A World Within The Tree

The world, my world, has shifted... with the ground uneven and trembling, I find myself knelt before our tree. This tree, all it represents, the future and promise of tomorrow, has been my refuge and anchor in this world... a daily reminder of what flowed within, the blood, the breath, the light, all stemming from one source. Now it is but a shadow of what was, the tongue that tore it apart and unearthed it's roots from my heart... the salt from my eyes has poisoned the ground, and all that was is no more. Perhaps it is my limited understanding of what happened, the events that unfolded so quickly and the overly polite exits that followed. The reminder of what would always be, rather than what is... a clear precursor to the change that would immediately alter the relationship.Redefinition. Loss. Each word was in vain, every action was without hope... all I could do was watch as the door closed, as the tree became unearthed, choking on the tears that relentlessly fell upon the burnt ground. It was then, that this time I knew for certain that things were different... despite the promises and assurances, I knew those words were only spoken in kindness, not truth. The truth was something quite different, it was the dark I had feared coming... and how dark it was. For hours I wept uncontrollably, pleading with myself that the end had not yet settled in... that there could be a tomorrow, a purpose, some hope. But these things will never come, for they died at  the foot of tree... the one that sheltered us, listened quietly to our conversations, and wore our initials on her chest. When Tuesday met Friday, and how quickly he knew that he loved her... the kind of love that is only written about, and so rarely seen or felt. All this loss and sorrow, not even a day after I discovered our tree was a girl... just like the chair. Do you remember? How quickly we forget always...

The Powder Room

A perverse amount of time has passed since I have been able to come here and document the pathetic nature of my life... or what passes for the excuse of living life. I am indeed not living, rather I am nothing more than a slave to addiction, torment and debauchery. Within these walls of script, that have outlined the nature of my various failures, crimes and transgressions, you've become familiar with the monster that wears the face of humanity and mingles among the living. Most of the events written within, require some deduction and thought to fully appreciate their significance and meaning. This will not be the case today. For the message I have to share today, needs not the lattice and veiled approach... the dirt upon my face and the spittle foaming in the corners of my lips speak for itself.

About three months ago, I returned to the rabbit hole and the denizens within... once again engaging in the dance of substance abuse. They welcomed me passionately, as I returned to the embrace of lost lovers... the orgasm of flesh and mind, as the drugs consumed any remaining remnants of pride and self-worth. The affair did not end there, for it has become a daily exercise of humiliation and debasement. The seductress of choice this time around is opiates... more specifically, Dilaudid. Once I awake for the day, within moments I've ingested enough to send my body into a nodding delirium. The ecstasy washes over me and the foot race ensues... running frantically from the stress of the day and the demons that devour my remaining sanity. Once the slightest sign of sobriety approaches, I return desperately to the bedroom floor of my mistress and expose my milky flesh in exchange for another dose of orgasmic bliss. The dance continues all day long, day after day, without rest and an endless amount of remorse. I've become a whore to my drug and myself... a junkie and an established author of failure.


Of course, all of this is a descriptive way of informing you that I have once again starting abusing drugs. NO, I am not whoring myself out for drugs and there is, in fact, no mistress or drug dealing rabbits. As you already know, I suffer from chronic pain due to some injuries to my back, neck and leg from long ago. It is also well known that even though I was sober for over ten years, I still displayed behavior of a drug addict by hoarding my pain medications. So you see, there is no need to sell my body for drugs or even associate with a drug dealer, because I have a near endless supply of opiates at my disposal. I suppose that's why I chose to abuse that particular drug... availability. As for what lead me down this path, that's a different story entirely. Yes, there were circumstances, but the biggest factor would be weakness. Yes, things were said and certain event transpired, but the decision was ultimately mine and mine alone. No one forced me to start using again... I took that leap all by myself.

