Do It All Again

The rain comes down hard as it beats against my cardboard house like a drum. It upsets me at first, but then I remember I wanted to move anyway. Nothing truly upsets me anymore. Nothing outside of the wastefulness of the people that surround me where ever I go. Town after town. City after city. They waste their time all day doing nothing only to come home to more nothing. Though I suppose If it wasn’t for the wastefulness of people I wouldn’t have the cardboard boxes I like to call home or the cheap cigarettes to smoke when I can. It is such a strange relationship that I have with these others. A necessary evil I suppose. Even if it makes me angry at just how stupid they are.

My neighbor’s got a TV, but it doesn’t work. Doesn’t bother him much as he stares at the blank screen for hours pretending it’s some show he watched as a child. I don’t miss television much or the movies for that matter. Too many lies sown deep within the bright lights. It’s all just a bunch of made up drama or stupid comedies about nothing. I miss the sense of family though if I’m being honest with myself. Since I broke away from everything all I have had is time, to be honest with myself. A truly horrifying scenario I live through each and every day. Watching the “world” pass me by. A world where we cast aside everything for nothing at all. I remember the days that I rushed through only to get to the end. Always wanting more sleep. Always wanting something more. I don’t miss that need even if I still have the feeling.

Endless days give away to endless ideas of what life could be. Life has always been the same thing though. An endless nothing without a purpose. I suppose there is no right way to live a life. The words I write like a cave man on the sides of my box begin to bleed. Raining harder and harder upon my home. Though the feelings brought up right now make me feel a bit sad it is all temporary. I don’t miss much about the normal life. The tied down feeling that all of it had is what lead me to this. A thousand years ago I would have been an explorer, an honored man.

May have even had my own day of celebration like that asshole Christopher Columbus. My own special day where everyone got the day off. A day for people to celebrate me with a shopping spree or stuffing their faces with as much food that their bodies couldn’t handle. It is all a waste I tell you. All of it. It all comes back to this thought. Even not existing seems like a waste at times. I go on just as they do. Just as we are meant to. When the storm passes I’ll take what isn’t ruined. Start my search for dry boxes. Start all over again. I guess that’s what the real life is like only with more crap. Keep on wasting time only to do it all again.

Felling Sorry For Myself Once Again

Hoarder-home

I’m a collector of many things. Things I like, things I don’t need. Legos, toys, pens, pencils, notebooks, trash, books, thoughts, words, and the list goes on. I don’t do anything with this shit. Stare at it as it mocks me. Stare at it as it reminds me of why I have to what it is I have to do. Remind myself when there is time. There is never any time. I can’t sit still long enough to make time. A million things going on at once and not a damn thing done.

A process I’ve cultivated for no reason at all.  My hands can barely get out the words. Broken and hurting from all the work.  A thousand cases in three days wasn’t enough. A thousand reasons to not give a shit flooding into my mind. What am I here for? Why do I waste my time? I’m here to serve and I do it just fine.

Two days off and all I can think about is work. It doesn’t think about me. So why can’t I stop? None of it matters. Every day I step into this place. None of it matters. If I just said fuck it. They’d hire someone else and move on. Maybe it is time I do the same? Never wanted anything they are offering. The money sure we all need some form of it. Health insurance? I’m there so much the only thing kill me is them or myself.

Could be worse. Could have to hunt and kill my own food. Make my own clothes. Build my own shelter. Invent my own vices. It could be worse. I could have to learn how to live.

For those of you paying attention… I didn’t get to my post 5 Words I like and One That I Hate this month… I have a draft, but it is shit… I was going to post the draft… Release it from my mind… But the story I want to tell is a story I want to tell… So next month… give it some more time… Ran out of time this month… Work is dragging me under once again… hints the post today… If I can’t give you the post I wanted… at least I can give you the excuse… It seems as of late that I am full of them… 

Broken Thoughts

The signs were there all along
Lighting the way for the climax
Illuminating the inevitable fall
Who does this to them to themselves
Statistically speaking one and the same
Reality couldn’t be any further apart
Looked so good on paper
It had to work at least once
What could all this really mean
To someone who doesn’t care
I gave up but we took turns
Statistically speaking one or both should be dead by now
Still fucking breathing in all the pain
Still thinking about all the shit never said
If we can’t be honest then why worry about the truth
Inhuman to think this all began with a lie

