Chewing On Glass Presents… See Through the Light Into The Darkness…

The body lays on the ground before me pale and mutilated. So, pale that it doesn’t even look human at first. She lays stretched out in a cross like formation. Her hands not nailed to a board, but spiked into the ground. Both palms and one large spike through the ankles. No blood lies in her palms. No blood at all on the body. Could that be why she is so pale? The body has been placed here. Left here naked and abused. Whoever did this didn’t care for her, but what she represented to them. Jealousy? Lust? Foot prints all around the body. Us, him, or them? Can’t tell until it is all said and done. Still processing the body. Could be hours before we could even begin to find out. Must assume that it is more than one. I don’t like to assume. Leads down the wrong path. Goes places we shouldn’t. Her hands are stretched out not clinched. No, other wounds besides the palms and ankles. How did she die where she didn’t cling her hands? Natural to close our fists in pain. Did she die in pain? Where is the blood and where did it come out? Arms are clear of track marks. No usual signs of drugs. Body covered in tattoos, piercings, and what looks like other body modifications. She had money or money to burn. The work is good. Not cheap. Someone would have known if she had been missing. How long has she been missing? Who is she? Rubbing my eyes and as they make that funny wet sound a voice brings me back to reality.

“We found her like this,” a uniformed officer says nervously. He is trying to not act as though he isn’t bothered by this. Playing the part of the strong cop, but no one is used to seeing this. Not even me I want to say, but keep it to myself. “Sent in a call to the F.B.I. and here you are,” the lead detective finishes for him. Here I am. This shouldn’t even be my assignment. This is my areas of expertise, but nowhere near my home office.  Of course something like this had to happen while I was down here for a seminar. Go teach a class on homicidal profiling, take a break from the field, enjoy the calm relaxing atmosphere of the south my boss told me. Now I’m stuck here for at least a few days if not until this is solved. “You don’t speak much do you? Quiet type?” The lead detective asks me. “Is this the first?” I ask ignoring his basic observation of me. “The first what?” He throws back at me. “The first murder of this nature? Nothing about this says one and done,” I say to him. “Oh, yeah it is. Ain’t been nothing like this ever done here before,” he says confidently. “I’m going to need you or the officer to reach out to the other counties and possibly the surrounding states to confirm that,” I ask of him. “I told you nothing like this before,” the lead detective says hostile. “Here, but there are how many other counties in this state or the surrounding ones? We need to know all the information that we can,” I inform him. He steps closer to me, “We are trying to keep this, this crime from the getting out. No one needs to know that this happened here. The town can’t afford such a thing.” The lead detective gives me a serious look of concern. “It is a little late for all of that,” I say to him. “You telling me a guy with your smarts can’t solve this all quick like?” He asks me. I can’t tell if he is being a smart ass or I’m hyper sensitive at the moment. “That is not how my job works,” I say taking the high road. “Sure it does. They say you’re like a body whisper or something like that. You’ve solved all kinds of cases and what not,” he rationalizes. “I helped solve all kinds of cases and what not. It takes more than one person to solve these types of murders. I need the information I asked for and I’m going to need a lot more than a body nailed to the ground to help you solve this case,” I tell him. “I’ll get someone on it then,” he says annoyed. “I’m also going to need every ones shoe print before they leave here,” I slip in. “What? In the hell would we need that for?” He questions. “Way too many foot prints around the body. Either you have a much larger team of forensic experts or there was more than one person laying down the body,” I say pointing at the grass around the body. “I need to go and finish out my assignment. Call me when you get the report back from the coroner,” I hand him my cell number. “I’ll place some calls with my department and see if I can’t find any more helpful information,” I finish. “Is that all?” He asks annoyed. “Yeah, don’t screw this up and be prepared to find more. If this is a local thing. It is not going to stop at this,” I say walking back to my rental car.