When I stopped using drugs before, it became a common occurrence to have people tell me things like, "It won't last" and "Once a junkie, always a junkie". I suppose part of me became accustomed to this attitude from others and their cruelty and ignorance. At the same time, I suppose part of me always remained very sensitive and hurt my these thoughts. Perhaps that's why what followed had such a profound impact on my decision to start using drugs again. For a little over a year now, I've had a very strong desire to have a child of my own.... to raise a family that I had a role in creating. This idea, this thought, has become something that I yearn for greatly. Not too long along, someone very close to me, at the time, told me something very callous and cruel. They said they would never even consider having a child with someone like me, a former drug addict, because they would only return to that lifestyle and ruin the life and childhood of their child. Hearing this, broke my heart and shattered my dreams and desires... as if my face were brutally thrust into a mirror and I was force fed the shards of broken glass. This person supposedly cared for me and called themselves my friend... to hear something so hurtful really had a profound impact on my fragile and limited self-esteem. I was fueled with anger and rage... all of the voices came running back to the front line. "Once a junkie, always a junkie!". I thought to myself, "Why not? Fuck it! Let them be right... I don't give a fuck anymore!". The stress in my life had become unbearable and my hopes of leaving this apartment and living on my own had only become more and more complicated and delayed. So I needed an escape. I needed a way to leave all of this bullshit behind me. So I did. I closed my eyes and said "Goodbye" to my ten years of sobriety and returned to the place I once swore I'd never see again.

So here I sit... three months into this addiction that has a firm grasp on my soul and testicles. I have no one to blame but myself, and truthfully, I don't. I did in the beginning perhaps. But now, it is very clear to me that this was a decision of my own making and design. I'm not comfortable with it, by any means. In fact, I fucking hate it. At first, I was hoping it would just kill me... then I could finally say goodbye to this pathetic excuse of an existence. However, as I've stated countless times before... nothing is ever as simple as we'd like it to be. For now, let's just say I'm no longer satisfied with the idea of dieing from this addiction... it's something I wish to remove from my life, so that I can begin a new chapter. A chapter worth living. But that's a story for another time.

For now, this is all I have to share on the subject. For those of you that consider yourselves my friends... I am truly sorry that I've let you down and become something less than human. For those of you that desire to judge me on my short comings and "knew this day was coming"...  go fuck yourselves, you self-righteous, mother fucking leeches.

Fingertips & Bruised Lips

I apologize for the lack of entries... life has become, complicated, once again. My goal was to post on a regular basis... everyday in fact, if that would at all be possible. It's no surprise that things seldom turn out the way we expected them to be... life has a way of dry fucking you, despite the copious amounts of lubrication on hand.

It's been about two weeks now since I rebelled and rejected the poison... the Choir has returned to full strength and I've left the chains of center stage behind. It was decided that we should also discontinue the anti-depression medication... not a choice made purely by myself. They all had a hand in this conclusion... two fingers per sandwich and one always left dry. Richard has remained in the background... praying and chanting in rhythm with the Choir and restless screams. The children continue to rot in the gasping gullets... the blood quenches their thirst no longer. The definitions of suffering and torment have stretched like the bellies of fattened calves ready for slaughter... rocking back and forth in the middle of the night, as the faces leap single-filled from the closet. It's not a matter of adjustment... it's the fallout of evolution. The more I try to realize some measure of value, the images shift their perspective and innocence... there is no "I" in team, but there is a "Me". Self-preservation... the cautionary tale of genocide. Part of me is still clinging on to the promises and assurances of Richard... the destination is the same, it's only the path and his companionship that is of the question. His strength has been proven in the recent past, so his wrath is a continual concern... he may be still for the moment, but he is very much aware and waiting. With Diana's continued absence, my support has dwindled considerably... the majority of my support has been reduced to the internal, for my resources and companionship in the real world are beyond limited. My cat and my doctors are the extent of my social reaches... digital and delusional persons excluded, of course. Perhaps I need to widen the horizons... venture into the real world and sink my toes into the earth. Replace the X with 0808 and do what was once denied...

