We are playing The Ungame one last time this cycle… I pick six random ass questions from the stack… and away we go…
Turn 1… If You Were Convinced That Reincarnation Was A Fact, How Would You Like To Come Back?
No real need to convince me of reincarnation… fingers crossed that all of this is to come back once again… who wants to only live one life… from one perspective?… boring… This one is pretty easy for me… I would want to come back as a bird… unsure what bird though… being a penguin would be amazing… gliding through the endless ocean… dodging death at every turn… living in the cold… but I would want the ability to fly high above the earth… or to be able to fly at all…see everything in a way I could never in this life time… go anywhere my body could take me… not have to live in the restraints of a society I was born into…
To me being a bird means freedom… freedom to do whatever it is that you want… being any animal seems to be that way… but knowing life I’m sure that we are all stuck in some sort of cage…
Turn 2… Complete The Statement; “One Thing I Missed During My Childhood Was…”
Hmm… I’d have to say I was pretty lucky… sure maybe I could have used a Dad… didn’t but maybe I could have… could have spent more time with my extended family… didn’t but oh well… I wouldn’t really say I missed anything because it is hard to know what you missed if you didn’t know about it… everything could go one way or another… and I’m pretty content on how my life turned out… if I had to pick something though… I would say the sense of home…
I move around a lot as a child… and even into my young adulthood… which is something that is actually hard to complain about… I’ve seen and lived in place that some people have dreamed of living or seeing… some people have worked their whole lives to be able to do what I had the opportunity to do… so I’m not going to go on some long rant about how I missed all this shit I didn’t know about… but sometimes I get jealous of others… that didn’t go anywhere… that idea that no matter where they go in this world… they can always go home…
That is a pretty strong… comforting feeling… I only have one place out of all the places that I have lived that I consider “home”… and I can never go back to that place… it was a time and place I can never get back too… maybe that is how it is for others and I don’t know… or maybe it isn’t… one of life’s many mysteries…
Turn 3… What Makes You Laugh?
haha… some dark ass shit… my line for comedy is pretty thin… would I laugh at my own mothers death?… maybe… what’s the joke?… I tend to not get so offended by what people say… because people say a lot of shit… an ungodly amount of shit really… and I fit right into that… maybe it is from being ugly… being bullied as a child… but it takes a lot for me to get angry rather than laugh… so much so that I get in “trouble” for just saying whatever in person… I tend to not think about what it is that I am saying… or who I am saying it to… and sometimes… I may or not have crossed a few lines…
Things that make me laugh… murder… serial killers… missed placed words… miss placed actions… new age rappers names… death… life… race… humanity… dogs… cats… fail videos… too much man ass in a movie or show… sex… stupidity… myself… my daughter… people trying to hard… slapstick… comments… and stupid shit… I’ll laugh at anything… and even when I don’t… I tend to laugh at the situation…
Turn 4… If There Is Unnecessary Laughing – Some People Might Be Afraid To Share Their Feelings. Be Aware of the Mood You Create! Take another card.
This made me laugh…
Turn 5… Say Something About Earthquakes.
They can move the earth… How is this even a question?… they just got lazy on a few of these… fun fact… I have been through a few earthquakes… nothing horrific as the ones on the news… but there are places on earth where they just happen… no big deal… lose a picture frame or lamp and move on… those types are actually pretty fun… I rather enjoyed them… the ones where people die?… fuck that… That would not be fun at all…
Turn 6… Do You Ever Feel Lonely? When?
