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Saturday, October 21st, 2006
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I have weird dreams. This dream may qualify as a Nightmare. It's kind of a fringe Nightmare, if so. My Nightmares generally go according to the following pattern:
A) Bad things come, scary, oh no, run away.
B) I become pissed off and begin to fight them.
C) I become really pissed off and kill them all.
This dream doesn't really match any of the criteria for my normal Nightmares. It was creepy as hell, and the creepiness had nothing to do with the violence. Violence, crazy mindless-drones who want to bite or kill me, whatever. It's all the same to me. But these freaks had the scariest expressions I've ever seen. They just smiled, and looked sort of happy. And it.. did.. not.. look.. right. I kept waking up and falling back asleep and returning to the dream. This happened at least 5 different times. In the last "scene", I got pissed off because my perspective shifted and there was no way for me to continue my epic battle against the weird things and I said "Fuck it, wake up now", and I woke up shortly after. Whether the dream would have gone longer otherwise, I don't know. The last time I woke up, I was dead tired, but got out of bed anyway so I wouldn't have to see those creepy fuckers smiling anymore. I wrote all this down at that time so I wouldn't forget it. I fell back asleep a few hours later and slept until 7pm or something crazy like that, and dreamed something totally unrelated that may have involved steamrollers.
The dream also had cutscenes, like a movie.
With the exception of my girlfriend, who looked vaguely similar to my actual girlfriend, none of these characters resemble anyone I've ever actually encountered. I have no clue where any of them came from or what they were based off of.
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This dream brought to you by the letters W, T, and F, and my severely dysfunctional brain.
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Slightly futuristic world. Dream began as a news interview about children with anger management issues. Childhood violence was on the rise with a ridiculous number of violent deaths at the hands of children. In the interview, the children were given an instruction that upset them and they tried to swarm and kill the cameraman. Finally, they were coaxed back to calmness and given things to eat and drink and such, and there was a strong indication that when the goodies wore off, something was going to get hurt.
People on the whole began experiencing outbursts of violence.
A friend lived nearby in a huge apartment with an indoor fountain. For some reason the water from the fountain fell a very large way underground, which was connected to some maintenance tunnels or something. He was a total geek and, among other things, had a modded Xbox in his living room running Linux or something. He said something about there being chemicals and a fungus in the air that were causing the outbursts. I think he saw it on the news.
News and whatnot is covering the violence, my friend explains the contamination and why it causes violence, and also explains how to detect contamination. The news is sketchy on the amount of violence about, but suggests remaining indoors. I scuttle about in hiding trying to avoid being seen, partially by taking maintenance tunnels in my nameless friend's building.
Driving about, there are a lot of outbursts of violence. Some mild, some fatal. People just kicking the crap out of each other in the street. I return to my apartment to pick up some belongings, and I call my girlfriend to check on her and update her on the situation. She is far enough away that I am not initially concerned about her, thinking it is a very local issue.
I try to sneak back over to my friend's apartment, and I discover that a lot of the crazy violence has been replaced by strange, drone-like behavior. The people are still violent, but they seem to be getting violent in groups, and those doing the violence seem to be joining up with others who do the same thing. One such group begins to chase me, and I am forced to run and find less intuitive ways of getting to my friend's apartment.
I run in to check on my friend via a window that I somehow knew how to open, and he informs me that people are swarming him like mad. When I point out that the area is not secure, and some doors aren't even closed, he points me to a trail of powder on the floor and informs me that the people won't come within 15 feet of the powder, if the powder is exposed to air. It was something he discovered while inspecting the original contamination. The powder in question interfered with the growth of the fungus and the people were completely repelled by it. I think he had originally tried using it as a cure, but the people wouldn't go near it.
Still thinking it is a local problem, I leave his apartment, but as soon as I clear the range of the powder, people begin to swarm me. I avoid them by jumping into the fountain and onto the maintanence platforms underneath, somehow not dying a horrible death. Ropes were used, I think. Managing to sneak away again, I decide to check on my girlfriend.
I drive over to her apartment, where things are fairly peaceful and update her on the situation, explaining how ridiculous and violent things were at my friend's house. She was staying with another family of people, people she knew. The mother looked like Dixon's wife from Alias, the little girl reminded me of the girl from Fresh Prince of Bell Air, and I don't recall anything of interest about the father or the uncle. I never actually saw the father.
I update all of them on the situation too, warning them to be very careful what they eat, and so on. So I am horrified later on to find that the girl had answered the door and was talking to some guy she knew from school who worked in delivery and gave her a biscuit-sized piece of cake or some such. The guy left, and, as she took a bite out of it, I yelled something to her about it not being sealed, and possibly contaminated, and her mother took the cake from her and similarly was irritated. When the girl explained where the cake was from, the mother told her that she should be more cautious, and took a bite out of the cake herself to "see how she felt" before they would eat the rest of the cake.
At this point, I said something to the effect that they're both ridiculously stupid, and pounded my hand into my forehead, but they paid no attention to me. Believing they were idiots, but having no particular reason to worry, I continued discussing events with my girlfriend and trying to work out a plan for, well, survival. I walked into the kitchen a bit later, and the uncle of the family in question complained that the little girl had not done a chore or homework or something, and the girl completely went off on him. She started yelling at him, and a sentence or two in, charged him, climbed up the front of his overalls (he was a very tall man), and began punching him in the face with surprising force. He fell down and hit his head, and the little girl kept wailing on him. Blood was everywhere. The mother walked in, said something disapproving and told the girl to stop. When she wouldn't listen, the mother balled her fist and back-handed her, knocking her across the room. The little girl looked up in shock, and the mother said something to the effect of "I'm one mean bitch"
At this point, I began to try to convince my girlfriend to leave with me, but she refused. The mess in the kitchen had been cleaned and the Uncle was apparently ok. He himself acted like he didn't know what had happened, but he was very polite to the woman and the daughter, the same way the newscasters had been in the news previously, as if he suspected something. My girlfriend remained convinced that there was no cause for concern, even though the mother and daughter began arguing fairly severely. No blows were exchanged, but they spent a fair amount of time screaming at one another. I told her that I needed to get back to check on things, and she suggested that I go out the window to avoid notice. It was supposed to be a brief trip. I told her not to leave the room and left some powder (which I had kept sealed, in my pocket, since we had a very limited amount of the stuff) under the door to keep her safe.
When I returned to my friend's apartment, he had confiscated much of the apartment building and was using it as a base. The people in the neighboring apartments who were ok listened to him, and those who weren't ok were repelled by the powder. He explained that something severely weird was happening, and that people were making attacks on his little base in a way that, while not overly intelligent, was coordinated.
He said that the people, who had been simply been getting violent, were growing increasingly focused and coordinating together, apparently against other people. Instead of simple, random, heightened violence, it was becoming a targetted "us verses them". My friend, who, by the way, had blond, spikey hair, glasses, and a blue and purple striped shirt, didn't understand what that meant but said it really concerned him. We began stockpiling weapons, and in some cases were fired upon ourselves.
I returned to retrieve my girlfriend and court her away to the base, but made the mistake of telling her where we were going and why before we left. She insisted on bringing the family with us. She went and told them where we were going and what we were doing and demanded they come with us. They agreed. They seemed perfectly lucid, but I kept thinking "stupid, stupid, stupid" over and over.
They were able to cross the powder, I think, with some difficulty, and I informed my friend of their state and this fact, and he suggested it was because of a recent infection. We had to update our defenses afterwards to help make it more difficult for invaders to get in, since apparently some of them could just 'step over it'. So we set up our defenses in such a way that only the difficult entrances were accessible, and those were covered in powder.
The mother and child caused no further problems, but we were concerned about them. I believe my friend gave them some sort of "treatment" to help. Tricking them into ingesting some of the powder. How much or if it worked at all, we could never really tell.
At this point, I was pretty much running everything. My friend was the source of the information, but he didn't really lead well. Some information came to us, I believe from a girl we had rescued. She had blond hair and a blue dress. The sort that parents make kids wear. I believe she had also been bitten by something. At this point, we were aware that the infection could be transmitted by bite, but the little girl seemed also to have been uninfected. Her bite also seemed rather different from the others.
My friend was able to download information on the infection itself, and discovered that it spread most effectively at 74 degrees, and could actually spread through the air, although it was much less infectious that way. I ordered people to gather some wood and we started a fire and raised the temperature to 80, which was apparently in the safe zone. We had no real problems from that point forward, planning to hold up until the military or whatever arrived. I fell asleep.