The Empty Crowd

I've been away... wandering through the fields of feelings. It has become somewhat silent since I started the medication.... Richard is slipping away and The Choir is still, once more. Already I feel such a loss, the despair tearing through my heart and ripping it out of my chest. For the first time, in a long time, I'm all alone. One bitter sweet occurrence is the emergence of emotions... with things quiet inside my head, I'm able to feel all kinds of terrible emotions. Terrible because I can't control the force in which they spew... terrible because I hurt so bad. Tonight was the first night that I actually cried tears... not a dry, reluctant sob, but actual tears flowing down my cheek and running into the sides of my mouth. A few days before I decided to take the medication, I had a breakthrough in my emotional growth... it was unexpected and shocking. I felt a warm sensation burning within my stomach and up into my chest... it was a birthing of positive emotions. Those long awaited feelings had become to awaken inside my heart and opened a never before seen world to me. But now looking with clarity, I know the price of such joyous emotions... nothing is free and without cost. Yes, I felt something unknown... it was love. And now that the voices are slipping away, I can hear my own thoughts and fears as they turn those beautiful emotions into suffering. This my life really better now... feeling what I feel and knowing what I now know? It's different. It's difficult, to say the least. But those moments of happiness and love, when they come, are so moving and earth shaking in my core being. I really don't know. If life remains void as it has been, then perhaps the price is too high. But if offered a chance to dwell in and out of those moments, even for a short while... then perhaps, yes. Indeed yes. Though life may never be liveable... at least I am living now. That's worth something...

The Matchstick Lullaby

The depression has taken a severe toll on the little grasp of humanity I clutched closely... separating the halves further, deeper still, within itself. The few people that I could converse with on a regular basis or at a given social gathering, have become tainted... the flock flees towards the cliff's edge, as lemmings on a sacrificial run. Withdrawn... withdrawn is the word. What a fascinating illness... it takes our self-worth and spirals it downward, only to further cleave us away from the loose fibers of social construct. So this is the bottom... oh, no wait, this is. Even to someone such as myself, that prefers the solitude and quiet that suffocates me in the absence of heartbeats... I'm never lonely when I'm alone, only when someone is near me. Still, it creeps in... lurking, clawing, pulling every loose thread until the tapestry unfolds upon itself. The casual conversations have become increasingly more alien to the ears within my head... our head is within my head and when they speak, they're all dead. The vermin and interlopers have worn our spirit so thin, that I must flee within the deepest parts of myself... withdrawing further away, from the lecherous, cancerous fledglings that invade any peace I might obtain. Healing is slow going, when the puss is flowing... as we grow weary of their awed, stale crowing.

Exhale

The comfort escapes me... even now, sitting at my desk smoking a treasured cigar, I feel it slipping away. There is very little in this world that offers any bit of peace or comfort... all I had left was my cigars. The old means have long vanished... playing music, making music, playing video games, or watching DVDs. At night, all there is to be found are the relentless screams and pleading for death... the imagery of of thrusting broken glass into my throat or hacking off my penis in a fit of self-hatred. I want peace, I want love, I want companionship... I'm just too fucking tired of rotting and inhaling the stale overtones of failure, disdain, and putrid memories. Every night it's the same... hours on end, begging for it to just fucking stop. Then I'll awake after some twisted nightmare and 2 hours of sleep... to curse the sunrise and another day of nothing.

