Happy Halloween…

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…

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

Chewing On Glass… Retrospective… Year 3…

Hope you missed me because I’m back… Year 3… begins today… the format will be different… after last years ass kicker of a schedule… things are changing all around really… still working on my novel… still writing… think I have just been sitting around?… who the fuck do you think I am?… I always have a plate of glass ready to go… hungry as fuck… don’t believe me?…

Still don’t know how to use this website…

That my friends… is the stack… the stack of stuff I have been working on… working through… and the crazy part is that… that isn’t even all of it… I have files on my phone… on my computer… that I still have to print out… I’ve got plans for this year… ideas I want to get out… and unlike last year… I know that I will… little by little I will get it done…

First step in not repeating last year… I changed the schedule to reduce burn out and pressure… besides my whole life going to shit… that was the biggest thing I struggled with last year… burn out plus depression do not mix… because I will just do nothing… and pile on that pressure… not a good combination… for me… or anyone really… so to take that out of the equation and to provide better content in general… I went down to two days of the week… Monday and Thursday… we all have lives that we need to live… I get that now after two years…

I also have decided to do what we just experienced… a break from time to time… there is a reason that your favorite show doesn’t play a new episode every day… or every week… so every three months there will be a two month break… I know I just showed you a stack of shit I have waiting to be read… I know two months seems like forever… but we made it through this last few months… hopefully… so it will be okay…

Which brings me to the next topic I want to rant about… some of that work in the picture is actually my novel and a few other books I have been sitting on for years… don’t expect a flood of shit from me… but I do have some plans coming up… stay tuned for more information… so that is a big reason for the new format… I want to focus more energy on that… or those… or whatever… Because I have decided to give up on finding a publisher…

I’ve been sitting far too long on ideas… books… stories…and thoughts that I want to share… in hopes that one day I will get picked up by a publisher… for better or worse… fuck it… I’m not getting any younger… I don’t want to sit here and hope anymore that doing it the “right” way will lead to something… my heroes… your heroes… didn’t just sit there hoping… they made it happen… that is why they are our heroes… so… if I have to do it all myself… then so be it… worse case they won’t buy any of the books that I published on my own… they aren’t buying them now… getting to a point in my life where win/lose is no longer how it is… it is all just lose from here…

So that is where you come in… well you have always been here… but that is where I need you… buying books… t-shirts… anything is… thank you… but if you really want to help me.. big picture help me… follow me on twitter… leave reviews… tell others… click links…(Working on a few other things as well…) any amount of extra traffic helps… it may seem pointless and useless… but it really does help… and I thank you very much for all the help that you bring to this website… to me…

I know that shit got weird last year… I wanted so much more out of last year… I failed at a lot of things I wanted to accomplish… professionally and personally… it was a hard year… one that I hope I never have to live again… but I thank you for sticking around… for liking… for commenting… for believing in me… it is easy to get caught up in everything… life is a shit storm of events… situations… thoughts… feelings… and I want you to know that I appreciate every second that you have taken out of your busy lives to visit this website… I know I go on selfish rants about my thoughts… feelings… but I think about all of you and all that you do… every day… even if I don’t say it… even when I get caught up in my own shit… I think a lot about each and everyone of you… Thank you…

Welcome to year three…

Layne Ambrose

(Block editing or whatever WordPress is calling this shit still sucks…)

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

When There Is No More Room… Part 10…

Don’t Stand So Close To Me

I like to keep my things in jars. I have many jars all around my room. I used to as a child go out in the woods behind my house and collected bugs. I had so many in my collection. Water bugs, butterflies, lightning bugs, and all sorts of beetles. I used to watch them crawl or fly around their jars. Each one or type I guess had their own jar to call their own. Little worlds that they could live in. Live in until they died. They always died. Why did they always die on me? Everything always dies on me. Mother, sister, and the bugs. I used to label them and everything.  It would drive my mother crazy. All the jars filled with dead bugs under my bed. I couldn’t stop collecting them though. No matter how many died or how upset my mother got.

