It itches and it burns It’s cracked and it’s torn The nails rip flesh from bone I want more, I want more I want one more To live and to die Living and leaving one vice At a time You’re young and it’s new You’re old and it gets old The damage is done But the fun has just begun To live and to die Only to sit and wonder why Do you do this to yourself Because it itches and it burns It’s cracked and it’s torn The nails keep digging But the addiction just keeps going
“Between one doctor to another I don’t really see how
what I’m convicted for was really wrong,” the old man shifts in his chair.
“That is why you have been placed under my care here rather than facing
the death penalty someplace else,” the middle aged man says from across
the table. “Do you think what happened was wrong?” The older man
asks. “Are you asking if your actions are wrong or the act of what
happened was wrong? Because what transpired on December eighth of last year is
nothing short of fascinating,” the doctor closes the file in front of him.
“I was only trying to train them in the procedures of the class,” the
old man smiles from ear to ear. “They were basically children Dr.
Kreleason,” the doctor stands up. “It is such a beautiful day
outside. We should take a walk around the grounds no use wasting it sitting in
here,” the doctor suggests. The old man stands up and takes a small bow,
“After you.” The doctor smiles, “No, I insist. Age before beauty
of course.” The old man walks out the door, “Of course but with age
The sun beats down on the two men as they walk on the edge
of the court yard. “Modern medicine is so barbaric,” the old man says
with no prompt. “Is that why you did what you did?” The doctor asks.
“No, medicine has always been barbaric. I was simply trying to teach them
what they should have already have known. I was trying to teach them a
lesson,” the old man looks up to the sky. “I’d hardly believe
allowing your students to perform open heart surgery on one another while under
the influence of hallucinations a lesson. Let alone entertaining. So, your
smile seems vastly inappropriate,” the doctor says. “I was smiling at
the sky. You don’t remember or know how beautiful it is until you can’t see it
anymore. Until it is hidden away from you like a lost treasure. I was smiling
at the simplicity’s of life. But obviously you weren’t there doctor because had
you have been there you would have found it most entertaining. I know for a
fact that the ones the survived found it very entertaining,” the old man
turns his attention back to the doctor. “I find that very hard to
believe,” the doctor quips. The two men stop at one end of the court
yard standing face to face. “Believe it or not doesn’t change the facts of
what I witnessed that day. Besides how could you or anyone else for that matter
not find the situation the least bit hysterical? I warned those students well
ahead of time that failing my class would have grave circumstances,”
Kreleason laughs deeply with an almost howling effect. The sounds of birds
flapping their wings surrounds them.
“What I don’t understand is how you got those students
to perform the procedures voluntarily. I understand why you are laughing at the
sick thoughts of what you did. I’ve interviewed enough of you monsters to know
why. But those students were the head of their class. Straight A students and
you got them to hack each other up like it was an everyday thing,” the
doctor stands there confused. “The hallucinations help Doctor, but the
rest? You really think that was that hard to accomplish? They were fucking
sheep. I could have told them in order to pass my class you’d have to rape the
person next to you and once one did it they would all follow suit. Could have
turned that classroom into a full on orgy of deceit, but that is simple minded.
Where is the fun in that? The hallucinations were nothing but a fun game. The
real lesson in all of this. I knew what the outcome of their behavior was
before it even began, but to prove it? That was satisfaction,” the old man
states before starting to walk again. “Sheep? That’s the best way to
describe your students? Those students?” The doctor asks. “That is
the best way to describe this whole generation of students. They do as they are
told and the ones that don’t are so deep in the gutter that they don’t even
matter,” the old man boasts. “Are you referring to your cadaver
victims from early lessons? I hesitate to call them lessons but a lack of a
better word leads me to call them that,” the doctor muses out loud.
“Victims? You really see them as victims to my lessons?
They were victims of a broken society before I found them. They were helpless
before I gave them a purpose. They served a better purpose helping science then
they would have otherwise. Tell me doctor do you have a problem with my methods
of thinning the herd or do you have a problem with me? I haven’t been able to
figure that out yet,” the old man challenges the doctor. The doctor
ignores the question. “Those helpless people had families. They had lives
before you ripped them apart. What about them?” The doctor asks him.
“It really is a pity we couldn’t have dissected them as well, but we
wouldn’t want people to think I was disturb in anyway,” the old man smiles.
