The Scar Tissue Incident

Something needs to give... whether it be my will or the relentless assault on these cursed emotions. I'm broken... the chewed toy buried in the backyard. Slowly digested by time and these acidic thoughts... the poisonous neglect of those claiming to care. I am alone. It's nothing new... in fact, I should have been hardened to this truth long ago. Yet, I believe those sweet words when uttered in my leprous ears... all the while knowing those eyes have become callous and filled with deceit. The venomous beauty... my sweetest torment. It only serves to fuel the already overwhelming hatred I feel for this pathetic mass called a man... I am neither a man, nor the moppet. I am the willing bitch... a whore to desired affections and the centerpiece of insecurity. I hate you... I fucking hate myself. I spend my time rocking in the womb, weeping for the things forgotten and running from those remembered... strangulation and humiliation, the comforts of this diseased edifice. I still yearn for those possibilities at night as I clutch my pillow... the echoing words of what was shared and desired. Though I now see the words for what they are, slivered glass embedded in a cancerous gullet... my heart aches for the veil to once again shroud the deception. How I long for it...fuck! The irony is thick, for now I take on the role of the fattened calf... to gurgle and spit, over and over as you thrust and penetrate my throat with your rusted, forked tongue. The daily ritual, of you, the unsatiated sadist... my captor and false prophet. Filed in line, behind the others... to claim the place as my muse and infection. Seeping through my skin and bubbling my blood black... the deepest cut upon my soul. It cannot heal... lest I refuse the candied scabs you offer me. Why? Fucking why? Is it so tasty... does curdled blood moisten that cunt you call a heart? I suffer your words and the lack thereof. Why do I cry? Why the solemn and wounded expression on my face? Because I've return to where I was once before... before the time of hope and desire. A time of misery and despair, torment and sorrow... just as you found, only this time, broken beyond mending. I understand now, Layne, those words of fighting all alone... more so than I did before. Praying for safe passage, as the shroud of companionship rots. Richard insists that the only comfort and love that will ever reach this heart, is the sultry drip of a needle buried in my arm... the thickened saliva and sweaty teeth of the dirt filling my chest and powdering my nose. The brick that bathes my gullet... warm whiskey and soiled cotton. The boot offers an erection... the salty, metallic taste escorting my orgasm. I need the release. I need the numbing nod. I need the escape. I need the end...

Raise Your Glass

I've been trying to figure this out... the sorting of odds and ends, little children and decimal points. If two makes three, then why would a fourth make only one? Lots of things in my sheltered, little world have been changing rapidly... the razor swam violently through the folds of that bloated neck. There was no blood or squirming... only a whimper, accompanying the pus and bile.

Richard came and visited me last night... it has been awhile since he displayed the strength and resolve to speak his mind unhindered. He poured me a glass of bleach and offered his opinions with malice and buttered toast. He told me to drink and to forget... forget this madness of emotions and purpose. That the road that awaits me has nothing more to offer... just the worn soles and blisters upon my feet. For once, I think he may be completely correct... there is nothing waiting down there for me, only more regret and heartache. If I were to die today, right this fucking moment, there would be nothing to prove my worth or existence. Perhaps some photographs that could be anyone really, no accomplishments or achievements. I have these scribblings on digital paper and a cardboard box of tangible delusions... nothing more, not respectable in the least. I have skeletons living in boxes.. more fingers and toes. Just waiting for their release... my secrets would come undone when the vultures come to pick through my carcass and memories. Letters and bits of hair, wrapped in shame, and the clothing they once wore... and finer too, are the cotton few, that line those photograph's tomb. No one would come to my funeral... for there wouldn't be anyone that would arrange it. My grave would shallow and unmarked, much like my life... nothing to remain when the dust comes home. My only "friends" and "companions" are in the digital world... no one touches my flesh or dries my tears, just the cracking skin of my own hands. Richard knows well, his words paint my empty canvas... but his resolve is nontransferable. I reek of cowardice and I lack the strength to end this mockery of an existence. I fucking hate it here... and I hate you, for fucking bringing me back.

Run Away

I've failed, yet again. Disappointment washes over my swollen limbs and fevered heart. I wanted so desperately to write here often and I can't seem to accomplish that... these pages have been becoming more and more neglected as time creeps forward. The only reason I'm here now, writing, is because I feel so fucking lost and broken... I need the distraction to stop me from just giving in and ending this pitiful existence.

Things have continued to fall apart... despite my efforts to live my life without the echos of guilt and shame. The mirror reminds me, family reminds me, and even now the one I hold closest in my heart is a constant reminder of my short comings and past. It wasn't so long ago that I was so enthralled and encouraged to be a better man... that dream died the moment I shared my past with her. I am now unfit and untrustworthy to be a man worthy of a life and family... I'm forever scarred with the man I used to be. Truthfully, people generally don't change... they just become better at hiding their dirty little secrets and compulsions. But it can indeed happen... I'm proof of that. But what's the point of changing if people will only remember what was... forever clouding their eyes to what now is and the things to come? It weakens my faith and purges any hope of redemption and solace.