“See the way the bodies are arranged? It’s a message, a warning. These aren’t satanic killings. These are Christian in nature,” I point out. “No, good Christian would do a thing like this,” the lead detective objects. “No, but a bad one might,” I say amazed I even have to say it at all. It is shocking to think that even in this day and age it might seem to out of place for such a thing in the south. Religious extremist come in all shapes and sizes. “I’m telling you no one who believes in God would ever do a thing like this,” he says as though reading from a script. “Unless it was for a purpose. The bible is riddled with stories of justice brought on by violence. Every Christian church has a statue of Jesus nailed to a cross. Not standing next to. Nailed to a cross, hands bound, and a crown made of thrones placed on his head. This wasn’t the work of Satanists or the occult. This is Christian in nature. The only question in my mind is how many?” I lay out. “How many what?” He asks. “How many people are involved and how many more victims are we going to stumble upon?” My presented questions go unanswered as they should. “I’m going to need an APB out on nay traveling Christian groups, any churches with overly religious themes, and anything of that nature,” I say into the phone. “Hold on just a minute. Do you have any idea where you are? This is the south. You’ve just halted traffic from here to Georgia,” he says. “Good, then our killer or killers will have no place to go. We need to find them and find them quickly,” I tell him. “Agree, but there is no way this is going to happen. The state doesn’t have the man power to cover every road in and out of this state. They could be days ahead of us,” he says. The first smart thing he has said in all this time. “Well we still need whatever man power you have looking out for these types of people,” I say again. “I suppose I could lock down the whole state while I’m at it,” he says sarcastically. “If you think it will help,” I say right back. “I have to go. Call me back when you have the report on the body,” I inform him before hanging up. Walking back onto the tiny school auditorium stage I address the audience of officers once again. My mind on the case and my mouth reciting something entirely else. The sooner I get back to the case the sooner I can get out of here.

“Why her though?” The detective asks me. “Why not her? Is what you should be asking,” I say to him as we look at her body on the metal slab. “Said it yourself earlier. There’s not a girl like her for hundreds of miles in any direction. She is tattooed, pierced up, and most importantly different,” I say to the detective. “So you think because she is different she is a target?” He asks. “If we are to believe the religious nature of this killings and the others that might be connected, then yes.” I walk around the body and try to look at her from another angle. “Hold on, not this again. I’m telling you the killer ain’t Christian. No good Christian could do this,” he says frustrated. I feel as though this is a road block I will never be able to get around until it is too late. “You shouldn’t be even pushing towards this hunch of yours you got going,” he spits on the floor of the examination room, a nice big wad of tobacco and saliva. “I assure you I am not pushing towards the Christian killer or killers. The facts however are. Either the killer is Christian or they are a huge fan of the Bible. Either way we both can agree that they are not receiving the message.” He rolls his eyes, “I ain’t agreeing to shit. I mean who does this?” He points at the victims groin area. “I mean look at these pictures,” he hands me the photos. “What kind of sick freak does this to a lady? Even a lady like her.” I push the photo back, “She did that to herself or she paid to have it done. Cutting slits into the labia has become something of a fade lately. You can see this in that the skin around the slits is already scared over. This tells me that she was passionate about her body modifications and that is about it. Nothing else to go on about that.” He cringes in horror at every word that I say. He seems more visibly upset over the body mods than he did this morning at the crime scene. “People do this to themselves?” He asks once again. “People do all kinds of things to themselves. This is pretty new. Not a lot of people doing this. Most mods serve a purpose such as image or perception. This one in particular is private. Doesn’t serve an overall purpose that we could help us. Even if we tried to tack down where she got it done it would lead to a dead end,” I rationalize out loud. “I just can’t believe,” he says as he shakes his head. “There are so many things you can’t believe out there. Not important. There’s nothing here beyond the obvious. No finger prints, no semen, no blunt force trauma, and least of all anything to go on. We can wait for the toxicology report, but unless that comes back with some rare drug we don’t have shit,” I say frustrated. “So, we sit and wait then?” He asks. “So it seems,” I say. The door of the exam room opens and a portly man walks in with a clip board. “Did you get through the whole report?” He asks. “Skimmed through the bullets points,” I tell him. “Any idea why they would choose to drain all her blood through her vagina?” He asks. “What?” I flip through the report once again. “They wiped the area around the vagina clean, but when I was examining for trauma and semen that’s when I noticed something odd. It seems they didn’t want to disturb the outside of her body so they went from within. She had to have been drugged or dosed with something, but there is no needle marks that I could find. So either she swallowed something willingly or she sat there calmly as they mutilated her insides,” the pathologist say calmly. “That doesn’t make any sense,” I say. “Nope, most mutilations like that would have to have some sort of sexual element to them. She wasn’t a virgin, but it has been sometime since she had any type of intercourse. Obviously I can’t pinpoint an exact date, but it hasn’t been any time recent. This has some religious aspect written all over it,” he informs us. I look at the detective and he rolls his eyes. “I believe that too, but even Jesus went through hell before they placed him on a cross. So what was her crime and why not kill her another way?” I ask them. “Are you really questioning such a thing?” The lead detective asks. “Whoever did this is obviously sick,” he follows up. “Local PD,” the examiner says to me. I nod my head. “What the hell does that mean,” the detective says offended. “Nothing,” the examiner says. “I wish I could be more help, but this body is clean. Perfect almost except for the inner genitals,” he says. “So it wasn’t just one?” I ask. “Not even close. If I had to guess nailing her to the ground wasn’t the first option. I think they may have tried to first shove a stake through her, but it didn’t work out? Not sure. Whatever they put up there wasn’t very big. As I said she hasn’t been penetrated for a while,” he shrugs. “All I know is you two have your work cut out for you.”

