Tears Of Red

If my tears could have a color, they would be red. My heart has never ached like this before... all that was within it has leaked out. There is nothing left to piece it together... no ribbon promises, laced words or paper embraces. What I have become and my place in this world are mocking reminders of what I wanted to be... for you and me. This reflection won't fade in time, for it serves as a memory... a warning to the future and a reminder of what to seek. There is nothing left to be mended or dreamt... no towel to wipe down the imperfections. Loss is nothing new nor is the feeling of despair... but what I have been left to feel is beyond my previous knowledge. I cry rivers of red today... and the stain is all that remains.

It Still Bleeds Red...Though Thick And Cold

Rather than post more of my ramblings or perhaps a verse from long ago... I decide to post another one of my favorites, from a far greater mind than my own. I can think of no other words that can better express my current thoughts.


"The Sick Rose"

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy;
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

-William Blake

So Much, Yet So Little

I try to open my mouth and nothing comes out... would it matter? My tongue has brought nothing but further confusion, sorrow and remorse... remorse for the things said and those never uttered. Perhaps I have said more than I intended... more than I realized or hoped. As I write, my words become tainted and my heart uneasy... the right words won't come and the ones that find their place are often troublesome. I fear they do nothing but further the distance between what once was and what now has become. I'm cold and without solace... I am alone here, watching you slip further and further away.

The Clarity Within Confusion

Today has been a bad day... these episodes have become more common causing greater confusion. When the turmoil has passed and the tears cease from forming, I am reminded of something that brings some clarity and comfort:


"I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched."

-Edgar Allan Poe

The Price Of Heaven

When I was a little boy, around the age of 5-6, my parents began giving us gifts quite frequently... we were quite spoiled to be honest. My father had a very good job working for a major cigarette company as a supervisor so money was the least of our concerns. I would come home from school with my book fair slip and instead of only being allowed to order 1 or 2 books, I could order as many as I wanted. Every Saturday morning we would go to Toys R Us and he would buy me a new G.I. Joe, He-Man or Transformers... often times we could even get two of them. Christmas was a gluttonous feast of presents, as well as birthdays or any occasion one could have to get a gift of some type. By the time I was 7 or 8, between my brother and I, we had the complete G.I.Joe, He-Man and Transformers collections... I also had the Choose Your Own Adventure books, not complete but something like volumes 1-102, it is hard to recall. Well, around that time my Father found Jesus on an old, rugged cross on Sunday morning. He was saved, instantly forgiven for his mortal sins, cured of his alcoholism and guaranteed a mansion in Heaven.. all for the small price of saying I'm sorry and please forgive me, Jesus. What a wonderfully generous opportunity, Hallelujah! Needless to say, things were going to change very quickly in our home and there would be a heavier price to pay for the non-sinner, non alcoholic children in the home... my Mother couldn't have been more pleased. Jesus came to visit her in her room a few nights later and told her that we, the children, were going to suffer a horrible fate and burn in the eternal pits of Hell if we too didn't repent of our evil ways... we needed a purge of our mortal coils. So the following Sunday, after a radical church service, we went home and were instructed to bring all of our worldly possessions out into the backyard. This was a direct order from my Mother and Jesus, so there was no arguing or questioning such a bizarre request. So I gathered all of my toys, books and records and brought them into the backyard... minus the stuffed animals of course, she needed those to torture me for years to come. My Father and Mother were gathered at our sandbox praying... speaking directly with Jesus I assume. They told us to place everything into the sandbox, so we did... don't question your Mother and Jesus! My Mother then told us how Jesus said that the only way we could go to Heaven was to purge ourselves of our worldly possessions. She went on for sometime about us burning in Hell forever and how we could never have peace and would gnash our teeth in torment begging for a peace that would never come. Then my Father handed us, one at a time, a bottle of lighter fluid and my Mother simply said, "Do you want to burn in Hell forever?". At this point we were terrified, all of us screaming and crying, "NO!". She smiled and replied, "Then you must destroy these things of the world, least you destroy your very soul.". So, we sprayed our worldly possessions with lighter fluid and each tossed a match on to the massive pile of sin. We watched our belongs and dirty souls burn in a fiery passion of Christ, thus ensuring our mansions in Heaven... what a glorious day! Oddly enough, that next Christmas we began to receive presents again, basically of the same type... except for He-Man. I guess those new toys were Jesus approved or something or maybe we just deserved the right to sin openly and just ask for forgiveness like the adults do... seeing how we had previously paid our debt. There were new rules to be learned and new prices to pay for our souls... but they didn't come until a little bit later. However, that is another story for another time...

