What Remains To Be Found...

For those readers who've been following my writings for awhile now, you've seen me at various stages in my life and journey... arguably at my worst and at my best, functional and completely non-functional. There has been sways and spikes, crisis and rejuvenation, redemption and reprisal... a virtual cornucopia of emotions and thought. Recently, things have been much worse and I have found myself at the darkest depths of my life... although I moved across the country to better my life, ironically, sorrow and addiction have been my only lasting companions. On Saturday, unable to deal with the loss of the single most important thing in my life, I tried once again, to leave this world behind... my attempts were in vain, and as you can clearly see by this entry, unsuccessful. I couldn't bear the burden of this relentless sorrow any longer, so the daily routine of running, escape, and self-medication increased significantly... instead of stopping once I had obtained the desirable level of intoxication, I continued consuming more and more Morphine. With blurred vision and over whelming euphoria consuming the last fibers of my consciousness, choking on my own saliva because I was too high and detached to even swallow, I continued chasing that white rabbit until my body collapsed. This should have been the final stand, my desistance, the end complete... I "awoke" quite sometime later, drenched in sweat, saliva, and piss, muddled and unable to form rational thought. After yet another failed attempt at leaving this place behind, I was convinced God is a fucking sadist and he truly just wants me to continue suffering for my transgressions and failures.Days later, I still don't know how to feel about it, other than the fact that I'm fucking pissed off for having wasted so much Morphine... that was enough to keep me "stratosphere" for a week. The escape was temporary in the end, and here I find myself still unable to bear these feelings of loss and sorrow... my heart is broken beyond all repair and my desire and will are completely tapped and exhausted. Lost in the "what if's..." and "should have's...", I must face each day alone and hopeless of reunion... each breath is powdered glass and my eyes have been cried dry.

This confession speaks volumes about myself... my weakness, pathetic and hopeless nature, my addiction, and self-worth. But I'm not the only one in the spot light... now you stand center stage and it's your reflection that is captive. Depending on your reaction and thoughts, you're one of three types of individual:

- If you're filled with compassion and you're thinking to yourself, "Damn, Alabaster Frank... I love you and I'm here for you always, but I really think you need to get some type of help.", I want you to know that I appreciate your concern, compassion, empathy, and kindness. However, ironically, I am already enrolled in a Crisis Stabilization Program and I have people coming over to my house every day to make sure I am safe and getting the help that I need. The problem is that I feel dead inside and there is no remedy for that... when that tree burned down, it took away everything that I am or could ever possibly become. It was a moment of complete and absolute loss that turned my entire world upside-down and inside-out. Where do you go from here? How do you get there... or find the desire to even care?

-If you're filled with anger and you're thinking to yourself, "Shut the fuck up already! If you want to die so fucking bad, I'll fucking do it for you, you worthless, stupid, fat, fucking piece of shit!"... ah, honesty, how refreshing. I'll tell you what... send me a message, and I'll give you my address and you can come over here and do it for me, OK?

-And finally, if you're filled with mockery and lack any real courage of your own, because you're one of those people that masturbates to videos on YouTube of bullying victims crying their eyes out and self harm photographs, and you're thinking to yourself, "Ha ha, you're such a loser! I think this is so funny... you can't even kill yourself right because you're so stupid and pathetic!. Quit crying about it and try it again, so I can laugh at you failing yet again!". Sadly, if this is how you truly feel, I suppose you're even more pathetic than I am. Obviously you're so lost and soulless that you'll scour the Internet, searching and reading the blog's of people whom are truly suffering, just as a means of entertainment and escape from your own worthless and pathetic existence. I'll tell you what... I'll offer you the same courtesy as the person before you. Send me a message, and I'll give you my address... except this time, the end result will be far different, because you're clearly a spineless individual. So, this is how it will be. You come over to my house and I will beat you to death with my dick and we'll record it and post it on the Internet for other mindless fucking trolls, like yourself, so they can masturbate to your suffering for a change? How does that sound, punk-ass motherfucker? Fuck you. That's right... Fuck You!