Growing older I became more and more fascinated with the bugs I kept in my jars. Though I never had the passion to really understand what it was that I was collecting. I wasn’t book smart my mother used to say. I just liked the way they looked in their jars. One day while exploring in the woods I heard this odd noise cut through the singing birds. It sounded like nothing I had ever heard in the woods before. It sounded as though a small child was crying. Was my sister lost in the woods? Over and over I heard the noise. The closer I got the louder the noise became. I knew I was on the right path. Frantically I searched for the noise until I came across a small deer. Not quite a baby but not yet an adult. It was just there lying in the open grass between some trees. It saw me before I saw it, but it kept crying. Figured it would run away when I got close enough and between me and you it tried, but the little deer had broken its leg. As I got closer it struggled to get away. Dragging the broken leg behind it. Leaving a trail of blood. I had never seen so much blood before. It looked so odd, so out of place amongst the green of the grass. I got so close to the deer that I could reach out and touch it. The cry it was making was so loud by then. The sound was almost unbearable. I studied the hurt animal as it tried to get away. I watched it for so long that after a while I couldn’t even hear the sound it was making. I couldn’t hear anything.  

It must have grown tired because after some time the deer stopped trying to get away. It laid its head down in the grass, its mouth moving, and its chest moving up and down rapidly. Cried and cried as I watched. In that moment in time it was only me and it in the whole world. The deer’s rapid breathes become slow and shallow breathes. We locked eyes for what felt like a life time. I placed my right hand on the back of its head and it went silent. Silent like it knew what was going to happen next. I tried to make it quick. Grabbing the top of its muzzle with my left hand I gave it everything my little body had a twist. Its neck snapped. I know I heard it or maybe I only felt it, but it wasn’t enough. Its body flopped around in the grass as I tried to hang onto its head. I tried twisting its head again, but it just kept shaking my hand lose. I could barely keep a hold of the deer. So I jumped onto its back like anyone would I suppose and tried to wrestle it still. It was all happening so fast until everything seemed to stop around me. I was so frustrated, so angry that I lost control of everything. I seemed to have gone to another place within myself. By the time I came back to reality there I was holding this deer’s head in my hands. I no longer cared about bugs. Not when there was so many things out in the woods that needed my help and attention. I find that people are much the same as that deer or the birds or the rabbits of the world. They all need my help and attention.

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

When There’s No More Room… Part 8…

A Pattern of Abuse

“Try again. Sound out the words,” his mother says holding back her frustration. “I know it can be difficult to read, but you have to learn.” She rubs the top of his head. The little boy looks over the page studying the images first and then the words. “The boy ex, escaped through the fa, fa,” he stops as a hand smacks him hard against his head. “Fire you dumb shit. It says fire,” his father barks. “Damn it James he was only trying to sound out the word,” his mother pleads. “Stupid doesn’t know how to read fire?” His father asks before taking another drink. “I ain’t raising no dumb illiterate asshole in this house. He ain’t going to add up to shit any way, but if he can’t read? Be even more worthless than he already is. Can’t be slow, fat, and stupid,” his father argues. “You are one to speak. You can barely,” his mother doesn’t finish the sentence as his father raises his hand. Tears begin to form in the boy’s eyes. “That’s right woman. Know your place,” his father says before finishing off his drink. The boy fights the urge to cry. He knows better than to show weakness. Fights even harder to not let his father see. “Are you crying?” His father asks. The boy tries even harder to make the emotions stop by looking down away from his father. His father grabs him by the back of the neck, “Those look like tears to me. I asked you a question. Are you crying?” Tears fall from the boy’s eyes. “No,” the boy yells. His father’s eyes light up. The spark that he needed. “James don’t. He didn’t mean it,” his mother pleads. “Bitch unless you want to be taught a lesson yourself I suggest you shut the fuck up and get me another drink.” His mother walks out of the room as the hand around his neck squeezes to the point he can barely breathe. “You don’t talk to me like that you little shit. Even got your mother acting stupid. Must be some kind of sickness going around here. Best to stomp this sickness right out before it spreads any further.”