This is two questions… lazy writing… learn the rules of your own game… avoiding the question maybe?… I get lonely because I am human… It doesn’t happen often because I was an only child… so I can feel it… but I move on from it rather quickly in general… The loneliness I feel when I am not around my wife and daughter… is a little hard to move past…
I feel that constantly… right now… even… I want to write and get some work done… but I miss them… wonder what they are doing… what we will do later… I would say that the idea of loneliness has changed a lot for me over time… I wouldn’t call it a learned behavior… I’m sure that I was lonely a lot as a child… but I didn’t know it… so maybe that is why I overcompensate so much as an adult… I’ve been called clinging… haha… yeah me… but for the most part… I love to be alone… It is all I really know… I find so many things to do in this idea of alone… sometimes it can be hurtful but for me it is relaxing…
What?… I think people who are only child’s will understand what I mean… everyone else maybe not so much… so many sides to a coin… I can admit though that the feeling of being a lone is very overwhelming… but so is the idea that there is always someone there… there needs to be a balance… just like with everything in life… in truth though we are never truly a lone… that is one thing I have learned from this life… and this website…
There is a line we do not cross Hop over it once and it’s all your fault Step over it again and find out what’s wrong Thin lines grow between hearts and breaks Thin lines grow between us Keeping us apart yet very much the same There are lines we do not cross Reach over them once and it’s all your fault Fall over it again and find out what’s wrong Thin lines grow between souls and life Thin lines grow within us Keeping us together yet very much the same
“What do you got there Sylvia?” An orderly asks. Her young frame hunched over an open notebook. She pretends to not hear the question. “Hey Sylvia,” he calls out once again. As the youngest patient in the asylum he isn’t used to her teenage attitude in this dark dingy place overcrowded with pain, neglect, and isolation. “Nothing, just something I have been working on to pass the time,” she answers. “Did you not hear me the first time?” He ask. “I heard you,” she says into her notebook. “Okay, well maybe sometime you could show me what you have been working on,” he smiles. She looks up at him, “Yeah maybe.” She buries her head back into her notebook. The orderly shakes his head and walks over to the other side of the room to talk to the other patients in the recreation room. “So what are you working on Harold?” She hears him ask the only other patient not drugged out of their mind. She picks up her pen.
I’m so depressed here. I wish I never “volunteered” to be admitted. Should have just run away again or finished what I started. I’ve been rubbing the scars again. No one would listen to me outside of this walls or inside them. I should have known he would have sent me to a place that wouldn’t listen. This place is like school. “Sylvia stop your lying.” Maybe I’m not lying. Maybe you aren’t listening. The deep jagged cuts down my arm don’t help me to forget. The pain is long gone from the last time, but somehow still linger in my mind. Thought maybe if I wasn’t pretty anymore. Wasn’t perfect then maybe. It doesn’t matter what I thought. How many times am I going to tell myself the same thing? How many times am I going to justify trying to kill myself? No one cares why it happened as long as it isn’t happening. I’m safer here than at home. That’s what is important. As long as I keep my volunteer status he can’t hurt me. As long as I am here I am safe. The reason doesn’t matter anymore. No one is going to stop him, but at least I did.
The orderly makes his way back over to her. His footsteps echo within the room. She closes up her notebook, “Yes Charles?” He checks his watch, “I’ve been reminded to remind you that your next appointment is in a five minutes.” She rolls her eyes, “Funny how that seems to be the case every week.” He smiles and pretends that her attitude isn’t bothering him. A talent he learned from his two girls at home. “It is quite odd. Might have to do something about that,” he jokes. “Them doing anything here would be a first,” she says as she gets up from her chair and walks away.