Okay, I know that was a little on the intense side, but I just can't stand people that get off on the suffering of others and view their pain as a type of entertainment... at least serial killers have the conviction to cause that other person's suffering before they get off, ya know? It's all about manners. So there we have it... it's no secret what type of person I am or the lives I have lived. I've always been very forthcoming in sharing the pieces of my life and story with all of you. The real question is, what type of person are you? Do you have a moral compass and the power of conviction? Do you have a heart and the humanity to use it? There are some readers who have been very kind to me over the years and I want you to know that I appreciate each and every one of you. I don't know if I can learn how to be happy and healthy... I don't know if I can ever truly heal. But it is my hope that one day, I'll be able to see that I'm not alone in this void... that one day I can learn how to use my heart, just like some of you have used yours in kindness towards me.Thank you, my friends... thank you for listening and sharing this time together.

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...

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.

Overfill, Overfire

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

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

Amputation 101

Progress - growth or development; continuous improvement.

As you can clearly see, my appearances have been neglected and my words diminished... my voice, however, is still intact. The infection has spread... it's gangrenous, viscid fluids now pump with voracity within. Despite the sickness, progress has been achieved... what we sever, shall wither or be reborn anew. I've been medicated for several months now for this gift of severe depression, but the desired results were void of manifestation... a time of soap-sud children and fecal pan drippings. The progress, as untasteful as it may seem, is related to hygiene... I have stated before about the intertwined struggle of mental health and personal hygiene. Putting aside the emphatic "Fuck You" 's, through this sickness I have developed the routine of bathing on a more frequent basis... please sit upright and look up as the shower of bile rinses your eyes. Granted, the progress is limited to once a week, which is considerably better than before... I know, I am aware of the disapproval, please stand in line behind the other violators and interlopers. Mary knew there was a price to be paid, but she never thought of the horrors that fell upon her marshmallow skin. As the opening definition states, it is progress nonetheless. I found this young lady on the internet the other day, that video blogged about her schizophrenia... her hair was perfectly styled, make-up lining every fold of her face and her teeth glistening in a string of white pearls. The monster rears his head and bellows a plea of vengeance... imagery of ribboned flesh caught in a wave of contempt and bloodshed. Mental illness has become a trend and fashion statement to the youth of today... if you take hallucinogens, you see and hear things that aren't there. It doesn't make you a fucking schizophrenic... I weep for the ignorance of the world and the sheer lack of compassion. Dwelling on this encounter has enraged me once again, schizophrenia is not a fucking game or a desired trait... it's a debilitating illness and a fucking nightmare. If you really had schizophrenia, you wouldn't be so picture perfect in appearance and hygiene, you wouldn't be IM'ing and LOL'ing with your friends and you wouldn't be working in a trendy coffeehouse... the lights are about to come on. You would have something like my life or worse which includes the luxuries as follows. You'd be rotting in your own filth with your hair tangled in webs of disarray. You'd wear the same clothes everyday even when they are soiled. You wouldn't have friends, because social situations and emotions confuse and choke the fucking life out of you. You would be sitting at a desk covered in paper plates, cigarette ashes and notes of "importance". You wouldn't have a job because you couldn't stand being around people and their lingering abrasive thoughts. You would see and hear things that aren't really there when you're sober and lucid, but you wouldn't clearly know the difference of fiction and reality... you wouldn't be the self involved piece of cat shit, that you clearly are. Time passes by and we move on... the simple joys and pleasures in life. All things considered and digested, I am still alive... we keep each other company with moments slipping forward. Tomorrow I have an appointment with my doctor in addition to my therapy... I have decided to go off of this medication and perhaps try something different. Of course, when the choir has regained their full strength, that opinion and thought may disappear entirely... you've been up to no good while I was away and now I'll give you a reason to cry. Welcome home, my lovelies...

