth defects in their young. Remember Charo? She shook her body to hoochi koochi while Brown children wanted to go to a better school and be prepared for college. The Rat Pack ruled the world even if Sammy could do anything without half of the nation calling him a nigger jew.*

.....I got to be me.....poor Sammy.....

*Mr. Eastwood wants this back. No one complained because they had no voices or they got lynched via mob or police. The faggots were just faggots until Harvey Milk took a stand and was shot. Malcolm called for revolution by any means necessary and was shot. King wanted to follow Gandhi's stance on nonviolence and was killed when he spoke against a war in Vietnam, the commie nigger cheat.....he cheated on his wife you know.....filthy nigger. Black Panthers were killed on spot by police or informants planted information to ensure their imprisonment. Student organization where under surveillance and multiple organizations were torn apart from the inside by those who wore the same color for the bidding of Blue. People to this day believe that crack was devised by the CIA and AIDS was made in labs to decimate the population of those who are unwanted. It's conspiracy at best, but when Ronald Reagan holds a press conference and the question of HIV is brought up laughter is had about the male homosexual disease. Investigations are discovered that police and even higher government used dirty measures to catch "crooks" only to have them overturned, damages paid, and police departments on charges. What's worth when someone is made to live in a wheelchair due to a bust? When they ARE a criminal and the charges were made up and they were placed there with "good meaning" yet a dirty outcome. It's funny even now the ghosts of gangs and militants are used to scare white america. They're going to get you so more guns and in schools and in church and in the bedroom. In my youth, gun violence was a normal thing in school as one guy was shot over gang business and rarely in daylight. Drive by were common and we wore colors that were not "colors". We were called animals and savages in the halls of Congress. Then Columbine happened and more up to Littletown. We never killed our classmates, "only the cost of business" as the lyrics go. Yet this was something we needed to cure, now the epidemic is all over. No I worry that The Jungle and Crenshaw is being gentrified by a generation of white middle class who somehow didn't get the memo of what monsters we are. Children who's nannys played ranchera music and taught them Spanish while cooking and cleaning. The animals raised their children to know what tacos are. To fuel the foodie revolutions of enjoying other culture's food when they were reviled for being different. This new generation of white people are adventurous and friendly to a culture who had warned their children to keep their heads down and "don't cause trouble"*

....Good days.....when are our good days?

*He called his daughter privileged, but not to insult her. To make a point. He told her, if he lined up the generations of their family from her on the end to their great grandparents who rumors fought in the revolution and had that generations "white people" call them a filthy racial something, her great grandparents who had rifles in their hands because of need rather then ego would only look down and be silent. Her grandparents would do the same, but a glint of "uppity" might escape. Me, my generation would take a breath, calculate the threat and choose our words carefully only to be silence by her and her generation pulling out their phone, recording the happening and armed with a flurry of facts and outraged that has made them the "pussy generation". Oh my god, triggers. You should not rape because bad. And you should not shoot people because bad. Your argument should not be won with a bullet because bad. Straight Male privilege is bad because it oppresses blah blah blah....pussy generation, see? Keep your head down, do a little dance, and make that delicate privileged ego safe. Dirty Harry hates your complaining. Chick Norris, a man who afraid of chemtrails think that nonchristians are a threat to all because they exist. Arnold did the most republican thing while fucking California over by fucking the maid! That ugly brown bitch! Not like Shakira...that girl can shake and ass....booty booty everywhere, Bra.....Bruce Willis needs his guns everywhere or else he realizes he has no career without them. Paula Dean is a person of her time and she don't care because someone like the fact that niggers danced in clean white clothes and made Shirley Temple happy. They knew their place. Charles Bronson died in a lucky age where brown people were shot at and not reasoned with. I guess he's the lucky one*

....they want a wall......not better economics.....a wall......

*The time scares him a little. The threat of Alt Right worries him. The people who side with Merica even if some nigger, muslim social commie fagot prostitute who turned tricks for the drugs is in charge and ruining everything. The fact that Skin heads are being met with violence from a generation of leather clad vatos who are not going to let an angry minority end a protest with violence. They will fight back even if they get stabbed and arrested and held while the offending group leaves with bail. The world cheered and said that is what you do to "Nazis". Black people are arming themselves in Black Panther manner and protecting Mosques from Mericans and their guns. Brown people are not to be messed with anymore. The faggots are not, and they realize that Harvey left them with a great example of unification beyond who you take to bed with and to stand against who threatens you, even if it's not a "gay thing'. Unification means protecting those in need rather then each for themselves. So, he's trusted enough for someone to come out to. He's willing to hear someones tale or horror that is filed with rape, racial disharmony and gender trappings even if it looks like he's the "bad guy" in the story. People's voices are expanding and a new generation joins those commie, race traders who sold Merica out into realizing that one's privilege is often the removal of rights to others to masquerade as privilege. Hearing of horrors committed for their benefit only to realize it's not. Poverty is a universal unifying point, yet people are told this group or that group is to blame by those who gain from that lie. Merica has a sad story of it's own, once sung in country music but now often drowned out by patriotism. Everyone is coming together to a new idea of everyone making it, not just few while fewer gain most, but everyone, even the skinhead whose anger may one day wain and cause them to question. We've all been played here. Fear is dying out for some and for others the only means of unity. These are frightening times. That a man who has no allegiance other to himself would be the ALT RIGHT choice, god's choice. The White Race's choice when sadly......it's not. The game is blatant now and with that all the mechanisms are seen for all who dare. Yes, some want a wall and that makes all of us to pull together. Fagots are to blame and it pulls us all together. Religion is used as a weapon and even atheists hold the line for what's right. Women are divided on gender roles, race, and privilege yet in some happy moments unity happens. This is a frightening time and yet it pulls us together.*

