Redemption 101

While we sleep, the images creep... lurking two steps deeper into the mind. Was it you or me... they come just the same, easily and without much effort. I am recording this here for reflection... a nightmare which visits often.

I was a young man, of 20 years or so, at war... the interests being only those of old, fat, wealthy men and their Libertine ways. A trusted friend of mine accompanied me through the jungle, dodging the relentless onslaught of those pitted against our side. We survived the jungle massacre to find ourselves stumbling upon the piers behind enemy lines... though our safety was still obscured, this settlement was loosely guarded. As we tread upon the creaking planks of weathered wood, a female soldier noticed our approach... nervously she reached for a canister of chlorine gas and secured her gas mask tightly around her delicate, porcelain face. We pounced upon her and greeted her features with delirious kicks and thrusts of brutality. After securing our masks, I reached for the canister of weaponized gas as her fingers shook loose their lingering grasp. There was little passion left in her, until fear awoke the need for survival... she thrashed violently against the planking as I struggled to remove her mask. Her tears spewed forth and mixed with snot and saliva, as it built up around her cheeks and mouth... the red blushing of suffering in her cheeks looked almost glossy under the film of sorrow, sweat, and mucus. I opened the canister and unleashed the hurling chlorine gas directly against her face... gasping and choking as she wildly swung her arms in a desperate last attempt of escape. The yellow-greenish gas caked around her lips and under her nose, sticking to the wetness and lubrication of her suffering... reacting with the tears and mucus upon her face, as it slowly melted into her flesh, bubbling out pockets of plasma and blood. We laughed... laughed as she struggled to shamble away once we'd loosened our grasp. I remember looking through her eyes and felling nothing... just the irritation from her blurred vision.

It was unclear if we "won" or "lost" the war... the next memory took us outside of a warehouse in the South Pacific. Our tongues had been removed for some unknown violation during the war... we stood outside that warehouse awaiting the next phase of our punishment. I looked at my friend and tried speaking in confusion, questioning what punishment we had so brutally deserved. The commanding officer deciphered my mumblings and replied, "You are to serve as prostitutes."... with that, he pushed us through the windowless doors. I was greeted by the darkness of a dimly lit room, with a stench a depravity, thick with hopelessness. I remember my body feeling numb as we shuffled deeper into the room... every few steps my foot would turn under itself and I would slightly trip. Once through the opening of the main room, I noticed countless naked children... laying upon couches, rugs, and each other. It was an endless pile of naked, young flesh... suited to fill the desires of those same Libertine men. We were taken to a makeshift recovery room and instructed to lay upon the beds... I remember seeing him settle down beside me, looking nothing as he did before. We were a little more than children ourselves, perhaps the age of 12 or so... tender flesh that met the end of a mutilating mind. I looked in horror at my own young youthful skin to discover my transformation and new place in this house of prostitution and immoral delights... I had new swollen breasts, firm and discharging rivers of puss. I reached down between my legs to fondle what I knew was no longer to be found... instead I felt the moist tenderness of my vagina, made from the clippings of my former penis. I wept... and awoke.

Raising Afterbirth

Despite the dreaded occasion... today was a fairly decent day. I met with my doctor and discussed further medication options... it was decided it would be best to give the current dosage another month before raising it to the maximum dose. Afterwards, I went to Target to get some food for the cat and to browse the video games and movies... I need more of either as much as I need a hole in the head! That's the funny thing about addiction... we become addicted to the concept of addiction, not just the things we must have. Movies replace drugs and video games replace lust. After I was finished feeding the child inside, I went to another therapy session for the week. My therapist's hours of business end at 5pm, and today's appointment was scheduled at 5pm... he cared enough to stay after hours to see me for an hour. I can't imagine many therapists would do that for their patients... he is one in a million and one of the most trusted people in my fragile, uncertain world. We talked about several things that have been weighing heavy on my heart... even though I had no idea their impact was so severe. Usual topics that push people's uneasy emotions further into the crashing waves... Mother and Father. We laughed as I screamed out in my Mother's voice, "You're a special piece of fucking shit! And God has mighty plans for your sorry, pathetic, ugly, worthless ass!"... ah, such a loving and sheltered home. I told him that I really believed, "If someone would just take a chance on me, I know my life story would make a best-seller.". I didn't say it as a form of egotism or self-puffery, it was purely based off of the extreme conditions of my life, both my upbringing and my young adult life. He agreed with me and reminded me that no matter how many times he hears the sordid details of my childhood... he is shocked and horrified all over again. Both off my doctors claim that it is nothing short of a miracle and a testament of my courage, that I'm as functional and well adjusted as I am... I can't agree, those types of flattery are removed of all validity in my mind. I was born, I lived, and I press on... the rest is what it is, nothing more. Happy Birthday, you fucking piece of shit...