“Because murdering people undeserved of punishment is a normal every day
occurrence?” The doctor fires back. “You act as though they didn’t
volunteer. You act as if I went out into the night hunting victims for my own
personal gain. They came to me. They wanted something from me and I from them.
They were little more than transaction, interactions between two willing
parties,” Kreleason explains. “You are sick. Truly disturbed in your
thoughts and actions. It is truly fascinating the way you think,” the
“Now you are getting it. I like to think that my goal here on Earth is to enlighten those around me. We all must have a goal. A purpose. For so long I didn’t know my own purpose and then I found it. Tell me doctor have you found yours?” The old man asks. “I thought I had, but now I know for sure. Maybe I knew all along or maybe you convinced me. I’m unsure of that. But what I do know is that there is no justice for monsters like you. There is no lesson in absolution. There is so little to learn from the nature of evil. Broken is the best and only way to describe people like you,” the doctor says into the air. “Unhinged, we are unhinged doctor. From reality and responsibility. The clock ticks and it tocs, but it never stops. Tell me doctor do you know who you are? Do you know where you are? Do you know what you have become? How is it that we even got here?” They look up to the sky once more. A voice in the distance cuts through the silence, “This is Thompson I found him in the court yard, over.” The security guard walks up slowly and speaks in a soft voice, “Dr. Kreleason if you could please come with me. Nice and easy. No one else needs to get hurt.”
The demon is back A casual friend from before Talking out all the things Buried deep within I think this will hurt I don’t care Could be worse I think this will kill I don’t care Everything could be so much worse Speaking from inside, experience to say Life is all about screwing it up Learn from these mistakes Mistaken as good advice Vice made, vices earned I deserve a fucking break From my brain for one fucking day I know this will hurt Do not care Couldn’t be any worse than before I know this will kill Do not care Everything could be so much worse
Who I was then verse who I am now…
A moment in time Reliving all the lies Hid myself from the pain So hard to find shelter before the rain I’d drown if it made everything better Sucking for air Walls closing in, chest tightening I knew it was there I’ve always known that pain would hurt Condition of living, conditioned to live A moment in time They all pass even with no end in sight Hid myself from the pain Broken heart syndrome with a broken neck Swaying to the sound Swaying to the end of all things that end I’d kill myself if it would take away everything Stupid idea, thinking then all the same Another useless day doing useless things Biding my time, each moment a moment Each thought something in time Take it as it comes What else did you have to do today?
I’m writing the ending while trying to live through the beginning…
The smell of shit litters the air This is the world we walk The world we live Walking with a crooked spine To fit in The devil may not exist Because he already won Victory can seem so empty With no one around to notice Truth in fiction Satisfaction in lies Can say whatever it is to win Perception is only part of the equation The view from the top is empty A lonely place reaching for the sky Claustrophobic at the bottom Climbing through all the limbs Tearing down each brick of the tower Raining shit and blood I ask you what’s the difference?
A lot of really interesting thoughts today… maybe I talk about them all… maybe I don’t… starting in reverse… the third one is one of the best things that I have written in the past year… for me at least… we’ve all heard that shit rolls down hill… or some version of this… I am sure every culture and every language has their own version because it is true… This idea though that shit goes to the bottom and that’s the end of that… is only one perception…
It is easy to hate the top… it is easy to sit here and being like really?… boo hoo for them… fuck them… fuck them indeed… I agree… except we are all just trying to claw our way to that point… we all want to be at the top… we all want to be them… to free ourselves from all this shit that keeps piling up… but the truth is… that the shit goes in a circle… is it easier at the top?… I’m sure it is… because I’m down here at the bottom…
Maybe it is age or just a lack of effort anymore… fighting everything to get to some theoretical top doesn’t seem appealing… it somehow seems so much worse than where I stand today… I mean if I’m going to have to fight… I’d rather fight to make everything around me better than climb above it… working out how I feel about it… as I write… so bare with me… maybe if we stopped fighting each other… stopped trying to push our way up… things could be so much better… working together rather than against each other… seems to be the answer all along…
We waste so much time and effort trying to be better than the next person… some very important ways it is important… it advances us… we advance… but the superficial shit… do we honestly believe someone in a Supreme shirt is so much better than someone who is not?… organic is a privilege?… shouldn’t it just be the norm?… do we really need a screen on every god damn thing?… or maybe hear me out… one is good enough… what we have is good enough… shouldn’t who we are define us more than the things that we own or wear?… you mean we’d have to get to know each other?… jaw hits the floor…