 

65 pages on the same thought
Six albums and I’ve already forgot
Therapy couldn’t be any simpler
If only it had worked the first time
Revisiting the same sad thoughts
That makes me so fucked up
Dancing with the devil couldn’t release these demons
Gods warm embrace hasn’t done much to subside the pain
Out of options and ways to say
I hate you
So I’ll see you there
Pretend to not care but I always will
No matter how much I stab at the thoughts
Burn them down and piss on the ashes
They will still be there, we will still be here

 

Skin
The skin bleeds as the knife digs deeper
My skin spreads open revealing bone
The skin peels back as I pull
My skin lies in a pile on the floor

The skin is a metaphor for something I don’t know
My skin is missing but I am whole

Can you see everything you’ve become
Every little thing you have done
Like memories burning in the sun
I feel every ray and question why
Reflecting on nothing at all
In some way became something
Each and everything
Apart of something bigger
Picture unclear, vision blurry
Think one day I’ll know
By then it will be too late
Time has a way of reflecting on things
Now is not the time or place
But at the end does it all make sense

 

I really like playing the asshole, the liar, the thief it’s so much easier than it is to be me.  I just can’t take the loneliness. I’m lonelier now than I was before I gave it all up. The voices in my head have taken over and there is no telling what they have or haven’t said at this point. The long conversations I once had have given into a world that I have created. My life has been a long spiral down to this point. I’m at the bottom and I really don’t feel any worse than when I was at the top. Gone are the days where anything makes sense, the days of innocence, and the days plagued by truth. Here and now is hell. No longer am I waiting to grow up. Now I’m just waiting to die. I’ve never felt any more at home than I do now…

Postscript of the Unimaginative

03/18/13

I don’t drink coffee tastes like shit. I drink a soda infused with the right blend of chemicals, vitamins, and some other shit instead. I go back outside and sit on the balcony. I don’t work for a couple of hours so I’ll smoke a couple of more. I’ll stare off my balcony and wonder how far down it really is. The sun bleeds through the clouds blinding me and only me. I hate the sun and the heat yet I still live here. It is killing me little by little with the taste that never goes away. My teeth are, must be rotting out. I can taste them decaying from the inside out. Like the emotions in my head. My dog threw up on the floor the other day. I took her bed and covered it up. Wasn’t there anymore so somebody must have cleaned it up or she ate it.

It wasn’t chunky or on the carpet otherwise, I might have taken care of it right then and there. It was yellow and green with hair in it from when I brushed her. She likes to eat the hair that I brush off of her. Ever since she was a puppy. I don’t know why and I don’t understand it. I try to not let her eat the hair, but sometimes she grabs the chunks off the floor around her before I can. It makes no sense to me. It is not as if I see hair on the bathroom wall and peel it off to consume it. It is strange, my dog is strange like my life it doesn’t make sense. It is far too early to make sense of all these things. All these things from a dream. A dream that will fester in my mind and ruin my whole day.

I need more sleep, but I won’t get any. Not until the last minute, not until I can’t. It is the way things work. It is the way things are. I have all day to do something but I’ll sit here and think of all these things, and do nothing. My day was already planned even if I didn’t know it. Fate is something you can not avoid. Even if you don’t believe in it or your path. It keeps working against or for you, but either way, it is with you. Slowly killing you with every thought and every action. I make my own choices so they say, but no one chooses this willingly every day.

Drinking Bleach Preview (Vulgar)

The Trial

I’m feeling dangerous as the Judge call me to the witness stand despite the fact that I can’t even wipe my own ass if I wanted to. The law has me tied down. Got me on a leash, but they’re still scared. They don’t understand my madness. They don’t understand what makes me tick. That’s why I am here. So they can get some insight into what I am. Pussies. If they really wanted to know what I am they wouldn’t have me locked down like this. My lawyer says that if they question me on the stand at least I can get off with an insanity plea, but I’m not crazy. I’m the sanest mother fucker in the room.