A Sheep Among Shepherds

After several hours of talking to the cat last night, it occurred to me that he is the only thing keeping me here... from following through with the drastic impulse to end this pathetic existence. It's the unknown that keeps me here and beckons the needed strength to press on... what would happen to him if I passed away? Who would look after him and give him the love he deserves... yes, I am capable of expressing love. At least what my limited understanding of what love is and how it works... it's the feeling of love from others that escapes me. Any positive feeling actually... those fuzzy forest creatures of fairy tales and rose petal kisses. I told my therapist today, that I lay in bed at night repeatedly begging God to kill me... then there would be no guilt, it wouldn't be my fault if no one cared for the cat. Wishful thinking... it would always be my fault, just as it has been for so long. How pathetic is that... living for a cat? Not a dream or purpose, nor friends or family... but a cat, just a cat. Tomorrow is my birthday, bring to a close a year since my would-be 10th anniversary of my death...after I full year I still feel cheated and in utter disarray. If you remember, a year ago I spoke about how I used to tell people I'd never see my 25th birthday... I worked very, very hard to see that come to fruition. Ultimately failing in the end... no surprise there, failure is the prize winning goose of my life. At any rate, last year I turned 35... thus marking 10 years ago that I should have been rotting in the earth. Instead, I rot above ground... still a sizable feast for the vermin and turning worms. A year has passed and I've yet to come to terms about still being alive... that's fucked up, really. I suppose most would be grateful and extremely appreciative to wake and walk upon the earth... pleading with their maker for another day to laugh, love, and remember. I know, poor fucking me... so pathetic, tired, and worthless. It's fucking hard living an empty life of regret and remorse... feeling nothing but hatred from everyone that surrounds me. My reflection is as hollow as the words shuffling off the people's mouths as they harken their love and compassion for this empty vessel... in the end, it just words. Meaningless, dirty, hollow words. It's the empty plate among the fatted feast... how would you feel if it were you sitting here? Could you? Can I? Why?

Por Librada

No matter how many times you've approached the edge... each fall is always different. Destinations bypass and intersect... the simplistic elegance of the journey, undone and unwitting. It's where I long to be. I've been thinking a lot about that day... some time ago, in another life. I'll never forget the sorrow in your eyes... the loss before and beside you. It was midday, the skies were black and the rains had been beating the dried soil for hours on end... the cracks in the earth guzzled the tears, never once softening their rigged edges. You came to my door, where you were greeted with silence... just the empty, hollow knock of your rapping. I was nesting in the back, as usual, dancing in the Black Room... my mistress underneath me and my master crouched above. I imagine after a time, you left the front door and came to the rear of the house... every step drenching you further as the waters chilled your fragile mind and weary bones. There it was, a rapping, it was you begging to to see the carnage behind the door... I heard you, but I didn't answer. Twice more you knocked... you could smell the sweat through the walls and hear the shuffling of humanity and recklessness. I rose from the chair, and floated lifelessly towards the door... as it opened, the grey, clouded light filled the Black Room and I stood there unimpressive in my standing. You lifted your head, to meet your eyes against mine... greeted only with an empty eyed stare and a drooling maw to gaze upon. The rain had matted your ruffled curls and the rain drops had breed with your tears and compassion... it's your face that still haunts me to this very day. Through the crackling of the skies, you spoke to me gently... saying only that she had passed but moments ago. Without a thought or reaction, as your head lowered in grief... in my place where my voice should stand, you found only swollen wood. The wind blew the snot and sorrow from your mouth as the door slammed before your very eyes... she was gone and so was I.