I woke up to find that the fire had gone out and the temperature was quickly cooling. I tried to get the fires going again, but there wasn't much wood, and the people were sluggish. And one guy in particular argued with me about it. He had a crewcut and a green wifebeater. The computer detected (somehow, probably magically) that one of the candles in the room was dangerous, and we put the candle out. The man sitting beside the candle had been the one to argue about the fires, so I was suspicious of him.
There were plates lying about, and I asked what food there was, and was informed that there had been some steak, brought over by the family that came with my girlfriend, but they had all been eaten. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
So I just sat there in the corner thinking about the situation. On the outside was a world of people who either wanted to kill or bite me or both, I'm stuck inside with a few friends, a few who, I'm pretty sure, are very not friendly, and a bunch of idiots. While I was thus entrenched in thought, Mr. Crewcut decided to inform me that he was no longer satisfied with my leadership, and the two or three other men agreed.
The group moved uniformly, without words, in a rather unnerving manner. My friend noticed this at once and looked quite concerned. They all had shotguns. When I tried to run, one of them took a shot at me. By leading them around and picking them off one at a time, I was able to kill the lot of them. And there I was, just having killed 3 people in the "base", wondering how I was going to explain it to everyone. I didn't have to.
When I returned to the room, it was clear there were at least 2 more infected. The little girl from before had her eyes glazed over, but wasn't moving or acting the way the others did. It became apparent that those infected inside were safe from our defenses, even though the larger groups outside could not get in. The woman standing in the front dropped her weapons and smiled.
She introduced herself. Or rather, he did. The woman whose mouth was moving clearly had nothing to do with the words being said. He was very polite and apologized for the inconvenience, and informed us that if we wished to join him, we would not be harmed. We scoffed that this, of course, and he went on to say that he had no particular grudge against us, and had thus far been willing to tolerate our encampment. He suggested that this was why our weaker defenses (which had apparently not really worked) had kept out the wandering forces before.
We just sort of stared. The woman continued. She had a smile that looked uncanny, as if perhaps she had seen smiles before but hadn't really tried one herself. She continued talking as another voice spoke through her.
He made reference to their Hive, which we had suspected them to be already, and said he would simply lay his cards on the table, as it were. He said that he was willing to accept us into the Hive without incident, or tolerate our seperate lives, as it were, and would not interfere with our base. However, he said, we had acquired something that belonged to him, and he would like it returned to him, gesturing to the little girl in the blue dress. He did not seem surprised in the least that we refused. He informed us that he would give us a few hours to consider it, and if we did not release her in that time, he would release the full force of the Hive upon us. When asked why he was doing this, he said he was summoned (or called) here to resolve things. When his actions were questioned, he said something to the effect of "I'm not the one with the Herd problem."
We put the other infected people in some sort of containment. They did not resist. They all smiled pleasantly as the woman had done when speaking. We discussed matters far away from their earshot. My friend explained that the speaker in question probably wasn't lying about tolerating the camp, and might not be lying about leaving us alone, either, if we simply returned the girl to him. On the whole, we believed his offer of a deal to be an honest offer in good faith. We also believed that, even with the Hive tolerating our existence, the food supply would run out and we would all starve to death anyway. Also, we decided, we could not allow him to spread his Hive over the rest of the world, to spread his evil everywhere, and we could not abandon the girl to him either.
She seemed to be infected, yes, but something about her was different than the others. She seemed to maintain a sense of her own awareness, despite her apparent trance when the earlier woman had been talking. The other infected people could act normal enough, but seemed suspicious, while the girl seemed like an innocent in the situation. We decided that we could also not risk giving him the girl, that anything that could bolster his position would only cause us an earlier defeat.
We discussed some things with the little girl, and it became apparent that she knew ths source of the Hive's control. We decided that the only course of action was to invade the nest itself and destroy the "Queen". We did not have a very large force, and most of those in the base were unwilling or unable to go, so I was resolved to do it myself. I amassed some equipment that my friend had built. Ropes, pullies, grappling hooks, a huge cape that doubles as a glider. Standard Batman gear.
Our time was up, by then, and the Hive began their attack. People were coming in through air-conditioning shafts and whatnot. While this prevented them from using their numerical advantage, it also got them around our defenses. The people in the base fought the invaders and sought to keep them from gaining entrance. I turned over tactical control to my friend, and I was ready to go. My girlfriend insisted on coming with me, saying that it wasn't safe there, and that if I don't defeat the Hive, everyone will die or be infected, and I'd need all the help I could get.
We snuck out through the maintenance shafts again, the Hive still apparently unaware of their existence, or too concerned with planning their attack. The numbers they were amassing were truly unnerving, and we were able to drive away without incident. When we'd first started the car, the entire attack had stopped, and every eye turned to us, but as we sped away, they turned back to their onslaught, ignoring us altogether, probably thinking we we simply fled the battle.
The site of the Hive's controller was not as well guarded as we would have expected. It appears that their forces were all sent to recover the girl, leaving a skeleton crew of guards. Skeleton crew or not, they fought viciously, and, despite using yet another maintanence entrance and a great deal of trickery on my part, they were quite fearsome. I jumped down another 2-level fountain, using ropes and such to avoid a sudden death, and sent my girlfriend running ahead of me while I fought them to slow them down.
Finally, I told my girlfriend to jump down a hole in the floor, but she didn't have a rope or anything, and refused. I told her just to trust me, I'd be right behind her, and she jumped. At this point, I was rushed by a bunch of children, who pinned me halfway in the hole. They kept pulling at me and biting at me, and I struggled to get them off. I had intended to jump behind her, grab her, and then grapple something, but she had fallen too far ahead of me.
I just stared. She was waving her arms, in slow motion, and heading towards a certain death. "Oh, shit," I thought, "she's really not going to make it. And there's nothing I can do." Then I remembered my promise earlier, to protect her, and keep her safe, and how I'd told her to trust me, and jump, and I wasn't going to just let her fall. I elbowed the kid next to me hard in the face, and he fell away, giving me enough room to slide down the hole, letting the other two gripping hopelessly at me while I shook them free. I grabbed a random rope, managed to hook my girlfriend with it, then managed to snag something else with a seperate one and avoid a gruesome death for us both. It wasn't the best landing ever, and she wasn't terribly happy.
The people above amassed at the hole, but the jump was ridiculous. Throwing themselves down it would have killed them, so they did not pursue. I blocked the one entrance to the room, and I told my girlfriend to stay there, that she would be safer there, and I jumped through some sort of chasm and a great deal of glass and flew my way upwards with my magical Batman cape, and came to rest upon a sort of pedestal that was anchored to the floors above, but did not have easily negotiable paths in between.
There, on top of the pedestal, was a strange alien creature that looked something like a shrimp crossed with a praying mantis. It had green skin, and did not seem happy to see me. I attacked it and began to make slashes at where I guessed its throat would be. The fight was somewhat anticlimactic, as it faded out, here.
Fade in. I, apparently, am now seeing things from the perspective of the father of the little girl whose family my girlfriend had stayed with previously. Presumably worried about all the violence I'd heard about, I rush to check on the family. There is a note on the door. It is from Keti, the little girl. It says to check the fridge for more information. Rushing to the fridge, there is a note about them leaving and how they'd try to contact me. Knowing what was going on, and despairing because my family has run off somewhere in all this mess, I walk stupidly outside. There are people everywhere in the street. They all look strange, but happy. They don't seem to notice me at all.
Two women, who look sickly thin and look like crack addicts talk about how they haven't slept so well in years. Everyone is smiling and laughing and polite, discussing how much better their life is now than it ever has before, and about how people are so much nicer now. They discuss various business details and things they did at work, but in a cheerful, happy voice. One of them talks about getting a new job at a company I'm familiar with.
I ask him if they're still hiring. When he turns to look at me, everyone on the street turns to look at me in unison. He asks me how I'm doing, and tells me I don't look so well, wanting to know how I've been sleeping, and if I've been eating enough. He tells me he's been eating very well. This, as well as the number of people staring, is somewhat unnerving, so I begin to back away, and he says something about me being lonely, and these two creepy-looking cheerleaders advance forward and try to kiss me. Backing away in terror, I trip, and everyone starts to try and swarm me and bite me. I'm able to fend them off, but I can't get back to my feet, so I keep backing away and kicking.