.....but will we hold or let go once November arrives.....*sigh*

*He doesn't know and that scares him the most.*

.....they want a wall......

*He takes his mug to the sink and washes it out. Ikea is on today's list and beds must be picked up. He doesn't run today, but the previous nights soreness and ache is still prominent as he shuffles towards the bathroom.*

...I'm getting too old for this.....

Relearning to Feel Feelings Often Offer Once Rejected Offenses or Going to Finish What you Left on your Emotional Plate When you didn't Want it in the First Place

Felt lonely just now. Considering that I don't feel much outside of anger and the occasional puckishness, this is something. I was told that I'm going to have to reintegrate alot of bad feelings before I can be "normal". So far some annoyance and some anger.

So this is different. This is hollow and loud silence that almost shouts. It's feeling out of place and left out. It's knowing that there are people who would warmly welcome you and others who will bring you into their fold with a warm embrace who you haven't even met.

I would like to say that this feeling scares me, but I'm more then used to it, being an only child and just having to do things on my own for so long, even when I'm part of a large group. As as much as I honestly want to to belong or be needed or even be someone's, I've been here before, some trips shorter then others only to return with a faint remembrance of who I once was picking up shattered pieces of who or what I was.

Being me I've learned the hard facts that one day I will probably pass alone as many times I've live hard and good moments alone. Some call it horror, yet just like being chilled by cold there comes a point where it's not felt and the fear fades.

I honestly don't think I want to give that up yet. I've been over to the other side and see how grass can be green and such. I'm not impressed. I've met many loves of my life only to lose them in a bad turn other simply not being what I assumed by their presence. There is strength knowing I can walk away. I can be detached and not care. There comes a point where loneliness makes fool of others while you know well enough how the song goes. I won't ever make that mistake again and as much as 9 years celibate can be daunting to others, I have not spent any moment with someone who made me feel less then what I am, feel abandoned, or even shocked when a secret moment of insanity flares up and you realized the person you made your life with exploded into something you can still not believe.

I have my stories. I have my scars. I've said enough. For that price, I walk freely. I will pay less for tickets and always arrive stag. For the same price I will always sit on a dysfunctional see-saw, will have no one waiting up, will have to make dinner in silence unless I decide to fill that noise. Considering it all, I'm good.

So I'll listen to 12d3, play along on the guitar, sigh a sigh of sleeping in a cold bed and if lucky sleep a slumber unaffected by others. For this, I will keep what's left of me together considering I've given enough of me away to those who didn't need it. I will never have to share my treats. The couch will always be mine. I will always use my spare time for my use and privilege.

It's a harsh trade, but I'm already used to the draw backs. Just need to become accustomed to the benefits.

The Echos within the song, tells the story of Two Women

Two women in my life. Both I loved. One tore me apart and left me empty and shattered. The other loved me every way possible until we had to go separate ways.

I feel their echos tonight.

One I realize I still love in a horrifying and disgusting way. She meant/means the world to me, even though she isn't near. She left some time ago and made sure that she salted the ground of her exodus. She made me to doubt myself while I wanted no one but her. She left me feeling used and worthless. She left me feeling like a whore, unworthy of time, effort and love. She left me hating myself to ever having to love her. She was the world to me and in the end she took it with her. In the end she left and made certain that would not even cherish the memory of her without cringing on what she left. I can not even smile at a happy moment between us without feeling choked up at how it ended, or how she ended it.....

.....or what she did. 

And so, I feel alone, empty, shattered and heartbroken. 

If someone was used to being struck strikes another out of habit or reflex is it still pardonable? Was is being accidental still not as hurtful? Is how she cut your heart out not as hurtful or damaging? Or destroying what little faith you have in others just as crippling? Is it pardonable because someone else is better? Or you were just there to pass the time? Or in the end it was all a regret and you were never supposed to be important to her? That .....regret? What hurts more: the injury or the salting the wound?