Your Silence Speaks Volumes

Sitting at my desk, listening to the many voices that fill my mind, I heard loud and clear the true answer to my problems. All of this time I have been blaming people for shunning me, making me the outcast and not giving me a fair chance... it appears all of those thoughts may be misguided. The problem is me... I am a broken individual and I don't function well in regards to others. People are uncomfortable around be, so they slink away. I am physically ugly, so they stare in shock. I try to speak to someone and I make them uncomfortable, so they retreat and ignore me. I claim people don't feel anything at all any more, that the world has become callous... it is I that is feeling too deeply, knowing not what I am feeling. I am the creepy monster I see reflected by the faces in this world. It is me that has the problem... I am the problem. I am the sick disease that needs a knife stuck through their throat... it is all me. The choir sings with approval... all this time I was running away from the truth. I am what sickens people, that is why they sicken me... the world has become my mirror and the only thing it is reflecting is myself. I can't go on living like this... as the problem and broken. This needs to stop... it has to.

Alone Again, Naturally

It is amazing how alone someone can feel in a house filled with people and a mind filled with voices screaming at them 24/7. Just when you think, you couldn't possibly feel any lower or more alone, the floor drops another level... I just can't stand it any longer. The only thing keeping me from killing myself once and for all is this god damn cat... I am the only one here that loves him and takes care of him. I do a terrible job of taking care of myself, but I seem to do okay regarding the cat... his basic needs are fulfilled and he sits on my lap most of the day, so he really has no right to complain. He is getting older now, soon to be 10 years old... when he finally passes, I'll have nothing left to keep me here. As much as he bothers me, I do love him... I don't think my heart could handle the loss of him well at all. Which just reinforces my theory, I'll finally have the strength to follow through and leave this fucked up world and it's disease of a populace. I am tired of being alone and misunderstood... I can't handle the constant stress, terror and rejection of trying to find a safe place in this world. I would think by now, I would have gotten used to this ritualistic torture but I have not... everyday is filled with a new sting of betrayal and relentless sorrow of a broken heart. I really just want it all to end... there is no point any longer. If I did find something good in this world, something worth living for, I would destroy it before it ever had a chance to let it's potential be known... it's part of the destructive cycle, one that enslaved me long ago. I do it every time something good, honest, lovely, pure, decent and sincere finds me... I fucking choke it to death in excitement, just like Lennie and the puppy. On one hand, I am Lennie killing his puppy out of ignorance... on the other hand, I am the puppy being straggled by the world's intolerance and disease. Tell me about the rabbits, George...

What Once Was... Shall Never Be

I have decided, as a means of survival, I am going to move into the closet and live inside. I will route some power into it and place my computer near the entrance to watch for people trying to defile my temple. In the corner, I will place the few possessions that remain, my music, guitar, video games and books, and stack them into a platform on which I can safely sleep. That way no one can sneak in and steal from me any longer... when I am awake I will be guarding them and when I am asleep I will be laying on them. This is the only rational decision I can think of because everything I own is being stolen from under my nose. Anything that is of value and capable of being stolen is taken... stop fucking stealing my shit! Maybe I should start stealing your stuff or stick my knife through your fucking throat! There is nothing inside of you, you fucking clone, I would be doing the world a favor. Just leave me alone!

Teardrops And Saliva

My hands are wet with fear and my stomach is rotten with despair... the saliva in my mouth is thick as if I had just dropped some acid. I was I had that false security now... I am weighed and weightless at the same time... a heavy heart and nothing to keep me rational tied to the ground. I have already taken my medicine twice... the magical soldiers I was promised could help relieve my weary mind. Nothing. It's the same as it would be if I had eaten shit... which I have done on many occasions. I turn inside for comfort and I am greeted with disdain and mockery. I go the the corner to shake it out and I am disturbed by the people walking within these walls. I curl up with my cat and he offers nothing but a paw and a sigh. I look to the window... I want to jump. I go into the kitchen to grab a knife and cut myself free... free from all of it and all of them, everything. I see the amber bottle of medicine and I begin to weep... take more, take often, take more, more. All I can do is wait... when my body crashes, the mind will soon follow. I cry and gasp for the air that never comes... all I can say is simply, why?