I know I’m not starting a revolution… I’m not saying anything I haven’t heard before… but I think for the first time in my life I am feeling it… I think about shit way too much… chewing on glass… and I’ll be the first to admit I think about my life after I’ve made it as a writer… the things I would buy and have and what I would do… sometimes the thoughts made me feel “happy” and sometimes they made me feel worthless… and lately… I’m going to be honest… I don’t think about the things anymore… I don’t care… nothing will ever be enough so fuck it… lately when I’m knee deep in shit… feel like all of this life is worthless… I think of my daughter… her smiling face… it makes me so happy at times that… I have to fight the need to cry…
I think about my wife and all the joy she brings to my life… I think of those around me… how one action can change their whole day… I think of what I already have and all the things I can do for those around me… not with money or gifts… though sometimes these things help… we still have to survive… I’m talking beyond the basics… we have to take care of ourselves and those around us… but do we need all the money?… do we need to have all the things?… shouldn’t we spend our time making this life better for everyone… instead of so much better for myself?…
We live this life backwards… we live this life selfishly… we live this life not in the pursuit of happiness… and no one can until they define true happiness… and it is not the things we own or the things that we don’t own… it is the things we already have… I know I am talking without any answers… I know what I am saying won’t change everything… but maybe… at the very least… it will be another perspective for us all to think about…
Hope all is well… Welcome to the new year… let the cycle begin…
The infection it spreads Like the virus in my head Love is loss and loss is expected Life goes on, if only for a minute longer Don’t know when to give up I can feel the human condition It’s spreading Down my limbs and into my spine Everyone wants to know The reason, the why No answer is given, no answer to find This information is deadly This information can kill For without this reason No reason to live Lost control, control has been lost If you can’t make your millions We will surely die off This information is toxic This information is unclean Unholy, whatever it may be No weapon is greater than The one inside your head Your mind left wasted as you go on Survival instincts weighted down over time 501 reasons you must lay down and die For your sins and not your crimes
Spinning in place Death should be the end But what if What if it is not Grinding into dust Dancing against everything That should have been Ash to ash Was all there was ever meant to be But what if What if all of this was for nothing Bending to a breaking point Snapped in half, left for dead Begged and pleaded They pick against my skin Taking flesh for flesh Bone for bone But what if What if that was how it was meant to be?
Trying to Define a Useless Existence
Sticking needles to fit in Each one sticking out of the skin Fucked up and chill What’s the idea without a plan An episodic dream played out The arc didn’t work out Time to move on A bridge built between you and me Each letter spells out a different thought The neon sign wasn’t for effect A warning that glows against the night sky Sin, love, live and fucking forget Thoughts and opinions don’t matter Trapped in your head Screaming broken sentences Could you ever, would you please Believe in me? Not asking anymore Simply begging for all of this love and admiration Not the way it was Only the way it has always been Special but as it turns out, not at all Better than you, turns out not at all Full of shit and finally we circle the same corpse Being honest with myself Taking in all the truth Nothing is worth anything So what the fuck do I do with my day? Depression creeping in? “No” Life checking in? “No” Cracking open my own brain? “Yes” Punishing myself? Pushing? What’s the difference? Breaking down the ideas of everything Trying to define a useless existence Still searching for definitions
One of these was supposed to be a broken thought… finished the thought… which one doesn’t matter… The title for today’s post is from an epic band called… Brown Bird… song is called Cast No Shadow… New cycle starts Jan 2… I’ll be seeing you real soon…
What… No horror story?… honestly couldn’t come up with anything more terrifying than the idea that I won’t be back until January…
That’s right… it is that time again… really hope that you have enjoyed these last few months… the stories… the Broken Thoughts… and the rambling… enough about looking back… it is time to go out and get some candy… never too old for free shit…
Pro tip… Take a kid… people ask way fewer questions… Outside of who’s kid is this and what not… unless you already have your own… then you are playing the game on God Mode…
In the mean time enjoy this video… while I figure out what to do with it…
More to come… hopefully… not sure I needed to add more shit to my plate… but fuck it… crazy train is rolling out of the station… good night… and good luck… Hope all is well… I’m out to fucking lunch… see you all in January…
In a classroom full of Macs the information they must process, but they are here at this shit school. Which means they go to waste. Been in this class for over a week and we have yet to even turn one on. I’m in a classroom full of people I hate. Locked in a room with no key with people like me. Each and every one of them thinks they are better than me. Better than everyone else. The room feels claustrophobic and small. The room feels like hell. There are only twelve of us occupying the space, but it might as well be a thousand. The drugs I took today are not making this feeling go away. If anything they may have been bad, tainted. The teacher speaks in a way that is hard to understand. It is time to strap in.