Teachers Of Delicate Features

Casual conversations become intimate at a rapid pace... without thought or direction, just the simple utterance of a name. It's no secret that, for the most part, I'm terrified by people... their lingering thoughts and judging eyes, rip the flesh from my face and smolder the raw tissue with shame. Over time certain people become less "dangerous", and I can actually have brief interactions and courtesies... the occasional eye contact is made and perhaps a sliver of a smile escapes from time to time. At this current point in time, there are two women I see regularly,  as I mingle among the infested population... Jena and Holly. Jena works at the place where I get my coffee before every therapy appointment, so I see her several times a week... always friendly and even gives me free coffee quite often. We don't share casual conversation, other than pleasantries, but she is a comfortable addition to my routine. Holly works at the pharmacy I frequent for all of my various medications... I usually see her 2-3 times a month. Holly and I do exchange a fair amount of casual conversation, more than pleasantries to be certain... we ask each other about our weekend plans or shared common interests. She is always very friendly and always comes over to visit when I gather my medications... smiles are exchanged and best wishes when we part. I was thinking on night about these two relationships... I wouldn't call them friendships, perhaps more acquaintances. An experiment came to mind, to better understand the social interactions of relationships... any relationships, in this case, fairly small in size and intensity. The experiment was to address these two women by their names the next time i see them to see what would happen... it seemed like a valid thought at the time and certainly harmless. When I went to get my coffee the next day, I greeted Jena by name... it was very odd on my part, almost intrusive. Her reaction was minimal... it didn't result in a boosted relationship or any more type of recognition. All only noticeable difference was how awkward I felt inside... the vibrations started building up a bottle-neck in my mind. I troubled me for the rest of the day... going over the experiment in my mind, dissecting each moment and glance. The next time I went to get my coffee, I omitted the recent addition of her name and all returned to where it was before the experiment... no harm, no foul, but no further understanding either. The next trial would be on Holly a few days later... our relationship, whatever it is, was a bit more friendly and comfortable. I thought perhaps this time it would be quite an interesting experiment. I greeted her by name and instantly I felt my guts turn and my heart pounding in my throat... she glanced downward instead of smiling and seemed to be putting out some vibrations of her own. The rest of the visit was increasingly more difficult and the vibrations became so intense that I started to clinch my jaw and gnash my teeth... as the experiment came to a close, I wished her a good day and closed with her name and departed. I felt so terrible for what I had done... even though I didn't understand what I did was wrong. I was very disturbed... I felt like I had jumped over the counter and forcibly sodomized her in a fit of rage. I was disgusted and ashamed. I went back to the pharmacy the next day to pick up my pain medication and I was literally shaking with fear as I approached the counter... this time, I didn't use her name and everything returned to normal. The smiles, the friendliness, exchange in casual conversation... once again, I felt comfortable and enjoyed seeing  Holly. The various results of this experiment had me baffled... I was completely thrown. How could using someone's name change everything and make the vibrations so sickeningly intense? I talked to my therapist about this experiment and asked for his help in understanding what happened. In his opinion, nothing really changed on Jena's or Holly's end of the relationship... it was more than likely all in my mind. The intensity of the differences between the two women had to do with my different levels of comfort with each of them... the violent and nervous reactions were due to allowing someone closer to the real me inside. It was threatening to myself and the structure of my fragile existence... it gave them too much power over me, by allowing the to become more personal in my mind. I'm still struggling with understanding this all, but I do realize that the experiment's results were less than desired. I spend so much time, wishing I could feel emotions and have relationships with people... yet, my mind won't allow it. Neither will the wounded child inside...

The Hunger And Defeat

When the walls are void of all other life, the gears inside mesh and turn at an increased rate... more apt to move around and focus on certain projects. Overall, we just function better... no outside energy sources or vibrations to confuse us further. The floorboards creak as they are slowly lifted upwards... the children slither out upon the floor and begin to chant excessively as they shamble around the room. Loneliness withers away and is replaced with eagerness to explore the cardboard boxes and warm, pulsing collections... the loneliness is greatest when surrounded by other people. Perhaps it's the disassociation and confusion that arises around family or company... the stage must be set and the lines are in place. Action! There are no performers here, just the ones in chains and the children that watch in horror as the flesh flies... the bits and pieces are of the same source. Separate of body, but together in mind. It's a time to shine and be ourselves... no need to pretend or worry what others say and think. Reality and humanity breed without discretion... together in the dissection, it's our time to wander and smile. These occurrences are extremely rare and valued immensely... I can escape the madness, although temporary, and listen as our thoughts digest the troubles of yesterday. Regardless of the occupancy, the flood gates will rupture and those demons come in full force... swinging the meat and memories. The area shifts in shape and these empty walls become bricks of stone... notches that tear the nails from our fingertips as we scamper for an exit. That very peace becomes a prison and the people that left, to offer me sanctuary, are needed to return home to offer grounding reality... it's a battle for time and sanity, pacing the floors for new life and discomfort. As much as I enjoy and thrive in the absence of people... I can't live on my own. I need people to keep me grounded in reality... in a place where people feed on food, rather than flesh. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