James drags his son by the neck out of the room and down the basement stairs, “First you can’t even read. Now all of a sudden you the big man with the balls to talk to your father like that. You want to cry like a baby? We don’t cry in this family. You want to be a man? Act like one.” James throws his son against the cage across from the basement stairs. The boy’s body lands against the cage with a loud crash. Grabbing his side the boy cries harder as he lay against the dirt floor. “Get in the cage,” his father orders. Kicking the child in the back, “I said get in the cage. What are you deaf and dumb now? Don’t act like you don’t know what is happening.” The boy shakes in fear as he enters the cage. The cage door slams hard behind him as he falls to the dirty floor of the cage. Torn up bits of clothing and old rotten food surround him as he fights the pain in his side. Fights to breathe. Fight the urge to scream. He can no longer take it as he hears the familiar sound of his father picking up the old iron rod. He wails in pain and frustration as he knows what comes next.

“Strip,” his father orders. “I don’t want to,” the boy expels in broken words and snot. “Sorry what was that?” His father mocks. Striking the side of the cage with the iron rod, “Don’t you make me ask twice? No use in fucking up your clothes over your stupidity, but don’t think I won’t.” His father walks over to the furnace and opens the door. The boy does as he was told. The fire burning inside lights up the room. His father places the end of the rod in the fire before asking, “Are you sorry?” Too afraid to move, too afraid to see the boy lays there. “Are you or are you not sorry?” His father asks. “Yes,” the boy shouts. “I want to hear you say it,” his father demands. The iron rod heats up. The boy sits up and grabbing the side of the cage, “I’m sorry father.” His father stands there with his back facing him. Doesn’t even bother to look him. Only stares at the end of the iron bar in the fire,” I don’t believe you.”

“So this pattern of abuse went on for years?” The doctor asks. The young man nods to the question. “Why not report it to anyone?” The doctor asks. “To who?” He asks right back. Writing some notes down the doctor studies the young man’s body language. “Tell me Steven did it feel good doing what you did? Getting your revenge? Was it worth it?” The Doctor asks. “No, not really. It wasn’t worth it. I didn’t enjoy it the way that he did,” Steven says. “Odd because I don’t believe you,” the doctor smiles. Steven smiles back. “It did feel good shoving that hot iron rod right up his ass. Should have heard the way he screamed. The way he cried like a little baby until his last breathe. I didn’t enjoy the beginning but the end? It was too bad that it couldn’t have happened sooner. But we all learn a lesson in the end I suppose,” Steven rubs the scars on his side over his hospital gown.

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

By The Way… You’ve Been Invited…

Yet to Begin

Broken hearted, lost in thought, a dreamer
This world is not what I thought it was
Seeing through the mystery
Searching through the fog that surrounds me
Dark cloud, casted shadow, shallow grave
Three feet in and all ready to begin
Working my way deeper
The abyss was never staring back at me
Always surrounding me
The walls of my prison
The home I’ve always known
Where to escape when there is nowhere to go
Questioning your line of questioning
Scratching at the walls, tearing flesh from bone, hand of broken nails
Heard it all before
Stolen ideas taken as my own
Programmable program, humanity spreads like a virus
No longer do I want to be part of your hived mind bull shit
Fitting in is nothing I ever wanted
So why does it feel, feel as though I failed
When we all know I have yet to begin

Pressure Rising

The images play out in my head
A vision of something better
This could all be
So much better
This could all be
So much more
Ignorance inherit
Value stupidity
Gave up so I could let you in
Hate myself but I blame them
This could all be
So much better
This could be
So much more
My thoughts inherit
Value selfishness
Allergic reaction to everything you are
A nightly ritual passed down
This could all be
So much better
This could all be
So much more
Harder on myself than I could ever be on you
A confession of honesty
I miss the days where I could say
These things to your face
Lonely and it’s crazy
Because this could all be
So much better
This could always have been
So much more