I Swam Inside Tuesday's Tear

Another day of therapy and another step to understanding myself and those within... our friends, enemies, and lovers imbedded in the grey matter of reason. Despite her constant urgings, I failed to initiate 0808 today as planned by Diana... I didn't have time to discuss this particular adventure with my doctor today, so it has rejected by the choir and a moment of lucidity. I can hear her softly weeping, even over Richard's cackling... it pains me on the inside and out, her sorrow and my neglect. While I was today, I made an appointment to see my other doctor to discuss and hopefully raise my depression medication... the results are still less than desired and I am struggling to see the point of continuing. Of course there has been progress... I don't feel compelled to end my life in some gruesome fashion everyday. Not everyday, but still at times. In other news, my birthday is quickly approaching again... it's on Friday and I am not so eager to see this day come into being. It's not a matter of age or vanity... some crisis pending on how how I've become or such nonsense. I could care less about those kinds of thoughts... there is no place for such trivial matters in this cluttered trash bin. Besides, age means nothing at all... it's not a factor in determining someone's maturity or lack there of, nor is it a limitation to feelings and understandings. It's just a number of rings twisted into the flesh... it all rots, just the same. If anything, age can limit the number of adventures we allow ourselves or others to experience... purely out of ignorance or fear. Perhaps this year will be different and something spectacular and wonderful will happen... like waking up with the ability to feel or getting crushed by a roving semi. I suppose both option have their equal taste of excitement and wondrous awe... like a flickering lamppost, the emerging patterns and possibilities are endless. The part I hate the most is having to smile and thank people for their empty, lifeless affections and accolades... the inability to feel the love offered is an insult all in it's own. I know, we'll make a party out of this unfortunate experience... you bring the bodies, and I'll prepare myself for the feast of humiliation and the entertainment of sorrow. Wouldn't that be rich? I spent the afternoon pondering the motives of my cat... deciphering the intense glares being passed my way. Whether he tries to kill me, lash out, or merely purr with a full tummy... I always see him the same. My closest understanding of emotions and humanity. It's tea for two this afternoon... and the worm continues to turn.

Two In The Crowd

Another week has started... a small balance has been restored. It's taken great effort, but I've been able to continue with my photo project and work in a few entries... other trials are forthcoming, to be sure. The river swells in delight as it spills upon the salted soil of yesteryear. Diana came home last night and whispered softly in my left ear, "I am here..."... it was soothing for but a moment, then Richard started laughing. I don't understand Richard at all and there have been several conversations about him recently. He started out as a kind and encouraging voice... he helped motivate me to take care of some much needed chores and tasks. After several nights of visiting, he began arguing with me about the most trivial of things... now he has begun fighting with Diana and become a constant source of mockery and debasement. This role for Richard seems more accurate than before... seeing how I fear most men and they make me very uncomfortable. Perhaps it was a ruse to make me at ease and allow him to take residence in my life... the rent is unpaid and the landlord is a coward. Sometimes I find myself late at night, screaming at Richard and begging him to stop and to be still... he mutters in tongues and encourages me to join along. After hours of chanting, I've forgotten what the original task at hand was, and Richard has won the battle for his needed company... misery loves company someone once said. Diana has recommended we pursue protocol and approach 0808 in a timely fashion... she feels encouraged this could prove to be a valuable addition in the near future. I'm not even certain how that would work... am I supposed to leave caution behind and interact like she feels fit? Is it even a viable situation... has the tumor become malignant? 0808 might have the ability to silence Richard with positive influence... then Diana will become more comfortable in this given environment. It boils down to trust... is Diana safer to listen to then Richard? Or is she just another wolf in sheep's clothing... a siren calling me out to certain doom? I need a grounded opinion, once the gate has been opened it will be too late... the children will wash down the drain, as I feast on the foul bath water.

As I Lay To Sleep

Dear Jesus,

It's me, Davia, Jesus. Thank you for my Mommy and Daddy. Thank you too, for the wind and another day to play and have fun. I know I'm just a little girl, and even though I'm only 9, but my Mommy said you'd bring me someone special one day. After Sunday School, Mommy said you brought Daddy to her and one day you'd bring me someone too... like Daddy. Mommy said this would happen when I got older, but I wanted to tell you what I am looking for now... so you have time to make him for me, Jesus.

Most importantly, I want someone nice... but not all the time. It would be fun to have him be unpredictable and somewhat crazed in his day to day emotional stability. He would be short and about 40lbs overweight. He would also be disabled due to some physical and mental limitations. Some type of exciting mental illness like Schizophrenia... yeah, like on TV, Jesus. He would be a lot older than me, maybe 15 yrs or so, and he has to be a smoker... I think brown teeth and stale smoke is cute on a boy. I want to be madly in love with him, but I don't want him to know or feel it... he should always be afraid of making lasting relationships. I also want him to shy away from my hugs and kisses... Mommy says it's fun to chase men. I want him to very dependent on me like for food, shelter, income, hygiene.... those kinds of things, Jesus. That way I can resent him and make him feel guilt even when he doesn't need to feel that way. Or maybe just so I feel needed all the time... I'll let you sort that one out the best way, Jesus. I want him to be funny, but with an odd sense of humor that offends most people. I want him to have a big beard and long mustache and long hair... so I can brush the knots out and trim them like my dollies. Oh, and he has to be an ex-drug addict so that is health is a bit scary at times... I think that would be fun too. He would have a very abusive past, so we have lots of issues to work on and time to spend together too. I want him to love me, but to not really understand what that means... it can be a hobby for him. Most of all, Jesus, I just want someone to need me and take care of.... someone that loves the idea of being loved. Thank you, Jesus, I love you. Bless Mommy and Daddy and keep them safe. Sleep well, Jesus, and remember how special you are to me. Amen.