Taking Chances

My therapist and I haven't gotten back together this week... he has taken ill, so I won't be back there until Tuesday. This means I haven't had a chance to talk to him about my potential experiment or my ongoing experiments. The potential one is the photo project and the ongoing experiments are my pathetic attempts at making friends and understanding relationships. I use the word pathetic because the results have been less than desirable... usually the attempts are returned by severe cruelty and verbal bashings lined with harsh accusations. However there has been a minor amount of progress... out of the last 4 people I have written in an attempt to foster some type of friendship, 3 have flat out ignored me and only 1 has openly rejected me. The progress is, none of them have been directly cruel... indirectly however, I am a pin cushion. I don't think people make the connection... it's like they think so little of others or they are just completely daft. Let me fill in the gasps for sleeping lemmings. People of the world: When you ignore someone and project that their existence is limited by your recognition, it hurts... it fucking hurts to be ignored, you fucking assholes! Okay, that helped me feel a little better. Back to the point, not only does it hurt... but it's just fucking rude. It's good to know the Christian community is still very much sensitive to people and doing the right thing... I think it was in one of Jesus's sermons to be diligent and kick people when they are down and to walk in self righteousness. And God said, "Cast those insignificant, mentally ill, pieces of shit to the side... the aren't worth loving!". Can I get an amen?

I'm not certain if anyone takes the time to read through the comments other people leave, but if you do... you may have a question about another social experiment of mine. As you all know, the name Alabaster Frank is a pseudonym... my true identity has been hidden in attempts to protect myself and certain people in my life. A few weeks ago, I thought I would take a chance and invite someone who knows me in real life to read along and learn some more about myself and my illness. It was a new social experiment to try opening myself to people I've know for a long time and try to share some things about myself and my journey and see if I could better understand relationships. It was also a hope of mine that it would be another avenue of redemption... I'm sure it sounds a little odd, but I thought it was a good idea. It turns out to have been fruitful. If you've been reading along, this person goes by the name of Winona... she has been posting quite a few comments lately and in one of the most recent ones, I explained that she knew me before I was Alabaster Frank. I just wanted to share this little bit of information with you all in case some of you were confused by the matter. I am glad I took the chance in sharing that part of myself openly with someone from my past... I've enjoyed the communication and it has been a different type of experience for me. Different in the sense of just sharing my story with a host of strangers and have nothing invested or emotional attachment. I'm not ready to share this openly with more people from my life, and honestly, I don't know if I ever will... but for now, I feel good about the small steps I've taken. As for approaching random people and asking them if they want to be friends or pen-pals... well, I don't know how much more of that I can take. Just because I have a hard time understanding and feeling emotions from people doesn't mean I'm invincible and my feelings don't get hurt... I'm highly sensitive and quite capable of having my heart trampled upon.

Infinite Undiscovery

Turn the house lights down once more... as we take center stage. It's the ballad of discontent and stringy silence... woven eyelashes and fattened bellies yawn in the dim lights. The reports are varied and the sentiments become stale which each wheezing breath... desires find themselves tethered to consciousness to keep them from sailing deeper within. Since our last meeting, I had written several people in hopes of forging some type of friendship... some ignored the request, some ridiculed, and some are too recent to state a reaction.... we were informed how foolish of an attempt this has become. Actually, pathetic and creepy were most commonly peppered in the few replies... the choir smirks in acknowledgement, knowing full well they have warned us thusly. Still, I find myself stuck in the only attempts I understand... we must step outside and learn to hurl stones to grow as such. In attempts to balance the overwhelming negative influences lately,  I have decided to do some things with myself... the pencil and paper squirm with the added vibrations. There are few things left on the list to experience in this life-stream... most ingredients have been purchased, spoiled, and eaten. One of those things is getting a tattoo... the thought of what it would be came in a revelation. Something that would mean the same today as it would 20 years from now, or however long I have left on this world. Another thought that crossed my mind and that has been approved by the choir is learning how to play the cello. The first step would be to acquire one after some research and saving... those steps are well under way. Hopefully within a short amount of time, I will have something new to focus on... perhaps then it won't matter anymore and I will abandon this futile quest of understanding people and relationships. It's puzzling how I can feel so alone and empty while I have a mind full of voices and reminders... it's the faces. They need faces, then all of that loneliness will drift away...

