It Arrived…

monster collab edit

 

“That’s when I was like… She just doesn’t get me… Sometimes it feels as though I’m only talking to myself… shh… acted natural I can see her in the distance…”

“I can hear you Charles… If this is how you are going to be the whole time… Maybe we should go home… I only wanted to have a good time…”

Charles whispers “She gets like this every time there is an end of days… Wait where are you going?… Don’t run away… Every time…”

 

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Peter makes this look easy… if you don’t know who Peter is… he is the mad genius behind Little Fears… if you don’t know who Little Fears is… well the link is for you… if you like horror… comedy… odd things… and… art… Little Fears is for you… also it is okay to groan… Peter is into that sort of thing… Little Fears Presents It Arrived

Forrester McLeod AKA Katy Boyer AKA we just met so I’m not sure which name she likes to go by… but I have been checking out her art and her website… I have to say I have been very impressed by her work… both written… and artistically… so if you like art… words… or discovering new things… then you should definitely check her out… It Arrived… 

I want to thank Peter and Katy for the invite… It Arrived… was a very fun and exciting concept… being that I’m no where as good of an artist as either one of them… It was a fun and rewarding challenge… to try to get to their level… hope you all enjoy this special week-end post… see you Monday… 

Something Different

Before

In death we find peace
But what about the rest
What about here and now
Tranquility in sin
Blood for passion
Passion for blood
Drinking until you don’t remember
Forgetting all the times before
Do it once more
Over and over a repeating
Kaleidoscope of bullshit
Heard it all before
Excuses becoming useless
Yet I still have more
My condition is human
But why does it feel so
So, painful and relentless
In death we find peace
In death we find whatever it is
We never had before

 

Settling In

Awaken to a sickening feeling inside my chest
Worried, afraid I won’t be able to let this rest

Choking, I can’t breathe
Knowing, know this could be the end
Constricting, inflicting every time
Is it all in my head
Twenty eight and I’m already dead
Worried from worrying
About all the shit going on in my head
Scarred, destroyed
From my own self destruction
Is this all I will ever be
Is this all I will ever become
Trapped inside this solitude
Isolating feeling of being human
Depression, this won’t end
A wave that comes crashing over and over again

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Still digging at the past… a past way I once felt every day… living in the middle of a depression storm can be… well depressing… some of us have it worse than others… each of us has to find our answer… but no matter how bad it ever gets know that there is always an answer… there is always hope… we are only here on this planet for one thing… make it to the next day… no day will ever be perfect… you will never get everything you ever wanted… but if we try hard enough we can get most of it… we can have perfect memories… 

Also, I’m not 28 anymore… wish I was… : ( … growing old sucks… enjoy every moment… good or bad… not all of them will be here for long… it goes fast… it is easy to get stuck on an idea… on a feeling… and it can take everything we have to break away from it… we’ve all been there… if there is anything I have learned since starting this website… it is that we have all been there… 

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Sympathetic to Your Needs

“Am I being recorded?”
“I hope you don’t mind. It is for journalistic purposes. Try to not let it affect you or your responses. Best to think of it not being there.”
“Okay.”
“So you wanted to tell me something about where you work and how it pertains to my story?”
“You won’t publish my name right?”

“Click,” I insert another tape.

“From my perspective, I don’t see why racism in America is even happening. I mean at what point do we move past it and grow as people?”
“I’m not too sure. That is why I am working on this piece. I want to find out what real Americans think about racism.”
“How many real Americans have you interviewed so far?”
“Quite a few. All walks of life, but I want to hear your side of the issue.”

“Click,” I insert another tape.

“I have been doing this a number of years.”
“Seems like it can be difficult talking to people. I’m not sure I could do such a thing.”
“It can be at times. The hardest part is staying objective to the subject at hand. Often find that there is way too much excessive talking. It becomes a distraction.”
“What is that?”
“Oh, this? This is nothing.”

“Click,” I insert another tape.

“Are you even a real reporter?”
“Of course I am.”
The sound of weeping. “Why are you doing this?”

“Click,” I insert another tape.

“You shot her in the fucking face. You sick fuck.”
The sound of rustling. “Just wait and see what I do to you.”
The sound of choking, sounds of a struggle. A faint whisper,” Please… help…”

“Click,” I eject the tape. “How many are there?” I ask. “How many what? Tapes or victims?” My partner asks. “Either,” I say as I put my cigarette out. I leave it resting in the ashes. Burying it with the others. “Hundreds of tapes, but we are still unsure of the number of victims. Been doing this for years. Some of the tapes are legitimate interviews as you heard. Others are as close to being there as you can get. I mean let your imagination run wild.” He stares at me as I light another one. I offer him one from the pack and he declines. “It makes you wonder why? Even after all these years on the force. Still left with the same question,” I reach for another tape. “The answer isn’t there or in any of these tapes,” my partner assures me. “No, but there are facts and facts leads to answers.”

“Do you think that this will make me famous?”
“It has been my experience that anything can bring you attention. But not all attention is good attention. To answer your question though. In this case, it might.” The sound of a power drill coming to life and screams washes over the recording.

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Wanted to try something new… A story that could only be done on the website… and about as close to a script that I want to get… It is hard to not write every action each voice or character is doing… My hat goes off to those of you who write scripts… I have no idea how you do it… drives me crazy… lack of control?… what does that say about me?… haha… 

Still selling bits of my soul over at Threadless and Amazon… Don’t worry… I’m as cheap as I can get… 

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.