The door to the doctor’s office is open slightly as she knocks on the door. “Come in. How are we doing today Sylvia?” The doctor asks as he looks at a chart that isn’t even hers. “Fine, I guess. Same as always,” she mocks. “You know you can leave whenever you want? Maybe go back home and spend some time with your family. Wouldn’t that be nice?” He asks without looking at her once. “I’m sure they miss me immensely. At least that is what they would want you to believe, but I’m certain I am just fine right here,” she looks down at her scars once again. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. I’ll make a call to your parents and tell them you are ready to go home,” he says. “I didn’t say that at all,” she says. “I just want to tell you Sarah we made some real progress in the time that you have been here,” the doctor rattles off. “My name is Sylvia,” she says in anger. “Yes, I am aware and I don’t want you to worry. I’m going to write you a script for some mood suppressors. You don’t have to take them, but if you feel all the anxiety coming back on I want you to feel safe,” the doctor says. “I feel safe here. I want to stay here,” She tries to reason. “Change is good for you. You have been here too long. It’s time for you to go home. I know your father misses you every much. I have been keeping him updated and he seems as optimistic as I am about your recovery,” he looks up from his chart. “So go ahead and get your things ready for tomorrow. That seems like a perfect place to end today,” he gives off a weak smile. Sylvia begins to cry. The tears falling from her eyes to her arms and running along her scars, “I don’t want to go.” The nurse comes in and places a hand on her shoulder. “Nurse remind me that I need to call her parents in a bit and if you could have Charles bring in the next patient that would be wonderful,” the doctor asks. “Yes, sir. Come on Sylvia let’s get you back to your room,” the nurse says to her. “But I don’t want to go,” she begins to sob. “I know dear. I know,” the nurse says as she rubs her shoulder. The doctor goes back to his file as the nurse escorts Sylvia from the room.
“There she is,” Charles calls out as he walks by her open door. “Glad to see you writing again,” he says to her. She doesn’t respond to him as she sits still at her desk. Memories flooding her mind. “Wanted to check in on you. Heard you were pretty upset earlier,” he says to more silence. “Also heard you were going home tomorrow too. That is good news,” he tries to sound excited. “Mind If I take a look at what you are writing? I understand if you don’t feel like talking,” Charles suggest. “Very much so. It is private,” she snaps at him. “I see you are excited about leaving tomorrow,” he snaps back. “Maybe even sooner,” she says under her breath. “What?” Charles asks concerned. “I said I want you to leave. Did you not hear me the first time,” Sylvia screams at him with tears in her eyes. “I just want you to know that I am here if you need to talk,” Charles says in a caring voice before walking out of the room. Sylvia quickly gets up from her chair and slams the door behind him. Only doors don’t slam here. She pushes all her weight against the door to try and get it to close faster. Tears streaming down her face as she struggles. Despite living in the same room for the past six months her room is nearly bare. A bed, a dresser, and a desk. “Her desk,” she thinks to herself. Her father’s money was at least good for something in this place. A private room and her own desk, but they wouldn’t let her have her pens. Not after what happened. They gave her special hospital pens, but only after she had developed trust. She couldn’t do much of anything with those useless things any way. She calms down enough to return to her desk and flips open the note book to where she left off.
There is a silence It is a constant There is a sadness It is a constant There are so many things And they are all constant I can taste the blood on the page I can feel the sweat on the page I can see the tears on the page As each drop becomes the page Why doesn’t anyone understand
Sylvia tosses the note book as hard as she can. It bursts open as it smashes against the wall. Papers, words, time falls to the floor. She begins to sob at the thought of the words, “I know your father misses you very much.” Visions of the past fill her mind. Remembering the pain. Remembering the fear of it all. Remembering that no one would listen. No one cared. “How could you ever say a thing like that about your father,” her mother’s words echo in her mind. Only to be replaced by the memory of his touch and his words. “You are so beautiful. My perfect little angel,” his words like poison slipping into her mind. You are confused at first. Why now? Why this? So you fight it the best you can, but the fight becomes useless. The whole thing becomes normal. A daily routine that you can’t wash away from your mind. The thought becomes clear. If I’m no longer perfect then it will stop. The memory of the pain from before washes over her once again. Make myself imperfect. Make it go away. The blood drips on the floor. It stains the carpet, but they clean it and they move on. It never stops the abuse. The monster doesn’t care if you are perfect. The monster doesn’t care at all. Deeper you dig. Deeper you find yourself in pain. Deeper until you think that it is over. Until you find yourself here and know that it is. Sylvia reaches under her desk to grab the item hidden beneath. When she got here she was hopeful that it would never have to be used again, but deep down she knew someday she would need a way out. She holds the jagged piece of mental in her hands. “We don’t even know what she cut herself on,” he mother told the hospital. Squeezing all her anger and the pain into it. “Here we go again,” she thinks. “A conclusion I can no longer hide away from.” She holds the broken piece of metal in her hand. She gently places it on her desk and opens her last remaining note book.