The Final Curtain Call

Last night I was informed of the passing of a cherished one, Carolla O'Connell. I had the honor of meeting her and learning from her when I attended high school... she was my drama instructor and so much more. As I sit here, with my shattered heart slipping through my trembling fingers, reflecting on my life and the impact she made... sorrow consumes me.

As a teenager, I dreamed of being a poet, author, musician and artist... silly dreams, most stated. Carolla O'Connell was an accomplished actress and knew of the difficulties that surrounded an artist's life and the struggles that would arise. I remember asking her for a written letter of recommendation when I applied to Berkeley... she looked up at me, squinted her eyes and agreed. It wasn't until after high school, on a visit at her home, that I truly understood what she once saw in me... an artist. I had stopped by to see her while I was on a return trip to my home town to prepare for my adventure in D.C. ... I had been nominated International Poet of The Year and was going to the competition in hopes of success. She shared with me on that visit, that many students had come to her over the years, like I did, for a letter of recommendation to pursue the arts... however, she refused most. She told me, "They are just being stupid and should get a decent education." . I laughed and smiled at her as I replied, "But you wrote one for me?". Again she looked at me, with squinted eyes and simply said, "Ah, yes I did." . I was moved and confused at the same time. In high school, I always auditioned for the lead role in our plays... Mrs. O'Connell always refused and cast me as the supporting role. It was that day, on that particular visit, that she explained why. She told me that my job of supporting the lead, was what made the characters come to life and give the piece it's value. She said I was too talented for the lead and I was needed elsewhere. It all came together... after years, the veiled had been lifted.

Indeed, I never became the things I dreamt of being... my writing and musical achievements are laughable at best. Carolla O'Connell had seen me over the years at my best and at my very worst... an insane, drug addled hooligan. Even in those moments, she believed in me... she saw something of value and importance. I can't help but to feel as if that part of me died with her... those hopes and dreams, my value and importance, that dreamt of artist. I am beside myself and I know not what to do with these emotions racing through my veins. Carolla O'Connell will always be remembered and cherished by those whose lives she touched... but to me, she was more than words could ever give justice. I think of Juliet and I can't escape the feeling that she was terribly mistaken... there is no sweet in this parting, only sorrow.

Unsaid And Unsent

The words are swirling around in my mind, but I am powerless to speak. If I keep these thoughts to myself, I can relive the dream over and over within the safety of my head... just let me keep on dreaming a little longer. Allow me that one simple pleasure... I beg of you. I know it will never happen, I know it can't happen, I know all the things my heart refuses to accept. Tomorrow I will wake up and suppress these feelings that at the moment are bursting from within my chest... the sorrow drips from my eyes when I think of losing this moment. I lace my every word, with the same thought... they are only so many ways to say the unsaid. Just for the night, may my tongue be still and my breathing staggered... let me have this, just for one more night.

Something To Think About

In life, sometimes we say or hear something profound... it shocks our core and fills us with uncertain emotions. The result may be exhilaration, fear, panic, joy, peace... any numerous effects and mixtures. I was watching a film the other night and heard such a profound statement... it was a reckoning and more appropriate now, than ever.


"Sometimes we don't do things we want to do, so that others won't know we want to do them."

-Ivy Elizabeth Walker, The Village

Target's 2-Day Sale

I woke up this morning in hopes of going to Target to look at their "2-Day Sale", but sadly I never made it out of the door... actually, I didn't even make it down the hall. I was looking forward to it all week... just to browse and maybe find a new DVD or cheap video game. I still have a little money left to spare that the thief so kindly left me... but I feel guilty spending anything on myself. There are other things the money should and could be going towards. There has been a cloud hanging over me for so long that it is difficult to breathe... let alone go out into the world when I'm not forced to do so. I really don't have the energy to face the public and be pushed around by the mindless drones looking to save some blood money on their seasonal affections. Every night for the past few weeks, I have been crying for hours on end... popping pill after pill until my mind becomes so numb and by body powerless to move, then passing out. Needless to say, I wake up very late and exhausted... just to face another day of torment and another night of ritual.This is the worst time of year for me... a time of remorse. Add in the pure idiocy, greed and ungrateful people throwing around their snowball emotions of joy and love... soon the sun will rise and those false words will melt. It makes me so angry and depressed... you have the ability to feel those positive emotions, why not have some sincerity and continuity? Fucking sheep... you take so much for granted, wake up! It is easy to forget the truth... lemmings are soulless, they can't wake up. They stay asleep and spin their precious dreams like spider webs trapping the few souled beings and breaking them down... it's their program. It's hard to find comfort in the fact that I have a soul... somewhere in there, bruised, sticky and curled into a ball. What else do I have left to learn here... has my life become purely for the purpose of dharma? I just want to go home... take me home.