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.

Broken Thoughts

The chambers of the heart
Keep pumping blood
Even if there is no will to go on
Patience but for what
A long waiting game for nothing at all
I carved one out
Only to give one up
Nothing feels natural anymore
A made up act
I call love
Doesn’t matter anymore where it comes from
If only my thoughts could match my actions

 

The image it haunts me. An image from my past but how could it exist in the present unless time is bleeding into itself once again. I thought I escaped this. I thought I fixed but it seems I have only distorted the truth. Turned a blind eye to the facts. I pick up the walking stick from my past and realize it is in fact real. Am I losing my mind? How can I erase something that has already been erased? Stuck between times there is no outlet for my crimes. No sense of right and wrong anymore. What else if any is out of place in this timeline? I search the horizon. Need more time to know for sure? I take the walking stick from the past and trek on into the unknown.

 

Sat around today
Doesn’t mean anything
Thought I would share
My inner thoughts
Going through hell
Marching past the gates
Lakes of fire burning bodies made of shit
They are heard but with no real thought
Doesn’t rhyme at the an end I don’t care
The Jesus freaks sing their hymns to me
As though it might help
The blood cascades down the wall
You know you are home
When everything is comfortable
Bones line the edges of the room
You know you are home
When everything is fine
Skin drapes the furniture
You know you are home
When everything is normal

 

If someone gave me a million dollars. Anyone at this point the reason doesn’t have to make sense. If anyone gave me a million dollars. I’d watch it burn. Dollar by dollar. One bill at a time. That’s how I feel right now. I don’t know how to make it go away. It all seems so useless to struggle for. Who are we when the money is all gone? Who are we when we have more than we will ever need? Who are we at all? If not for our needs.

The theme for this week is greed… truly broken thoughts… always wanting more… more of something… more food… more money.. more sex… more pain… greed doesn’t go away with more… too much of a good thing is never enough…  considered one of the seven deadly sins… Greed is hard to escape on a day to day basis… who doesn’t want more?… what defines more?… at what point should we cut ourselves off from more?… I know I could always use more… more sleep usually… more of anything at this point… turns out I am human after all… was holding out for different… but I’ll settle for human… 

Postscript of the Unimaginative

“The world shatters around me. Falling shards of a broken mirror reflecting all the past actions of my life. Regret is something that can only happen after everything is said and done. How I wish I could take them all back, but I can’t. Each broken shard plunges into me and through all the pain. Through all the despair all I have left is tears and regrets. Open wounds that will never heal and maybe that is for the best. I’ve wasted too much time already on what if. Maybe now is the time to move on from all the pain and anguish. I’m not trying to justify my sins or the things I have done. I am only trying to move on, take credit for the things that I have done. In the past where they should stay. Stealing, robbing, threating, and who knows what else can’t be undone. Maybe it is time I told my tale. Confessed my part in everything that has unfolded in all these years. Maybe it is time.” The cold barrel presses against the back of his head.

Laying in a pool of his own blood the words fade away into nothing. No one leaves this world the way they envision. You either leave willingly shitting yourself until it is your time or you get put down like a dog. Rabid useless monster you never knew you’d become. Turn states evidence. Turn up dead. You signed the contract before it was written. One in the same. Only one of us was stupid enough to try and live. The other as stupid as the day we met. The point is to keep your mouth shut.

“Your debt is paid. You have proved your loyalty,” his voice as grime as the day we were introduced. “What does that mean?” I ask him. “You are free,” he smiles. I stare into his eyes. The gun still heavy in my hands. A weight that I can’t understand. “Like I asked. What does that mean?” He never blinks only stares back at me with those cold dead eyes, “It means that you and I never need to see each other again. Your husband’s debt is paid. We will take care of the rest.” I refuse to look away. Gripping the pistol tighter. My husband’s blood still splattered against my face. “Unless you would care to join him?” He asks me as though the question is really an option. I know as soon as I turn my back he will kill me. My husband told me everything about this man, this monster. Never trust a monster. “You going to stand there all night?” he asks me. Slowly I back away from him. Making my way towards the door. I want to speak, but it is only a waste of words. I back into something heavy. It doesn’t move as I step away from it. “You know I could use someone like you. A cold-hearted woman such as yourself,” he states. The heavy figure grabs me from behind “I know I could find a good use for her,” the heavy figure says into my ear. I know better than to struggle. The gun still in my hand, “I want no part of what you are selling.” He finally looks away waving his hand as he does. The figure lets me go. “I think you do,” he states. “I think you are at least curious to what I have to offer you,” he pulls a contract from his jacket pocket.

“You think of me as a monster and you are right. But it goes much deeper than that. I don’t care that your husband went to the authorities. Doesn’t even matter. None of this even matters. You taking my offer or not doesn’t even matter,” he picks up the pen from my husband’s desk. “We both know that it is too late for you to take another path. You’ve already chosen in fact. So this can end in only one way. Work for me. Replace your weak husband as one of my own,” his eyes light up and smoke pours out of his mouth. “What about my children?” I ask the monster. “They are already gone. As I stated before you are free. One last parting gift from your dearly departed husband,” he laughs in a cold methodical tone. I raise the weapon at the desk. He stops his laughing and stares me down once again. I fire two bullets into the back of my husband. The anger of all that I lost shaking me to the core. He doesn’t even blink, doesn’t move at the sound of the gun discharging. “Where do you want me to sign,” I sigh.