As the bailiff walks me to the witness stand I get a smell of the perfume from one of the ladies in the jury. It smells of lilies and it smells so sweet I forget just what I am if only for a minute. Takes me back to when I was young. Takes me back to where I wish I could forget, but what’s done is done. I can feel my anger come back to me. I try to pull apart my chains, but it’s no use. I can’t tell which one of them is wearing it, but it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m locked down to god damn tight to do anything about it. Is there no human decency left in the world? When they sit me down in the chair I can see the crowd of people that was once behind me. A woman in a pink dress amongst the sea of black stares at me from the crowd, and she doesn’t look happy to be here. My lawyer said that some of the victim’s families would defiantly be here, but don’t let it get to me. I pucker my lips and give her a “kiss,” as I try to remember which one of my victims she reminds me of. I remember each one of the faces of the woman I have taken. The court is charging me with thirteen counts of murders, but I don’t have the heart to tell them it’s more like thirty. If they can’t find the bodies what concern is it of mine? Something about the woman in pink seems so familiar to me. It is her eyes. Yes, her eyes are the same as Heather’s eyes. They have the same look that Heather gave me as I strangled her to her last breath. God the fun her and I had after that. I have to assume that she is Heather’s sister or I’m sorry victim number six’s sister, but looks can be deceiving. There is no deceiving how Heather looks, however, not after I finished pounding that shovel in her face. No, no more pretty eyes for Heather. I can’t remember what I did with that shovel. Hopefully, I put it back in the shed. It was a really nice shovel I would really hate for it to get damaged. I wonder if they have found all of Heather anyways. They must have found enough of her or why else would the lady in the pink dress be here.

The lady in the pink’s dress is not the only woman with her eyes on me right now. What can I say the ladies love me and I’d hate to disappoint them all, but I’m a little too much to handle. The prosecutor is burning holes into the back of my head. I give her what she wants and give her a little smile to let her know I see her staring me down. She wears her emotions on her sleeve. My smile does nothing more, but piss her off which is all that I wanted. The things I could do to this woman would probably just get me thrown right back in this chair, but I’ll settle with just fucking with her mind for now. She’s not to bad looking either except for the butch haircut she is nearly perfect. If she grew her hair out she’d be easily fuckable with a knife. I can feel my dick getting harder just thinking about making her scream.

The jury looks hung or maybe that’s just how I want to see them swaying from side to side like twelve balls bouncing off one another. The judge breaks up my image of the jury swaying by demanding I put my hand on the bible. I tell the judge I’d rather not. The bible doesn’t do anything for me I say. I politely suggest if he wants me to swear on a book then he should bring me a copy of Everything Shits, as it is more relevant of a book than the bible. The crowd in the stands begins to sigh and talks like the sheep in the flock that they are. I’m the devil they whisper as if I can’t hear them. Wonder how many of them would put their hands on a book that used to be slammed across their face? The Bible reminds me of blood, the Bible reminds me that I have done something wrong, the Bible reminds me of God, and how there is no God. The Judge pounds his little hammer smacking the wood several times before ordering everyone to be quite in his deep voice between the horrible smashing. I ask him to please stop doing that. He tells me he will do as he pleases in his courtroom. A simple apology would have been sufficient, but no he has to be like every other asshole in the room. He asks me in a rude tone to put my hand on the bible so we can move on already. My lawyer reminds the judge that if I don’t want to swear on the bible it is my choice to do so or not. The prosecution adds another emotion to her sleeve, annoyance, before demanding we move on already. I am really beginning to enjoy myself up here in this chair. I feel so powerful as the prosecutor begins her questioning.