“When we bleed it is only to cleanse our souls. It’s like letting the air out of the tires every now and then. Sometimes it hurts more than others, but the hurt never compares to the pain. The hurt feels good in a way. The pain doesn’t. I wish someone would have listened to me. Anyone at this point. I wish I could explain the pain that I am in, but for some reason, I can’t. It could be the lack of blood still left within me or my ever lack of words associated with the pain. Pain is nothing like the hurt. The hurt comes and goes, but the pain. The pain is always there. Every once in a while I found myself here in this place. This dark hole surround by all the pain I don’t understand. This place of self-loathing and hate. I control my own destiny, right? Or have I just misheard some well-placed advice? Maybe I don’t control anything since no matter my choices I always end up here. I always end up with this pain. No one cares, but everyone’s still listening. I know it is not my fault and maybe it still is. Should have never. Should have done things differently. This has to be for the best. Nothing else left to do. Except release myself from this burden. Release me from this hole. I tried. I really did. Maybe not enough or in the way I should have….”
This is a work of fiction, but sadly the concept behind it is not. This story is lived day in and day out by an unknown amount of children. Many of whom do not reach out. It is not normal and it is not okay. If you or someone you know is being abused. Please reach out for help and never stop reaching out for help. Help is always there even when it feels like the whole world won’t listen to you. Click the links below to find help or to find out how you can help those in need.You are not powerless and you are loved.
I debated on how graphic I wanted to get with this story… from the suicide to the abuse… I debated for a long time… this story kind of took a life of it’s own… I started the story with the idea to write a back story to a previous character… Sylvia from Purgatory… seemed pretty simple… I liked the character a lot from that story… I liked her attitude… I liked who she could have been… seeing how everyone in that story is dead already when we meet them… I wanted to do a sequel…
The original idea for Sylvia was to write out a “love story” where she explains what her scars are from to the main character of Purgatory… (Fun fact… I only kept writing that story because of her… Sylvia to me was the thread that held that early story together for me…) but I don’t do love stories very well… and I wasn’t sure how she had gotten her scars… In the original story she never says… she hides them when ever she can… spark… “why?”… and the more I thought about it… the more it became the story above… Of course when I came up for air I found myself someplace very far from a “love story”…
The first couple of drafts had way more detail… way more things that didn’t need to be said… and I’m not afraid to say certain things… I’ve got stories toprove it… but this one seemed different… though this didn’t happen to me personally… it felt personal… which made this one that much harder to write… as an observer it is always easier to write something when you are not attached to the subject… I of course didn’t want anything to ever happen to Sylvia… I don’t want anything to happen to anyone… and sadly these things do… So I didn’t want to just file it away and pretend like these things don’t happen… That these things could never happen…
Sometimes the hardest things to say are the ones that need to be said the most…
Standing beside the devil at the gates of hell There’s no heaven for someone like me Laid down before Christ Kissed his feet Hoping I won’t be the only one that’s died Best one could hope for a silent death Stripping the flesh inch for inch Killing the idea of you was never meant to be easy Taking breath for breath, taking a life Welcome home tattooed across my skin In blood, in blood we learn what freedom is Never forget who you really are A devil saint masquerading as a demon One in the fucking same, no different from the next Who I am and what you’ll be What is it that the world made me A puppet, a pawn, my new plaything Smile, this is all God ever asked from you The blood only a part of the process Smile, gave you all that you needed Never good enough, no one ever will be Need more to understand What I’ve become Same as you only worse Never give anything You aren’t willing to lose
Testing Out The Thoughts In My Head