It feels as if she is only talking to me, and I have to keep
reminding myself that she isn’t. The students seem faceless. They have the
blankest of stares that I can’t understand. I can’t see their eyes or their
mouths. I begin to sweat and I have to take my sweatshirt off. It isn’t enough
to escape the feeling that the room is on fire. I want to strip all of my
clothes off as if this is normal. But I’m not high enough yet to just do it.
The teacher keeps talking and the more I stare the more I notice that something
seems to be leaking from her eyes. She is smiling and laughing as more blood
pours from her eyes. The room erupts with the sound of laughter as the others
join in. Their laughs float in the air as if they are real objects. I fight the
urge to reach out to one. Take it into myself so I could join in. I’m getting
even more nervous by the moment. My sweat has soaked through my shirt and I
realize I am trapped in a nightmare the drugs are creating.
I start to see smoke come from behind the teacher. This must
be where the feeling of being trapped in a fire is coming from. I fight the
urge to shout anything out. Foot tapping to the restrained words inside my
head. Faster and faster my foot taps to a broken beat. The smoke gets thicker
and I find it hard to breathe. The orange glow of fire starts to fill the back
of the room. I feel the heat of the fire on my face. Maybe this is real, but
why aren’t the other students shouting and screaming? Why are they just sitting
there laughing as if everything is okay? I fake a smile as I look at their
blank faces. My face feels stretched against the fire. Locked in place with a
crooked smile. I want to leave but I am afraid. Afraid of what I might find
outside of this room. The teacher rises from her chair at the head of the
class. A monstrous force with pitchfork in hand. She waves it around her
pointing it at each and every one of us. Impaled fetus rest on each fork.
Cooked and barely distinguishable from burnt up sausages. Only the little charred
hands pointing back at me. She screams with a horrible sound that has no equal.
She screams in a language I can’t understand. A lost language that hasn’t been
spoken since the dawn of time. She paces the front of the room. Only stopping
to pound her pitchfork and let out another scream. It’s not real. It’s not
real. The other students respond back with their own horrible screams. It’s not
real. I just need to ride this out. I close my eyes and place my head on my
The heat around me rises to an unbearable degree as the
pounding of her pitchfork gets closer and closer until I can feel her right
above me. I scream as her burning hand touches my shoulders. Her face has
transformed into a face of scales and blood. She whispers to me as she looks
into my eyes. I watch as the students are engulfed in flames. They make no
noise as they burn. Through the fire I can now see all of their eyes. All of
their eyes staring back at me. The teachers places her face directly in front
of me. All I can see is her. Her scales breaking off into little flakes as she
moves her mouth. “I can’t,” is all I can manage to say. I fight the
urge to vomit and scream at the same time. I grab my backpack and try to ignore
the fact that it feels like something is moving inside. Running through the
flames I know this isn’t real, but I can’t stay here any longer. I reach for
the red hot handle attached to the black door. The handle feels cold as I push
down on it and enter the hallway on the other side.
The black door slams, but it sounds as though it is coming
from far away. I struggle through the hallway. Making my way towards the
stairs. Each foot step feels like a fight. Feels as though the bottoms of my
shoes have melted to the floor. Should I take them off? Even in a nightmare
state that seems like a bad idea. It takes me a moment before I notice the
others. I am not alone as I make my way through the building. More faceless
students surround me. Each one with a knife in their hands. I try to not draw
any attention to myself. Each step, each leg pulled with all the effort I have
left. I need to get to my car. It goes on like this for what feels like an
eternity. It goes on so long I forget what it is that I am doing and fall just
before the stairs. I manage to catch myself. The hallway grows silent. The
students are no longer going about their business. Picking myself up off the
floor I look around. The faceless students stare back at me. Each one holding
their long butcher knife beside them. The blades shine as they turn them from
side to side in an offbeat synchronized rhythm. The light in the hallway reflecting
off each and every one of them. I feel an intense amount of dread fill my
stomach. I don’t wait for them to do anything as I run down the stairs in
Step by step in a rapid fashion. Until I miss the last step.