The Paper-Cutting People

They say pictures never lie... interesting enough, I find this statement to be a lie, indeed. Waking each morning, many plaster their masks tightly fit and convincing... convenient how quickly those scars and acid lines can fade from existence. Marching forward, driven to acquire something prettier, faster, easier, and more extravagant... the flocks and locks of sheered sheep and smoked cigarettes. The exhibition is flawed, like the toxic vapors of bleach burning the throat of clarity and consciousness... we can only prance and scamper so long without detection. If someone were to photograph those precious moments of masochistic embrace, the deviant truth could remain secret and precious... frozen in time, to be lived over and over in perfect rhythm. We see the mask on display and mindset behind the eyes... not the agony beneath, the truth and disdain. Those denizens appear calm and inviting, loving and accepting... the rabbit springs the trap, just in time for Sunday dinner. A photogenic predator aching to snatch and distend your still beating heart... candied innocence, the sweetest meat on which to feast. Of course this isn't always true, sometimes the truth is caught at a weary moment... you needn't be alarmed when you pass by a piece of shit, only when you step upon it.

Bookends

The Tutorial has ended... we have no more gifts for thee, bah rum bum bum bum. Indeed, two days in a row... this time it will be different. We won't speak in riddles or hide messages under soiled sheets... nor puzzles written in metaphor. Tonight, I will play the role of the listener and you, my readers, hopefully will fill the role as voice and consciousness. Of course, that does require some work and courage on your part. Over the years, you've watched as I've danced about making a fool of myself in my quest in understanding people, emotions, and friendships. I know this may seem trivial to most, but to someone with my limitations... no words could be less true. Constantly, I make efforts to engage in conversation with people and foster some type of friendship... most of the time this ends with disgust and immediate rejection. Although, sometimes I do receive some harsh words instead of being rudely ignored. On the very rare occasion, someone responds in kind and a seed is planted... which I quickly strangle to death in a fit of confusion and social oddity. The problem I seem to encounter most often is the chance to form some type of generic relationship... perhaps a great deal of that is from myself and the words I choose, but the other part is from the populace. It's common knowledge that the internet is filled with tons of fucked up predators looking for someone to hurt or take advantage of for their own lust and greed. Seeing how my only avenue to meet people is the internet, I'm already at a severe disadvantage... on the rare occasion I do go into public, I stare at the ground and never make eye contact. The truth of the matter is this... people terrify me. Despite the fear, for some ungodly reason I find myself continuing on this quest for knowledge and understanding.

So here we are... this conversation has been stated time and time before. Here is where I need help from you, the readers. What is the appropriate conversational link, indroduction or methodology to avoid being classified as one of the dangerous people? I speak politely and state my intentions... perhaps that is too honest and robotic? What is the social protocol or proper age group of people I should be trying to speak with? Where am I going wrong... is there an application format I should be following to discover human interaction and understanding?

Honestly, I am uncertain of the questions to ask of you... so I find myself here, just asking for any help in general. Thank you for taking the time to listen and hopefully someone comes forward with some helpful information. Until we meet again...