I just want to be happy... is that too fucking much to ask? How those elegant and captivating eyes have turned to dull, rusted daggers... stabbing at my throat and drowning the children in curdled blood, as my gullet swells and overflows with yesterday's bile and shame.Why? Why can't it? Why can't we...

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...

Bury One, To Birth The Other

Once again, time has been altered... this time due to a fault of my own. The Devil's pills and festered wills... that quelled the din within. There is little doubt that my appearances have once again become scattered and my style somewhat altered... the stage was cleared and I was left alone to swim through the emotions and vibrations of day to day living. Writing had become difficult... almost torturous. I would have to actually sit down and calm myself and focus before I could write even the simplest form of expression. Never before had this been a problem... the blood was backing up in my throat, and the children began to drown. After much thought and several breakdowns, I stopped swallowing the poisonous pill. It has only been but a few days, but already I feel The Choir gaining strength and Richard his resolve. The breakdowns were triggered but all of this overwhelming emotion... new and old ones alike, I'm just not equipped to interpret all of these incoming transmissions. One Station with a magnitude of operators... that's how things have always been. And so they shall be once more. I was terribly lonesome and afraid... with no one left to council or console me in my time of need. When the waters became too high there was no one left to steer the ship. I could never leave center stage and escape into the quiet... the bitter, sweet torments of the quiet. Stillness was removed. Richard had all but grown quiet, but never fully gone... he demonstrated his true will and strength the day of my last breakdown. Filled with rage, he made me realize that you cannot run from who you are... it's always there, waiting. Enter the breakthrough... it's time for a new game. It was then that I realized, truly and fully, the real problem... it's not Richard or The Choir, the problem is me. All of this time I've been focusing my thoughts and energy on the past and how terrible of a man and human being I truly was... was, being the operative word. Sure, I have a past... several in fact. I've done unspeakable things and committed heinous acts against God, Nature, and Humanity... these things can never be changed. No matter how much blood and sweat I spill, there is erasing the past... it is written and it is done. What I didn't understand was that I am not subject to live in the past... I must live for today. The man that lived for the flesh is gone... his deeds may remain, his guilt, his shame. But that man was buried long ago... it is time I let him rest and forget. Instead there is myself, taking his place and moving on in this world, in life. Despite the past, I realized that I am a good man... the man that is here now. An honorable, giving, thoughtful and respectful man. I may not be perfect, but what I am... ain't all that fucking bad.

Awaiting Dawn

The road is long and winding... the cracks in the earth cause my body to waver, unsteady in my new shell. The excitement is exhilarating and terrifying at the same time... each breath becomes a new experience, a new sensation that must be savored. I find myself oftentimes, sitting along the roadside, dwelling in those moments of bliss and wonder... those moments when we are together and the pieces nuzzle tightly together. I spend hours there, just lost in all that is your splendor... without care or caution, I bathe in the grass and downy feathers. Then when night comes, like the villains of yesterday, and I'm left exposed... no shelter, no solace, just the idle hands and tongue lashings in disguise. My footing is lost, as I cower at the sound of my own voice... a new Master to whip and pick the flesh. The dark is long and without mercy... as my knees further grind the tears into their sockets. I wanted a voice, I wanted the pasture... but in those hours I question my resolve. We can slither among the cracked and dripping glass or we can remain until the green sun rises once more. I met Yesterday last night, as I waited... she didn't look quite the same.

Project Humanity Update

Yesterday marked the 100th day of my photo project... I know, I know, everyone is so excited about viewing 100 fucking photos of this pathetic retch of a creature. On the plus side, I'm not posting any of those photos here, so you are free to just read my mindless chatter for the moment. Thank God for small miracles, right?

Seeing how 100 is a perfectly round number and a modest accomplishment, I was faced with a decision to either continue or end the project. I never stated how long this would continue, but rather purely focused on the healing part of this journey. Sadly, the healing never came... or at least nothing monumental. I still think I'm hideous, disgusting, and extremely overweight and pathetic... thank you, Mother. Of course that's not to say other unexpected paths were discovered and some truly inspiring and wonderful events have been uncovered... vague, always so fucking vague! It's really not a mystery, my friends. If you've read along and followed the project... I would say things are quite clear. So after much debate and a few conversations with some of you, someone else, and my therapist, I decided to continue doing the project. I'm still not putting a date or number on it, but rather just taking it day by day. Perhaps if I focus less on the actual miraculous healing I desire to discover and just continue traveling this path... then maybe, just maybe, the wounds can begin to heal in their own time. For those of you that would like to witness this spectacle first hand, I will add a link to the fiasco at the end of this post.

Before I go... I would like to take a moment to thank all of you for your support, encouragement, comments, devotion, and inspiration. Knowing that I'm not alone has made this journey so much easier to stomach. Be well and with peace... more madness will follow shortly.

Project Humanity