Behind The Door

We have a special message tonight... targeted towards you, motherfucker! You know who you are. As for the others just visiting, welcome... sit back and relax while I smack this fucker.


Dear Interloper-

I'm writing to you here tonight, because it wouldn't surprise me if you come here to try to get more dirt on me and invade my personal growth and space. Surprise, surprise... I'm on to you! You've become increasingly more difficult to deal with and watch as you throw your life away... at this point I could care less, really. Go ahead and O.D., go to prison, get hit by a bus or whatever the fuck your worthless piece of shit self wants to do next. However... leave me the fuck alone! It's that simple. As you know, I already have a lock on my closet door... to keep you the fuck out of my personal objects, collections, journals, medications, coins, etc. I have locked everything away of value because of you, you thieving, worthless piece of bloody, dried-up cat shit! The key that unlocks my closet, and thus your playground, is kept on my person 24/7... in my pocket while I'm awake and underneath me while I'm asleep. You will not get the key, motherfucker so stop sneaking in looking for it while I try to rest. Furthermore, the door is always locked, that's right, always! So quit coming in my room, while I'm at therapy, and checking to see if the closet door is unlocked... it's not, bitch! Just stop right there and shut the fuck up! I know you go in there and check! How? I set traps in my room to see if you've been in there while I was away... that's right, you always trigger my traps, asshole. Your observation skills are less than those of an infant and you're too self-involved and egotistical to think someone could possibly out smart you... think again. I'm a paranoid schizophrenic with an IQ of 142... what, you don't think I watch my back constantly? Fucking Troglodyte! Instead of trying to steal my pain and anxiety medication, my collections, my valuables... go out and get a fucking job, you lazy fuck! Buy your own shit, your own drugs, and leave me the fuck alone! Just in case, you're wondering how pathetic you really are... let me give you a fucking hint. It's pretty low to steal from people. It's even lower to steal from someone that is providing a roof over your head. Even lower still, to be stealing from a disabled, mentally ill person... I don't really think you can get any lower, really. You're already dry-fucking my ass every chance you get... no kiss, no lube, just fuck, fuck, fuck! I would love to see you in a foreign country, where they cut your hands off in public square if you're a thief... they'd probably already cut both arms up to your shoulders and your legs up to your hips. I've had it with your fucking shit... grow the fuck up already and do something with yourself. Or at the very least, get the fuck out of my house and life! I already get sick to my stomach every time I see your stupid, fucking face... and the urge to fucking stab your face 187 times is growing quickly. Fuck! I fucking hate you... I fucking hate everything about you! Back off, bitch, and get your own fucking life to dry-hump... leave me the fuck alone!

- My Name Goes Here, Fuck YOU!


Ahh, therapy at it's finest... I think I actually feel a little bit better. We will return to our regularly scheduled broadcast tomorrow evening, goodnight.

Behind Porcelain Eyes

The information is raw, leaving me exposed in the most delicate of fashion... sitting on the toilet, with my pants and underwear wrapped loosely around my ankles, as the awaited stream spurts from my soon to be flaccid penis. It shows everything in my past... the bodies I've slept with and the ones rotting in the closet or under floorboards. You've seen my worst, the things that cripple me with anguish and disgust... but you'll need to look in deeper to find the truth. Puzzles, oh how we've grown to love them... words sticking out from under the shrubbery, awaiting you to trample over them and discover their purpose. We've lived with the face of shame for far too long... there is nothing sacred in here. We'll lay it all down before you, like a baby on a stone alter... waiting to be feasted upon and it's drinkers infused with knowledge and power of understanding. I am the sacrificial lamb, the choir is the gods that demand it, and you shall be my savior... my redemption and entrance into the next level of ascension. Perhaps then, when someone would gaze into my eyes... looking past the flesh and into my soul, seeing the truth and sickness within. Would they still welcome me into their arms and hearts... accepting it all and fully understanding where I've been? The meaning behind the cryptic words and vivid descriptions... the answer to matted hair, cotton flowers, 1013, 2003, Salem, milk and honey, and my first kiss. Could a man that was rejected from their mother's womb, in attempt to end what had begun, a man that laid with the beasts to find comfort and acceptance, a man that wrapped the twine tightly around his fists to silence the cancer within, a man that distorted innocence to become an affectionate embrace... be wanted and cherished by anyone other than those dwelling within? Could these debts be paid and forgiven... is there really a point to this all? Nonetheless, I have nothing to lose... no self respect or dignity. Pride fell long ago, from the throne of the heart... it rests now in ash, in the nest of hair, lace, and semen. Forsake me not... not for my words or deeds, nor the things not easily understood. I am here, I am alive, for better or for worse... I need this peace to swaddle my soul. I need you...