The body lays on the ground before me pale and mutilated. So, pale that it doesn’t even look human at first. She lays stretched out in a cross like formation. Her hands not nailed to a board, but spiked into the ground. Both palms and one large spike through the ankles. No blood lies in her palms. No blood at all on the body. Could that be why she is so pale? The body has been placed here. Left here naked and abused. Whoever did this didn’t care for her, but what she represented to them. Jealousy? Lust? Foot prints all around the body. Us, him, or them? Can’t tell until it is all said and done. Still processing the body. Could be hours before we could even begin to find out. Must assume that it is more than one. I don’t like to assume. Leads down the wrong path. Goes places we shouldn’t. Her hands are stretched out not clinched. No, other wounds besides the palms and ankles. How did she die where she didn’t cling her hands? Natural to close our fists in pain. Did she die in pain? Where is the blood and where did it come out? Arms are clear of track marks. No usual signs of drugs. Body covered in tattoos, piercings, and what looks like other body modifications. She had money or money to burn. The work is good. Not cheap. Someone would have known if she had been missing. How long has she been missing? Who is she? Rubbing my eyes and as they make that funny wet sound a voice brings him back to reality.

“We found her like this,” a uniformed officer says nervously. He is trying to not act as though he isn’t bothered by this. Playing the part of the strong cop, but no one is used to seeing this. Not even me he wants to say, but keep it to himself. “Sent in a call to the F.B.I. and here you are,” the lead detective finishes for him. Here he is. This shouldn’t even be his assignment. This is his areas of expertise, but nowhere near his home office.  Of course something like this had to happen while he was down here for a seminar. Go teach a class on homicidal profiling, take a break from the field, enjoy the calm relaxing atmosphere of the south his boss told him. Now he is stuck here for at least a few days if not until this is solved. “You don’t speak much do you? Quiet type?” The lead detective asks him. “Is this the first?” He asks ignoring the basic observation of him. He has always been a thinker. Most people can’t take it, but he can’t change who he is. “The first what?” The Lead detective throws back at him. “The first murder of this nature? Nothing about this says one and done,” He says to him. “Oh, yeah it is. Ain’t been nothing like this ever done here before,” he says confidently. “I’m going to need you or the officer to reach out to the other counties and possibly the surrounding states to confirm that,” He questions. “I told you nothing like this before,” the lead detective says hostile. “Here, but there are how many other counties in this state or the surrounding ones? We need to know all the information that we can,” He inform him. The lead detective steps closer to him, “We are trying to keep this, this crime from the getting out. No one needs to know that this happened here. The town can’t afford such a thing.” The lead detective gives him a serious look of concern. “It is a little late for all of that,” He smiles. “You telling me a guy with your smarts can’t solve this all quick like?” The detective asks him. He can’t tell if he is being a smart ass or if he is being hyper sensitive at the moment this early in his morning. “That is not how my job works,” He says taking the high road. “Sure it does. They say you’re like a body whisper or something like that. You’ve solved all kinds of cases and what not,” The detective rationalizes. “I helped solve all kinds of cases and what not. It takes more than one person to solve these types of murders. I need the information I asked for and I’m going to need a lot more than a body nailed to the ground to help you solve this case,” He looks back down to the body. “I’ll get someone on it then,” The detective says annoyed. “I’m also going to need every ones shoe print before they leave here,” He slip in. “What? In the hell would we need that for?” The detective questions. “Way too many foot prints around the body. Either you have a much larger team of forensic experts or there was more than one person laying down the body,” He points at the grass around the body. “I need to go and finish out my assignment. Call me when you get the report back from the coroner,” He hands the detective his business card containing his cell number. “I’ll place some calls with my department and see if I can’t find any more helpful information,” He informs. “Is that all?” He asks annoyed. “Yeah, don’t screw this up and be prepared to find more. If this is a local thing. It is not going to stop at this,” He tells them walking back to his rental car.