Slamming face first onto the floor. I hear a rush of footsteps approach me. One
of the faceless students tries to help me up. Their knife rested next to me on
the floor. It speaks to me in a way that I don’t understand. I kick away from
the face my body filled with pain and shock. I crawl my way to the nearest door
and manage to get myself up on my feet. One of my feet hurts but I can’t tell
which one. My fears of going outside were justified. The sky is no longer sunny
or blue. The sky has turned a shade of red and the clouds have become a black
so dark that it couldn’t possibly be real. Little red flakes fall from the
black clouds. They float down around me in a slow motion usually reserved for
the movies. The flakes make their way to the ground and they slowly melt as
each one makes it to the ground. Forming puddles of blood that litter the
pavement. Bigger and bigger the puddles grow with every passing moment. It’s
not real. It’s not real. I sprint towards the parking lot. Pain shooting up one
of my legs.
The cars are misshapen and I can’t tell which one is mine. I take out my keys and press the panic button. My car begins to honk somewhere in the distance. The lights of the car flash on and off in shades of blue, red, green, and purple in no real order. They flash in a pattern that says here I am. I run to the car. Unlocking it with a push of a button and turn the panic mode off. I open the back passenger door and crawl inside. Crawl inside my new womb. The seats feel slimy and warm. The seats feel like home. A warm womb with windows? This isn’t real. This isn’t real. What is anymore? I ask myself as the seats pulsate as if they are real. I bury my head into the back seat and close my eyes against the warm. Feels as though my head is surrounded by water. Through it all I hear it. The sound of music, the sound of talking, the sounds of a distant memories I have long forgotten. The sounds of it all are taking over little by little by some outside noise. I hear scratching on the sides of my car. Too afraid to open my eyes I just scream into the seat. Scream until I finally pass out to the sounds of the students dragging their knives across the sides of the car. Waiting tear me away from my new home. Hands and knives pressed against the sides of my womb.
Wait… What the fuck?… Yeah I don’t know either… I spent a lot of time messing with this one… the basic idea was always there from the beginning… as most ideas are… first draft was weird and crazy… apparently I have always been weird and a little bit off… who knew?… but I thought lets turn this shit up to eleven… fun fact… I had to be removed by C section… had to be torn from my first home as well… if I hadn’t there was a good chance I would have died… cord was tied around my throat… my life line was not ready to let go?… I was also super late… two weeks… my mom thought I was never going to come out… almost didn’t as it turns out… spoiler alerts I made it…
I often wonder though… as the cord was tied around my neck… and the doctors told my mother to push… that in those moments… something happened to me… turned on a switch… told me to live… not to given into everything that was happening to me… of course these are adult thoughts… these are thoughts I have when all hell feels as though it surrounds me… I tried to inject that idea into this character… give him a piece of me… this isn’t real… this isn’t real… which this story isn’t… I’ve never done acid or any psychedelic drugs… for every reason presented above in the story…
If I can imagine all of that sober… I am afraid of what I would see high… which is where this story started… I like to explore the idea of what I might find over… actually going to find it… grass is greener where the dogs are shitting and all… I have been lucky… or too uncool… to have never been around drugs… I knew people who do them… know people who do a lot of them… just not around me… and all those that I know who do a lot of them… live a life I would never want to live… it looks brutal… miserable… but that is the life that they choose… that sounds like I am an asshole… and that could be a whole other post… condensed version of what I believe about life… is that we make our own choices…
I write a lot about drugs… A Lie for example… other stories found on this website… I try at all times to not make them sound fun… they very well could be… but I really doubt it long term… I have tried a few… the ones that I have tried I have liked… one for a short term (marijuana)… the other… well if you have been paying attention to the website for the last year… long term in a bad way (alcohol)… nothing too crazy… but in the very limited scope of what I have experienced… being sober has always been better… like everything in life… never at the time… only in hind sight…
So back to the question or thought I presented… why do you write a lot about drugs?… Honestly because they’re something physical… something tangible… something most of us can understand… because we all know someone or know someone who knows someone that does drugs or knew… some of us have done them ourselves… and also because you can’t inject… or snort… or smoke sadness… but as it turns out you can… and in the case of A Lie… that is where I went with that… same as I went here… this story isn’t real… I didn’t trip on acid and fall asleep in my car… I had a panic attack and feel asleep in my car instead… that is where fiction and truth collide… that is where I like to stand… that is where I like to be when I write… could I have written the same story for the same effect without drugs?… yep… but it would have been boring… been like digging at an old wound… where is the fun in that?… find out next week… complete with pictures as we dig deeper into my chest… : )