That wound still healed though. That wound is nasty to look at and hurtful. That wound still causes a twinge of pain when it's cold and it still make you wonder if it will ever function again. It introduces doubt that anyone else so close can harm you again in that way. I guess she wanted to make certain she was the last woman I loved.

....because if that's the case, she's right.

And yet, there is another. I remember her in the emptiness of the night as I drive through the maze of the city. I wonder if the we listened to the song together or if the singer's sweet and loving voice reminds me of her. How she drove to me. How she picked my shattered self from the floor knowing that I receded into the depths of my mind and suffering with no senses on the outside. And yet, she loved me. Tenderly and with meaning. She fed the trust when I didn't want anything ever again. She held me close with a dedication that I should not cause more harm to myself that someone has already committed upon me. She remained there slowly feeding small morsels of joy and kindness into a selfish and pain creature who wanted nothing more than to die of shame of needing another. She loved me and pulled me close because she knew I could not make the words come out from such a hideous wound. She offered compassion and understanding even though she knew I would stumble and fall. 

I remember asking her why is she even trying. Why is she wasting her time with me. She told me that I would understand one day and that day I would remember her. That she was simply doing what someone has done for her and in the end isn't that enough?

I also feel warm, loved, cared for and inspired. 

Isn't it?

And so, I feel alone, empty, shattered and heartbroken. 

I also feel warm, loved, cared for and inspired. 

One case I fear getting close to any one for fear of doing what she had done to me in the guise of hurting her and leaving me needing someone who crushed my heart and made sure she was the last woman in my life. In the other I feel one can only hold a torch for so long without lighting yourself on fire and at that point you deserve to be on fire. So drop that shit and reach out in pain and fear and love anyways. Make sure she isn't the last one in my life and to make certain that I make sure that the salted earth left behind blooms brighter than before. 

So I feel alone, empty and heartbroken. I also feel warm, loved, cared for and inspired.

Above all I feel alive now and that's all I need.

Shower Epiphany: I'm not alone, I'm with my thoughts.

I'm safe as is. I'm protected as is. I've been alone for the majority of my life and I don't find it odd or annoying. It's just how things are. What is annoying is that I keep being told that I'm always alone as if I can't be. Mind you I would like to hang out now  and then and I do miss having my back scrubbed in the shower and that whole benefit of living longer, but I wonder what's worse for me: being me and having space to be me or being told that it's unhealthy and I need someone attached? I've been attached to great people with some peppering of assholes and I have to say in the end of the day, I like knowing that if things work well, I will die alone.

I'm not saying that to be an ass, I'm saying it to say when you have to go, even with family by your side, you go alone unless something horrible happens. It's natural to go alone. Outside of sitting on a see-saw, I've never had an alone moment. I'm used to thinking in my head or what someone called "Secret Council" which in the end was someone's scared attempt to read all my thoughts and know what I believed no matter what, a la Big Brother. Sorry, but this seriously fucked me over to the point where I don't want people around me. You can't force people to be what you want them to. I think. I think alot. I think so much that I rethink what I just thought 7, and now 8 times, before I even mention it to SOMEONE ELSE.

I am a quiet person. If we know each other well I will make noise and be active unless I'm sad, tired or sick. If you know me very well you know that I will just become quiet. Where we share the same thought and I don't have to talk. This is me silent and at peace, or.....not thinking. I am actually feeling the moment and happy. Not withdrawing. And yet, I am an isolationist and for being one I must be shoved into limelight and autopsied. Why? Because I'm quiet? Or I seem sad? I will tell you when I am and half the time you are just assuming thoughts that I do not have.

Seriously people, this shit needs to end. People are nice, but being alone is just as nice. People wear me down. I can't explain this to you, but I see myself as a battery and I will light up the moment and make things awesome, but I need to recharge. I need to rest. I need to be alone for the sake of it. I'm not plotting against you, judging you nor am I forcing you to act out some guilt that I don't have. I have an awesome imagination. I read and write. I enjoy the moment and make memories for those quit moments. I find you after months and finish off our conversation as if we just saw each other. I don't see time and space the same. My best relationships are with people who have not seen me. They know me in a way that people who look at me or know what my voice sounds like don't and will never. If anything I'm from a time where letters offered a chance to speak minds and share thoughts.

Sorry, I don't have the ability to say, "Hi, I'm George Cloony."

I think. I'm attractive thinking. My thoughts are not only brilliant, but frightening and cause change. I'm not one to speak my mind unless I have something to share that is of worth. My words have weight and meaning. I've always said that I have a silver tongue but golden fingers, simply because my stutter, didn't you know I stutter, takes over and shuts me out from the outside world. I was the fat kid who became dangerously thin due to disease and then taxed with an insolent body that I would force to limits, so in truth I don't see myself as attractive. I speak well and in an hour I make friends. I pull people out of slumps, I motivate, love, provoke, and commit acts of blasphemy that will make you feel bad for laughing so hard, that's if you don't pee on yourself.

