Redemption 101

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

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

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

Raising Afterbirth

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

A Sheep Among Shepherds

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

Por Librada

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

I Swam Inside Tuesday's Tear

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

Two In The Crowd

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

As I Lay To Sleep

Dear Jesus,

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

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