Mary's Flock

Things have been quiet since my last purge of bile and ire... what better way to stir the silence, then a kick to the stomach? It is the 4th of July, our blessed Independence Day... another day to love, drink and walk blindly off of the nearest cliff. Fucking lemmings. What are we celebrating, independence... from what? Remove your "patriotic glasses" for a moment and think about it. We left England to come to America and be free... of course the price for that was enslaving the people already living here and shipping new people from another country to be our slaves as well. So here we are, free from England's rule and living the good life of any decent marauder... well done. So we form a government... for the people, by the people. Then we inflict the same rules and ternary upon the people that ran for "freedom"... same game, just a new location. Then a few "patriots" stand up and begin fighting for our freedom... while behind the scene a new Puppet Master toils with our strings. No, I am not at liberty to name the spades... the freedom of speech died long ago. Just think about where your money is going and who controls everything from health care to entertainment in America, you'll get the picture. Our wise government has striped every right and freedom from under our noses and the people are too daft to see it... all they see is "The American Dream". I'll tell you what the dream is... business. Morality has taken a back seat as we live the dream. Bigger, better, faster... it is the American dream. An empty mansion, a fleet of gas guzzling behemoths and toxic, glamor girls... life couldn't get much better. Oh wait, it can! How about a nation that builds secret death camps, poisons our water by drilling for oil, sprays chemicals into the air to spread disease and decay and a nation that stops backing our currency with precious metals, so that it becomes completely worthless... now, that's a great nation! Children burst from the womb while googling on their iPhones... the search of the day, is genocide. You've done a model job, Mr. Salt... please Sir, can I have some more? So celebrate your "freedom"... dance in the streets, burn your worthless money and watch it spew forth pink, yellow and red and have another drink, please do. Forget, for the moment, that you are a fucking slave to your "freedoms". Am I anti-America... no, I'm anti- sheep. I am wide awake and watching this lunacy unfold... while the others remain asleep and fondling their genitalia. Bah, bah, mother fuckers... Happy 4th of July.

Picture Perfect

It has been recently brought to my attention, that my "writing" has become a form of entertainment for a few selected people... a truly fascinating revelation, indeed. Apparently, what I have been doing here isn't actually writing or an expressive art form at all... the proper terminology is called "blog whining". In truth, I have no real problems whatsoever and any "abuse" I suffered as a child is typical childhood dilemma. It was also reassuring to find out, that any of my adult life experiences are merely poorly written fiction... now I will finally be able to rest with ease at night. Thank God! I can't believe I was so easily diluted and such a fucking whiner... well, enough of that funny business. Of course, even though all of this enlightenment has been so rewarding, it does come with a down side. So tragic indeed. You see, the sad part is... I will never truly know what pain, rejection or suffering REALLY is, not ever. To truly suffer in this world and and be taken serious as a writer, I have to change my entire life and circumstances. First off, I need to start a Tumblr page. The next step would to become a well experienced, self taught, highly intellectual 15yr old girl. I need to have rich parents that buy me everything... high-end laptops, digital cameras, a brand new car and a summer and winter vacation home, where I can escape life and refresh when things become too demanding. I'll need to find a boyfriend to lose my virginity to, so that I will be instantly installed with definitive and absolute knowledge of love and relationships. Finally, I will have to stop writing entirely about anything serious. Instead, I need to re-post pictures taken from other people and add intelligent commentary like, LOL, <3 and H8. OMG! I can't W8 (see I'm already learning, tee-hee).

Thank you, sincerely, from the bottom of my <3. Oh, one more thing... Fuck you, you mindless, soulless, fucking piece of dried up, dog shit clone. Honestly, I find this amusing more than anything else and incredibly refreshing... it's nice to have my theories validated about how worthless and increasingly daft the people in this world truly are. For me to be lectured by a child about "life experiences" and "real trauma" is knee-slapping, fucking hilarious. Children are growing up in a society where they can sue their parents for spanking them... while I grew up in a time where parents tied their children to a fucking tree and beat the shit out of them and we thanked them for it. A time where the children of today get "grounded" for a day or two from their iPod... while I was locked in a basement and forced to memorize entire chapters of the Bible to save my eternal soul from rotting in a pit of fire till the end of time. Here is the proof, my friends... we have officially become slaves to our freedom and mentored by our ignorance. I weep for the generation of children to come. What a truly fitting end to my fabulously, shit-filled day. Thank you.