She asks me a general question to test my sanity. She asks why I am here in court today. Well she asks, “Why are you here in court today?” But is it not the same question? I explain to her that I was simply out at the local supermarket picking up some milk and accidentally wandered in here. She smiles in that way a woman smiles when she is very angry. In her defense she held back her anger quite nicely, but the armor is coming down. We all know why the accused is here Mrs. Nole please move on. The judge finally made a good point. “Since we all know why you are here Mr. Walters do you mind discussing any of the crimes you are being charged with today?” “No, not at all ask away.” “What happened to victim number six, Heather Woods?” “Going to have to refresh my memory, which one is that again?” “Heather is the young woman who went missing on December 30th three years ago. You claimed that you remember her and picked her out of a group of photo of missing people. Did you not do this Mr. Walters?” “Oh yes Heather, blonde hair?” The attorney nods at me. “Yes Heather was quite special to me. I let her live for a while before I dismantled every single part of her. I heard they still haven’t found all the pieces. Is that true?” “Sadly yes, but we found enough of her to link you to her missing persons case.” “Aww that’s too bad, but then again I imagined they never would find all of her. It’s quite impossible actually.” “Where is the rest of her?” “Hard to say it’s been three years now and medically speaking she is pretty much gone. Say why is she so important anyway? I mean I dismembered and raped and tortured a lot more than just one girl.” “He has a point counselor, but I have yet to hear yours.” “I have a point your honor. My point is why did you do all of this?” “That is your point? Really? There must be better things to ask me than why. I’m missing fucking shows here.” The judge slams his hammer down once again. “You will not use that type of language in my courtroom.” He is really starting to piss me off. I’m trying not to show my anger, but it is getting harder to keep my cool. “You liked to be in control don’t you Mr. Walters?” “What do you mean by that? Don’t we all like to be in control?” “What I mean is that you like to be in control and when you are not you act violently.” My lawyer stand up, “your honor what does that have to do anything? Mrs. Nole hasn’t asked a single question about this case. My client has already admitted to killing these women, what more can she really want from my client?” “I want to hear the truth. I want to know that Mr. Walters truly know what he did.” “Well that is a first I don’t believe I have ever heard of the prosecution trying to get a suspect off for insanity.” “I’m not insane your honor.” The judge slams his hammer. “No one said you were insane Mr. Walters.” My anger is at its peak.

“Stop slamming that fucking thing or so help me I will tear a hole in your throat just to watch you die you piece of shit”, I scream at the top of my lungs. The court goes into a frizzy and the judge slams the hammer yet again. “Order, order in the court what did you say to me, Mr. Walters?” But it is too late for words and despite how well they have me restrained I manage to get out of my chair. I jump as high as my limitations will let me which isn’t very high. The judge is scared out of his mind. He tries to move away from me as I lunge at him with my mouth open. I want to bite his fucking nose off or any part of him I can get my face near. The only part of him I am able to catch with my mouth is his right hand. My teeth grip the side of his hand and I can taste his skin in my mouth. I bit down as hard as I can on his soft flesh. I feel the warm taste of iron flood my mouth as he screams in agony. By this time the guards have gotten a hold of the back of my orange jumpsuit. As they attempt to pull away from the judge’s hand I can feel the soft tissue ripping further. I can hear the judge beginning to scream get this fucking psycho off of me. Get him the fuck off of me now. Just before a bailiff hits me in the face with the back of a shotgun I can feel a large chunk of flesh pull away from the judge’s hand. The hit hurts, but it doesn’t knock me out. I spit out the part of the judge’s hand that is still left in my mouth before telling the bailiff to go fuck his mother for me. The second hit to my face knocks me out cold, but I went out smiling.

Demented… Insane… Perfectly human?… who knows… this is the end of the story arc that runs through out my short story book, Drinking Bleach… Now available on Kindle and Amazon… Don’t forget to leave a messed up review… every little bit helps… Also check out my Threadless shop if you are looking for something new to wear… Storming the beaches of my mind for more to say… Got a playlist up on Spotify… Lemonade and Glass… check it out…