What Left But Never Went Away

It has begun, the cycle has started and the worms rear their heads in anticipation... what we were is past and that which comes next is now. The snake sloughs it's skin... the rodents prepare the nest. The hole goes down, down, down... did you leave the trail of biscuits?

Dear 2003,

It was me... all this time. When we met in confidence to uncover the secret betrayal with ritual and magic... the cards told the truth, it was my split tongue that altered it's voice. It had become an obsession, the chase and the collections... a ravage hunt of lust and delicate fibers. I placed your hairs in plastic tubes... locked away where the blood should be. One for the head and one for the waist...  harvested from the nesting place of my mouth and face. The cotton formed fields of pleasure and a bed for me to rape... over and over as I inhaled your essence and feasted on your honey and milk. It became a religion... a way of salvation and dedication. The cost was flesh... skin for skin. With so many in my grasps, an army of a hundred or more... I named and treasured them all. Never to be soiled or altered... they nestled closely to sleep, wrapped tightly in sheets of plastic, as the drawer was replaced with cardboard. You tried to end the madness, but I thwarted your every plan... I rescued them from your floorboards and constrictive bindings. They needed air... and for awhile, I felt as if they needed me as much as I needed them. But you see, it wasn't just the family I raised from nothing into a vast fortune... it was you, it was always about you. Every time another came home and added to the colored field of cotton, through their labors and offerings... I was one step closer to you. Another piece had come home and you were that much closer to my bed... the hunger burned deeply and the thirst could not be satiated. I am sorry to have waited so long for the truth to be told... I was sworn to silence and paid for my vows with blood. But it was you, all this time... it was always about you.

1013 And Vitamin T

First of all, I want to apologize about the lack of entries lately... the small amount of energy and drive I usually have for writing is being used up by this photo project. It seems impossible to get out of bed most days, which means I'm not sitting at my desk pouring my mind onto "paper", as it were. We're hoping as time goes on, I will develop a routine that will allow me to write more frequently... "want in one hand and shit in the other", as my Grandmother used to tell me. At any rate, I appreciate and value all of you that come and visit with me... deciphering the madness from tangible information.

Things have gotten a tad better... I'm trying to be optimistic here, so just go along with it, huh? There have been a few times of laughter over the past few days... usually during "tense" moments of violent, horror movies. Doesn't everyone find themselves laughing every time someone gets killed? The moments of wanting to kill myself are becoming further spread apart... rather than hours on end of being tormented and taunted into inserting a knife in my throat or in my bicep, then ripping it down to my wrist. Despite the misery of the recent reminders... not once have I found myself lost in tears over it. Perhaps I was too depressed to cry... is that even possible? The will and desire to write is just about gone... even the desire to play my video games is gone. I used to play them all the tie as a form of therapy... digital therapy I called it. But it's been dry... no rainstorm of obsession or desire to sit at my desk and lose myself in an RPG. In addition to rotting away, we've been smoking a lot of cigars lately... too many actually. I had to put in another order for some despite my limited budget... I just find them so soothing and therapeutic. It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that I'm an avid tobacco aficionado... okay well that's not quite true, it might. I just love smoking...whether in my pipe, cigars, hand-rolled cigarettes, I fucking love it. The rituals, the long drags, the release of chemicals in my brain... it's the total experience, fucking brilliant! I'm sure it sounds stupid or perhaps hazardous... but I need to have something that soothes me in this world. Something that gives me pleasure and interest enough to continue pressing onward...she used to love the smell of tobacco on my chest. Simple memories that can gut a man into a putrid mess... replacing warm scents with ripping flesh and blood stained, cotton flowers.