And this point, a black guy in 70sish clothes and huge sunglasses pops out of the crowd that is currently trying to eat me and starts singing. Then white text appears on the screen in what I must assume is the credits, scrolling over the faces of people trying to bite me. Yes. My dream had a theme song. It was full of words, but I don't recall most of them offhand.
It started off: "DON'T WANT [it], NO LIE!" And ended "On the river greeeeeen..." which had something to do with the chemicals/fungus/alien infection that had started the whole mess.
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Tuesday, April 18th, 2006
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I've had nothing to say for quite some time. This has made my writing difficult. I have been away. An empty pen doesn't write, my pages turned up blank. When asked why, I answered nothing. When pushed, and she pushes, I told her I was empty.
I feel nothing.
She calls me cold.
She calls me warm.
Today, when I was sitting, perhaps standing, a stranger passed. I know his name. I paid no attention, as I'm prone to do, being too poor, perhaps, and retreated from the noise. It was good to be home, good to be back, and I passed the time, as all time passes, in the dark, as he turned to leave. No matter. I don't know him.
I know nothing.
Strange, (although unnoticed) prior, from his sleeve a simple snowflake fell, not large enough to notice, not large enough to feel. It's strange I didn't notice, and stranger its effect. My piecemail enlightenment reconstruction. No one else noticed either, and why? April is too warm, it wouldn't stand a chance. It would wilt its waking hour on the rugged wooden floor. Yet, that's the moment it began.
I felt nothing.
It made me warm.
It made me cold.
The faintest of reminders that sublime before they fall. The cascade of frost. I could see my breath on the windshield. Will the wind see its breath on me? As cold as I remember. It was beautiful as it fell, even if distorted, a memory remembered, if by him, then not by me. And the warped picture saddened me as much as the original. A sculpture of an absense. An empty for a filler that may not now exist.
Too cold to hurt.
Too cold to cry.
I bleed nothing.
I feel..
I want..
I said.. nothing.
The cycle is restarted, soon I'll be forced to leave. Is this..?
Faithful, faithless,
Hopeful, hopeless,
Empty, cold.
I am nothing.
I fear nothing.
I fear..
You..
I fear.. this exile you've imposed, unspoken. While away, I want nothing, nothing but to return. Nothing but the woods and the mists and the mountains, and all the old roads I know. Nothing but.. nothing.. Nothing but.. ... Nothing but.. ... ... home. Home. And... ... and nothing. Nothing. Nothing but.. .. home. Nothing but.. ...
If I'm as cold as they say I am, it shouldn't even matter. The cold, your cold, the frost. But every fading crystal flicker of each frozen snowflake rendered on the dew-dressed blades of grass.. The way the stars connect, burning in the distance, cold in the empty black. Every shape alluding to the complexity of beauty. From there my doom is obvious. Complexity speaks of beauty.
Speaking tongues of memory.
Beauty speaks of you.
In the intermingled sounds and shapes of countless interwoven fractal-shapes, I can't help but see your face. And I'm never sure I saw you, but I honestly check no longer. It's not like you'd speak if you were there anyway.
I've wondered in the past how I could travel. I've thought of music and other such things, and I wondered, how could I be far from home for so long? It always drives me mad to be away. But you won't even let me stay.
Wanderlust..
But I don't long to wander..
I long for..
...
I feel nothing.
I know nothing.
I see nothing.
I miss nothing.
I love nothing.
It reminds me of you.
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Friday, December 16th, 2005
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The repetition is amazing, the way that fate circles..
For the longest time I hated you. I wonder if you knew. A hatred that consumed me, poisoning my veins. I took the higher road, the road of forgiveness, the road of reasonableness, and I realized that the fault was my own. Sometimes I miss it, the hatred.
Sometimes I miss the seething contempt.
The relentless arrogance and sense of wrong.
Of being wronged.
But never being wrong.
It always made it easier to not see you.
A relentless hatred that helped to balance my all-consuming love.
A poison in my veins.
But it was better than the empty, all the same. Better than the cold, the heat of bitterness. Better than the void. Sometimes I wonder if there's anything left. Of me, of you, of.. existence. Sometimes I miss the malice. I wonder if that's wrong.
Sometimes I think that nothing else exists.
..but the cold; but the void.
If all there is to life is this disconnected, severed.. empty. Phantom pains for severed limbs. Phantom pains of you. It's hard to look and not wonder if there never was a point to anything. If there never was a purpose. For you, or I, or any. If the void is all there is. They tell us that most of matter is space, 90% nothing. The rest pretends, but can it not be nothing too?
The Universe; eternal? No.
Perhaps the void.
It sits, waiting to reclaim, with each shift and counterbalance, with each shift towards "stability", as if we aren't aware the world is winding down. The Universe unwinds. It decays, it melts away.
The void awaits it all.
How is it different for us?
In the emptiness of our empty souls that run through our empty lives.
And people pretend that they can make alterations. That by struggling, things can change. But the void awaits it all, all the same. All of old. Nothing else ever.
There is nothing new under the sun.
So I sit here with the memory, as the picture fades, but it's not like you'd think. The more the picture fades, the worse I long to see it. And so I wonder if there's nothing but the void. There's not enough of me, or you, and not close enough together. And the memories fill will holes.
Until I remember nothing.
But were the memory eternal, it could never be enough..
Phantom pains, I feel the nothing.
What if there's nothing but the void?
What if there's nothing?
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Thursday, October 20th, 2005
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It was calm today; peaceful. *I* was at peace. I thought of wandering the psuedowoods, I thought of walking the shimmering leaffalls. I also thought of writing it all down, but no words came. Perhaps I didn't look hard enough. Then I wanted to talk. It was amazing, the change, and how fast. I could suddenly hear my heartbeat pounding away, and it gripped me, the tension, the energy.. But it was too soon, too fast. It reminded me of lightning, the way it grips me, fills me with energy. The tingles in my hands, the rush from the thunder..
But no, it was faster.
Too fast, hard to .. enjoy. Hard to control.
It was ... terrible. It was Terror.
It was amazing. I should have known, should have expected, but still it caught me off guard. What's the word? Ah yes. Fear. I don't want to live my life a slave to fear. So I pushed through, as I have done before. It was .. difficult. terribly difficult.
And I suppose it was all for nothing, as all the times before. But it got me thinking, afterwards, when I'd relaxed, the energy I had was vibrant, unending, boundless as the stars. And it made me think. If you can have this effect on me so far away..
..I wonder what it'd be like if you actually let me touch you..
Your beautiful skin..
I'm betting it's electric.
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Thursday, September 22nd, 2005
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It's easy to forget how frail things are. How fragile our lives really are. I don't mean our flesh, our bones, our blood. I mean our lives. One misstep, and it all tumbles down. It's easy to find myself looking down my nose at the misfortunes of others, the plagues they've made, the idiocy that brought them into being. It's easy to overlook my own missteps that, while dissimilar, display a similar lack of thought.
It takes so little time to destroy those things that take so long to build. Stacks of cards, in the end. The higher you build, the further the risk; each additional card a possible mistake, any one mistake can bring the whole thing down. I'm reminded of children.
Most children, when they build, with sand, or Legos, or cards, will build with zeal until the structure falls. Having failed, they start again, with something new. There's always one though, somewhere, that keeps rebuilding the same design, perhaps with minor modifications for stability, each time with increasing care. With each fall, he may grow increasingly frustrated, or increasingly sad, but still he rebuilds the structure anew. Rebuilding his failure.
Those that pass by will roll their eyes. That is what people do. "Build something else" is all they ever say, if they say anything at all. Most people are about variety, not understanding the single-mindedness required for perfection. When watching the construction, it is hard not to wonder if he'll ever succeed at all, or if he's only rebuilding his failures. People like to look down on those who "live in the past", as they call it. Perhaps the child will pan over his mistakes in earlier models, but that is always wrong, they say. Always. One should live in the present.
Perhaps they are correct. Perhaps, however, that is their gravest error of all. What if the child is not interested in the present? The present is better than the past, sure enough.. but is the present better than the future? With each reassessment of past mistakes, is the child not merely planning for the future, a future without those mistakes, perhaps with others, or perhaps, with none at all. In the end, if he succeeds, won't he be finished? Won't his structure be perfected?
