Overfill, Overfire

How is the view... down here, at the bottom of my hole? The cat never lies, and he's content in knowing there's many more doors to be opened... our fingers live in the earth, as tills we turn like worms, earth to earth. Sacrifice. Diana has suggested taking all of the pieces out of the box, spreading them across the the floor for inspection and dissection... while Richard laughs at the destined frustration. Come down and lay next to me while we ogle at pieces in sight... the fondling hasn't begun, so there's no need for lubrication. The choir demands we make clear the context of Lubrication... there are three types herein, your efforts will still be needed. Social Lubricant, is any substance that releases your natural inhibitions: drugs, alcohol, or ritual. Sexual Lubricant, is the fluid used to decrease the irritating effects of too much friction: tears, bile, or money. Finally, Life Lubricant, is the substance acquired from years of anguish and suffering: blood, feces, or vomit. Let not your glasses become clouded... return your view to the pieces, as they wiggle and scamper in delight.

The ones with the most vigor would be the choir, several pieces uneven in agreement . Then there are Diana and Richard, two entirely different people that live on the outside, looking in. There are memories and deeds, scattered with care... feeding each other with doubt and flesh. Maria has a corner of her own, built out of the compounding interest of my soul. Stuffed animals running with scissors and Jesus bowing his head in shame. A chair named virginity, cold with sweat and vinyl... they won't come out until we stop crying. Must. Stop. Matted hair and knotted bed sheets... they belong together in a sense, but separated in time. Broken fingernails stuck in the concrete and razor blades gone on holiday in the Swiss Alps. Layers of lies and masks piled on trash bags of sun rotted flesh.... the pupils dilate and saliva thickens in anticipation. Blood. So much blood. There's mine, yours, hers, his, and theirs... I know the scent and taste of each, and the color of which it flowed. There's my screams and the one's that silence them... with a hidden jar used in secret for lubrication. Teeth. The teeth that bite, the ones that gnash, and the broken ones... a mixture of mouths, some more even then the others. Broken fingers and guitar strings that suspend the life once known. The snake, the desert, and the scampering of shadows and dirt, not from earth, as a pillow. And then there's Serah Weaver, dancing in the darkness by herself.

Being Serah Weaver

As promised, here is the tale of Serah Weaver... who is this mystery person and what is the meaning behind my constant searching? Serah Weaver is in fact a woman... although, the choir would argue that she is actually a New-Half or pre-op transgender (She-Male). Genitalia and gender are the absolutely least important piece of Serah Weaver... she is my twin flame and answer to every prayer and desire in a person. As you've probably figured out thus far, Serah Weaver doesn't exist in my life... hence the constant searching. The name is from two sources: Serah Farron, from the Final Fantasy Series, and Sigourney Weaver, the famous actress... two things I've loved deeply since childhood, Final Fantasy and Alien. Okay, now that we've got that covered, what makes Serah Weaver so ideal... what type of fantasy person has your sick, twisted, deviant mind dreamt into existence? Well, thank you for asking... please, allow me to continue. Serah Weaver enjoys the same things in life that I do... video games, various forms of art (writing, sculpting, making music), silence, watching DVDs in bed while eating popcorn, animals, horror movies, fantasy creatures (fairies, elves, trolls), magic (lore and ritual), ancient civilizations, myths and legends, and spiritual experiences. It would be a communion of the mind and spirit... whether it was to just sit in silence reflecting on life or abducting, torturing, and slowly killing random people. We would be in sync, complementing each other and working together in all situations of life. Serah would be kind and thoughtful, but also firm and assertive when needed. She would have a great sense of humor and highly intelligent. She would find joy in the simple things in life and would understand my complex way of thinking. Feeling love would no longer be a dream, but rather a reality... I would feel it in her eyes and words and it would warm the very depths of my being. When she wraps her arms around me, all of the negative energies and vibrations would be replaced by a comforting cocoon of love and peace and for the first time in my life I would know what a real embrace was and how it could make your soul quench for more. Some would argue, that Serah Weaver is just a fantasy or perhaps even a perverse and offensive idea... of course, those people would be hypocrites because who hasn't thought about their "perfect" partner? Serah Weaver could be the girl next door or perhaps even one of you reading this right now. Maybe, just maybe though, Serah Weaver isn't another person out there that needs to be found... perhaps Serah Weaver is really the missing pieces of myself that I've yet to discover. Where is your Serah Weaver... and will you ever find them?