T.O.D. - Dusted In A Cardboard Grave

I was again looking through some of my writings... part of me has been entertaining the idea of trying to finish revamping my book and pushing once again to have it published. Of course, the cat and the choir think this is pure insanity. I have spent many recent nights listening to this constant rambling and ridicule and I am quite worn down... I wonder if there is a limit to the amount of tears the body can produce in any given amount of time. More things to ponder, perhaps. Against the wishes of "the collective", I have decided to post another poem from the past. It was written long ago, but it still has a story within it... somewhere.



"Touched Me Within"

It was a dream, or so it seemed to me-
Another normal night, wrapped in fantasy.
I sat alone in the dark, looking in wait-
Then I met you, as the hour turning late.
With simple smiles and names exchanged-
Never thinking my life would rearrange.
In those words and a little time shared-
A dream glowed and feelings had flared.
Pleasure was mine, to be welcomed by you-
A friend and companion; possibly more too.
I can not wait until time unites us again-
For you have touched me; touched me within...

Early Inspirations

"The Arrow And The Song"

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Strangling Conversation

After a long conversation with my cat, Andy, last night, I am weary to say the least. He clearly defined the reality of many situations and spoke none too softly about who and what I am. An animal's honesty. He told me that I spend far too much time dreaming of days not meant to be seen, things which shall not come to pass and false hope. I wept. So today, I am taking the day off as prescribed... a line of pharmaceutical soldiers are lined and ready to depart. Despite the brutal honesty, he assured me I am needed in a limited capacity so I am not allowed to leave permanently. Who would feed and care for him if I were to leave? It's a small role, but I am needed... perhaps even wanted or loved on some level. He's calling for me now...

T.O.D. - On A Softer Side

More remnants of T.O.D. ... I was looking through it tonight and I figured I would post something softer for once. Reliving the past, offers a strange comfort... perhaps it is just from remembering simpler days...



“What You Are To Me”

You are my breath,
The air- all that fills and surrounds me.
You are my light,
Shimmering- the beauty and life I see.
You are my reason,
Answers- my purpose and destiny to be.
You are my thoughts,
Inspirations- desires and passions set free.

Grace and style;
The pleasures that you bring.
Peace and simplicity;
My heart and soul doth sing.
Purity and divinity;
Your promise not to sting.
Compassion and love;
You have made me a king.
Forever searching- but now I see…
For this is what, you mean to me.

Solace

Is it too much to ask, for me to crawl inside of you? In there, feeling warmth and security... I could feel something other than myself. So many emotions bottled inside, bouncing around with no exit or interpretation... flat are they, with no purpose or sensation. Together, we could give them purpose and understanding. So close we'd be, your could impart your feelings unto me... giving them life as they nestle inside of my heart and being. At last, I could give a face to the flat and a voice to the silent screams... feelings I could express freely and receive without indifference. "Wake up child, for this is not your place, there are no burrows in which you can erase. It is time to go home now, inside the silent, dark and deep. You have your company and friends to keep, skeletons to nuzzle and hold as you sleep. This is your home and you need no more, certainly not that dream you so adore.".

Still Lifes

Even chaos requires a stand still... ceasing as moments of tranquility seeps into every pore. In those moments, the humming silence encompasses me restoring hope and faith. If I could only capture those rare moments by lens and frame myself within them forever. Little over the years have inspired such moments, making them even more so desired. How I yearn for those moments... cringing in despair as the tears roll from my swollen eyes. I must hold on for another time shall come to pass... another moment when the world becomes brighter and dreams closer to reach. The comforting presence, and assurance that the battles can be won, things can change... I can change. The Lady in Red, sweeping in and lifting me up... this shell of a man. Her arrival is sweetened air... short lived for the audience, for departure is nigh. I braid her words, as if they were locks of hair, and tie them into my own... draping across my face, reminding me. Though I mourn her absence, I fear less the destined reprisal of chaos... for another time is coming, another day, another breath of that sweetened air.