Releasing The Wild

Many things could be stated, but all without due certainty... the only constant is the stale, lifeless breath within. I am still alive... unfortunately. Several events have transpired over the past few weeks... while I slept in a state of denial and awe. I have kept a piece of myself locked within a cage, even though that remnant had long since decayed... the refusal to fully let the chapter close and the sun set on the bitter ending. Enough time has passed, wasted in the thoughts of reconstruction and how I could have acted differently... it is done, the carcass has begun to stink within. Today, in this hour, I am releasing you... fully and completely, releasing the wild. If I could understand or fully comprehend emotions, I would say that I am heartbroken... but then again, can a dead heart be broken? It all started with the awkward invitation, an experiment and adventure to better understand this phenomenon of "friendships". I made clear the confusion within and my inability to remain grounded in life and social understandings... it was natural for the tides to rise as the villagers ran screaming in terror. Instead of a reminder or perhaps even an acknowledgment, you preferred dismissal... a cold silence and blind eye to any ramifications. Words hold little value with the loss of translation... it's all about romance and fantasy, no black and white in this colorful tapestry. This outlook only proves that your ears and eyes were closed long before our final confrontation... I've never known love and my world, although fictional in reality, is filled with very little color. I did however, miss your company when you stopped rattling the caged iron walls... I mourned the "friendship" within the silence and distance. In the end, this will be a better place for us both... you can return home with little thought or consideration and I can set aside my cage for another time, another life. This experiment, even though it failed miserably, offered some insight and points of reflection... another chapter added, another page turned. I will always remember what I sought after and what I found... I will remember my time in and with the wild, but the time of mourning has passed. With every sunrise, I birth destruction and chaos... I am surrounded with plenty shards of glass on which to kneel, this sliver is no longer needed.



"I'm playing the game,
The one that will take me to my end.
I'm waiting for the rain,
To wash who I am..."

-Infected Mushroom, I Wish

Stale Air And Flightless Butterflies

Time has once again stood still... not for the world, but for myself. It was yesterday when we visited last... we slumbered as the world and it's chimers kept singing. During my departure, I found myself surrounded by an increasing supply of incoming traffic... the blankets were left off of the cages and those canaries adore each others music. I have mourned and wept, birthed and re-birthed, died and died again... siren songs behind the alluring eyes in photographs. Still, new memories haunt me as they scamper and borrow themselves within the others... and they all look the same. I was moved beyond words, that early autumn morning, to discover some company within this congregation of slumber... new and refreshing in both sight and scent. Alas, the time went too quickly and the builders returned to their masonry and now, nothing remains... unlike the others, these letters will go without the collection of dust. They will not stain with yellow and become torn by the creases that hid their sentiments... for those times were in here, the land of bright white and the paperless. The absence still stings and the reasoning unclear, but I ushered you out just the same. The door was closed and the tears bleed in unison, but your departure was as quick and haunting as our first meeting. I remind myself that it was an experiment, one of social understandings, but the results were all too familiar... there are lines in the playground, ones not meant to be crossed. Beyond the walls and hardened heart of confusion awaits a new destination of plenty... my sour womb of barren children. Kicking lifelessly and dropping low within me to burst forth once more with gripping hands and rotten flesh... together forever, time and time again.

