35th

Today is my brother's birthday... I haven't spoken with him in 8 years now and counting. When we were younger, we were the typical brothers... playing with each other all day and occasionally he would tease, isolate and torture me like older siblings do. I guess things went south around the time I started to become ill, around 15-16. We used to wrestle, like "the pros" from the days gone by. He would put me in the "Boston crab", "figure four", "the sleeper" and "scorpion death lock" and I would always use the same old submission tactic of the "scissor hold". One evening, as we wrestled, I began to "slip away" from reality and became extremely violent. We were raised in a VERY religious household... more of those nightmares another time... and when I became violent with him, he became extremely scared and started crying. He crawled away from me quoting scriptures, like we were drilled to do, and told me "I rebuke you, Satan, in the name of Jesus Christ!". I guess that was the trigger of my first of many psychotic breaks... I smiled at him and quoted a scripture back at him from Acts 19:15, "And the evil spirit answered and said, 'Jesus I know, and Paul I know; but who are you?' ". I remember crashing myself upon him and beginning to beat him to a pulp... the rest, I have no idea. I wasn't there. Needless to say, out relationship began to change... we no longer spent time together and grew apart. He continued to distance himself from the rest of the family, especially my Dad. Years later while at college, he had developed such a disdain for my Dad, that he had his name legally changed. He came to visit his friends back home once, during my hardcore drug abuse days, he came over to my house said hello and said we should visit later after I was done tripping. He never came back and I haven't seen him since. Eight years ago when I moved north, I had taken his car stereo and offered to buy it from him so I wrote him a letter and set up an arrangement. His reply was short and to the point... business as usual. After the deal was done, I guess so was our relationship. I miss those simple days of playing in the woods and playing Cowboys and Indians with my brother... I miss the laughter. I know he will never read this... more than likely no one will. But either way, I love you T.J. . Happy Birthday, Big Brother.

30 Pieces of Silver

Last night was an emotional disaster... another person in my life needed to be emotionally killed and removed from existence. Over the years, I have been trying to support and guide a friend of the family, whom was in dire need of help. For years, I have feed him, clothed him, given him a place to live and even monetary support when I was able to do such. I had shared my life experiences and wisdom in hopes I could make a difference... I suppose because me reminded me a lot of myself in some ways. He is always in trouble with the law, addicted to some substance and even been completely abandoned by his real family. When I was out for the evening, he entered my home and stole my most valuable earthly possession... it wasn't the theft that lead to his demise, it was what he stole. To the average person, it was a just a 5th of Jim Beam whiskey... to me, it was a treasure, trophy and memorial. About 8 years ago, I was an extreme alcoholic and had to quit because I was literally drinking myself to death. I woke up that morning, ready to crack open a bottle for breakfast and stopped myself and never looked back. For the past 8 years, I had this bottle on my living room bookcase as a reminder of where I came from and used it as a source of inspiration and strength to press on through the hard times. Everyone that ever visited my home, knew the story of how I quit drinking and the importance of this sealed bottle... especially this young man. He knew how special it was to me and we had talked of it's importance on several occasions... it was my pride and joy... it was priceless. His addiction proved to be too strong for him and in a moment of weakness, he betrayed me and stole my victory and memories. He could have come into my bedroom and stole some of my chronic pain narcotics or various other medications, money, television, DVD collection, SLR camera or computer... but for some reason, above anything else, he chose my 5th. I viewed this as an act of complete violation... after everything I had helped him through over the years, the continual support and acceptance, guidance and father figure he claimed I was to him. All of my time and efforts over the years had been worth throwing away over a $15 bottle of booze... was our relationship and trust worth so little to him? This act of theft completely befuddles me... he had to know I would notice. He knew I looked at it everyday... it was my strength, my one remaining hope I was worth something and capable of change. Was it the power of his addiction, self-hatred driving him to burn his last bridge or a reflection of how little I meant to him? I guess I will never know, because now he is dead to me... now he has no where left to turn... he is all alone. Some people say family is priceless... but I guess to some, it's value is $15. Perhaps I am just as guilty for turning my back to him now...but I can no longer offer him comfort and strength, because I no longer know where I will find mine.

Would Be Companions

Perhaps it is my perception, which admittedly is severe tainted, but it appears that I have the talent of repulsing people. Whether they're in the tangible or pixelated world, the end result is always the same. Cold, limp handshakes that lead to walking backwards or ignores and blocks. Am I that terribly offensive? Does the mere presence of me in a room turn the air sour... does the hideousness of my appearance cause people to vomit? Am I so socially awkward, where even on the internet, that people want nothing to do with me? Creepers, stalkers, pedophiles and filth get more recognition or acceptance than I do. I have become so low on the social scale, that a "Fuck You!" would be a warm embrace. Perhaps I should be grateful for the 17 years of continuous slander and abuse my puppets and stuffed companions gave me during childhood... it was attention after all. In a mind filled with agitators and condemners, one would think the silence and neglect would be a precious gift... we always want what we lack, yet it's never enough. I can't be something I am not... it's not possible for me to blend in with the sheep, clones and robots that flood this earthly plane. I am the puzzle piece that gets turned and mashed, turned and mashed, then thrown aside after realizing it has no place or purpose. It's only matter of time before that piece falls off of the table and is lost... is that my place? Have I fallen off... am I still here? Perhaps I am just the invisible pixel with no form or shape. If there was a void filled with the others like me... how many pieces would that be? I wouldn't be alone... perhaps two silent invisible pixels could be friends? No sight, taste, smell, touch or sound... nothing to offend. Are you there... am I?