Kathy's Song... The Only Truth I Know, Is You

For about a year now, you've seen the name Serah Weaver being mentioned... all that's really known up to this point is that it's someone I've been longing to find. We've decided the time has come to share who Serah Weaver really is to all of those that are curious... however, there is one more thing to be addressed before the curtain has been pulled back. I know, I know, this might be disappointing to a few of you, especially for those trying to decipher if Serah Weaver is a man or woman from my writings... women with mustaches, beards with matching lipstick, and erect penises under delicate petticoats. Have faith, all of the answers are coming in my next post... but for now, there is one more item which needs to be displayed. Intimacy. Sexual Relations. The world of touch viewed through my eyes.

I've touched lightly on this subject various times, often within rants of frustration and rage against people and their accusations.... other times about the young people of today fucking everything that moves without consequences. However, I'm uncertain if I've stated my actual feelings and thoughts about it in regards to my life and various mental illnesses. Richard and Diana have different thoughts and feelings on this matter, but they've refused to share their insights until a later time... the choir however, reserves the right to chime in at anytime without notice. Personally, I have nothing wrong with actual intimacy between people in a serious, mature, committed relationship... intimacy doesn't have to mean sexual intercourse however. People just hooking up and having casual sex, I don't really see a problem with as long as they are responsible for their actions and don't violate someone's free will... as for myself however, I view this as a very disrespectful act to all of those involved. In my opinion, sexual intercourse involves the exchange of energy and personal essence to the other parties... this is something that should be sacred and reserved for the appropriate time and place in people's personal lives. The choir insists that their thoughts be mentioned in this particular moment... fuck everything- whether it moves or not, live or dead, and beast or human. Satisfied??? Moving on. As for myself, I haven't had sexual relations with anyone in a very long time and extremely limited non-sexual intimacy. This illness, among other factors such as being emotionally / physically / sexually assaulted by family members, drugged / tortured / raped by a dentist, and my own deviant trespasses and violated innocence, makes this type of behavior all but an impossible task. I can't stand to be touched in any regard... it is a complete violation and assault of the senses. Adding insult to injury, I can't process the emotions involved in a casual physical exchange either... the motives and feelings behind a handshake or a hug are endless and completely confusing, thus very, very upsetting. It's similar to relationships in my highly dysfunctional life... what is the difference between loving a friend, spouse, child, animal? What does a touch mean, what are the parameters, and how are you supposed to feel? As much as I want to feel and understand love, touch, friendship... wanting isn't enough. The wiring in my shell and the programs have been deleted or corrupted long ago... what once was, has no further meaning now. I bury those feelings deep within this swirling vortex of entropy, I keep them locked up tight so I will cause no harm to others or myself. The heart is a fragile and sensitive item of curiosity... even one that is blackened and stale can still be hurt. The difference is, if I hurt someone they'd understand why and how they were hurt... I wouldn't know what that meant, how it happened, or how to feel about it. My existence is a life without love, touch, and as little emotion as possible... how cool is Schizophrenia now?

Elucidation

There are certain rules to be followed to decipher the messages hidden within... a place for every step, scampering or not, for your hands are not your own. Nothing is as it seems, when the bile spews forth in the dancing rhythms of tongue... stare aimlessly and words unfold themselves in pictures of time. Use your heart to read the words that follow, for your mind holds firmly on the pedestrians...  feel the sorrow and become the violator, for the victim's viewpoint is biased by traditional morality. Explore the limitless scenery and let loose the restraints of your imagination and inhibition... bathe in the lunacy and feast upon the deviant's offerings, forgetting yourself and limitations. There are reasons behind the side-stepping and the words used to express the thoughts and memories... redemption has a price steeper than confession You must become me as I become those that suffered... both sides must be expressed and experienced for growth and healing to occur. To fully understand the concept and impact of murder, you must become the murderer and the murdered.