Or is this just a sort of delusion that most children outgrow early on? We teach our children, we teach ourselves, that the world belongs to those who persevere, who, with persistence, overcome the obstacles in their path. Those who overcome those obstacles, we call hero, genius, and the like. Those who fail we call fools. Those who are in the middle, those who are building and rebuilding and failing time and again, those who could go on to be "heroes" or "genii", those who persist in the dream.. Those are called fools as well.
The ones who duck and run, who cut their losses and abandon failed attempts, we call them "wise" in the end, if their decisions appear correct. Those who run early before what could have been a success, those we call "cowards" or "quitters". Those who bail out early in a situation of unknown success are called wise, cowards, or quitters too. So it's the nature of the beast that everyone involved with anything difficult is either a coward or a fool at some point or another. Aren't difficult things the only things worth doing?
The times in my life that I have been a coward are far too many to number, but there has never been a time in my life that I wasn't a fool.
There's always one who rebuilds. I know because the one is me. I never succeed, if you're wondering. I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I've written a single new thing in my life, or that this entry is somehow different from all the others. I've been saying the same thing all along. Yet, as one person astutely pointed out, I'm still not finished saying it.
People talk about evil, the Problem of Evil, and all that. And their so-called problem is total crap. Not just because it's irrational, but also because it's stupid. If there's an evil in the world, it's not plagues or sharks or disease. If there's a problem of evil in the world, it's our own short-sightedness, our own lack of vision. One misstep, as I said, and it all tumbles down. The difference between a wise man and a coward, or a fool and a genius, is solely determined by success. A success impossible to foreknow. Still, we are responsible for our choices, bound to choose, even refusal to choose is a choice. This "Freedom" of our Free Will is more a sort of slavery, binding us to decisions that we make based on faulty evidence or guesses.
And still we rebuild. Others new things, I my failures. I have no way of knowing if I can ever succeed. The more I think about it, however, the less I care. The only one truly able to make decent decisions is God, and he's not being as talkative as I might like. Or, if he is, the static in my brain is garbling the message. But anyway, I was thinking, that, if I had to choose between being a fool and a coward, I would rather be a fool. I suppose the only ones who can avoid both terms are those who avoid difficult things altogether. Nothing worth doing is simple, so wouldn't that represent a failure worse than that of either the fool or the coward? And isn't the process of giving up and running away just another sort of failure?
I probably spend much more time feeling sorry for myself than I do actual building, but building is a tricky thing. You can't force things, you have to find a way to make it work. In the end, I may have been a fool all along, but I'll wear the term with pride, not having sunk to running away or having no ambition at all. Not being empty enough to have no dream. As empty as I have ever been, I've never been rid of dreams.
In the end, I guess, it's personal preference. Some prefer to wear different clothes, I would prefer to have 30 pairs of matching blue shirts, and 30 pairs of identical black jeans. Variety or persistence. Perhaps it is ingrained in us, something we are even unable to change. Or perhaps we simply will not change, but doesn't that represent a sort of inability?
I will continue rebuilding. Looking for ways to make the pieces fit. In the end, perhaps, it will be finished, and perfect, a duplicate of the image that haunts my dreams. Or perhaps I will rebuild my failure until the end, but it will improve with each attempt, that is all that can be reasonably expected of me. We could all be assumed to have a task here. Calvinists tell me I cannot fail. I am a Compatibilist as well, although I'm not sure if I believe that. Perhaps it is my function to fail..
Success or failure..?
Whatever my task, I will perfect it.
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Sunday, September 11th, 2005
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QEOTIQUETPQOIEHGZLBKJNHZCB,NADLKJQHEOITUQHETLIQJEHGALKNDBZLCMNLFKNDLORIJQTPHQWEPOTIQUHGOAIJFBZLKVCNBZ
EKQJETPQOIEUTQODIJZKBCNZCBMANQKLDJQHTEOWIQERQYWIOETUHQWDGIKHJASDKVBZJXCNMZCNBMNDQLKEJTHQOEITURETI
OQUTQNLKDJAPOEITUQEOITUQHYRIGUQHFDGKAJHZCJNBZXCMBNLDAKJHQPIEUQTYOWIERUHQPEROITQUHEYGILUAHDSGAKJ
EFBNZKXCMNBFQMNDSLKTGQUEYTOQIWEUHQYWOIETUHQIOGZXFKBNZECVMBNQIUDHQOIETUQEYTOIQUHGILAJHDBVKZXJCHVBLAK
SDJHGALKJDDAEOIRUQETPQIOEYTIQUHGZKBJZNXCBMNADLKGJHQWOIETUQYEOTIQUTYIAUDHGAKJBCHZLKCBNOIQUEHQOTIEYQT
EOIUHYQEGAHJDGLKAHSDBKLZJXCHBOIUYOIQEWTYQOEIRUHQYWEOITUHQKHJDSBFKJEBNYRJNQBYRJHQVHZGDOXUIDYGHOIQUE
HTYOQIWLEUHTLITSILIEMISTEMLELSIMTESTLEVSMELMILVILMSISISISISSISSSISSISSISSMISTELV
MISS-----MITE------LOST------EVIL----
-----------EMIT------LIST-------LIVE-----
-----------TIME-------------------LOVE----
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Monday, August 22nd, 2005
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Silence..
That's why I came, but you..
I guess it's always been that way. The noise, I can't take the noise, it builds up in my brain, builds up in my eyes until I just can't think. I guess that's why I hate this place. There's nowhere to go where it's just.. quiet... without the screaming of the lights, the cars, the asphalt. Just give me darkness, woods and fog, that's all I need. Just the quiet, the silence, to sort it all out.
But silence can be a fickle thing.
Standing there in the dim, it's not the same, to watch the light dance on the green, the silhouettes of thoughtful trees bent in silent contemplation.. the fog curled at their bases, sleeping..
So garbled, the way their questions intersect with words in my mind, and they talk too fast to order. When I descend this hill, walk the edge of this creek, I don't want questions. I have all the questions I need. So what gives you the right? Standing there, in the dead of night, the silence turns on me.. You invade this solitude, my sanctuary. You and your questions. It would be better if you asked them yourself, but no, you leave it to me to ask, to convert the silence into meaning, to assign order to this madness you call.. well, I don't know what you call it. You don't call it anything. I don't need this.
Maybe just once when I close my eyes, I didn't want to see you. Maybe just once I wanted quiet.. No, that's not what I meant at all.
And so it screams, with each footstep, over the crunching autumn leaves that tell me I'm forsaken, a wordless shriek that's deafening..
But where do I go, damnit?
Where do I go..
Where do I go for quiet when the silence turns on me..
Screaming in my head. I can't even hear the words. And you want.. ... ... Well, I don't know, you never really said. It's not like you couldn't come. It's not like I wouldn't share this place with you. Ask whatever, I don't care, but speak softly and slowly.. don't leave me to this.. deduction.
It's not like you couldn't come if you wanted. But if you don't want to, then go..
Then be.. quiet..
Silent..
Like you are..? No.
God, nevermind, I don't know.
Maybe I just didn't want to see you when I close my eyes this time..
No, that isn't it at all.
Maybe I just wanted to see you when I opened them up again..
No.. not enough.
Maybe you could speak, for once.
Maybe you could form words, in this stillness. Soft words to drown out the screaming. Your screaming.. my screaming. Whosever, I don't care.. except that I do. Damnit..
I hope you are enjoying my silence.
In your walks, if you take them.
In your evenings alone.
I hope it brings you peace.
...
... it's tearing me apart..
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Tuesday, August 9th, 2005
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Just get away, go. I'm getting used to the drive. The concrete, the lights, just go. Go. So I did, I drove, through the light, through the black, through the tunnels.. And there I was, home again. I knew it'd hit me, it always does. The trees, the mountains, they fill my mind with piece, or rather, empty it of confusion.. but at what cost? I always remember..
Usually within a week.
Usually in three or four days..
So imagine my surprise when the windows were open, and I saw one solitary falling leaf.. so imagine my surprise.. I just stood there, reeling. I couldn't even breathe. I wasn't ready for it to be Fall again. It always is.. So I spent the next two days choking, gasping for air, but there was nowhere to get away, nowhere to run.. So I did the unthinkable.
I came back here.
To this shithole of cement and flourescent lights..