In The Window

If I were the Captain, we'd be lost at sea-
An empty kettle crackling, serving no tea.
Erased fifteen and shadowed nineteen more-
Listen to the knocking, touching not the door.

Smiling now, as I see that desired, comfort face-
It wasn't here as thought, instead distant space.

-AF

Red November

Night has fallen, once again closing the day.
Confusion building, emotions cling and sway.
It's not coming, not a faint whisper nor sigh.
Stepping lightly on the boundaries that lie.

Not to mourn the things intended empty.
It's not coming today, not for you or me.

-AF

All Along The Watchtower

"There must be some way out of here" said the joker to the thief.
"There's too much confusion", I can't get no relief.

So much to say and so very little voice. Here again, I find myself writing on these pages... this is a sanctuary. I can allow the insanity to spew with no reprisal... an empty house full of broken windows and no one to pass the spectacle. My rock now covered in moss and sea foam rejects my grip... the waves toss me around. Beaten with a fiery passion... I crash to and fro, smashing my face against that which I used to cling. There is music, there is always music... strumming and singing their lovely lullaby. The constant reminder of how safe and warm it will feel... no remorse, just stop fighting. Is it really warm and tingling when you experience love... like the sun breaking through stormy skies? Perhaps, but their honesty is two sided... there is a cost for everything. They say the most painful experience a human goes through is breathing for the very first time... precious, life giving air... with a cost. The price is letting go... in exchange, that peace I have yearned. Even by the trusted tongues, I have been informed this life, my prison, will only intensify. In the end, perhaps rotting in a hospital like my dear uncle... no one sees him and his keepers allow him no peace or memory. Good-bye horses, I'm flying over you. Searching for that warmth has been my one desire... someday, we'll never come back.

The Reflection You Fear

We rise, some in the morning and others in mid-day, each with our mirrors to look upon. For one, they look boldly ready to face another day... proud of where they have been. For another, with a sigh they begin to apply their mask and shield... the perfect plastic face to guide them through another concrete day. Then there is me... it has been years since I could stomach my reflection in the mirror. I have weathered too many storms and countless victims... as my innocence was stolen, I have become a thief to reclaim what was once mine, robbing others. Circles, the perfect and most balanced shape... deep within built of spirals, spinning and turning destined to repeat itself once more. It never stops... perfection. Dizzy and sickened, I wonder how much longer I can withstand this memory and shell. Asking myself why I held on this long... how I long to be taken away. I have tried to wear this mask in attempts to learn the wonders I have missed... the face below rots, the mask can not remain in place. It was a fool hearted plan for I see beyond the mask... I see you and everyone else. Years ago, when I claimed my victims and reveled in the thought of them being with me forever... never would I be alone. If only, I had truly understood what that meant...

An Open Letter...

Data, data, data... we need more data. No, the incessant ramblings from the choir do not count... shut the fuck up, you don't have a say in this matter! Breathe in... it's out there. The past several nights, I have laid awake wrestling over the thoughts and theories... where did I go wrong exactly? What act raised the water, swirling it up into a vomitus squall of emotion? Somethings are never so neatly answered and other times elusive. So here we find ourselves, in this silence... this deafening silence. There must be some way out of here.