An Excerpt From T.O.D.

"Your Toy"


What's this- a breast.
What's this- a vagina.
What's this- love.

Rub it-
Suck it-
Finger fuck it-

Terror...
Confusion...
Isolation...

I will- take this.
I will- chew you up.
I will- spit you out.
I will- rip you.
I will- evolve you.

With this spade- I drive into you.
With this blade- I peel you.
With this scar- I bury you.
With this soul- I remember...

A Life Without Love

Although it was over 25 years ago, I remember like it was yesterday... it was my first impression of "love". She called me to her room and invited me inside. We used to spend hours in there playing school... a complete setting equipped with a chalkboard, books, ruler and even fellow classmates of the stuffed and fluffy variety. Everything was in place, as usual, but today's lesson and the ones to follow for years were "special" and performed behind locked doors. Instead of a chair or a makeshift school bench... the lesson was to be taught on the floor or sometimes the bed. She would remove her clothing, lay down and with a smile, invite me to join her there where she lay. She would direct me to lay upon her and showed me how to touch her and kiss her... "love" her. In those moments, while my innocence was stripped away from me, I played both roles in this lesson of "love". Not only was I the victim, but I had become the abuser... the molester and the molested. It wasn't the act that forever warped my understanding and definition of love and intimacy... I remember those times as a pleasurable, comfortable and safe environment. It wasn't violent, scary or awkward... it was "love" in my childish mind. A "special" time for me and my big sister...something I looked forward to and greatly enjoyed. It was years later, while on vacation, that the trauma sunk in and the damage done manifested itself, causing the confusion that I still battle with to this very day. She told me that we had to stop sharing these "special" moments together... that it was wrong and evil. I remember that day well... my heart broke and I had felt abandoned, rejected, unwanted and unloved. My inner child was screaming, "How can this be wrong, when it felt so special and safe? Why are you taking this away from me? How could you hurt me like this?". The circle was now complete... it was the beginning of the end. For the next 5 years, I buried all of those memories and returned to the "normalcy" of childhood. When my body began to change and started the process of maturing... I started to remember. I hated her for hurting me like that... taking away the "love" we shared. I wished her dead for all the heartache and I wanted revenge desperately. By the time I turned 15, she started to become physically ill and continued to become increasingly sicker. My hate, fury and confusion grew with her afflictions and soon the feeling of vindication settled upon me. For the past 10 years, she has been bedridden and unable to leave her house... sick with everything from auto-immune disorders, chemical sensitivity and now cancer. Looking back, I can see clearly that it wasn't just her that became ill, but I too had become sick... only mine is a mental sickness and dysfunction. I don't know what love is or how it is supposed to feel. I am unable to feel people's love they claim to have for me. I don't know or understand where the boundaries for relationships stand... the difference between a friend, family or romantic interests emotional ties. Everything is mixed and bleeds into each other, ultimately causing me to separate myself from all relationships in my life by the means of sabotage. Do I hate my sister now, years later... no. I hate that child, my younger self, for feeling the way he did during those "special" moments. It is just one example of the many things I have endured... just one reason why I hate myself.

T.O.D. - The Failure of My Writing Career

"Would You Still Love Me?"


Would you still love me... if I told you I was cruel?
Forbidden or deranged?
Would you still love me... if I were sick in my old age?
Decrepit or decayed?
Would you still love me... if I run and hide away?
Distant or ashamed?

Stained teeth and fingertips... the smoke that I toke.
Broken bones and soul... the times I have fallen.
Stale breath and rasping voice... what comes from within.
Tired eyes and bruised heart... the long days I've seen.
Paranoid thoughts- was that about me?
Changing emotions... the intensity I bring.
Here today... gone tomorrow- thoughts...
I blow like the breeze.
Living in two worlds-
My own and reality.

Would you still love me... if only you knew-
Such words of love, I have spoken to you...
A tongue much quicker, it lashes too.
Words that tear...
Would you still love me... after all these things?
Would you still love me... accepting all?
My love... my hate-
All that flows within.
Would you still love me... just like I am?

Schizophrenia

It consumes me... my every breath, thought and action. The choir chimes in and the dancers dance their reckless rhythm... the skeletons rattle my closet door, leaving me restless and afraid. You said you loved me, needed me, wanted me... how easy these words roll off the tongues of the flesh. Never once being able to feel these pleas, nor the ability to speak them to myself... just the silent screams and cold touch of isolation greet my sheltered world. Every dream has been taken away and every bit of pride and satisfaction has been left shattered beyond all mending. It's been so long since I have heard my own voice... all I can hear is you and them, swimming in my head. I am the moppet... ripping my strings as I dance about in this performance of a lifetime. My arms bleeding from the rapid movements, yet they can never seem to bleed enough... the nightmare continues and I am put on stage once again. Rejection is a faithful companion... it's always there. Like a reflection in the mirror, it serves as a constant reminder... just like you... just like them. We wake, weep and tremble, but somehow I am the only one afraid. I have become aware of my obliviousness and blind to my sight.