God, have I become as weak as this?
And she said she didn't want me running here, fleeing the memories of another woman, and the fact that I miss her, but I guess I miss her here as well. It's just that here it's only numbers and letters and dates and times and buildings that remind me, there's no place I can stand and see back through time and watch me fuck everything up..
I guess I just wasn't ready to watch it all over again..
I guess I've always been a coward.
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| Subject: | Tired. |
| Time: | 6:00 am. |
| Mood: |  tired. | | Music: | Goo Goo Dolls - Here Is Gone. |
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I've been wondering what all the fuss is about. The lights, the sounds, the patterns I see at all. I've been wondering, just waiting to put the pieces together, hoping that when the last one is assembled..
Well, you're not stupid. I shouldn't have to explain what I am waiting to see.
Who..
Anyway, today, I had a thought. I thought maybe I would just die. Maybe that's what all the fuss is about, my 3 week perpetuagraine and occasional lightsplotch hallucinations that are in all likelihood sleep related. The patterns, the whole mess. Just as a precaution, I wanted you to know that I don't even care. I mean, I don't really mind. It's not that I'm stupid and don't hear your warnings, I just really don't care one way or another.
It's not that I don't have stuff I want to do, you know I do. But for as long as I've been here, the things I've wanted have all been kept from me. So, really, what is the point?
I guess it would have been nice..
I just wish I could have seen her one last time.
I just wish I could have heard her one last time.
I just wish we could have kissed..
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Saturday, July 16th, 2005
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They've all gone to tear it down. I don't really know what more there is to say. It had a certain air, a certain feel, a texture. It made me feel..
So different from the cement hellhole where I currently reside. Stagnant, alone, empty, full of flashing lights and blinding sounds sucking dry the imagination, the death of all I am. I can't even stand my guitar, the noise is just too much. My soul isn't in it. It's somewhere trapped in a static manmade hell. A hell not made by me. What are the odds of that?
I can picture them now with their chainsaws, their hammers, their tractors, pulling up posts and tearing down spools, wondering why I'm not there. I think they think I'm angry. There is some truth in that. I seethe, but how is that different? It was sort of the reason. I could walk in the mists and woods and man-forsaken paths and the breeze would still my anger, the trees would steal my rage. And I am angry, but maybe I'm just not ready to watch them tear it down. Maybe I'm not ready to say goodbye. She said it isn't my dream. That may be true.
My dream is to walk the paths of solitude painted by the sound of windblown leaves, without all the maddening questions and demands.. To dwell in a place so calm that I can hear myself think. To recall the me I have forgotten in the constant questions, the answers, the.. them. So loud, they echo in my head, all of them, until I can't hear me anymore. I can't hear anything. Just..
Just pain. The pain of empty echoes.
That's not why it hurts so bad. It really isn't. Those posts, those poles, those spools, who cares? Maybe I do a little. No, that's not the reason. It isn't even the knowledge that I might never tread those paths again. That, I know, is not likely true. I can wander undetected.
No.
Maybe, do you remember? When I called. Maybe I wanted you to walk those paths with me, climb the steps of solitude, maybe I wanted .. maybe I don't want to walk these paths alone. Maybe I just walk to hear the silence set in, to feel the noise drain away, the rage, the pain, the madness of their constant..
And when it's gone, do you know what I see?
You.
Maybe I just wanted to walk with you once, where when I see you, you're really there. Maybe I just wanted to make a perfect place better. Maybe..
Maybe I don't need the reminder of the time I'm not with you. Maybe I wasn't ready to know that another year has passed. Maybe it's been two. Maybe I still miss you. Maybe all I want to do is wander the woods and climb the ladders of abandoned-wooden-fortresses wreathed in misty shades of green.. with you really there.
But I guess right now they're burning to the ground.
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I went to a graduation the other day. Maybe yesterday, who knows. But I wasn't really there. I got lost somewhere in the hats and tassels and robes, I got lost somewhere in the crowd. I got lost looking for you, like I always do, in the robes, in the speakers, in the choral silhouettes. But somewhere there amistd the din, now was then. And I watched for me, nonchalant, to see if.. I didn't see you. I didn't look. I watched the whole procession, and not a single glance. Not I thought, just like I didn't see you behind me a day or so before. Even after, even then, I never stopped to look for you.
It's not like I need you.
Famous last words.. if tomorrow never comes,
will I ever know that I was in love?
That was so long ago.. Never look back.
I never really have.
That's why, in hourlong drives to land's end, I look for you in the 70mph passing grass. Or on the mountain top. It's funny the way the stars reflect. As above, they say, so below, but I have never believed it, but it was harder to disbelieve passing over the mountain, seeing the valley lit with streetlight stars. And some were white, and some were yellow, and some had faded far. And I wished upon a star. A grounded one I couldn't see, a houselight where you are. And what I wouldn't give to fly away, to leave the street and passing cars and fly over the guardrail and descend.. To a far off star below, where you are doubtless sleeping.
But it's not like I need you. Just because I see you everywhere, or you're always in the corner of my eye, or I see you places you never could be. It doesn't mean a thing. Even if I did see you in Texas. And Oklahoma, and somewhere in Tennessee.
And tonight in the fog-soaked trees, just because I thought of you, doesn't mean anything. Just because I wanted you to share the walk with me, cloudwrapped by the creek. Just because it was the most beautiful of nights, just because only you could have improved it. It's not like I'm in love.
And the phone rang today, but there was nothing but silence on the other end, and after a bit, the line went dead. I thought, chuckling to myself, that it had to be you. I heard what you always say. Maybe it was, who knows, I would not have been unkind. I miss you. I never miss anyone else. But it's not like that means anything. Whatever it means, nothing changes. I would not have troubled you, just listened and talked.
I love you.
Still.
I always have.
But it's not like I've been waiting. It's not like everytime the phone rings, I wonder if it's you.
I don't hear the phone ring half the time, after all. And so what, just because half the time I hear it ring.. .. what does that mean?
There was just something in the silence, before the dialtone. Something in the duration. It sounded like a sort of silence I'd heard before, somewhere in the breaks between his words, something about the background. But it's not like I'm just sitting around waiting.
So what? Yeah, I fell asleep with the phone sitting on my chest so that the ringer would wake me up. It was just a nap anyway. And I was expecting someone else to call in a few hours. It's not like I was waiting for you again. I like to think it was just coincidence.
So don't go reading into this. It's not like I sit around and think about when I should call. It's not like I'm just waiting for when I think you might want to talk to me. It's not like I sit around and think about what I'll say when next we meet.
I mean seriously. Give me some credit -- I pace.
And before, after the ceremony, I couldn't sleep, I took a walk beneath the stars, but there were sounds so loud in the distance, and I suddenly felt compelled to go to the field. I put on my shoes and left, and sure enough, just beneath it there was a concert. Or something. I couldn't really see. I walked down through the grass. In truth, I wondered if you were there. There were people and cars, it was bright. I did not feel welcome. By an old truck, I could smell the strong scent of alcohol. Besides, if you were there, I couldn't go. You doubtless wouldn't wish to see me. So I stood in the distance wondering what was happening as people began to get in their cars. Assuming the event was over, I walked quietly back up through the grass. So what if I turned back, near the end, to see if you were there?
But there was nothing but the grass caressed with firefly flickerstars.
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Saturday, April 16th, 2005
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She said you were dead. That's what she said. Blankly and matter-of-fact. Just an aside.
This was a while ago.
"You know she's dead, right?" she asked.
What would she know? Was she at your funeral?
I was there the day I laid you in the ground. With bitter tears, as you might guess. Just a memory.. What would she know?
Do you think I care? Not that I don't mourn your hypothetical passing, but what would it matter? I have been dead too.
And she.. It didn't matter to her that I was dead. She was there with a shovel, digging on my grave.. Deeper, deeper.
But it wasn't my grave she was digging, I am just the earth. She always was curious. Crack the casket, and all the memories return.
Some things, perhaps, are better left buried.
I never meant you any harm. If you are indeed dead, I am not worried. Perhaps God would be so kind..
To quicken. Bone to bone, to awaken. I will dig you up, if you ask.
Me, I woke alone.
She thinks I'm stupid.
You probably think I'm crazy.