https://chewingonglass.threadless.com/

From the Journal of the Devil

Aug. 13th, 2009
I just witnessed yet another one of those late night infomercials. I must get it. The item in question is a pizza cutter that makes the perfect slices every time. This beauty goes by the name the Perfect Slice. So simplistic I love it. For the low, low price of $9.99 plus shipping and handling, I could be cutting my way to pizza heaven. How could I go wrong? Worst case scenario it becomes another prop I can use to frighten my victims will. I could raise the scissor-like device and threaten to cut little triangles out of their ball sack. The applications would be limited when it comes to actual torture. I’m sure that it can’t cut too deeply through the skin and there is no way it is getting through bone. Though if I modify it with a better hinge it could have the potential to do more damage, but then I’m into it for way more than the asking prices. There is also its basic function of cutting pizza and that could be helpful at a dinner party. I’m excited at the possibilities, but I don’t think it can live up to my last late night purchases. The Tri-Saw which has to be the most amazing device I have ever purchased. I really couldn’t ask for a better product. Three counter spinning blades rotating at 5500 mps gets my dick hard just thinking about it. This amazing saw can cut through most metals with ease once you purchase the Cut Anything replacement blades. Which of course I purchased because when you need to cut through a bone you want a perfect cut every time. Also, the stability of the Tri-Saw is second to none. There’s no jerking or pulling like there is with most saws. Plus it is handheld and portable. The miter saw I was using before was just too bulky and awkward. Not to mention loud and there are only so many new house projects I can lie about before the neighbors realize I haven’t fixed a thing. But with the Tri-Saw there is barely any noise. It does, however, lack a proper guard which can make quite the mess out of dismembering a body. But with this hobby, it seems to be unavoidable anyways and nothing a well-manufactured tarp can’t handle. There is nothing like it in on the market today. The Tri-Saw gets my seal of approval like my other great purchases such as the All in One Super Blending Unit, Soil Extraordinaire, Fantastic Flavor Inserter, and the Dangler Tomato Planter. While other products can be utilized beyond their intended purpose. The Soil Extraordinaire is for pure entertainment. Soil Extraordinaire was designed to feed water into plants as they need it. A reserve reservoir for those long business trips or the lazy ass who couldn’t be bothered to water their plants. It has the quite opposite effect if the product is stabbed into the whore’s neck. Granted some of the blood does make its way into the small hand-blown globe that acts as the reservoir, but this is mostly due to the pure force of the blood coming from their neck. The best technique is to enter at an angle so that the blood has a better chance of actually doing this. Then in order to save the blood from spilling all over the place, I have to gently remove the Soil Extraordinaire from the victim’s neck, and flip it so that the sharp end is pointing up. There is a real art to it all. Though if I am feeling lazy it is much easier to fill the product the old fashion way with a knife and a small incision. Either way works, but then I can take and put the blood filled globes in any potted plant that I have around the house. The blood doesn’t help them in any way. In fact, it mostly destroys them over time. Too much iron in the blood maybe? Really their only purpose is for me to have a discrete way of showing off my blood collection. Waste not want not. Plus there is something about having incriminating evidence stashed around the house that really gets me going. A major drawback to the Soil Extraordinaire is that the cheap shitty glass breaks way too easily. I have to make sure I stab the stem of the Soil Extraordinaire perfectly into the bitch’s neck or it snaps off into a million tiny little pieces on her collarbone. All of this creates an insidious mess that I have to clean up later. It took a reasonable amount of practice and quite a few Soil Extraordinaire to perfect the whole technique. The first girl I must have stabbed her at least six times before I got it to work. That’s about thirty-five dollars in globes alone. This is where the added value comes kicking in. At five dollars a globe it is much cheaper to replace the Soil Extraordinaire than it is to use quality materials. But even if the stem breaks or the globe itself, not all is lost because I can still use the leftover pieces to stab randomly all over their body. Another fun trick that I like to do whenever I’m not in a poetic blood and flowers kind of mood is to take the blood filled globes and smash it over their head. If their mouth isn’t gagged, neighbors on vacation, I like to watch as the blood slowly makes its way into their mouths. They pit and choke as they try to find a way to get it out, but more and more as the little shards stick out of their foreheads. The scene turns quite hilarious if left alive for a long enough time as they begin to vomit up their own blood all over themselves. The All in One Super Blending Unit on the other hand is a wonderful device from top to bottom. The name could have used some work, but it does do everything it promises and more. It really isn’t something I like to use during playtime but afterwards is a whole other thing. To quote the online website, “The units unique shape design circulates food with so much force and speed that it can do any job in 5 seconds or less.” So impressive. In the case of cooked human flesh this amazing little device can chop, dice, or mince me into flavor heaven in not one, not two, not even four seconds, but just three seconds. For the perfect human topping on nachos, in omelets, or to just sprinkle in my mouth. This little fucking machine even comes with a cookbook for other great recipe ideas. Of course I have to just replace parts of the recipe with cooked human pieces. Marinating chunks of human used to be a real bitch before one extraordinary night I came across the Fantastic Flavor Inserter while using the All in One Super Blending Unit to prepare my favorite midnight snack, human quesadillas or hum dillas as I like to call them. I had the Fantastic Flavor Inserter operator in stitches with a story about one of my many horrible attempts at making the perfect garlic “chicken.” Luckily for me the operator was laughing so hard she couldn’t hear the moans of some stupid bitch I brought home that night. Let’s just say she never got to enjoy the Fantastic Flavor Inserter like I have or the sunrise on that particular morning. I however did get to enjoy that amazing sunrise and I must say there is nothing more enjoyable than a brain shake at dawn. I haven’t been able to find a useful purpose for the Dangling Tomato planter, but it does grow very tasty tomatoes in just a few short weeks.