Mass Effect

It runs hot... dry and blistered. Ushering the metal cocoons into it's heaving throat... freshly spawned locusts, learning to feast. Soulless... mindless in and out. Clutching at their chests, searching... the patent is missing. Dim the lights and bathe in the silence... awake. Can you hear the humming... coming quickly from within me? Can you feel it... the vibrations resonating in my bones? Five to One, Baby... One in Five. No one here gets out alive. Must. Cut. It. Out. Minority is deeper than the flesh... it's the missing ingredient, the lubrication. What can not be duplicated or grown in a laboratory... plastic priests and electric irises. Morning eats it's children. Evening exhales noxious trails. Night weeps rivers of acidic tears. Run, Lennie, run... there are no rabbits to be found here.

Targeted Message

It is within us... that fragment, that piece of Creation and all that is and forever shall be. Gifted to the star children and those that choose no longer to slumber... our birthright and privilege. Inside our soul, the light and love radiant to the frequencies and vibrations of the ascended masters... our brothers and sisters rejoice. Sending forth peace and comfort to those in need... wrapping them in the crystal white light of protection and the violet light of unconditional love. Balance restores in accordance to will... the dark has no place us amongst us here. So be it... it is done.

Sweeping Doorways

It occurred to me today, that perhaps sometimes people are often confused in these things I am writing about... perhaps not the message, but the intentions or laced words. So, I wanted to take a moment tonight to make somethings very clear.

Yes, at times, I can be extremely vulgar, provocative, cruel and even violent... I am not apologizing for this, not at all. Sometimes I can be very offensive... this isn't going to change. My intentions are to illustrate a point or deliver a message... above all I am passionate, but passion doesn't mean just love and rose petals. I speak lightly at times about my severe drug abuse history, the abuse I have issued and received and sometimes in the manner in which I have disrespected women in the past. Do not be mislead here... these are painted images, not necessarily how I feel about things. For example, yes in all honesty, I am a drug addict and I always will be and quite often I abuse my medications that I have been given for my physical or mental ailments... I don't condone such behavior, it's not a good thing. But I'm not going to sit here and lie about the truth either... the truth is I was a junkie and in many ways, I still am. Yes, I treated women as sexual objects and disrespected more than a few in my life.... but this is intolerable behavior! I have the utmost respect towards women... now that I have grown out of my childish ways. Women should be treated as a gift and our second half to ourselves... not nameless conquests and slaves. As for the violence, well okay, that's a bit of an issue. I am not a violent person in actions... I don't even like to be touched by family members, so I am not about to go out and start a carnal feast. However, I do have some severe issues with violent thoughts and like anyone else, I need to control my anger so those tendencies don't have a chance to arise. Again, I am not saying it's a good thing... but it's a real part of me and I consider myself to be an honest person. So, if you are offended or have been in the past... what can I truly say? I will not say I am sorry for my words or my thoughts, but I will say I am sorry you may not have quite understood the message or my intentions, thus becoming hurt. I am not here to hurt people's feelings, but at the same time I need to be true and real about myself... this can never change. At the same time, I am not writing this message tonight to portray myself as a good person... I am not. In my eyes, I am a monster that has committed some unforgivable actions and many have suffered from the chaos I have wrought. So, if you must hate me, hate me for my actions, judge me for my crimes, but be sure you understand why you feel as such. My words are a message, to you the audience but also for myself. With clarity, comes wisdom... embrace that, and look deeper into the well.

Paper Places

My morning has come and gone... there is only so much running one can do for the day before the weariness settles in for the kill. Over-tired, over-medicated, over-"clicked"... all destinations are blocked and "No Entry" appears to be the slogan for the day. I can feel the oh so, familiar feeling of my heart breaking, but I awoke with exhausted tear ducts... brittle clay now stains my cheeks. This isn't new terrain and all the proper stamps and seals are intact... proceed. Not with caution or at my own risk or certain peril... simply proceed. My chair is worn thin and the painted plastic of my mouse has been worn through.... crowned the king of shit, with no wisdom to utter and no strength to abide. It's a shame really... I went to sleep slightly encouraged. For a moment in time, I felt real and necessary... how swiftly my tormentors rip at the beating heart and smother the light swelling inside my soul. I have another appointment with one of my "paid for friends"... I'm not sure if I should laugh at that thought or smash my face into the wall. Is there really even a difference at this point... or just another bill?