Sour Grapes & Apples Of Sodom

The past two days have been laced with the bitterness and sorrow of yesterdays... the things left buried will only spoil the earth. It's been a reflection, a mirrors jagged shards sticking out of my chest... it's sucking madness pulls at the fibers once sewn together. The smiles, the tears, the sweat, the laughter... lubrication for the blood that followed. I remember, you remember, we remember... those pages only hid us both for so long. Years later, stepping into my role, can you allow the memories to dance and give birth to the ignored ire... as I've cut and stabbed the former life, now shall you, with every breath, join the dissection. But for just one moment, close your eyes and remember... remember.

It was cold, dark, and lonely... like so many of those nights, the wind shook the walls and like creeping death, the freezing air violated the warmth our bodies craved. Graced with the position of guardian and protector, your eyes laughed with love and comfort, as we laid together in a place where time ceased to exist... a space of no boundaries, where touch was welcomed and soothing. The invitation that followed, seemingly innocent and natural, became tainted quickly... the spoiled milk and matted hair would distance us forever more. Together, we laughed and smiled. Together, I watched you cry. As the hunger burned deeper and the sweat blinded clarity, the moments came and passed but we'd suffer alone... remembering alone, I wept alone. The apple grew strong, once it was plucked from the blinded eye and now in time, you've remembered... yet still, we suffer and weep alone. It was never washed from my mind, the moments of feasting on innocence... never once was it safer for me to forget, unlike you. Those days are gone and the edges still cutting deep within my chest, have found their way into yours... removing the mask, removing the love, left only with those memories. Let not your fruit be spoiled, nor my memory praised... the time has come to wake and hate, what I've known since long before.

Diamonds From Lucy

Hours have passed as if they were seconds and the days have changed... yet the moments remain the same, withered and morose. Every attempt to reach out to strangers in hopes of further grasping the friendship experience has returned void... most just ignored the requests, rather than relishing in spewing forth hurtful accusations and judgement. Thank the stars for small miracles. Perhaps the cat was right, this is a fruitless expedition... for the time being, we shall pack away the tea and biscuits. Even the ants have had their fill in this delicious torment.

After years of being ill, I've discovered something new about myself... misunderstood symptoms and new understandings arise, arise. I've always told my doctors that I rarely suffered from visual hallucinations... just the normal internal negative running commentary and external voices. Recently, I was in the kitchen eating some cereal and lost in thought as I casually watched insects of some origin, scampering across the counter-tops. This is nothing unusual... it's become commonplace to see things that aren't really there. So much so, that I have to count things repeatedly to make sure I'm seeing things correctly  as a form of a security / safety checking process. You see, I've always thought these "hallucinations" were actually LSD flashbacks... least that was my understanding. Many years ago, one of my routines was tripping on acid every other day for a total of 9 months... in that time, ingesting over 400 hits of acid. In a recent conversation with my therapist, he told me that it was his impression that an LSD flashback was seeing something that you had seen before while under the influence of LSD... for example, if you met a Leprechaun while tripping and it came back to visit you at a future time while you were lucid, that would be a flashback. I always thought a flashback was a hallucination that one would experience while they were sober... kind of like seeing something that wasn't there and saying to yourself, "Wow, am I fucking tripping or what?". As if the chemicals and toxins had stored themselves permanently in your spinal cord and for a moment you actually were tripping again briefly. It's now my understanding that this isn't the case at all... they are visual hallucinations directly related to my schizophrenia. So it appears that I suffer from visual hallucinations quite frequently afterall... every day, several times a day, as a matter of fact. I was then asked how I felt about this and if I found it upsetting to become more aware of my illness and symptoms. Honestly, it didn't upset me at all... I found it interesting. I've been dealing with these images and checks for a very long time, so it's nothing new to me... if anything, it brought me clarity and one step closer in learning how to live with this disease.