When Angels Die

It has come and within a few hours it will pass... this day, her day, is a rusted blade twisting in my stomach, digging deeper with each thrust and the bile consumes me from the inside. It is the worst day of the year... the day my heart dies just a little more. You've heard me mention other days that were extremely difficult for me, like March 15 for example, but this day... it's rated number one on the suffering menu. "So let me guess... it's about a woman, obviously since you said 'her day'. So what could this delicate flower have ever done to you that causes you so much suffering?". Well, yes, it is about a woman and no, it's not about what she did to me... not in the least. Today is her birthday, that's why it is such a painful reminder... not of her, but of me. My closest understanding and concept of love is being used when I say, I don't hate her at all... I love her. That in itself is a terribly confusing truth... the ins and outs of what love really is and the lines that separate the differences between such loves. This day should be about her and the wonderful person that she is... somewhere in my twisted mind this day became all about myself and the disgusting piece of filth and rotten flesh I've become. It's a reminder of the people I've hurt, especially her, both directly and indirectly in her name. I have been the root of much suffering to several people... both hurting her and hurting people with her. The sorrow is overwhelming and the knots in my gut feel as if they as going to bust. I lay in bed crying, begging for it to all go away... desperately clinging to the thought that I need to die to begin to make even the slightest bit of redemption. How could I have ever done those things? I remember each instance like it was only yesterday, and every time I look upon my face I want to smash the remaining life out of those hollow eyes... I need to rip it out, rip it out! I spoke to her today, as I always do, and she said, "I love you"... the words that melt away the hardest soul, only cause me incredible grief and sorrow. I don't understand it, I can't feel it, and I certainly can't accept it... what is love and why, oh why, would you waste it on me? After everything I've done... I can't be the only one that remembers, and I know the choices that were made impacted our lives forever. Perhaps it is just a common courtesy... words that fill the void with expected tones but have no real meaning to themselves. Either way, I fucking hate me... if I had any real courage at all, I would stick a dagger through my throat once and for all. I just want it to stop... for the love of God, make it fucking stop! All I can say is, I am sorry... so very and sincerely sorry. Fuck...

Just For A Moment

Time has once again passed us by, but this time something positive occurred in it's place... I've successfully posted self-portraits for seven days, in a row. I survived one week of internal humiliation and ridicule... the Choir is viciously delicious in their torments. I haven't received any negative feedback from the community thus far, so that is a plus in my book. It has been humbling, posting myself looking filthy and unbathed, hair in a knotted mess... open and oozing like an open sore for the multitude to prod and poke. Showing myself vulnerable and with raw intimacy... it would have been easy to hide and forget the possibility of growth. Nonetheless, I did it... I started something and stuck to it. That is something to feel good about... for the moment. It's a release from the things lurking within and trying to escape the photographs... for a brief moment in time, I felt like I was worth something. Perhaps not much, but that's not the point... the point is, it was something. It may be hard for someone outside the box to appreciate this feeling... what is seven photos in the grand scheme of things? Imagine viewing yourself out of the picture perfect world... where you soak in the daily accolades and love from those in your plastic lives. Welcome to a place where you've never felt loved from anything or appreciated... not from your mother or father, absolutely nothing. Now in this dark world with only yourself... imagine only seeing yourself as a worthless, hideous, putrid, helpless, pathetic mass. Nothing good will ever come from you, because you are lower than the earth the dogs shit upon... rotting flesh for people to use and toss away at their whim. Now, for a brief moment... you did something. You showed yourself to the world and stood up for yourself proclaiming... "I am here, and I am real.". That moment of truth, that moment of pure humanity... the minute accomplishment of posting seven self-portraits of your fragile, delicate soul. It is something, and I am going to allow myself to feel good about it for a few more minutes before something comes forth to take it from me... for just a moment, I was free. For just one moment, I was real... flesh and blood, just like you.

Divided Together

We've been chasing the carrot... withered and moldy, dangling from the caravans string. Time eludes it's purpose... stretching further out, never reaching the closing doorways. Pressing on. All that should've been said, unsaid and all that should've been done, undone... it's not enough, for what has been too much. The dials turn in, tuning in the elements... let the focus revive the things turned sour, not only once this hour. The way one brushes your cheek with the back of their hand... before smacking the blood lose from your gums. Cherish the embrace, oh heart, oh love... stabbing you over and over, from the face to the breast. The music stops... the sound of chirping needles, with no where else to read. The ripples are a precursor to the imminent storm that swells... as the rocking heaves us back and forth, another time, in this place. The waters rise, cautiously laughing as we wash upon the shore... gasping and choking, we release nothing but ash. It was calm, just as before. As the whining dims, we breathe once more... it is calm again, just as it was before.