“See the way the bodies are arranged? It’s a message, a warning. These aren’t satanic killings. These are Christian in nature,” He points out in the pictures. “No, good Christian would do a thing like this,” the lead detective objects. “No, but a bad one might,” He says amazed he’d even have to say it at all. It is shocking to think that even in this day and age it might seem to out of place for such a thing in the south. Religious extremist come in all shapes and sizes. He thinks to himself.  “I’m telling you no one who believes in God would ever do a thing like this,” The Detective says as though reading from a script. “Unless it was for a purpose. The bible is riddled with stories of justice brought on by violence. Every Christian church has a statue of Jesus nailed to a cross. Not standing next to. Nailed to a cross, hands bound, and a crown made of thrones placed on his head. This wasn’t the work of Satanists or the occult. This is Christian in nature. The only question in my mind is how many?” He says as he looks down at the picture in front of him. “How many what?” He asks. “How many people are involved and how many more victims are we going to stumble upon?” His presented questions go unanswered as they should. “I’m going to need an APB out on any traveling Christian groups, any churches with overly religious themes, and anything of that nature,” He says picking up his phone. “Hold on just a minute. Do you have any idea where you are? This is the south. You’ve just halted traffic from here to Georgia,” The detective laughs. “Good, then our killer or killers will have no place to go. We need to find them and find them quickly,” He tells him. “Agree, but there is no way this is going to happen. The people of the south may be cool, calm, and collective, but they are still human. No one is that friendly anywhere. Besides the state doesn’t have the man power to cover every road in and out of this state, and I can guarantee the other states don’t either. They could be days ahead of us,” The detective points out. The first smart thing he has said in all this time he thinks to himself. “Well we still need whatever man power you have looking out for these types of people,” He says again. “I suppose I could lock down the whole state while I’m at it,” The detective says sarcastically. “If you think it will help,” He smiles right back. “I have to go. Call me back when you have the report on the body,” He inform him before excusing himself. “I need to get back to why I am here.” Walking back onto the tiny school auditorium stage he address the audience of officers once again. His mind is on the case and his mouth reciting something entirely else. The sooner he get back to the case the sooner he can get out of here. “Why her though?” The detective asks him. “Why not her? Is what you should be asking,” He says to him as they look at her body on the metal slab. “Said it yourself earlier. There’s not a girl like her for hundreds of miles in any direction. She is tattooed, pierced up, and most importantly different,” He says to the detective. “So you think because she is different she is a target?” The detective asks. “If we are to believe the religious nature of this killings and the others that might be connected, then yes.” He walks around the body and try to look at her from another angle. “Hold on, not this again. I’m telling you the killer ain’t Christian. No good Christian could do this,” The detective says frustrated. He feel as though this is a road block he will never be able to get around until it is too late. “You shouldn’t be even pushing towards this hunch of yours you got going,” The detective spits on the floor of the examination room, a nice big wad of tobacco and saliva. “I assure you I am not pushing towards the Christian killer or killers. The facts however are. Either the killer is Christian or they are a huge fan of the Bible. Either way we both can agree that they are not receiving the message.” The detective rolls his eyes, “I ain’t agreeing to shit. I mean who does this?” He points at the victims groin area. “I mean look at these pictures,” The detective presents the photos once again. “What kind of sick freak does this to a lady? Even a lady like her.” he pushes the photo back, “She did that to herself or she paid to have it done. Cutting slits into the labia has become something of a fade lately. You can see this in that the skin around the slits is already scared over. This tells me that she was passionate about her body modifications and that is about it. Nothing else to go on about that.” The detective cringes in horror at every word that he says. The detective seems more visibly upset over the body mods than he did this morning at the crime scene. “People do this to themselves?” The detective asks once again as though the words are lost on him. “People do all kinds of things to themselves. This is pretty new. Not a lot of people doing this. Most mods serve a purpose such as image or perception. This one in particular is private. Doesn’t serve an overall purpose that we could help us. Even if we tried to tack down where she got it done it would lead to a dead end,” He rationalize out loud. “I just can’t believe,” The detective says as he shakes his head. “There are so many things you can’t believe out there. Not important. There’s nothing here beyond the obvious. No finger prints, no semen, no blunt force trauma, and least of all anything to go on. We can wait for the toxicology report, but unless that comes back with some rare drug we don’t have shit,” He says frustrated. “So, we sit and wait then?” The detective asks. “So it seems,” he responds. The door of the exam room opens and a portly man walks in with a clip board. “Did you get through the whole report?” The examiner asks. “Skimmed through the bullets points,” he tells him. “Any idea why they would choose to drain all her blood through her vagina?” The examiner asks. “What?” He flips through the report once again. “They wiped the area around the vagina clean, but when I was examining for trauma and semen that’s when I noticed something odd. It seems they didn’t want to disturb the outside of her body so they went from within. She had to have been drugged or dosed with something, but there is no needle marks that I could find. So either she swallowed something willingly or she sat there calmly as they mutilated her insides,” the examiner says calmly. “That doesn’t make any sense,” He says puzzled. “Nope, most mutilations like that would have to have some sort of sexual element to them. She wasn’t a virgin, but it has been sometime since she had any type of intercourse. Obviously I can’t pinpoint an exact date, but it hasn’t been any time recent. This has some religious aspect written all over it,” the examiner informs them off handed. He looks at the detective and he rolls his eyes. “I believe that too, but even Jesus went through hell before they placed him on a cross. So what was her crime and why not kill her another way?” He asks the room. “Are you really questioning such a thing?” The lead detective asks. “Whoever did this is obviously sick,” The detective follows up. “Local PD,” the examiner says to him. He nods his head. “What the hell does that mean,” the detective says offended. “Nothing,” the examiner answers. “I wish I could be more help, but this body is clean. Perfect almost except for the inner genitals,” the examiner informs them. “So it wasn’t just one?” He asks. “Not even close. If I had to guess nailing her to the ground wasn’t the first option. I think they may have tried to first shove a stake through her, but it didn’t work out? Not sure. Whatever they put up there wasn’t very big. As I said she hasn’t been penetrated for a while,” the examiner shrugs. “All I know is you two have your work cut out for you.”