So no, my value does not come from others. People leave as they should leave. Thoughts are immortal. I think I've chosen well.

.....

And then again, it's nice to get you back scratched or get some soup when sick.

Oh well......I'm vex with independence.

Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part Seventeen – Sopa de Cavalo Cansado or How Not to Tenderize your Dead Horse

There is a special place in Hell that is made for me and for me only.

A hell that seems to haunt me today, even now, as I relive the past for clues that never were and hunches that do not exist.

I'm getting ahead of myself here. I'll explain this once more even though it feels I've explained this so many times already......hence my hell.

I always feel that I've missed my calling at times, since I'm usually a marvel at the details. Things that help me wonder for hours that a small question can usually answer. For example, while running I reached a set of houses that had a giant riding mower cutting that grass. Most people would have not payed any mind, but automatically I told myself that that mower was very large and that it would make no sense to drag it around to site to site. It had to have some place to leave it when not working and by the look of the property it looked like that there was not suitable place unless they occupied one of the small garages to place this any any other landscaping equipment. Mind you, I questioned not because I wanted to find where it was or even ask the people what they did with it since it would automatically paint me as someone with an interest in the mower. It was a puzzle that I wanted to answer and it kept my mind sharp.

It wasn't until yesterday when I saw one of those giant pickups with the double tires in the rear with a massive incline in the alley. That answered my question and at the same time it fueled more. Not to ask or to investigate, but to simply assume on what information I can gather while running by for 15 seconds.

That is how my mind works. To some that would be exhausting and yes, there are moment in the darkness of predawn where I am up hunting down google wondering if Stephen King's monster in It was in any way Lovecraftian only to discover a few essays and vast information on youtube. I've been woken up from the slumber of a dead sleep only to drag myself in front of a computer to find out a random thought here and there only to look up and realize dawn had arrived and left.

Mind you, all of this is quite brilliant and it often times fuel amazing conversations with people who out of rudeness and a lack of "hallo" I've simply continued our last conversation with a few more thoughts and analysis that I've had the chance to reflect on. To say I'm a spur of the moment thinker is to say that turtles are excellent sprinters. I may take actions in a heart beat and some may even complain that I move faster than most, but within my head I often am reliving conversations had and moments that simply baffle me.

What's my point?

Getting there.

I'm going to start showing the links to this chained thought, so please hold on and remember that I'm working to the end even though you may feel that I am simply waxing on poetically or painting a scene. I'm working hard at completing the thought so that it can be put to rest and allow my mind to clear if only for a moment.

Try to follow along.

I can't recall from where or want to really, seeing that I will investigate why I focus on one link and not the whole chain or at least that is what I will say now, there is a mystique about the idea of a mix tape. I know I am dating myself a wee bit, but there was a time when music was hard to get hold of and getting music was an amazing thing even if you could just drop a few songs on a CD and burn them. So in my time on this planet and about, I've made a few if only for my enjoyment and since the creation of the MP3 we can say that this have mutated to the playlist and some sort of cloud, is it? Either way it was meaningful to get a CD from someone. To discover new music or a band that was just starting to bud. Music is a personal expression and sometimes just getting a batch of music means so much.

And yet, I have never equated it to getting flowers or candy. Not only due to my gender, but I've always been someone to share things I've always felt were great. I'm the person who offers everyone in the room a bite of what is tasty even if I only got a bite from the experience. I'm one to promote the qualities of others and to boast the greatness of all things not me. I've always been a giver and connect the act of giving with good feelings and even joy. And yet, I'm not one to see others giving to me and see it as anything. I'm usually one to say 'no thank you' or 'I'm good, thanks' and yet I've been told that sometimes you have to accept things if only to offer the person joy and appreciation. I understand that but something sick and twisted in my life had me equate keeping things with loosing them or watching them become destroyed so if I ever get something of value I either give it away in order to allow it a chance to survive or even protect it with my life, but only for things that I'm able to carry out of a fire in an undaunted hand while dragging someone with the other. I don't put importance to things because when someone can that something you find joy in and destroy it in front of you to see you suffer you wither learn not to place joy in things or to hide that joy from the world in fear of someone finding it and destroying it.

I know. Sick and twisted, no?

So I try not to accept things and offer much thanks and kindness. That kind of shit sticks to you.

And yet......mix tape.

.........

There are few people in my life that had honestly either changed me or tried to make that attempt to a better person or who loved me in some sort of way that was not completely destructive to either of us. I'm one to say that in the mix of psychopaths and narcissists who have wrecked my life in their ways, I'm met people....women who have fostered some hope and kindness in my heart. Their leaving for one reason or another has in many ways inspired me to take more steps in life and at the same time caused an ache in my heart that only strong bourbon and the blues can relieve. I used to cut them out of my mind in the past and deal with moments that they would show up time to time in my dreams and thoughts. They haunt my mind and inspire my imagination as Muses lost and desires unrelieved. I use them as a bar at times when wondering who is worth my time and other times they are the vexing torment that has me shake my enraged fist at a world who had taken them away from me,even if I can understand why. When someone arrives that this place I can not remember their flaws nor recall what difficulties they may have offered. They become more myth than human at times and yet I know that I have to detach myself from this in order to have any future at all.