Dragging the blade against the skin What was it that you once said No one could ever be a beautiful as you Testing the theory that it was all in my head How quickly you changed Now who is the one begging I was dead Dragging the blade against the skin Tearing out all the dirty thoughts Where do I begin, trapped within No one could ever be as clean as you Testing the theory that it was all in my head How quickly I changed Now who is the one suggesting medicine Dragging the blade against the skin Carving out all the pieces I adore Being so selective never felt so good What was it you once said No one could be as perfect as you I beg to differ on the subject Testing the theory that it was all in my head How quickly your pleas turn into threats Now who is the one begging I quit Dragging the blade against the skin I wish I could live in Worship me as I have always you Be mine so we can end these stupid games Promise me you’ll always be as beautiful As I make you Obsession leads to creativity Testing out all the thoughts in my head
Got pretty dark in here… That first one started off as a Broken Thought… then it kept going… had to change the whole theme of my post… was originally going to talk about the sun and how life is so beautiful… really just the beauty of life… the normal things I like to talk about really… but then this dark cloud came out of nowhere… sometimes life is about riding the wave of emotions… maybe next time on Cuddling with Glass…. (That still sounds pretty painful… There’s nothing soft, warm, or fuzzy about glass… other options… Gluing with Glass… Blowing with Glass… if you came up with anything post it in the comments…)
“We’ve all gathered her once again. What is the purpose?
What is the point of all of this my people?” The man asks the small coven before
him. “To praise him,” they chant back. “To love him. To Honor him,” They continue.
“Because?” The man asks enthusiastically. “Jesus is lord,” They answer. The
woman at the man’s feet whimpers as she struggles with her restraints. Gagged
she can’t say a thing, but she tries none the less. “That is right my children.
That is so very right. We don’t do this for ourselves, but for him. We don’t
hurt people we free them in the name of our lord. That is why we are here this
evening,” the man kneels down towards the woman. Rubbing the back of his
fingers across her face, “This woman, if you could call her that, needs our
help this evening my children.” She flails her head as she tries to scream, “Hush
my child. We are only trying to save you, help you. We mean you no harm.” The
man stands back up and takes his place behind the podium. The air around him
thick with silent anticipation. “See my children? See why we must help her? She
doesn’t even know that she is lost. She doesn’t even know the devil has taken a
hold of her,” He presents to them. “Free her. Give her back to Jesus,” they all
responded back. “Oh, we shall. Strip her,” he orders to the two men beside the
stage. The two men do as they are told ripping the woman’s clothes off of her.
Her mesh shirt shredded instantly. She kicks and screams as her pale skin is
exposed to the crowd. “Stand her up for my children to see,” the man orders. “Look
my children. Look what the devil as done to this poor woman,” he walks from
behind the podium and stands next to her. “These marks of sin all throughout
her body. Tattoos not only where we can freely see, but even where only her
husband could,” he runs his finger down her pelvis following the outline of the
tattoos as he speaks. “And these,” he shouts to dramatic effect as he flicks
her nipple rings. She struggles against the two men. “What on God’s green earth
could these be used for if not for sin. What is the purposes of such atrocities?
Don’t even get me started on her horns,” he chuckles to himself. “Set her free.
Give her back to Jesus,” the angry crowd shouts unprovoked. “Oh, we shall my
children, we shall. Kneel before Christ,” he shouts at her. The two men kick
her legs out from under her and help her to her knees. Naked kneels before him
as he steps up to her with a cup in his hands. He pulls out her gag with his
free hand releasing a siren of screams into the room. “Hush now child,” he says
loud enough for everyone to hear. Moving closer to her face he speaks in
whispers, “You had to know the day would come where you’d have to face your
sins. Some one of your nature couldn’t be so naive. Here are your choices young
lady. You drink this here cup of the lord.” Her face tenses up, “I’m not
drinking shit.” He lets off a small amused smile, “I think you will because if
you don’t you are going to know pain beyond anything even you could know. Drink
the cup and accept Jesus into your body. You do that and we will let you go.
Simple really. If you don’t. Well we will have to find another way to let Jesus
in and the demons out.” Tears fall from her face, “I ain’t drinking shit.” He
shakes his head, “Please, we don’t want to hurt you. We just want to save you.