It doesn't matter as much as you think. It's like the ocean. The water churns, yearning for the far away, the light of the moon. We all feel the pull. Perhaps I am crazy, after all. The waves fight the sand and the shore to get closer. It makes me a little sad when I remember how far is the space between. Pulling and churning, fighting the void, never close.
But then I see it, peeking over the horizon, peaking over the crests of the waves, half-wading in the water; the moon. And my brain tells me how far apart they are. But in that moment, I do not listen. I watch it wade through the currents, shining its beautiful face upon the stillness not-so-still. And I hope.
That, perhaps, is my failing.
So I can't help but feel you.. far away light, irresistible pull. Even if I know I'll never touch you. Still I yearn, fight against weight. Who was it that said heavy things can't fly? Perhaps I am crazy, but if you will stoop for me, I will lick the dust from your crater-shores. Perhaps I will fill them, if indeed the oceans of the moon are barren. Perhaps I will simply reflect you upon my waves.
Scheming..
Perhaps I think that if I get it just right.. that if I let you see yourself..
That you will fall in love with your reflection..
Narcissa..
Perhaps you will.
Maybe I am crazy..
..but..
If I am the Lunatic..
.. you are the Moon.
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It must be the salt air making me crazy. I could swear I smell the ocean. I can smell the streetlights, the long-gone sunset. I can smell the breeze.
I saw it first in the bushes, ever never-burning in the breeze.
I could see it in the infinitessimal detail of the roads and the streets and my skin and the signs. Every crystal flicker like a promise; the dancing of the would-be ashsnow on the wind, over the windshield, just light enough to matter, just light enough to hint like the hint of a subtle imitation, a wordplay not of words, but of all that is. And the smell, in my lungs, like the strength of a thousand men, as if all things were laid at my feet.
It must be the salt air making me crazy.
It's not easy to forget the endless tears of previous, the unquenchable despair. She had told me not to think of things that make me sad, but only of things that bring me joy. "They are the same things," I told her.
She had stormed away.
When I went to console her, she demanded of me an answer. I was too weak to act.. to pretend that every poem or song I write.. or every song I learn.. that every simple thing that brings me joy.. that all and each of these things send me running to you, to show you each on each, to perhaps gain a smile. A laugh, a glimmer, like a child. Still after all this time, every new thing, I run to share with you.
And there it always is, waiting for me; the realization.
You're not here.
You'd think it would be easier for me to remember, as much trouble as you go to to remind me.
I hear your every unspoken word, the sound of your absense, everyday. But it still isn't enough that, when some small thing lightens my eyes, I don't run to you. For you. At you. It always hurts just a little. Often it just hurts a lot.
Maybe you won't ever love me. Who's to say? I don't know a thing.
That isn't what I run for. That isn't why I extend my hand to you, despite your repeated displays of disinterest.
I just want to smile with you sometimes. To hear you laugh. To laugh with you.
Laughter should be more than an echo in my head. An echo of things forgotten.
It doesn't even have to be genuine. My fondest memory is of you faking a smile for me. I was so flattered that you would bother.
So it's all the same for me. No joy without pain. And earlier, I could not lift my head from the floor. But this evening.. no.. I could swear the world was made just for me. That it would fit neatly into my hands. That what I would bind would be bound, and go no more. That what I would loose could never be bound. And what I could break could never be mended again. But I do not need all of this anymore.
I feel it like a chill in my skin, a distant memory of seeing the puzzle complete, but not quite recalling how to put it together. I think I know where I go.
I think I know. I think I'm not as hopeless as I fear.
I think perhaps there's a chance for me after all.
I think it's more than a chance.
I think it was decided from the beginning.
And I think I cannot fail.
...it must be this salt air making me crazy.
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Thursday, April 7th, 2005
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It was hard to leave again without seeing her. Without talking to her.
To be crushed again. To lose hope again.
To die.
And the thought of eating.
I couldn't. I spent the day before glass-eye-staring into the carpet. Into this carpet. Into the face of my doom. And today? How am I to be? alone and dead. The sights; sounds; the scents. Save such for those who still breathe. But I've been reading.
Hezekiah was saved from a sickness unto death. After which he praised God, whom "the grave cannot praise." Fifteen more years for Hezekiah.
But I'm no use to anyone like this. What of my promise?
The one I left to keep..
And I should fight..
But I can't stand the thought. So I did the only thing I could think. The only thing that made sense in my despair.
I made a piece of toast and I cracked it down the center, and I ate it dry.
And I dipped it into the wine.
And the taste was sweet.
And I thirst.
Be at my right hand, weak as it is. According to your word, according to your mercy; do not forsake me.
Do not let me be wrong, do not abandon me to chance and misfortune.
You're the only thing that works at all..
Who do you think I wait on? There is none other besides. Remember me, I am dust and fading.
Hezekiah was wrong. I will praise you, for you alone are God, and there is no one else besides.
Though you slay me.. yet will I trust in you.
Forget my sins. Renew my strength. Grant me wings of eagles, let me run without growing weary; walk without fainting.
Just as you do not faint..
I want to know
Where did it end for madness to start
Always the sceptic and never the part..
My way is hid..
My way is hid..
My judgement is passed over..?
No.
...no?
It matters not.
Hezekiah was wrong.
Even dead things dream.
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Wednesday, March 9th, 2005
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What if I said I'd do anything?
What if I wasn't lying?
What if I gave up everything?
What if I bent and pulled and twisted?
What if I cut and carved and scribbled?
What if I wiped away the edges?
What if I cut away the thorns?
Do you think you could see?
We can't all just be beautiful.
What if I give up what is sacred to me?
What if I make the sacrifice?
With each chink, the chisel on the stone.. the echo in my mind.
Would you believe how much it hurts?
The cracking of the foundation, the wearing of the plaque,
Will it ever be enough?
And God, it hurts.
Bitte, bitte, gib mir Gift..
No one wants to watch. I myself look away.
The blood seeps gently through the cracks in the stone.
But this all must be so.
The thorns must be trimmed.
I do not want you to feel their bite.
When I built that rose for you, I did not understand.
It was the beginning, for me, you see.
I just wanted to bring you something unique. Irreplaceable.
The sort of gift you've been to me.
I will not be poison.
I did not understand. The twisting, the bending. That's how it began. I clipped away the thorns. I wanted it to be perfect. Not poison..
Bitte, bitte, gib mir Gift..
Do you think the rose cried, as I do, when I cut away its thorns?
But the sacrifice had to be made..
And I would spend the rest of my life cutting it to perfection for you.
Why?
What a question.
Because these are the things that grow in your memory. These are the lights that shine in my head.
The ones that fly in the face of the boundless black and smile. And make me smile. Because in each falling raindrop I see an echo of the shimmer of your eyes. Because..
It is no matter.
I just wonder if you'd take it. You'd frame it, perhaps. Or put it in a vase on your desk. The blue rose that never withers.. I just wanted to bring you a priceless gift..
I will not be poison.
One you did not accept.
Gift für dich, Gift for me.
Gift for you, Gift für mich.
I will not be poison.
..Will you?
It isn't it at all.
The rose, I mean; The Gift
Do you think it cried, as I now do, when I clipped away its thorns?
What if the everything I'd sacrifice is me?
Chrysalis..
I will not be poison.
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Sunday, February 20th, 2005
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| Subject: | If there is a gift to be given... |
| Time: | 2:02 pm. |
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I will not confuse the Giver with the Gift.
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Friday, February 4th, 2005
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This morning God spoke to me briefly, as he is wont to do. He said seven words to me, but I'll have to give half a page of background before those seven words will make sense to some people. God is very concise.
You may be aware of the parable of the unjust judge.
Or may not. No matter.
And he spake a parable unto them to this end, that men ought always to pray, and not to faint; Saying, There was in a city a judge, which feared not God, neither regarded man: And there was a widow in that city; and she came to him, saying, Avenge me of mine adversary. And he would not for a while: but afterward he said within himself, Though I fear not God, nor regard man; Yet because this widow troubleth me, I will avenge her, lest by her continual coming she weary me. And the Lord said, Hear what the unjust judge saith. And shall not God avenge his own elect, which cry day and night unto him, though he bear long with them? I tell you that he will avenge them speedily. Nevertheless when the Son of man cometh, shall he find faith on the earth?
-- Luke 18:1-8
In the Sumerian account of the flood, the god Enlil decides to destroy humanity because he can't sleep (they make too much noise) and causes the flood to come up on the earth.