So when I hear that some people give these items as a show of affection and even desire I panic. I remember and look back and I even pull apart my things to that I can hold them or in this case the CD. Holding it now in my hand it baffles me now on how stupid or oblivious I can be to someone. Looking at the writing on each song, times, titles and artist as well as a small bit on how I should think of this just hurts me now in the same way a Blues Man would relive a moment of pain to inspire numerous songs that still do not reach bottom the well of despair in their heart. To hear B.B. King moan or John Lee Hooker literally weep out words that convey so much agony only those who live such a moment can look up and realize someone else feels what I can not set to words or music.

Beware of Artists for they blend with all of us.

Ha.....sorry....I'm feeling this now.

So to say that I loved this girl is saying so little. So little to the point that I've told myself no matter what I must keep my distance if only to save the the trouble of my chaotic life. I still see myself as a source of chaos now and carefully limit my time with people I care most now if fear that I may cause them some sort of anguish. I would rather cause myself pain that any one else. So you can see why I'm apprehensive on why I spend time with others and who.

Speaking to a friend, who I shall call The Philosophical Punk, I've always remarked that she had a harem, or to say a collection of men who follow her about in with puppy dog eyes and unsettling photos of their genitalia on hand. We've traded horror stories and laugh at the blatant actions of those who would gather her attention even though much of the time they are either seeking an ideal she can/won't supply or are simply sub par to her, i.e. 'as soon as I get out of this ankle bracelet I'll move near you'. Something not to be enjoyed even if it provides suitable laughs. And yet, she has on quite amount of times shown that I have a 'sidekick'  of sort. Not a harem in comparison of her minion count, but a female sidekick that may change actresses but usually is an active role. At some point I can usually shrug it off, saying that sometimes you get paired with someone from work or is just someone to pass the time here and there and to go for a meal, but to say that this has no merit is to lie, even if there is nothing I may want from them than a meal mate and someone to hold an intelligent conversation.

And yet, there is always a sidekick. If not one there is usually someone who I can confide enough to have a moment respite in my chaotic life. Someone who I can have coffee with, talk about the thoughts of the day or even laugh with. So there is a need, even if I do not look for these people. I can even think if I placed a call and gathered them together I can. They are not minions or people who would do something for me, but individuals who I in some part adore and care about as one would a sister. I've even told some that I would never want to sleep with them if only to tell them that I'm pulling myself out of any race that others may stubble over others in desire for their attention. I'm not one to fight for someone's time and have always seen it as what little I can get is more than enough. So I'm not collecting people in the traditional sense especially my strays are something all together different.

But that's for another day.

So spending my time with someone .....anyone is not a huge thing for me. It's a treat and I enjoy it, even if we are too busy chewing to talk. It's just someone to take my mind off my life. Someone to share a kind moment. Someone who I don't expect to be there in my life. If anything it's Me featuring Them. Just something that I'm not concerned with outside of just a moment. Are they unattractive? No. Do they not have qualities that I would find attractive or even desirable? Sure they do. I truth I just don't see myself as anyone/thing worth the time of others. Yes, I know. Sick and twisted, but this is what I'm dealing with. I'm at the point where I figure out that people like me enough to get near me, but I'm not aware that I am worth their time in the long run. Especially when I've look back and see my relationships never made it past the two year mark. There is something faulty in this and I'm now at the point that it has to be me. So I am not one to chance at losing a friend for a chance of a bed mate anymore.

I've already lost too many brilliant people I could have had as friends who I lost as a lover. In the end, I have to say it's me somehow. And that is what my mind had been doing. Something that the Philosopher Punk, calls something between masochistic and hateful circular thought where I am to blame no matter what. I call it regathering the evidence and trying to figure out what was. Mentally returning to Cold Cases and trying to see if new thoughts and views offer any new insight that I may have missed. Reliving history long gone for the sake of never having to relive it again. Mentally pulling and searching the wreckage of  the downed moments, searching through fields and crevices for what is missing and what never was to rebuild it over and over and over again only to realize it is never enough. I can find an answer but it is never enough nor is it the answer I've been looking for.

The last one who had left my hear was just 5 years ago. I still think about her still and wonder, but never one question. No matter how I put it out of mind, I somehow rush back and rebuild it all even though I am more than tired of this, I still obsessively look thought it to realize what was.

But never .......