“Why her though?” The detective asks me. “Why not her? Is what you should be asking,” I say to him as we look at her body on the metal slab. “Said it yourself earlier. There’s not a girl like her for hundreds of miles in any direction. She is tattooed, pierced up, and most importantly different,” I say to the detective. “So you think because she is different she is a target?” He asks. “If we are to believe the religious nature of this killings and the others that might be connected, then yes.” I walk around the body and try to look at her from another angle. “Hold on, not this again. I’m telling you the killer ain’t Christian. No good Christian could do this,” he says frustrated. I feel as though this is a road block I will never be able to get around until it is too late. “You shouldn’t be even pushing towards this hunch of yours you got going,” he spits on the floor of the examination room, a nice big wad of tobacco and saliva. “I assure you I am not pushing towards the Christian killer or killers. The facts however are. Either the killer is Christian or they are a huge fan of the Bible. Either way we both can agree that they are not receiving the message.” He rolls his eyes, “I ain’t agreeing to shit. I mean who does this?” He points at the victims groin area. “I mean look at these pictures,” he hands me the photos. “What kind of sick freak does this to a lady? Even a lady like her.” I push the photo back, “She did that to herself or she paid to have it done. Cutting slits into the labia has become something of a fade lately. You can see this in that the skin around the slits is already scared over. This tells me that she was passionate about her body modifications and that is about it. Nothing else to go on about that.” He cringes in horror at every word that I say. He seems more visibly upset over the body mods than he did this morning at the crime scene. “People do this to themselves?” He asks once again. “People do all kinds of things to themselves. This is pretty new. Not a lot of people doing this. Most mods serve a purpose such as image or perception. This one in particular is private. Doesn’t serve an overall purpose that we could help us. Even if we tried to tack down where she got it done it would lead to a dead end,” I rationalize out loud. “I just can’t believe,” he says as he shakes his head. “There are so many things you can’t believe out there. Not important. There’s nothing here beyond the obvious. No finger prints, no semen, no blunt force trauma, and least of all anything to go on. We can wait for the toxicology report, but unless that comes back with some rare drug we don’t have shit,” I say frustrated. “So, we sit and wait then?” He asks. “So it seems,” I say. The door of the exam room opens and a portly man walks in with a clip board. “Did you get through the whole report?” He asks. “Skimmed through the bullets points,” I tell him. “Any idea why they would choose to drain all her blood through her vagina?” He asks. “What?” I flip through the report once again. “They wiped the area around the vagina clean, but when I was examining for trauma and semen that’s when I noticed something odd. It seems they didn’t want to disturb the outside of her body so they went from within. She had to have been drugged or dosed with something, but there is no needle marks that I could find. So either she swallowed something willingly or she sat there calmly as they mutilated her insides,” the pathologist say calmly. “That doesn’t make any sense,” I say. “Nope, most mutilations like that would have to have some sort of sexual element to them. She wasn’t a virgin, but it has been sometime since she had any type of intercourse. Obviously I can’t pinpoint an exact date, but it hasn’t been any time recent. This has some religious aspect written all over it,” he informs us. I look at the detective and he rolls his eyes. “I believe that too, but even Jesus went through hell before they placed him on a cross. So what was her crime and why not kill her another way?” I ask them. “Are you really questioning such a thing?” The lead detective asks. “Whoever did this is obviously sick,” he follows up. “Local PD,” the examiner says to me. I nod my head. “What the hell does that mean,” the detective says offended. “Nothing,” the examiner says. “I wish I could be more help, but this body is clean. Perfect almost except for the inner genitals,” he says. “So it wasn’t just one?” I ask. “Not even close. If I had to guess nailing her to the ground wasn’t the first option. I think they may have tried to first shove a stake through her, but it didn’t work out? Not sure. Whatever they put up there wasn’t very big. As I said she hasn’t been penetrated for a while,” he shrugs. “All I know is you two have your work cut out for you.”