Several weeks ago I made an attempt, an awkward invitation as I put it, to initiate a friendship with you... no agenda, just a meeting of the minds to someone I felt was a genuine person. You accepted and things seemed to be off to a rather good start... which surprised me because my social skills are quite inadequate. Then things just stopped. I continued to write to you a few more times and never heard back from you. At first, I thought this was due to you having a busy schedule... time moves differently for me so it is really hard to determine with any accuracy. Soon, my beloved choir began singing me the tales of woe and how I managed to ruin this friendship while the seed was still freshly planted... the soil turned sour by the plowman's hand, my hand. No need to get excited... these words fled my mind to be replaced with all sorts of things I did wrong. Now I am at a loss and in mourning. Tears swelled in my eyes late last night as I lay there wondering how, what, where, when... no answers followed. Emotions were swimming in my head... in the sea of madness. True, I don't understand emotions and I have a very difficult time recognizing the differences, but I do feel them... deep, they cut me deep. Crying over something I really didn't have... I haven't earned the title friend, things were so new. It was the idea of having a friend inside this silent world. Throughout my life, I have collected many acquaintances... people you meet at work or school. You wave and smile, add them to your social network pages, but in reality all you really have are smiling icons... a nice, neat, little collection. Friendship-honesty, loyalty, openness, hope, joy, trust, companionship... the land of milk and honey. Uncertain on what I should do, I write this open letter. Perhaps you will read it one day and know my intentions were pure. Regardless of the silence, my opinions of you haven't changed. I approached you because you seem to be a kind, thoughtful, appreciative and sincere person... one with morals, values and integrity. If only I knew what the future holds. Fearful of writing you again directly, I stand by the wayside. Left, right or down the middle... perhaps we shall cross paths once more.

"There must be some way out of here", said the Joker to the Thief.
"There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief."
"Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth."
"None of them along the line know what any of it is worth."

Where Do We Go From Here?

Just when you think you can't possibly handle any more, life has a way of pushing the envelope just a wee bit further... slicing your cold flesh as warm butter. In April, I discovered that someone very close to me had been stealing my SSI... final amount taken before realizing this offense, $2,280. In December of last year (2009), I was final approved for SSI due to my schizophrenia and my beyond fucked up back... I had tried to apply back in 2002 when I was no longer able to work due to my various mental illnesses. Needless to say, when I was finally approved after I had given up so long ago, I was very relieved and finally started to feel like I was worth a little something. In short, this money represented my "manhood" in a sense. I went to the bank and withdrew my years worth of back pay a few days after the deposit cleared and stored the money for safe keeping in my closet... soon I discovered the rats in the banks also lurked inside the walls of your home as well. Seeing how I don't allow many people in my life, due to my severe paranoia and trust issues, this was more than a betrayal... in fact there are no words to describe the impact this had on my life and how damaging this was to my relationship with this person involved. After much debate and thought, I decided this particular relationship was too important to cast into the void... so we began traveling down the jagged road of reconciliation. Things seemed to be getting better in a manner of speaking, although far from repaired. This person agreed to get a job in their limited free time to begin repaying the money little by little... now 6 months has passed and that has yet to happen and frankly, no efforts to do such have ever been made. Well, today we had a conversation about some "oddities" that have been occurring... for example, they have been spending a lot of money for someone that doesn't have a job or any means of income. I started the conversation with, "Are you familiar with the story, 'Alice In Wonderland' ? "... let's just see how deep this rabbit hole goes, shall we. It turns out, this individual has been stealing my pain medication (Dilaudid) and selling it to people to support their spending habits and luxuries... please insert knife here and twist. I was at a loss for words when this information came to light and even now, I can't begin to describe the impact of such a revelation. I wanted to lash out, I wanted to spill blood... but perhaps they knew I wouldn't and that is why they confessed. There is a good reason why I keep people out of my life.. mainly because I can't handle the disappointment and betrayals that seem to come along with relationships of any degree. If anything, I am grateful that I escaped the irony of being re-payed the debt of my stolen SSI money with money earned by stealing and selling my pain medication on the side... thank goodness for good, old fashioned selfishness and greed.

An Informed Junkie

On the sides of my pain medication bottles are delicate, yellow, lovely labels... do not crush being the one always sings a little louder. The reasoning behind this, one can only guess, but I am assuming it has something to do with the narcotics being released too quickly into the body. Take with food, swallow whole, say a prayer and hold on to your fucking hat. I chew my medication, deliberately... quickly releasing it's soothing effects on my mind. The chills, as they wash away... I am warm once more. The choir has to take a bow, for this is a solo act... no accompaniment is needed and your previous additions have been so delightful. Silence, now. Breathe in the still, stale air... thick with smoke and melancholy. One pill is the maximum dosage for 8hrs, say the friendly reptiles at the pharmaceutical grocery... start with one and slip away, with two or three it all goes away. The waves will rise once more and they shall return to center stage... to dazzle the audience with their opinions and commentary. Can't I enjoy the silence just a little more... I am so tired of the singing. In this empty opera house, the only sounds you can enjoy are my screams and the singing of my rapists.