And I see it all and think that I could have done something different and could have somehow salvaged or even made it better. That I for some reason ended up overlooking something and this something is the mix tape. Perhaps, mayhaps I could have changed things I could have made things better for both of us. I could have somehow salvaged enough of us so that I would not be haunted by her or her absence. That I could have only made things better and maybe even find that one thing in me tha is of fault and that I can repair so that I do not feel that I am at at fault and I am to blame. If I only listened to that mix tape more or studied it longer or even....

Stop it.....

If I can not solve this puzzle how am I going to live with myself and allow myself to sleep and rest and move on. It's my fault somehow and unless I find out how or why......

Yes......ask it.....ask it the right way.....

.....why it's my fault....

No, but you are close....a little more.

Why it's my fault?

Come on, one more time.....

Why is it .....

No....don't run from it. Face it.

......my fault.......

Come on. Say it all.

......why is it my fault? Why is it my fault?

There you go.....answer that one. Answer the one that you always turn blind eyes to.

........ok.

.....I'm doing all of this to find a solution. I want to know why I screwed it up, but in truth I'm just .....hurting myself. I'm tearing myself apart in hopes that I can make amends for making someone feel unloved.

Keep going.

To make them feel that I've hurt someone. So cause someone to feel unwanted and unneeded. To make them feel like I was made to feel. Unwanted, unneeded, a hindrance and someone to blame. I would even love them if I didn't because it's a horrible feeling that I can....

No, not you.....stop it....you didn't do it and you never done it.


.....I'm afraid of making anyone feel like how I felt. That feeling of hurt and worthlessness. That abusive feeling of nothingness that equates all the problems to.......

Come on. Say it.

.....to me. That it's my fault. That I somehow made things worse and believe that I am to blame for everything. That I am so willing to accept blame and swallow all the blame to make things right. And that is my problem. I automatically blame myself...because...

....watch it......don't do that.....

....it's my fau...

STOP IT.

......I'm afraid it may be me?

All of it.

I'm afraid that I'm to blame no matter what. That in truth I'm only responsible for my actions and in truth I can only be responsible for my actions.

There.

.....but if I can somehow....

WHAT? You can control the actions of others over what you have done? NO, it does not work that way. You are making your self worse than you ever were. It's not your fault. And if it was, so what? That does not make anyone else less responsible. You did everything right and you even try harder than anyone else. If no one can see that than what good are they?

......but I.....

Feel better if its your fault? Really? How is that? Where is the math attached to that?

.....

You are only digging in an area that has been dug and nothing may come out of it. There is no answers there. You know this.THINK. What do you tell others. Use that now.

.......*sigh* Yea......I tell others that if someone wants your attention they will cross Hell and back if only to see you for 5 minutes. And when someone does not want anything to do with you they will disappear off the face of the world.

Yea...

Yea. Yeah. In the end I'm beating up a dead horse and I'm the horse. There is no use and there is nothing wrong with me outside that I think there is something wrong with me. I mean, there has been people I could not get rid of nor could I even shake. Some people hunt me down today and I do what ever I can not make sure they can't get to me. At the same time I know others who are able to walk off. And .....that's ok. It's ok if I was never worth the time. I'm not worth their time as much as in truth they were never worth mine.

If somethings fall apart it's not just me. I try to make things better, but it's not all on me.

It's not.

And here is where I stop trying. Because I'm just finding new ways of kicking myself down when others just run off and keep going. Some just to cause the same shit over and over again. So.....no. Just no. I'm not going to do it anymore. I'm just not going to kick myself down for something I had no control over and could not do alone. In truth, every one has to share in the blame as well as in the rewards.

So why dish out double the hell just to give up on any reward? Do I honestly deserve any? Am I not allowed to pat my own back even if I deserve more? I know others can't step on my throat if I'm not doing the yogi miracle and doing it myself, but damn......really?

Really? I know I'm mess up and twisted, but I'm not even doing this for something I want outside of hating myself more?

Really....what the fuck?

*throws CD into trash and moves on*

There you go. Good for you.

Shower Epiphany: the horror.....the horror.....

I've realize something that chilled me to my bones.

I've never said I wanted to write fiction. Even young I never told people that I wanted to be a great writer. A writer of stories and epic novels that would have people clinging to every word from my imagination. Or even I wanted to write to fans of millions who would crowd a bookstore one day for a glimpse of me and even have a small bit of talk while I sign their books.

I said I wanted one thing only.

I said, I want to write horror.

....

Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part Thirteen – Everybody Wants To Rule The World: Breaking out

*The month has been a volatile time for me as all good revolutions are as we shove against self contained spaces that we either out grow or we find too confining for our own good. So I whole heatedly beg your pardon, I wish to state that for the lack of time and the promises of keeping certain information safe until I take respite within the Earth unless I am to prepare myself for midnight calls and knocks on doors with no physical hands to be seen (you don't want to know. I'd sooner swallow mine own tongue than to pass upon knowledge get that is too costly to suffer). Saying so, I shall take artistic liberty and combine a month long conversation with many people who still remain in shadows or who outnumber my most ambitious desire to honor their effort. You know who you are and I am always thankful*

There's no turning back 

Even while we sleep 

We will find you

Sitting in the sunny room he nervously looks off distance while she sits in front of him. Many years his senior and well known to his deceptive mannerisms, she humors him as she allows him to remain distant yet knowing that there is nothing more he wants than to be close as thieves. Warm tea and cookies serve only as a plot device as well as to expose the chink within armor too overwhelming to carry. She know he had done what she called for as he sits uncomfortably and prepared for the outbreak of Secret Wars of long ago, yet still to realize that there is no one left to fight. after some time she leans over and coax he to open up. This time and space is unaffected by the pace of the world, yet as we all know time has unwound here. Time is meaningless with what task is at hand as a long moment of time has become a blink in seconds for our purposes.

She is letting him have it, but this is all in the past. Pleasantries are something they do not bother with as he asked for something he usually administers without holding back. "To cut to the bone", you give a no shitter that is blunt as it is quick. You do not ask for one as hope to be made felt better. She respected him enough to cut deep and quick as he asked and yet, it has been something he still chews on, knowing his eye can tear apart everything and everyone except himself. She does take some relish in repeating it time to time if only to get him engaged, but with each time cookies get a bit fancier and the tea a bit richer, yet she hold no reservations on what was, is, or is going to be said. Bile with triple dutch chocolate chocolate chips.

"I don't think you know how much you struggle since you are honestly deluding yourself. You are a stone terracotta warrior who shows not remorse, nor shows anything but the weathered age you carry with you. You are ancient beyond your years and you envelope yourself within a malice that was never yours. You are a kabuki samurai with a creeping giggle. A paranoid rabbit who fear to let down his guard for being pounced yet you yearn to nibble on what good you find. You are not a cruel person nor have you ever been. Your guilt is evident of that. You carry a sadness of things forced upon you and you flog yourself when ever possible to prevent others from the joy of making you suffer. "

His cold gaze towards the nothingness changed direction towards her in a guilty confession that his eyes could never hide. Almost filled with fear as well as bracing himself to be struck down with an oncoming blow as one fighter would expose and exploit to down his opponent. She continues on.

"You live two lives that can not continue to coexist. You carry an air of rage and fury yet, you kneel down towards small children and become warm and comforting. You carry an aura that has many avoid you in a wide circle yet you draw animals onto you with a gentleness that seem more natural to you than the ugly scowl you hold. Since we have been friends for all these years I demand that I meet this phantom that you hide and remove the ill spirit that haunts you now."

It's my own design 

It's my own remorse 

Help me to decide 

Help me make the most 

There is something about people who can wield words as some declare expertise on weaponry that has a way of disarming him. He always yearned towards his unused wit that only make some showing when a snide yet sharp remark is to be made. To play with words as some play with actions was the way to draw this phantom, as it seems as his hard gaze suddenly became exhausted and yet yielding a delicate smile that only pass too quickly for quick glances. And with that he took in a breath of air as someone would suckle smoke within and released it as if the weariness of what he carried was not to be endured anymore.

He spoke more of why he was tired and even of a feeling that he held that if he shown some weakness and even compared it to being surrounded by vicious dogs that would leap on to you with a slip or a stumble. That as kind as he is with the errors of others and the folly of those who attempt to hurt him he has either worked so diligently to remove anything that would cause others to find fault or target or to preemptively strike himself down with a fervor that no other can match nor would attempt. His self flogging was his way of punishing himself for his error, human as they may be yet his own humanity is to be self denied at least until those he fear will not bring down any retribution he has already suffered before. His own justice would be demeaning yet motivating to cut out that "weakness", yet within the hands of others that human error would be as sharp as jagged hands in the hands of savage cruelty, always aimed the point where he could not defend himself. While others were schooled in how to learn from mistakes or how errors were simply a work in manifest of the effort made to reach perfect, his errors would time and time again used against him. It was only recently when he was already attacked for "crimes" committed more than a decade ago at an age where most were allowed to discover their age appropriate foolishness.

"I understand more now. You have always been a gentle soul, yet you've realize that the world has a perverse way of tearing gentleness out of others. You have made yourself a target and fodder. You have done things to save yourself from the hell of others while allowing yourself to somewhat punish yourself for not being able to survive as such. You've made yourself the martyr got the inequity of others and banners man for the 'Secret Wars' that you were pulled into that were never your own. You invite the hell within to acknowledged that fact that there is hell. You suffer for the ideal of suffering and you invite the worst of what may be to make sure that if you can endure that pain and still move forward. And yet, you are your own worse enemy, assigning assassins to attack when in fact there way not be any there. In truth, you save others in their need and you have never been saved, have you?"