End Part 1

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Something Different… Q & A… We Dance Once More…

So if you don’t remember I used to do this for a second… it has been a long ass time since the last one so I’m not going to link it to this one… sorry… not really… haha… the point of these type of posts is to have fun… learn a little bit about me… and you… feel free to answer the questions in the comments if you want… or make fun of mine…

The basic idea is that I answer questions from an old ass game… The Ungame… I found at a Goodwill… well that is it really… so it is clear… I am drawing these cards at random… let’s get going…

like I said… old ass game… good luck finding a copy…

Turn 1… What Would You Do If You Had A “Magic Wand”?

Created a magic lamp… rub it… get three wishes… Make Hogwarts a real thing… go back to school with my “Magic Wand”… major in Defense Against the Dark Arts… too easy… Also I love how magic wand is in quotes… as if it was someone else’s idea… “Fine Carol we will add Magic Wand, but I just want to make it clear that this game has nothing to do with Satan. We simply heard of this so called magic wand.”

Turn 2… If You Were Lost In The Woods And It Got Dark, What Would You Do?

Who said I was lost?… The first thing you should ask yourself is how did you end up in these woods to begin with?… Did I drag you here?… Was it through a portal in the game?… Why am I holding this knife?… Have you always look as though you were carved to pieces?… probably best to not go into the woods with me… : )

Turn 3… If You Were A Doctor, What Ailment Would You Like To Cure?

This is a tough one for me… without hesitation I would say depression… that is what I would cure if I could… but… there is always a but… I don’t know if I would… I am torn… full of hesitation… I can think of so many people in my day to day life that I could help… and countless others around the world that could be helped from my answer… but in the same breath… I know of so many things in my life that I love and that I live for that wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for depression… My favorite books… my favorite music… my favorite films… the idea that we could lose so much art… is depressing in itself… then again I have seen depression destroy so many things that I love and live for as well… which is also depressing in itself… sometimes simply wishing something away isn’t so simple…

So if I could cure anything with a worry free answer… I guess I would cure addiction… getting rid of depression would help a lot of people… if we could cure addiction safely and make it stop forever… I think we could save and help everyone… I think it would even help other ailments like depression to a certain extent… it wouldn’t cure it… but even just a little bit of help goes a long way… I know it could help me a lot… though I wonder if more people would try certain things because they know that they could get “clean” at any point?…

This question is an education on how my brain works… I do this with everything in my life… Should I do the laundry? yes I should… but if I don’t I could do this… I can see how doing the laundry and not doing the laundry could help a lot of people…

Turn 4… Are You Remembering To Keep Your Answers Brief? Take another card !

Yes?…

Turn 5… What Bit Of Advice Would You Give A Young Man About To Get Married?

Young man?… I may be too hypersensitive… because of where I live and the period of time we are living… but does this question feel a little sexist?… I guess I will answer this question… though it goes against my moral code…

If I was going to give anyone advice on marriage… I would say to never lose communication… never forget that it is you and this other person against the world… not the world against each other… and the world is always coming… will you always agree?… haha… that would be something wouldn’t it?… doesn’t matter… if you agree on every little thing… what matters is that the other person knows you have their back no matter what… good or bad… that is the hard part… because it is so easy to say anything with nothing going on… but when the shit hits the fan… when one of you or both of you fucks up… because you will… we are all human… are you, can you stand up with them no matter what?…

I think marriage is an institution… it means something different to the people involved… as it should… because it is about the two of you not everyone else… to me marriage isn’t important… and it is… I didn’t need to marry my wife… if we weren’t married… I’d feel the same way about her… which is why I got married?… or married to her… I don’t know… what I do know is I found the person I wanted to take the world on with… the person I love no matter what… nothing is perfect or easy… life happens… shit happens… but through it all… that feeling… that idea… has never changed… so my advice is that if you aren’t willing to stand next to this person as they burn at the stake… shielding them from the flames… then you aren’t willing to stand next to them ever… (yes… advice to means a long rant… best not to ask advice from me unless you got time…)