One of my most frequent accusations to God is that he does not answer my prayers, some of which have been very long in praying. I should probably not do this, but I frequently do.
At any rate.. I'm asleep. I like being asleep.
And I keep hearing this sound.
MEOW
*purr*
MEOW
*purr*
In my grogginess, I realize that the cat is waking me up because it wants water. It has an unfortunate habit of doing this. So I try to ignore it and go back to sleep.
MEOW
MEOW
*purr*
And I think, "Grr. Ok, I'll get your stupid water."
"Unjust Judge"
*blink*
"Ok.."
Then, being the smartass I am, I fired off, "Yeah, but when Enlil couldn't sleep, he destroyed the world."
"He destroyed it with water."
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Sunday, January 23rd, 2005
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It's been years now. I never talked about it much. Maybe it's time I did.
There was nothing but me and the stars. Flying boundless through eternity. But suddenly I felt a burden. I frowned. The stars spun around me. In the distance, I could see the city. It was like teleporting. Closer.. closer.. closer.. until the light was an orangish red streetlight by a deserted looking building along a 2-lane road. A car with its emergency lights on blinked out its call for help. And there you were. Why were you out so late? Something must be wrong. And I flew down to get a closer look. I tried to look at the car, but my eyes would not focus on it. When I looked at the license plate, the letters blanked out and I felt as though God were frowning at me from the heavens. Here to help, not to spy. "I'm sorry" I whispered. And your voices, I was not allowed to hear the words. But you were angry, almost red in the face. But she was there too, and she was afraid. I floated around the two of you to see what the problem was. You were much bigger than me. It was as if I could perch on your shoulders.. And you were yelling, I think at her, but I can't be certain. She was so afraid. It startled me that you didn't notice how upset she was. I smiled at her. I wanted her to feel safe. She glanced uncertainly at every shadow as if they were all closing in on her. I flew down behind her and smiled. I touched her shoulder and gave her some of my peace. I whispered to her, "Let them come.." and I laughed. "Let them come, I am here with you." She breathed deeply for a moment. I could not see her face. She seemed to be less upset. You were on the phone, I think. I wanted to fly to you and calm you down and let you know that everything was fine, but I wasn't allowed to touch you. I never am. And she started talking softly to you, and your eyes darted behind me, trailing me on the winds, as if you were trying to catch me with them. But stealthfully I dodged your every look and swirled around you. You both still seem concerned.
"Let them come.."
There are two things the darkness fears. I was confident that I was one of the two.
But you were still so angry, and your uncertain glances at the shadows would not be stayed by my words. I would have been sad, I think, had I not been flying. I just swirled around the two of you, laughing. "Let them come.." Being the lesser of evils does not make me the weaker. All evil is weakness. I felt as though you were looking for me. But I was not in the shadows at all. I was there, swirling around you, singing to you and yelling challenges at the darkness.
When I awoke the next day, that was all I could remember. I wanted to talk to you, to ask you both how you were, to make sure you were ok. But I couldn't bring myself, I guess. If I was there at all, then I know that you were both fine, as I protected you from the shadows. Yes, I could feel them watching me as well. Besides, it was probably just all a dream, and it was hard for me to really admit to myself that I still dream about people who won't speak to me. I tried to write about it, but I only managed a horrible attempt at poetry. And I just let it fade away into memory. But I still remember being there, flying around the two of you, out too late, by an emergency-blinking car.
If we had spoken, I would have said that you can summon me anytime. That I don't mind vaulting through the sky. That I loved just being near you for those brief moments. That I will be with you in spirit whenever you need me.
Because..
I'm not sure it's ever left your side.
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Wednesday, January 19th, 2005
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I've been passing the time. Living blind for quite some time. The other day in church.. it's been long since I'd gone.. they talked about building walls and beginning again. They talked about God. They talked about problems bigger than us. And I thought..
I thought..
The preacher said that sometimes the world seems so big. Sometimes what God asks is hard.. And I thought..
I thought..
But no. I don't feel small at all. And when I think about letting go.. So no.. So what is he saying?
And he talked about building walls.
Each line of bricks makes the wall stronger.
But who cares.. nothing sticks to me. One brick is harder to find, buried under the firmament. But I did not feel small alone. And I..
But now..
I thought about rebuilding. I thought I had reassembled the shards of my mind. I thought my chrysalis complete. I thought..
I feel so small. To know it won't matter. I feel so dead inside that it hurts. And I thought..
And the preacher repeated the verse you had whispered to me when I was mourning her.
Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.
Take my yoke upon you and learn of me; For I am meek and lowly in heart;
and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.
And all I could remember was handing you the pain. And it was gone. And I remember standing there in the dark listening to the thunder as I trudged towards the light.. and it was a train. I remember standing there, eyes ablaze. I remember reeling and falling. But I didn't fall. I just closed my eyes. And after that all was lost forever. And I've been sitting here since bitter and angry that you gave it all back to me. But I think I asked the wrong question.
I think maybe I gave the wrong burden. Because I feel so small..
And it's not the pain.
I've been this way my whole life, I know the pain. It never ends. It doesn't scare me. No, it's the .. absurdity. When I sit and build my tower to heaven, it's the absurdity. I've only got the foundation built and it's full of cracks, and my head says despair and my heart says hope. God, I don't care about the pain anymore. I can carry the pain. But .. I am so afraid..
She has destroyed me once already. Will I ever heal enough to match her gaze? But I can't stand it. Maybe other people's lives are full of options, but there is just me and the sky. I have to go up or go nowhere.
And I'm so afraid.. I feel so invisible. So hopeless. And all the rocks of all the unmade bricks of my unbuilt tower circle around and mock me and the earth beneath me sinks. The pain was never my failure. Everyone hurts. That was never the issue at all, was it?
Well, you can laugh about it now, but I didn't know.. I didn't know anything. No one told me.
God, now I understand.. I'll keep the pain. I have another burden.. It's not so much to ask is it? It's heavier than the pain.. It's blacker than obsidian in the shadows.. I don't remember how to walk anymore. I don't remember how to fly. Could you walk with me for a bit?
Could you help me remember?
Could you show me how to breathe again?
Just for a bit..
Please..
I can carry the pain, I can carry the hate,
I can carry the emptiness that fills my veins..
But I can't carry..
I can even carry the madness, when it comes..
Father..
Could you carry me..?
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Friday, January 7th, 2005
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I was walking. It was evening. The sky was caressed with the dim and fading gold of the setting sun. It was beautiful, but I was not at peace. I was walking, just trying to breathe. The scene was my mother's yard, but outside the yard was the location around my grandmother's. I didn't notice the difference. I was just trying to live, walking and breathing the cold air. A car pulled into the drive. The person inside didn't walk to the door when he left his car. He walked straight up to me and said my name. When I responded, he paused. I had never seen him before. His hair was short, curly, and red. He had a strip of somewhat untamed hair that ran from his lower lip to his chin and down some. He had on a pair of sunglasses and, all things considered, looked like James Hetfield as a Scottsman. He said she wanted to see me. He said he would understand if I didn't want to see her, that he was just the messenger. I tried to speak, but he cut me off. He said that she was leaving the state in 8 more hours, and after that, she probably wouldn't offer again. He said that she would be coming by around 6 and would stay in the car and, if she didn't see me after a few minutes, would leave. He said he'd understand why I'd be mad, but asked that I just not go out if I didn't want to speak to her. He said something else too, but I had stopped listening. It was when I stopped listening that he stopped talking. I just stared at him.
"Why wouldn't I want to talk to her?" I asked, "Why would I be mad?" He looked away for a moment.
"Well, you'll get your chance if you want to see her," he said absently.
"I would like to see her," I said. He walked slowly back to his car and left.
I looked at my watch. It was 7 or 8. Then I began to wonder what time he had said. 6 when? Tomorrow evening? 6 in the morning? I couldn't remember. I continued my walk for quite some time, trying to clear my mind. I lost track of time. Finally, I went inside to warm up a bit and get something to drink. I may have fallen asleep inside. At any rate, I was startled to hear the two quick honks in the front yard and went to the door. There sat a car in the driveway that I did not recognize, and its lights were off. I left out of the back of the house and walked around the side, approaching the driveway in the direction of the passenger-side door. The windows were slightly foggy, so I wasn't sure which door I should go to. I walked up to the passenger side door and knocked. The window rolled down slowly. The driver was wearing a red sweater with a hood, which he had pulled up over his head. He may have had a hat on. He had black hair that was short and straight and had a small strip of hair on his chin that was neatly trimmed. He looked similar to the guy I had seen earlier, and may have been the same person, but he now had straight black hair and seemed a lot more friendly. He asked my name, checking to see if I was me. Strangely enough, I was. He nodded kind of slowly and, with a lopsided, somewhat uncertain smile, gestured, by way of a sideways nod, to the back passenger seat.