The Days After

I apologize for my previous post being so short and curt... panic had driven us reckless and the remaining courage was seeping out quickly. I had decided to start my photo project and I posted with haste so I wouldn't change my mind... the turning wheels capture crippled flesh. So far, I've made it through three days... I know it's very little considering the count, but the amount is staggering at the same time. I don''t have any artistic talent to speak of, nothing moving or unique... just a tumbling mass of ash and regret. Nonetheless, I'm hoping something beautiful can be born from a moment of madness... perhaps in time I will see some worth in this  husk called my own. Despite my abilities and lack thereof, I wanted to sincerely thank everyone that has supported us during this difficult time. The visits, the favorites, and comments... it's been an overwhelming experience already. Everyday I post in fear and insecurity, and everyday someone takes the time to say something wonderful, thoughtful and it's so greatly appreciated. I lack the descriptive powers of expression when it comes to a positive venue... the translation is lost, the vibration consumes every thought. Regardless of my inability, the only words that can capture how this support has moved me is simply this: It brings a smile to my face... something that is truly rare. Those words of encouragement raise the heavy corners of my lips and fill my eyes with a lost luster and glow... it feels good and wholesome. I shall continue to do my best from day to day to continue this project and hopefully the journey of healing. I just really wanted to say thank you, to all of you, once again... truly, sincerely and deeply. Thank you.

Project: Humanity

The idea of starting this photo project has been torturous... so many opinions, consequences, and risks. I decided today to just jump in and see what happens. You can witness the horror for yourself, with the supplied link below. It's not for vanity. It's not for people to criticize or compliment. It's for the part of me that is missing... the sheltered and beaten child inside that wants to be free. This project is for me. Simply me. Already I feel the panic setting in... but in a way, this first step feels liberating. Thank you, to all of my readers, for your support and understanding throughout the years. Day 1 has begun... there's no turning back now.

My Flickr Photostream

Pillows For Insomniacs

It grows inside you, violently kicking and rending like an undead fetus... the disgust and loathsome anguish fueled by resentment. It's an infection, just like any gangrenous sore... it must be cut out. At night, we trace our arms with razor blades... wondering how quickly it could be taken away. All of the pain and suffering, the memories and guilt... the unwanted erections that soil the afterbirth. Shame would be forgotten and the struggle to remain sober would cease... a wounded man walks with his head hung low, but the dead need not walk at all. No longer would I feast on the endless plates of tongues... bloated tissue of lies as my only sustenance. The rituals fade away with no one left to foster the vigil... the mass unending, the end complete. Rather than crawling upon my knees with fistfuls of pubic hair as the offering... thrown in ire at the faces that once admired the thought of love and regret. May my eyes finally close as I inhale the rails of powder fantasy... it need not be long, just enough to sleep eternal. Two heartbeats, three, and four... soon to be undone, leaving less than one. Mother's walls would finally come down, as Jesus and I drink our afternoon tea... dancing in a pile of angel's wings. All that would be left... is me.

I visited with my doctor today... my monthly mental health medication checkup. The report was tasteless, but the mouth gnaws with no teeth to fill it. My medication was raised by another 20mg, in hopes of some relief to come rapping at my bathroom window... the probability is bleak, so we must remain on watch. The hands to go ticking by so slowly... measure the heart of a man. What really needs to change in my life is this living situation... the hostages must be set free. Until that happens, all we can do is force enough pills down my gullet to help me make it through another day. I told him that I was seriously considering taking up a new hobby... drinking. He failed to find the humor in that statement... probably because he knew I wasn't kidding. I was reminded that would only be an escape from reality... thus, not a recommended form of treatment. How I long for the aroma of bubbling dirt and burnt hair... sobriety comes with a heavy price, one called life. The downside would be the removal of that trophy... the one so prized and jeweled. Perhaps it never existed in the first place... every night is ended by chewing my narcotics in the name of healthcare. I am the stripe-less tiger, for this is deeper than the flesh... it's in my bones. A glorified junkie.

The Teeth That Cling

Okay, so here it is... a long time coming. Many of you might be curious about the reference to one of my traumatic incidents, I suffered as a child... the remarks of rape, how tears tasted on cold vinyl, and the dentist. Take a seat, raise your feet, and hear my lullaby cry.