But I Want A Puppy, Momma

The childish thirst and innocence never fully goes away... we want what we can't have and refuse to settle for the finality of an unfulfilled desire. No means no. When we reach the point of understanding, in a sense we die... out of gas, the drive is gone, the flame extinguished. Perhaps it isn't childish innocence, maybe we were just more alive and determined. Some, they take their puppies home and love them, nurture them and grow with them as equals. Others, they take their puppies home and squeeze them with excitement until the puppy stops twitching and goes limp. A few will go home with people that cast them into a cage and break their spirit... leaving them to lay in their own shit and filth as the skin sags from the lifeless body. Finally, the remaining puppies become an outlet of frustration... beaten, just as the world had beaten their masters. They live low to the ground, whimpering in fear and eyes glazed with tears... but they still come to their master to be beaten yet again. So I ask myself, am I the wanting child still reaching for my puppy? Or am I the child that took one home... if so, how did I raise them? All of those puppies had one thing in common... they were at one time desired and accepted. No, I am not the child filled with desire nor the man filled with accomplishment for my deeds. I am the puppy... crawling low with glassed eyes... waiting.

Fuck ABC, America and Dancing With The Stars

A resounding "FUCK YOU" to the above mentioned... you rat ass, dirty, fucking pieces of shit! How could you send home Shannen Doherty on the first show? Is it because she ISN'T some media whore piece of filth? First off, America, you blind, gullible, ass pirates! Buzz Aldrin received a million votes because it would be considered "unpatriotic" to NOT vote for him because he "landed on the moon". Fuck You! The whole moon landing was filmed in a studio you stupid, fucking sheep! Haven't you figured out by now that EVERYTHING your government tells you is a fucking lie? Go ahead, call me a traitor or unpatriotic, but think before you do. Our forefathers that founded this great nation are rolling in their fucking graves at the mockery America has become and the pieces of shit running this country... including our "messiah" president all of you drones and clones worship. Fuck YOU! Secondly, Kate Gosselin, you media whore, side fucked bitch! She couldn't dance worth a fuck, but she stayed because she NEEDS the attention and is probably sucking someone's cock so she can return to the spotlight and re-exploit her children in the name of "good television". Thirdly, Mr. Ochocinco, for all of the Hispanic community, a loud and strong, "FUCK YOU". You stupid motherfucker, ochocinco is NOT the way you say 85 in Spanish! Ochocinco is #8 and #5... ochenta y cinco is 85, you stupid fuck. You legally changed your name to show the world you are a famous NFL player and an idiot. Finally, ABC, what can I say? You are a powerful television station run by the Illuminati and other "powerful" and corrupt pieces of died up donkey shit. You lie to us on the news, alter history with your filtered information and propaganda and pretty much only want what makes you richer and more "in control". Your company is run by some of the evilest, most despicable and tyrannical people on the face of the Earth... we know about your lies, dirty laundry and cover-ups ( 9/11, JFK, Waco, etc.) - Fuck You!

Shannen Doherty did not deserve the treatment she received tonight. She was growing in her dancing, has an incredible spirit and is a wonderful actress. I don't know her as a person, but I really wish I did... I have been a long term fan of hers for over almost 20 years. Shannen, I doubt you will ever read this blog but I want you to know I voted for you as much as possible both weeks and I think you are an amazing and talented person. Best wishes to you and your family and I hope your father recovers soon and fully from his current health struggles.

Your Words Are Ripping Flesh

Fucking people suck... that's all there is to it. Perhaps it my inability to understand the boundaries of appropriateness when talking with people. I always get thrown into the trash pile before even given a fraction of a chance. I don't know what to do better or how to act the way that is expected... already my mind warps as this becomes all my fault. A week or so ago, my pain specialist asked me, "If you could do anything in this world to make you happy, what would it be?". I looked at her and answered, "I'd be a serial killer.". When asked why, I told her " The sound of hearing someone suffer is soothing to me... I want the world to suffer like I have'". Looking back, it's no wonder I feel this way... I can't wait to get off this rock. Humanity is a disease. I am actually starting to feel happy about the tumor they found in my jaw....

Listen & Feel