 

Stuck In Time, A Distant Past

“You said you’d love me forever.”
“No, what I said was I once gave a damn.”
“You lie as though you believe it to be true.”
“Truth has a funny way of appearing to be a lie.”
“Then we shall see in the end who is telling the truth or telling a lie.”
Blood spurts from her neck, a fountain of life erupting for the first and only time. “In the end, we shall see,” she says with a grin.

“Blood in, blood out we are nothing more than the thoughts and ideas we choose to believe. Some days I think yeah I am more than this. I am more than a few ideas I stole from those around me, but I would be wrong. Human nature is nothing more than a copy. A copy of the animals, the nature around us evolved to their current point. We all evolve our traits, our ideas, and our very existence. A thousand years ago we were different, but yet we can look into the eyes of our past selves and see the similarities.” She stands there staring at me from the other side of the hot shelve. A metal slab bathed in red light and her face staring back at me from the other side.

“What the hell are you going on about now?” She asks her blonde hair perfectly held in place. “Is this another one of your epic speeches you build up in your head?” Her head is replaced with her pushed up breasts. Already large enough pushed up to look even larger. A secondary benefit to this job. “You know what it doesn’t matter its dinner rush and my table needs those fries.” I stare at the exposed flesh of her chest, “No one ever wants to hear what I say,” I say into her chest. Her face returns, “What?” I turn to the timer behind me. I glimpse the chaos that surrounds me on all sides. Transcending, drenched in thought I watch the timer count down one second at a time, “At least another minute.” The timer slowly ticks away as each thought crosses my mind. The world is full of useless people like us with useless jobs and careers. Most of us could easily be replaced by machines, but then what would we all do? Sit around and think about nothing? If we are to believe we are all the same. Then we have to realize that each of us is always thinking about something. Something so profound it could change the world as we know it. Tech so powerful that. “The fries man, the fucking fries,” another cook shouts. The timer beeps flashing zero over and over in a distinct annoying pattern. “Today asshole,” her voice cuts through all the noise.

My hand pulls the fries from the oil and I turn the timer off. Reaching for the bowl all of this becomes apparent. All of this becomes useless not only in my mind as I pour the fries into the bowl, but in my heart. What am I doing here? I shake the sea salt over the bowl tossing the fries as I do. Why is it that I do these things? I grab the small square plate and place a handful of fires onto it. Am I destined for something more? I pass off the fires to her, “About fucking time. Get your head in the game asshole.” She disappears as I place the rest of the fries under the red glow. Like vultures to a carcass more breast appear into view and hands pick at the bowl until there is nothing left.

There was once a girl that stood on the other side of that counter. Another face in the crowd of many. I remember her shape, but not her face. She asked me for ketchup. Over and over. Too busy I shouted without looking into her eyes. A mouse of a person. She wasn’t meant to work in a place full of predators. A place built on selfish, demanding assholes. She was too sweet to understand she didn’t belong. These thoughts fired off in my brain. My actions replaying, my words floating in the air. All she wanted was ketchup. Nothing more. It wasn’t for her. It wasn’t a large request and yet I couldn’t possibly stop for a second. The world is on fire in my mind. She’s nothing more than another flame. The thought haunts me at times. My actions as I see her shape walk away. I knew I was wrong. I knew better and yet I did nothing until it was over. I placed the tiny cup of ketchup in the window. Waiting for her return. Three days later she was dead. Three days later she wasn’t there anymore. Three days later everyone got ketchup as I tried to hold back the pain, the tears, and the regret of something so small.

My actions didn’t condemn her. A moment in our short time together. I never even learned her name. I’m sure she knew mine. Prince of the demanding assholes. Loudest of them all. I know she knew me, but I didn’t bother to know her. They say there is a God, but every turn I take I have yet to see such evidence. Searching for a reason that justifies taking the life of a twenty-year-old girl I’ve stopped searching. She didn’t do anything. She wasn’t part of any mysterious way. A victim of the uninsured. Too quiet to demand I give her the ketchup and too polite to seek treatment she couldn’t afford. Had she spoken up, had she said something, had she known, had so many things had happened I wonder what she would be doing today.