The You, Inside Of Me

Another day like any other... blank faces and burnt cigarettes completed the scene. I was sitting in the corner, as usual, sipping my coffee watching the breathless clamor about the flooring... then she walked in, bright eyed and fancy free. The stale air and wisps of smoke stepped aside as her presence breathed life into all that was once dead... the world paused for a moment as it's heart once again was filled with purpose. I suppose she felt me starring at her with curious eyes, an inescapable scenario... in that brief time, she had seen the child hiding within and her curiosity sparked as well. I became excited and flustered as she smiled at me... lowering my head in assumed embarrassment. She walked over and greeted with unexpected pleasantries and ask if she could join me for awhile... "inside or outside?", were the thoughts rambling inside my mouth. I nodded in acceptance as I began to rub the armies of moisture from the palms of my hands... it was a pleasure to be certain, company for tea and conversation to fill the empty moments. She reached out her hand and offered it to me... her name was Mari and her hands were soft and kind. In turn, I introduced myself and offered to buy her a beverage and something to eat... just myself and the child within, as we begin this dance made for two. We stayed there for what seemed like an eternity, but the hands on the wall noted it had been only two hours... each moment lingered as we explored this curious arrangement. The sun had began to set and the day was coming to a close... they would be coming soon and I really must be going. I assumed this moment and meeting were to be over, so I began collecting myself and preparing to venture home. As I stood from the table, she asked me if we could see each other again... sheepishly I looked down at my feet kicking at the floor and suggested when. She said, "I don't know... what are you doing now?"... the bricks fell lose and landed firmly in my stomach. My words stumbled forth like the obnoxious drunkards in the alley... I told her I really needed to be getting home because I didn't really like to be away for too long... not me, but them; they don't like me to be away for long. I apologized as I shook my head in confusion. She placed her hand gently on my shoulder and asked if she may join me at home for a time... there were no claws sinking inside my flesh, it was a good touch for once. I agreed by simply looking up at her and smiling... she took my hand and we began walking home. I rarely had company and admittedly the house was in a state of dismay... books and empty cigarette packs covered the coffee table and the dust had settled into a musty blanket of neglect. It was a quiet house, away from others and the upsetting mesh of society... I lived alone in the house, but never alone; not for long. We sat down on the couch in silence... it was painfully obvious to her that I was quickly becoming more and more uneasy. She scooted closer to me and took me by the hand once more... the child began to sweat. She tried to comfort me and assure me that she meant me no harm... she just saw something inside of me she really wanted to get to know better. My chest began to heave faster and faster as I noticed her moving her lips towards mine... the stage grew quiet as I pondered on the thought of her getting to know me better. Our lips met and pressed deeper into me, licking my lips and nibbling gently upon them... the child began to weep. Confusion flooded the room... I was in no pain or distress, yet she was touching me. The air became thinner and my breath escaped me as she began touching my body in the places that had grown cold and distant. Her hand slid along my chest and down to my inner thigh. She began caressing my lower region until I had began to become aroused. She was going to wake them... the child inside screamed in terror. With my lips no longer responding to her passion and my erection dwindling, she pulled away for a moment to once again look into my eyes... something was different. Something was wrong. Her warm eyes met with mine, but this time they were met with an icy stare... a milky complexion and smirk of dissection. The child inside was gone and she saw with clarity as he began to come forth. Time had once again froze, as new sensations danced upon the room... this time, her chest was pounding in anticipation. I turned my head slightly to the left as I studied her expression and absorbed her vibrations... he too, found this girl to be quite interesting and different. Her hand touched mine once more, but this time it was she that was looking for comfort... the tables turned and the bidding had closed. I smiled at her once more, but this time someone else was looking back into her. Quickly my hand twitched and leaped towards her throat. It had become a vice, gripping tighter with each passing moment... we were there for what seemed like an eternity, but the hands on the wall would once again disagree. Her arms had began to thrash wildly in the air and her legs were kicking for release... I moved in closer to share my appreciation. I threw her back and pressed myself tightly against her writhing body... my grip was without compassion and filled with delight. Her eyes grew wider as she felt my erection return and press in agony against her body... her tears were like lubrication for the soul. As her breaths became softer and of less frequency, mine became deeper and in rapid succession... the man inside moaned in excitement. Her lips became blue and foamy spit escaping her mouth formed in the corners of her lips... I kissed them gently and suckled her once more. As her eyes glazed over and her body gifted me with one last spasm, I reached my full potential and shivered as my body heaved with the convulsions of orgasm... the man inside laughed. I crawled off of her lifeless body and sat beside her in silence for a moment... she had seen something special inside of me. I reached down and lit a cigarette as I pulled her shell closer... propping up her body in the seated position. I placed her limp arm around me as I rested my head against her chest... the warmth I once felt had departed and was replaced by a nothingness of completion. I looked up at her and smiled. Mari, I think I love you...

Beginning The End

There is a place one can go... apart from the images and dancing figurines. In a time separate from the now and morrow, a place of wall-less shelter... those tears cried themselves dry. The wheat is tall and dripping milky honey for all the weary that lay down to rest... it's safe to swallow and the needle is out. Fancy free, one can flee... for in here, none may follow. Not in mind nor the tangible, for this place is made for the one... not her, not him, not ever again. You'll be wrapped in a silk-less cocoon of braided air and silent whispers... melodies once drove the heart to slumber. All you need to do, is breathe it all away... every moment, memory and day. Just forget every smell, image and smile... the blankets are folding, I'll forget in awhile.