He pulled up the front passenger seat as I opened the passenger door of the 2 door car. It was twilight, but whether dawn or dusk, I do not know. I looked back in the back seat, and a woman was slouching there, hair pulled back, wearing a very loose red sweatshirt. Her legs were propped up against the back of the seat, perhaps in apathy, perhaps to shield herself from me. Her hair was a muddy blond, and not the faint pale color I remembered. Her eyes were a muddied blue, icy around the pupil and darkening around the edges into a faint blackish color. Her skin was darker than I remembered, and I could see that she seemed to have a few freckles as the interior light shimmered strangely on her apparently oily skin. I searched her eyes briefly for recognition. And somewhere in the light in her eyes, I recognized her. I smiled, probably lamely, and she looked down and bit her lip. I said hello to her and asked her how she'd been. She was apparently no longer thrilled with the thought of talking to me (if she ever had been to begin with). She inhaled slowly, and, turning to the driver, said, "Well, we did what we said we were going to do. Can we go now?", and resumed staring at the base of the seat in front of her. He maintained his somewhat strained smile and did not respond. I searched her face for signs of malice, but could find none. Finally, I sighed, and greeted the driver, asking him how he was and otherwise making friendly small talk that I'm generally rather horrible at. He said that the two of them had been in a wreck previously, and that she had some things she had wanted to talk to me about.
I glanced at her neck, and noticed for the first time that she had a somewhat noticeable injury that looked like a small gouge. The driver had a similar injury, but on the side of his neck. I grew concerned, and asked if she was alright, conveniently overlooking the driver. He did not seem offended. She, of course, made no apparent attempt to respond to what he had said. Remembering what little manners I possess, I asked the driver how he was and what had happened. Whatever he told me, I don't remember. I was never sure who exactly he was. He never gave me his name and I did not ask. I simply assumed that he was her boyfriend or fiancee, or husband, but could never bring myself to ask. He and I talked for a bit before it became apparent that me leaning into the car with the door wide open wasn't the ideal way to have a conversation, so he got out of the car, and, eventually, convinced her to do so as well. We walked around in the somewhat dim light, talking, he and I. She kept quiet all the while, which was beginning to grate on my nerves. It was nice seeing her, but why wouldn't she speak to me? I didn't even know him, and he was doing all the talking.
Suddenly, people started coming out of my house, dressed strangely and being otherwise odd. One guy had plants above his ears as if he was impersonating a Caeser, but whatever plant it was was clearly not meant for the job. Each had an occasional tiny red leaf sticking off of it. A person who looked like my grandfather began a very poetic narrarration that made entirely no sense. I stared at him for a bit, incredulous. It all seemed like a scene out of Waiting for Godot. We were all on the porch at the time. I was not particularly happy with their company, and I could tell that neither he nor she was particularly pleased either, so we walked to the edge of the porch and jumped off. He walked ahead quite a bit, and I was about to close the distance when I noticed that she was still standing on the edge of the porch, apparently not happy with the jump. I walked back to her and offered my hand to help her down. She smiled softly for a moment, then inhaled and hesitated. Someone else walked up and offered their hand, and she said thank you and allowed them to help her down. I was a bit insulted by this, and didn't stick around for an explanation. I am not sure what happened next, as the guy, I think, had wandered off, and I had walked off from her as well. She must have gone looking for him, because she continued further into the back yard instead of going to the car. As she rounded the edge of the house, I finally ran back up to her. Somewhat short of breath and flabberghasted, I stopped her and asked, "Could you at least tell me why you despise me?"
She looked away as I neared the end of the question and began gnawing on her lower lip. She seemed to begin to speak, and finally just walked away. I watched her walk, and eventually began to follow. It was my yard, after all. There was a thick purple curtain, and she walked over to it. She found her way through the folds of the curtain, and walked through. I waited a bit, then walked through as well. On the other side of the curtain, I was wearing a robe. A somewhat thick robe made of similar fabric as the curtain. It draped slightly over my wrists. It looked fairly nice from a distance, I could tell, but it felt like the same cheap fabric that costumes were generally made of. Along the side, to the left, were a group of people. The one closest to me was a friend of mine named Garland. I didn't look at the others. She was now wearing a sort of dress, not particularly fancy, made of a pale material. It had some quaint little designs on it. Her back was to me, her hair still pulled back. She was simply standing there, her back to me. I called out to her, and she slowly turned around. She sighed when she saw me. She took a deep breath and smiled sort of nervously. She fidgited with her hair momentarily, and it was suddenly down. She seemed different in the backstage lighting. I took a deep breath and looked around. I finally managed, "Could you at least tell me why you won't talk to me?"
She looked away. She took another deep breath, and appeared to attempt to say something. Then she stopped herself. That's when I noticed that her eyes had cleared up from the muddy blue to the rich, somewhat icy blue I had always known. She looked at me pleadingly, as if she was asking me not to make her answer. Her hair seemed paler and less dark, and it is almost as if in the moment of her turning around that it all began to change. Or maybe it was the backstage lighting. She did not answer, but did not look away. Instead, this time, she was looking right in my eyes. Still, she did not answer.
The questions were racing through my mind..
Please talk to me..
What do you want me to be..?
She finally said, a bit slowly, "Because I don't know you well, and I didn't know how you'd take it."
Take what? I wondered. She seemed uncertain, so I thought she would tell me something that would make me angry and felt threatened by me. So I looked around the room, and Garland was sitting there flipping through a book. I said, after a bit, "Well, Garland's here."
Someone chimed in from the background, "That's not Garland, that's Buffy!"
I noticed that the book Garland was reading had Buffy the Vampire Slayer written on it.
I then said to her, "Well, now you *know* you're safe."
Garland, apparently to himself, said, "You know, that's a great out-of-context quote."
She finally said, somewhat abruptly..
"Look. The only way it could work.." I was a bit stunned to hear her answer, and struggled to follow along. ".. is if we went straight.." She said something about marriage? Whose? If *we* went straight for marriage? She wouldn't talk to me 5 seconds ago, what is she talking about? I blinked in confusion. I wanted to say something mocking, about how she wouldn't even speak to me 2 minutes ago and was now discussing (apparently?) marriage. But I realized that I didn't have a clue what she was talking about and that it might hurt her feelings. I bit my tongue. She continued, much faster than I could follow. "And now that I'm not.." Did she say "not married"? Or "not getting married"? I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off. "My mom's pretty mad at everyone.." Eh? Who? What? Slow down.. She said something about how she broke up with some guy, and how he'd "never left the bedroom", and she said it kind of darkly. Did something happen to him? She sounded kind of distant when she'd said it, and she was already talking about breaking up with someone else before the question had entered my mind. Was she suggesting some sort of sexual fling? That he was only her boyfriend "in the bedroom"? What was she talking about? I wanted to say I didn't understand. I wanted to say that whatever it was, it wasn't worth never getting to see her or talk to her. I wanted to say that I would like to be her friend at the least. I wanted to say I didn't understand. I wanted to ask her to slow down. I closed my eyes, then bolted awake suddenly.
"What the hell?" I wondered. Why was I awake? I was tense and agitated. Had something startled me? I wanted to say, "If it was something I've done.., please forgive me.." I wanted to say, "If it's something you've done.., I'll forgive you.." I couldn't leave her like that, whether I understood her not, what she was saying seemed difficult to her. I closed my eyes, and by sheer force of will, dragged myself back to sleep. Why would she care what I thought anyway?
But when I opened my eyes again, there was nothing but the infinite black, the boundless void behind my eyelids. And it was just me and the darkness again.
Please talk to me..
What do you want me to be..?
And I wanted to say, "I miss you."
And I wanted to say, "I love you."
And I wanted to say, "I always will."
And I finally woke again around 6. I didn't check the parking lot for that little 2-door car.
Maybe I should have.
I have some weird dreams.
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