Save your soul from damnation. Drink the blood of Christ accept him into your
heart and you are free do go.” He holds the cup within inches of her lips. “Okay,
I’ll drink it,” she agrees. “She says she will accept Christ,” he shouts for
all to hear. She continues to cry as the room cheers. He hold the cup up to her
lips and she slowly drinks it, Take all of Jesus Christ into you.” She nods as
she drinks from the cup. Drinks every last drop. “Let her go,” he orders to the
two men. Scarred and panic she rises naked to her feet. She tries to cover what
she can of herself as she runs down the aisle. “Let Christ consume your evil my
child. Let the lord set you free,” he shouts from behind her. A smile stretched
across his face. The sedative takes effect before she even makes it to the
doors of the church. “How could I be so,” she falls to the floor. “Bring her to
me my children. We have much to do before it is too late,” he orders.
“Is she ready?” The reverend asks. “She has been drained of all her blood,” one of his followers answers. “Good, take her down and lets proceed to the chosen sight,” the reverend orders. “What of the others?” The follower asks. “In time my child. In time they will all receive their penance,” he answers. Bodies of men and women hang from meat hooks bound by the wrist. The truck bed shifts a bit. “Will someone tell the driver to be a little more careful? We have precious cargo with us. Can’t afford to get caught now. Not this soon. So much work left to do,” The reverend says with a smile. The follower disappears to the front of the trailer to talk to the driver. The reverend touches her face with the back of his hand, “Could have truly been so much more in this world.” A female follower standing next to him speaks up, “She will be more than she could have ever been in this life time. Praise him.” He turns to her, “How right you are my child. How right you are.” He takes the followers face into his hands, “Praise him. Praise him we shall.” The refrigerated truck drives for a few more hours until it reaches a stretch of road in some unknown town. “We have arrived my children,” He announces. The followers that he has brought come from under their warm blankets. Steam releasing from their bodies as they rush to get the others awake and ready. “The sun will be up soon and we have even less time than that. Put the gloves on and take her to the tree. No one without gloves is allowed to touch anything,” the reverend commands. Slipping on his own gloves he takes three large industrial size nails and the hammer from the end of the truck. They slip out of the truck and rapid fashion. Silent as the night as they carry her dead corpse with them. Sitting her down in the grass they untie her hands and place her in a cross formation. They stand waiting around the body in a circle as the reverend makes his way to them. He places the nails next to her body before taking one. Placing it in the palm of her cold dead hand he hammers it in. “For the Lord,” he says before taking another nail. Palm to ankles he hammers the nails into the body. “For the Lord. Praise him,” his followers chant. They all go silent as he hammers in the final nail firmly through her ankles. Pinned against the grass they all stare at her lifeless corpse. “The sinner and the whore has been redeemed for your blessing. We give you back your lost child. We give, we do all that you have asked of us. For we are the children of the one true God. We are the warriors upon which you seek. Praise the Lord. Honor the Lord. Children of Christ. Amen.” The followers raise their arms to the sky as it begins to rise. The shadows of evil slowly receding at the dawn of day. “Praise him. Praise the Lord,” the followers say in unison one last time. Into the early light they disappear back to the truck. They leave no traces of ever being there and the insects begin to feed. Because even in the south the dead don’t rest in peace.
“Some nights I awake to this feeling that something is wrong. I wake up in the middle of the night most days and maybe you wake up in the day only to feel the same way. Scratching at the walls of your coffin. I’m unsure how that really works. Some nights the sky somehow seems darker than the one before it. A darkness so dark that it is as though light cannot penetrate. This isn’t a metaphor, but a fact. It makes everything, it puts me on edge for the rest of the day. Every turn of every corner leaves me waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something to go wrong or fall apart. These are metaphors though and irrational thoughts because nothing ever seems to happen. Maybe because I am aware? Because I am on the lookout for this doom that never comes? Were you aware? I think about that sometimes. I think about a lot of things with my time. I use to think I knew what life meant. What life had in store for me, but the longer I am alive the more I realize I don’t know anything.”