A return to poems… I have been saving a lot of them for submissions… hints the over abundance of Broken Thoughts… though to be fair to myself… I have a lot more Broken Thoughts… Than poems… These two were actually written last year… Last summer… Yeah I sat them for a minute… I decided to group these two together because they have an off kilter approach to the idea presented… basically they start off as one thing and end as another… pretty much where I was last year…

Were they my best ever?… probably not… at least I hope not… no matter how great something is… I want to get better… I think that is important to every day life… I accept compliments very poorly… because I want to be better… negativity hurts… feels like shit honestly… but they have always driven me to want more… hit too many times with a shovel?… maybe… or maybe it is just human nature… no one vividly remembers the time they one that award… or got that A… but you remember that time some asshole told you would be nothing… getting that F… the fear of explaining your failure to someone else…

Of course I do too… and there is only so much abuse that we can take… but if anything was “special” about me… and we are stressing special beyond its meaning here… is my ability to take all the shit thrown at me and use it to fire up my engines… yeah I’m a machine in this scenario… an old ass model… but it still works the same for the most part… haha… anyway what I mean is… people are going to give you shit… you will fail… but embrace it… fear it… but know that it is the only way to get better… don’t let it get you down… if you really want it… then it is all worth fighting for…

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

When There’s No More Room… Part 6…

Slowly Dying Inside

“Why did it have to happen this way? Why did any of it have to happen this way?” I ask the steering wheel. “Could have been so much more. Something more than an orderly at a loony bin.” I tighten my hands around the steering wheel. Tighter and tighter, “You do it for her. You do everything for her. Remember that. We all have a price to pay. You do it it for her.” Tighter until my hands feel as if they are going to snap. “For her,” I say before letting go of the wheel.

I gather my things and take out one more cigarette out. Placing it too my lips I exit the car. It isn’t much to look at from the outside and it isn’t much better inside. A passer by, someone who doesn’t have to be here every day would think it was something. Sometimes I try to think it isn’t what it is. I tell her that it’s a castle. That was a mistake. No princesses in her. No god damn gold either. Only think to be found behind these walls is horror. Could have done more with myself had I focused. The thought depresses me. Most of my thoughts depress me as of late.

Odd how life turns out I think as I finish my cigarette and stomp it out. School seemed like such a waste of time. Now that she goes. I push her to take it seriously, but I can tell in her eyes. She already knows better. So smart. Need to stomp that out. Too afraid to push her away. So afraid to do what my old man did. Trying to fight something that I know all to well. Wonder if my father ever had that thought? Did what he did for a reason I guess. “Good morning Frank,” one of the nurses says to me as I enter the building. A smile washes over my face, “Good morning.” She smiles back at me, ” Have a great day.” I don’t say anything. I don’t have time for this. Always something to be done. No time for friends. Just want to get out of here already.

We are all like this place, falling apart. Even more so if actually want to help these monsters. Damn place isn’t worth the check. Check is all I need. Twelve hours of shit and then it all goes away for a time. Creeping back in as it always does. “For her,” I whisper under my breath. More greetings and niceties. More bull shit to shovel on top of the other shit. We pretend so well we might as be just as crazy as them. But we do as we are told so we are sane. That asshole doctor walking around here is the worst. No one is as good at pretending as him. Maybe maintenance. The thought brings an actual smile to my face. I’m not even sure I’ve ever seen them fix a damn thing around here. I light up another cigarette as my supervisor explains the goals for the day.