When I was a young child, my parents took my to the dentist, just as every parent does... we'd suffer the trauma to win a prize at the end of visit. A new plastic toy from the goody box... or an aftertaste, not so minty fresh. The dentist office we went to had only one room for cleaning / oral surgeries... it was a large room with chairs lining three sides of the adjoining walls. The other empty wall had the treasure chest and a little play table. The waiting room was separate and the parents would be forced to wait outside and read the old, crusty pages of last months magazines. We had been going to the same dentist for a long time, longer than I could remember... but long enough to have that treasure chest burned into my childish mind. On one visit, my parents were informed that I needed some oral surgery... the gum line on my lower, two front teeth was receding do to a birth defect. It was a relative simple surgery, they would remove some gum tissue from the roof of my mouth and graft it on to my lower gum line... giving me the needed support and protection for those new teeth. I remember being nervous, like any child would be... even though we always got a toy for behaving, it was still an unpleasant visit. The day arrived, my father took me to the dentist, and I cried when they took me into the back... my spirit new something was different this day, forever changing my life, and I wept when my father was refused to escort me back into "the room". It started like any checkup, I was helped into the over-sized, vinyl chair and had a bib attached around my neck. Today was different, I was the only child in the room, the only patient in that wide opened room... the air was stale and still, smelling of old, smoked cigarettes. Next came the shots into the roof of my mouth, followed by some gas that made me a bit dizzy. Then things changed... I'll never forget the few memories that penetrated my innocent mind and shattered the dancing child within. I remember the dentist and two assistants, a male and a female, unbuttoned my pants and pulled them down to my ankles... I can still feel the cold, damp, chair against my naked flesh. I began getting very nervous, not understanding why my pants and underwear had been pulled down and why they were surrounded me on each side. The female assistant leaned over, pressing her breasts against my face, as the dentist placed one hand on my trembling leg. I couldn't see what was happening, but I could feel it when it broke the skin without prejudice... a "needle" was pushed deep into my right thigh. The male assistant, reached over and pinned down my left leg and another "needle" was inserted deeply into my left thigh. I say "needle", because all I could see was the woman's breast pushed tightly against my face... it felt sharp like a needle and there was something definitely stuck in my thighs. I began crying and moaning, and begging for them to stop... the reply rings clearly to this very day. The dentist replied, "I'm not going to take them out until you settle down and stop crying... this is going to happen.". It seemed like hours passed, the pain was excruciating, and I began dripping urine out of my tiny, scared penis. The next thing I remember was being rolled on my left side, facing the two assistants... the woman was holding down my shoulders and cheek against the vinyl chair and the male was stationed at  my lower half, rubbing my legs gently.  I remember hearing the woman moan as she rammed my face further into the chair. I could feel the dentist at my backside, although I have no active memory after he touched my hips... the last thing I remember was the taste of the chair mixed with my tears, running down my throat. In that instant, the child disappeared, and what followed will never be fully known. After years of therapy, it has been decided that I was anally assaulted by the dentist while the assistants fondled and caressed themselves and myself. I remember going home and seeing blood in the toilet that afternoon... not understanding why I was bleeding from my bottom and my mouth. A few days later, the stitches that were holding the graft in place, fell out and the newly attached flesh died... to this day, I still have the same condition on my lower, two front teeth. All that time and money was wasted and I didn't even receive a toy from the ordeal. My "treat" from the "goody, treasure chest" lasted far longer than any cheap, plastic toy... it's still with me today, and shall be for the rest of this life. My only regret is that the procedure was a failure... that lowered gum line makes me very self-conscious about smiling. Not to mention, going to the dentist has been a nightmare filled with panic and heartaches ever since...

T.O.D. - The Girl With Fiery Eyes

As I debated on what I would share for the day, Richard requested I post something from T.O.D. ... it's been awhile since you were forced to read some of my old writings. Bring your mother and sister under the covers... so many breasts on which to feed. Like milk and honey, the sweeter with money... while your son sucks out your seed. Thank you, for that inspirational message... T.O.D. cares.



"Wedding Vows"

Cut me- until I bleed;
Cut me- remove the seed.
Cut me- slash and speak;
Cut me- pounding me weak.

Your terror- swims through;
Your voice- shatters too.
Your eyes- holes of lies;
Your love- withers and dies.

My poison- your nest;
My lust- your breast.
My pain- your face;
My death- this place.

In you- rotting meat;
In you- heartless beat.
In you- endless feast;
In you- beauty's beast.


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