“Our time spent is a waste, our time not spent is a waste. Every day can feel exactly the same and yet this feeling grows. Ideas are spent trying to figure out what we are, but little to none is spent on who we are day to day at least. It gets lost, my thoughts, as I try to say or even think them rather. What I’m trying to say, what I want to say is that this longing for something greater only leave us at one conclusion. What is greater? Is breathing not great enough? The ability to think, create, or move not great enough? What is it that I want out of life besides living it? There always seems to be this bar just out of my reach, but I know that if I reach it there will only be one higher above it. Still I struggle to find the strength to do what I know needs to be done. A list of tasks, a stack of papers, a head full of ideas, and I have no idea what to do. Where to go next? Wasting time in the dark. Living a life I once thought was living. I know there is something greater out there. I also know there is nothing out there. Stuck somewhere in between or living how it was always intended to be?”
“This endless cycle is pointless in thought, but in theory it seems to be what is needed to get through these days. These dark days. These days that seem like everything is going to collapse upon itself at any moment. I still have more time on this planet than I would like to admit and I don’t know what to do with it. An endless amount of time trying or fighting will only lead me back to where I am today. I use to think that I knew what life meant, but every day it seems to rewrite itself. Everyday life seems to be changing and going nowhere all at the same time. Life is always changing, but I keep staying the same. Locked inside my head. Rambling to the dead.” She lingers at the grave stone long after the words have left her mouth. Reading the words, tracing the lines carved in stone with her eyes.
Layne Ambrose Father, Son, Husband “Never Could Get Anything Done But At Least You Tried.”
This one so far has changed more than any other story this cycle… Was unsure what to do with it really… Rewrote it several times… re read it just as many… hopefully it all flows… this isn’t an excuse for laziness… though it will sound like one… but sometimes after reading something over and over it bleeds together… love the website… love posting… but there is no time to linger in this format… to obsess over every word and sentence… which is a blessing and a curse… because I will hold onto ideas for years because it isn’t “100%”…. fun fact… no story is ever at a hundred percent…
I have been done with A Lie for years… and every now and then I catch myself starting another chapter for a story that is “done”… ride out the thought and then toss it in the trash file… I’m done with that story… but sometimes the mind lingers… we change… we want to go back and change things… I’m a better writer now than I was then… but no matter how much better I get… I will never be back in that time… that point in my life… I will never see the world the same again…
That was what this one was about for me… which to me is a good idea… but not enough… so I fucked with it… and fucked with it… until I just ran out of time… happy accidents happen when we least expect them… It wasn’t until right now as I was setting up this post that I didn’t feel like I was cheating myself in some way… settling on an idea that I thought was a waste of time… not good enough… to be fair I think this about all of my ideas… but in this case as I was setting up the post… an idea came to me…
What if it wasn’t about me… what if it was about someone else close to me?… Ideas are infectious… we are only copies of those before us… our families… our parents… with add ons… this is a very basic concept of the human brain and please don’t take offense… My dad was an asshole too… but I’m still into shit that was introduced to me before he left… another time… point is… as much as we as parents don’t want to pass on our negative attributes to our children we enviably do… it is unavoidable to a certain degree… the hope is that they will be better than we were and over come the things we couldn’t… I know it always seems like our parents or our parent want us to do so many things with our lives… but that is all they really want… that is what each generation is… a do over on the last one… change is slow though… and the world is fast… and only getting faster… another time on this idea as well…
The woman or girl… at the end is my daughter… and I failed to do what I meant to do as a parent… to not pass on all the negative shit I’m not going to list here… that concept got me excited about this story… my hope is that at a deeper level that was apparent… but it isn’t vital to the story… it is only vital to me and my enjoyment of the story… that is a little insight on how these stories shift through my brain to the “page”… hope all is well…