Drag after drag my brain shuts off. Same shit every day. Try to survive. I want to do something new. Something different, but all jobs are the same. They’ve all been the same. Only the uniform has changed. Should have listened after the war. Should have done something with myself. That’s the problem though isn’t it? I never listen. I need to do what I want to do. Almost got me killed then and now look at me. No one asked but I had dreams. I’m sure we all do. Before the war, before everything in my life really happened. I used to love to write. Tell myself stories with the toys I had. Dream of amazing landscapes filled with even more amazing characters. Fill the paper with all my ideas. Until my father found them. Told me to get my head out of the clouds. Told me with his hands. Do some real work. The one time I shouldn’t have listened. She loves my stories but that is all that they are, stories. Looking into their eyes. I’m sure even the crazy ones dream too.

They wander the halls. Some of them so out of it they walk right into the walls. Those are the ones to watch. They become frustrated by their inability to go where they want to go. Throwing themselves into the wall head first over and over again. It won’t do anything to them, but “We are here to look after them.” They are so far gone they don’t even feel the pain. Watched one snap their own nose. They are so out of it they don’t even notice the blood in their eyes. What are they giving them that they don’t even notice the blood in their eyes? They all have to be watched I remind myself. They are all matches waiting for a strike. One day this place will go off. How I pray that I am not here the day it does. None of it matters though. All of this is just another day that I’m slowly dying inside. The shift starts and all I can think about is that I do this for her. She will be better. She will be more than I was. Traded in my dreams and out she came. Somethings are bigger than ourselves. Somethings are worth sacrificing ourselves for.

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

When There Is No More Room… Part 4…

Finding Peace in the Darkness

Scratching the walls with my nails. I want more. Another day or another night. I can’t resist the temptation of the kill. They said it would go away. It hasn’t. They said over time things would become normal. They haven’t. Everything they said never came true. Staring into the darkness around my bed. Dancing figures in my head. I want to kill now more than ever. Drinking a little bit more and think about something else. The thought won’t go away. What’s the difference if I do it for my country or for myself? Pacing again. Over and over with no place to go. I see them all outside my window. Staring back at me. Waiting. Always waiting. Becoming something more than myself. Twenty kills, thirty kills, they took more of me than I could ever give away. I can give it back. I know how. Ten inches made of steel. Sharped to a point. Carve them up. Take piece by piece until nothing is left. They will never know. Scatter the pieces. Too hard to find. Too hard to prove. The feelings will subside then. Take what I’m owed. I have all the reason to do what I want. Earned my place amongst them. What’s the difference?

Scratching at the walls with my knife. I know the reason but I can’t bring myself to the cause. I’m not weak. I’m not too weak to do what I need to do. Fuck you, I’m not scared. I can do it. I know I can because I have. Over there I did whatever they told me. What needed to be done. Their eyes burned into my mind. Life slowly draining. The relief of living another day surging inside of me. I am safe. I don’t need to do this. There is no reason to kill again. The power is fleeting. Underrated as they laugh. I hear them laughing. Look at the hero with nothing. In the shadows I watch. Pissing it all away. No more wars to fight. No more battles to be won. Cutting out their tongues.  Their eyes looking back at me. Like before. Before when no one laughed. Everything is so meaning less standing in place. I need a purpose. I know my purpose. I have no purpose. Take the blade to myself. End this suffering. Take away this pain digging in my head. No, I am not weak. I am not weak.

She scratches at the walls with her nails. They never did this before. Always fought back. Not the same. Fight me I shout at her. Nothing, weak, useless she cries. Kick her in the side again. One life to live. This is how you choose to leave it. Knife pressed against her throat. Noises and no words. Aren’t they all the same? Weak. Take her apart piece by piece. Going to need rope. She won’t sit still. Won’t fight. Barely a struggle. Just the tip. Let her know how it feels. Should have gotten a male. Spit in her face. Drag the tip across her skin. Arm swings. That’s what I need. Give me more I whisper into her ear. She shakes in fear. Hand around her throat. Enough playing. Go for the kill. My brain explodes. She goes quiet. Hacking away more and more. Take everything spread it around. Wear her blood on my skin. A war paint I don’t want to erase. Do you feel that? How does it feel? It went away. A calm wave washing over me. Peace at last. Peace at last.

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