Welcome to your life 

Acting on your best behaviour 

Turn your back on mother nature

He looks up this time and his eyes shimmer as hard pressed lips hold back a wave that can never be mistake other than pure disappointment. She waits while the question sits long in the room until he realize that she had released an elephant into the room. She uses his honesty against him in the only way to force him to see what he refuses to admit. It is not enough to allow silence speak it's volumes. HE must be made to say what his mind does not allow him to say. He finally stomachs a response with a cracking voice, he says.....

"The warm jets can be heard, but they never arrive. The Calvary arrives when the onslaught is over and there is nothing to bury but the dead. Shoulders are always looked over only to find no one....no one there. There is no retreat since there is no tomorrow promised. I have to jump first, be vicious and relentless before I get overwhelmed. I have never won. NEVER. I've only lost and lost heavily to the point where I have to readjust what is losing and what is making sure they do not win. I can only force a stalemate if lucky or at least make sure that their victory is tasteless and vile. So no.....no one has or will save me and you can not ever convince me that I will ever be saved because that child has already been lost. I can save others, but I can never be save." 

"Tell me why you were not saved?"

"You do not save the expendable or the worthless and I am far aware that I am both."

The breakthrough left him rasped and shaken, yet he continues to sit. Conversation is continued as time is bent and warped once more. A philosophy of worthlessness is shared in which he says that he had learned the nature of many simply by taking on a lowly role or being Machiavellian enough. He is quit tactical, yet his methods would have the general leading the defense and losing the war for the mere thought of "what is right over what is best". His ability to map out the cruelty he has face in the hands of others marveled her. How he declared placing himself in positions that tried the confidence and trust of another only to note that people would make offering to wolves as well as they say good day. Conversations reach upon those he does value and after some insight there is a mutual understanding that the concept of redemption is never a venture that is taken upon one's own shoulder's unless it's their own.

Time moves slowly here as the bend often loops and allows moments to be relived. The understanding is that he has collected a good amount of favors from many who have valued his help and yet while it may be true that it may be easier to reunite shoulder and joint on his own when certain individuals are asked to honor promises made in the past, others have attempted to assist if only move aside. Favors are as valuable as uncashed checks and even their ink is lost with time and scrutiny. He's learned that he value assistance more than promises, yet no one will be willing to assist until you have taken the task to hand for yourself and many times it is completed with help as soon as an end is visible.

No one saves you still, even if you are close to the end. Especially then.

There's a room where the light won't find you 

Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down 

When they do I'll be right behind you 

 And yet, the discussion has reached their experiment. He was questioned over the time apart and if there were any changes. From what was shared, there was hope of change, yet he did drag his heels along, almost as if he did not want to be proven wring. Appealing to his scientific need was a double edged sword in this case since he demanded proof for what he had years already seen, yet he could not deny anything that can be done coldly for science. That coldness is something that he takes too much refuge as a child would take need of a blanket against the horrors of the dark. And yet, it has been the best way to get him to take the chances he refused to. Small chances, such as letting his hair down, hug someone, don't hide his laughing face or even harder tasks such as tell someone he has an attraction, tell someone they mean alot to them, or even take a stupid chance and dance and sing, even if it means drinking enough not to care.

All for freedom and for pleasure 

Nothing ever lasts forever 

Say that you'll never never never never need it 
One headline why believe it? 

Everything was shared. He did not like the risk, yet he was kind of surprised. He felt as if he has somehow emerged from a long nightmare only to feel, for a moment at least, that he was actually human, sweat, blood and bone. He felt the need to be touched and the need to be needed. He enjoyed laughing at his end of anxiety even if he dreaded handing his number or even smiling and keeping eye contact from longer than 3 seconds. He was a creature of shadow and did not appreciate attention even if it meant that he was human with needs. Attention usually brought him more than enough problems and still refused to keep any for of communication that he could not turn off or have some grade of anonymity. It has taken him years and his last experience with mobiles left him sour, especially when few have discovered where he was. In avoidance, he have eluded stalkers and annoyances alike, yet he understood that even if he found the whole process repugnant that his days of seclusion were numbered.

I can't stand this indecision 

Married with a lack of vision 

They sipped in silence as he knew what was next. A new task in humiliation or how she described a chance to make human contact. He laughed before yet more than willing to continue. She smiled and said that he had to wrote this moment. He had to write once more, not on his need to numb or to make his pursuit meaningless as so much Naloxone would do, but to admit his "progress" for all to enjoy voyeristically and to exhibition his heart" as torn and tattered as any such organ would be without making any reference to half pound prices (HA, fuck you!) and yet even that much insolence would be addressed soon. even though his act of rebellion would not be considered too much of anything other than "bitch noise".

And yet he knew what response would come naturally afterwards. "What is it that you want? Why are you even listening to me? What do you want to accomplish?"

To her response,

".........I want......another cookie."

"Of course, you ass. Of course. Perfection is a long while away. Until then, we have cookies."

So glad we've almost made it 

So sad they had to fade it 

Everybody wants to rule the world