Schizophrenia- One Moment Of Many

Received Text Message:

"I want you to know, that you mean a ton to me. I love you very much and so does the entire family... never forget that!"


Internal Commentary and Reaction:

"NO! Not that... don't surrender. Venomous whore... not after what you have done! They'll never love you! I love you... WE love you! Just us... just me. It will never happen! WE should kill you for entertaining such drivel! YOU should kill yourself... this isn't for you! Do it... DO IT! Rip it out... rip it out! Stop it! Not now... not NOW! Taste the bleach... DO IT!"

The vibrations become so intense... like ribbons of flesh dancing in pale light. The plague is spreading throughout my chest... violent vibrations pushing bile into the back of my throat. Confusion. I want to believe this... I want to feel it. I need to feel it, just this once. The screams become louder... more haunting. Like the victory grunt of a rapist's orgasm... the final thrust cleaves me in two. I flinch at the touch that intended comfort... with teeth pinned tight against my inner check, I taste the warm, salty blood fill my mouth. I can't do this... I can't feel this. I must go... fading dark now, I step aside. Someone else must deal with this... not me, not now. Shhhh, I'm here... go to sleep. Go to sleep.

American Green Cross - Profit From Pain

I have held my tongue for far too long on this matter... the Tsunami that hit Japan. It has almost been forgotten here in the U.S. and no longer on our local news or major headlines. Perhaps you are asking yourself the same question I am... why? First off, I fucking love Japan and the Japanese people... richly filled with honor and culture, it would be my dream to go live there. So, here is the ugly truth about America... I still have limited free speech, so I am going to use it. This country was built on scandals and it continues to thrive on the suffering. Japan gets hit by a massive natural disaster... what better time to line the pockets of the bloated, hucksters of America? Let's take advantage, shall we? They ask everyone in America to donate to their fraudulent programs, such as the America Red Cross, and in turn we have helped these people in need. Wrong. Someone asked me, "Are you going to help out Japan and donate some money?". I said, "No fucking way am I giving America a penny to pocket over someone's suffering!". All of the money that was donated was pocketed, my friends. That's right. Our Messiah President and N.W.O. leaders pocketed every penny. The American Red Cross isn't even owned or operated by Americans... I'll give you a hint to whom it really belongs. Can you say, "mass media"? I dare not speak against that particular group of people... after all, my free speech rights don't quite go that far. I don't want people raiding my home, placing a black hood over my head and rushing me off to one of those F.E.M.A. death camps just yet. Sure, some might be thinking, "If you hate this country so much, then get the fuck out!". Please allow me to respond, "I happen to be part Native American. I was here first motherfucker, this is my land. It's the corrupt people fucking everyone over and stringing along the people with lies that should leave!". Don't even get me started on the shit this country did to the Native Americans and covered up. Back on point... you have been scammed once again, sheep of America. I weep for the people of Japan and I sincerely wish there was something I could do to help. But I refuse to let these monsters profit more from the suffering of others and my "donation". Perhaps my words will just be shrugged off and ignored... as a rant of some delusional fiend. My hope is that just one person will read this and open their eyes to truth of this "great nation". I am not discouraging people from aiding Japan... if you have a donation to send, give it to the right people- Japan, directly. If you are of able body and can afford to travel, go over there and help... if I had the means, I would sweat blood to help them. Just don't be blind to what is happening and how this government and the N.W.O. love to profit from pain.