Turn 6… Give One Word To Describe Each Person In The Group.

asshole… haha…

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

Chewing On Glass Presents… My Nightmare…

She screams as she awakens. She doesn’t know what is wrong, but I do. It happens each and every night since she was born. Always as I reach deep sleep. Always at the exact moment that I believe tonight is the night I will sleep. It is as if she knows and must awaken at this moment. She is in my head. I know because I can feel it. She is only a small child, but I can tell already something is not right about her. Something is off. I can feel that too. She does things that I can’t understand. It must be through her mind like some kind of freak. I gave birth to some sort of freak baby. My womb must be tainted. Was it something I did? I haven’t gotten a single night’s sleep in days or maybe it has been months. I’m losing time because her cries have turned into time. She cries and cries as if she knows that I am suffering. She does it on purpose. I know it because I can feel it. What did I do to be cursed by this demon child? When I check on her she is all smiles. She wears a smile of pure enjoyment. She fooled me in the beginning. Tricked me into thinking one thing when another was happening. She knows what she is doing. I know what she is doing. The little bastard enjoys my pain, enjoys destroying me from the inside. She is the devil playing her little mind games of cat and mouse. I won’t play them no more. She cries hour after hour, but I’m not going to play these games. They told me to let her cry. It is a stage. I believe their lies for too long. Until I figured out the truth. The truth is lord and she is the spawn of something else. What does that make me?

She is only a child I repeat in my head. She is barely able to comprehend sound and light, but already she is conniving. Already she has begun to destroy me. To seek out my death. What does the future hold for me if I don’t get rid of her? A lifetime of pain and suffering. This is only the beginning I remind myself as her cries get louder and louder. Get rid of this madness before it sinks in any deeper? I must get rid of her somehow. Make it look like an accident. Parents take knives to their baby’s cribs all the time right? It just fell in there somehow. She told me that she wanted it officer. Wanted to help me with dinner I could tell them. Have I lost my mind? I can’t just let her cry. I can’t let her suffer even if she is doing the same to me. Tears stream from my eyes as I look over her. Her cries stop and her smile comes back. This is only the beginning. She will only continue to do this for the rest of her life, the rest of mine. I can’t sit back and watch what she will become. More tears fall from my face as I know what I must do.

So, peaceful but it is only a farce. A trick she uses against me to play with my emotions. I stare into her little blue eyes and they stare right back. “What are you plotting?” I scream into her smiling face. She laughs and giggles. Taunting me to do it. She is not a child. She is not my child, but a demon. A perversion of innocence. She is something so far worse. I know it because I can feel it. A mother knows these things. A mother can feel these things. She came from me. No one understands her, knows her like I do, and no one else is suffering like I am. Not my husband, not the neighbors around us. Me and only me. Maybe that’s it. Maybe she is suffering. Projecting her misery on to me. She wants me to end her suffering. I’m not killing her, but helping her. That has to be it I think. A wave of happiness washes over me. A feeling I haven’t felt in months as I rub my finger gently on her soft cheek. “I know what I must do,” I say to her in a soft tone. Her face is consumed by her smile and I know that she knows too. All this time and that is all that it was. What needs to be done must be done. She cries, she screams as soon as I walk away. Walk my way to the kitchen and to the knife block. Could there be any other way to do it? She must want this because it is the only way I can think to get this done. Her mind powers are the only answer. The butcher knife slides right of the knife block and I make my way back to her room. Make my way back to her crib.

The screaming stops once again. Her eyes open wide and full and she smiles at the sight of me. Merrily a distraction I tell myself. Must not let it stop me. What needs to be done needs to be done. I hold the large knife over her little body. Her night light bouncing off the side of the steel. She giggles and reach for the knife raised above her. This has to be done I tell myself. I try to begin to bring the knife down on her. One blow, one quick motion to the chest I plan. The knife stops its decent. My arms stop motionless. Tears flowing down my face. I struggle to drive the knife any further. I can’t move any further despite all my trying. It is like someone is standing behind me holding me back. My shoulders, my elbows, my arms feel as if they will burst as I fight the invisible force. “It has to be done,” I scream into the night. “It has to be done,” I beg the invisible force. “It has to be done.” It is her that is stopping me. Her glowing eyes and demonic smile. I fight her for as long as I can, but I am too weak even for a child. I feel my arm snap against my will and I scream out in agony. Against my own will my right hand grips the knife handle. Somehow she gets me to place the blade at my throat. “Please don’t,” I beg her, but what are words to an infant? She smiles at my suffering. Same as before. Same as always. “It was only an accident. A lapse of faith due to a lack of sleep. I didn’t mean to do this. If you’d just let mommy sleep then I could think straight. I wouldn’t even dream of doing this,” I try to reason with her. The knife press harder against my throat. “I didn’t mean it,” I say one last time. She giggles as the knife gently slides across my throat by my own hand. I should be grateful to die, but I fear what awaits me on the other side. Blood spraying all over her little body with every beat of my heart. I fear what awaits everyone I leave behind. No one will know what is still left to be done. No one is going to know what a mother knows. This child, this demon will grow and more innocent people will die. The feeling in my mind escapes me as everything in front of me begins to slip in and out. Her laughter only growing louder as I black out. “Someone needs to destroy you,” I try to say, but it is too late.