Violent Vibrations

Rewind. Stop the tape... rewind! Words spew from mouth... bubbling sewage, rotting the impressionable minds. I need to cease my communications with people in a direct fashion... no letters, no conversation, no smiles. My thoughts come out as violent assaults to the senses... I feel the vibrations but they all translate into irrational mumblings. I think differently, I speak differently... layers of thought blended into simple phrases. I mean what I say, but the ears aren't listening... the eyes are scratched out and bleeding with nothing to see. Love, life, decay. They are not words of endearment... I am not capable of understanding such a sensation. Emotions are curious insects... eating, toiling, spoiling. If I speak softly, then I am ignored. If I speak bluntly, then wounds appear. If I speak with eloquence, then I am a sexual deviant. My tongue has become the plague upon this house... I should cut it out, replacing it with slate and chalk. Pictures deemed the appropriate form of speech. Love would be a heart, thoughts would be bubbles and fucking would be an erect penis inside a candy counter. I can't bear the constant rejection from the people I try to communicate with. I have a legion of voices casting judgment in my mind... your chastising is fodder; stop vibrating. It becomes a violent mass in my stomach... I need to rip it out of me and smash it against their faces. I need someone that can listen with their eyes and speak with their minds... it's not black, white and gray. I need a response to fulfill the communication highway... colored thoughts and controlled vibrations.

Functional Fracture

Today, at my appointment, I revisited the "illness scenario"... every so often I try to convince my therapist and myself, that I am not really sick. As usual, I lost this argument. I asked him to remove the gloves and just tell me how it is... straight to the gut. "What is the deal with me, Doc?". In his professional opinion, I am a "well-managed schizophrenic"... based on the fact that I have a support team helping me refrain from drooling on myself, covered in my own feces and living under a bridge. As for my "personality disorders", as I have come to label them... that is the incorrect terminology. He told me, as a child, due to the extreme abuse in my life I have "fractured" my core self. This is not to be misunderstood as the same thing as someone that "splinters". Someone that "splinters", develops multiple personalities... these people are suffering from DID or most commonly called, MPD (Multiple Personality Disorder). My condition has left me with incomplete personalities, unlike someone with DID... I don't lose time in the sense that I disappear for days having no memory of where and what I have done. Those people, have their lives run by the other complete personalities... my case is different. I remember the things being done, I just may not have the ability or power to stop them from happening... eyes peeled open to watch as the marionette contorts the moppet. When someone else comes to "steer the ship", as I call it, it is a conscious event... I decide to leave, rather than being pushed off of center stage. Even though I have these symptoms, I do not have a "personality disorder"... there are no technical terms for this event. Added with the problem of dealing with and understanding human emotions, the inability to make and retain lasting and positive relationships and function well around the masses of sheep... these are all under the umbrella of schizophrenia. With such a huge fucking umbrella, I wonder how I am getting so wet... the melting plastic is forming a helmet along the crease of my scalp. The collective, my choir and tormentors, are internal voices, not external... this point was moot and added nothing to my defense. The verdict... I am sick, there is no escaping this fact. Am I to become a bridge dweller living in a cardboard box? Not if I continue seeing my doctors and continue receiving the support from the few people in my life.... this is assuming I don't drive them away screaming or with kitchen knives decorating their foreheads. Curiously, he asked me if I wanted to have a personality disorder. I told him, that it would make more sense to me... I am lacking the software and firmware updates to process this information. For the moment, I am quizzical and weary... at ease, my little friends, we shall revisit this topic again in the near future.

Choir Of Furies

The melody of terror vibrates inside... screaming reminders, like broken fingernails clawing at the rough pavement. Every act brings it's own verse, the judgment and redemption are unending... there is no atonement or salvation pending. This round bellied beast has become the feast, on which the diners never cease... no peace, no release. Confessions are moot... in this godless court, I stand accused and accountable. Still, the desire remains to voice every incident. To some how release my own guilt at the very least... raised corpses, daughters and neighbors waiting for reprisal. The words are like sand in my throat... choking me as I gasp for the air to cough them out once and for all. The more I struggle, the more I am suffocated... like warm, stale breath whispered over and over in the victim's ear. I can still taste the sweat from my brow, smell the hair and fluids that were spilled upon the cold concrete and see the trembling bedsheets. Each moment sparked with a smile... lights dim as reason and remorse left my side. I just didn't want to be left all alone... I couldn't stand being alone any longer. The closet is crowded now... all of us together, forever.

The Price Of Heaven

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

Your Silence Speaks Volumes

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

Something To Think About

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


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

-Ivy Elizabeth Walker, The Village

Target's 2-Day Sale

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