I wake up screaming in my bed. “Someone needs to destroy you,” I hear myself shout. Startling my husband from a dead sleep. My hands fight the nothing that surrounds me until he takes a hold of them. “Suzanne it is only a dream. Wake up,” He says to me. “The baby,” I scream hysterical. “There is no baby,” He screams back at me in shock rather than anger. “Calm down,” he says to me. I try to relax. Think of where I am, but I can’t shake the feeling. “The baby,” I say again. “There is no baby sweetheart. You aren’t even pregnant,” He says as he lets go of my hands. He takes a deep breath, “It was only a nightmare Suzanne.” I rub my bare stomach. “No, it wasn’t. I need to get it out of me before it is too late,” I say calmly. “Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?” He asks me. “Even if it were true. Why in the hell would we get rid of it? As long as we have been trying? There is no way we are getting rid of a miracle baby,” He says to me annoyed. “It needs to be done,” I say staring into his eyes. “This is no miracle. This thing inside me is a curse,” I say to him. “You aren’t even pregnant,” he shouts in frustration. “A mother knows,” I whisper to myself. A mother knows.

Paperback books now available for all three books from Amazon… click the link below to find out more… More news to come at a later date… Hope all is well…

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

Broken Thoughts… Now Is My Time… All Mine…

Insignificant sacrifice in my head
Another day living among the dead
Coming to the conclusion that
All of this was never meant to make sense
Another day living with your love
Bleaching my brain to rid myself
Of all this pain, dead memories
The sick ideas of happiness
A future without pain isn’t worth living
Wish I could forget everything I have ever said
Feelings left over in a dying heart
Slowly learning this feeling
Will never go away

Well good luck… I hope you find what it is you’ve been desperately searching for…

Time ticking away slowly
Wasting minutes thinking about nothing
Losing daylight wondering what could have been
Each sentence longer than the last
Each memory shorter than the one before
Slowly eating away at myself
Wasting hours wondering about nothing
Losing night thinking about what could have been
Knowing anything
Never changed a thing
Wasting away all the same
Knowing anything
Never changed the time
Wasting away all the same
Time ticking away slowly
So much time wasted on what could have been
Chasing ghost through the past

This is the sound of a heart breaking…

Spending time thinking about everyone else
Fuck’em and watch them drown
Society pressing down on me
Why should I care when no one cares?
Who the fuck am I to change what is
Already broken?
Fitting in never felt so ugly until the day
I did
Drowning couldn’t be the worst way to go
When living each and every day
Feels like a chore
Think I am an asshole?
Only repeating words that I have heard
Throwing this shit right where it belongs
Screaming into your face only got me so far
Pushing limits to know the limits
Have been pushed to the max
Matter of time before
All of this starts over
An endless cycle I no longer want to be a part of
Not the first person to feel like this
Pressing harder against the skin
Back the fuck up or I’ll make it all go away
Maybe it is time to learn a lesson from what we say
What we do, there has to be some solution
Buried in all this shit
There has to be something more than this
Death and distractions, pressure and pain
Stuck in the eye of it all
No where to go
Spinning out of control
Now is my time
To let it go

That last one just kept going… this group of Broken Thoughts… was actually based on the absence of thought… writer’s block in a way… had plenty of shit to say at the time… but I was too busy thinking about everything else… everyone else… thinking about all the time that I waste doing nothing at all… so much stuff that I want to do… that I just do nothing at all… that bothers me more than having nothing to say… it is one thing to have an empty mind and a whole other thing to just be lazy…

My excuse is that I’m tired… and maybe I am… but it is still an excuse… other people can do it… why can’t I?… perception is everything in this world… perception is shit… the world is an illusion… and yet I can’t help but look back on myself… reflect on all the negative things that I do… to myself… to others… to the ones I love… being human sometimes is too much to bare… perception will play with your mind… good and bad… maybe you think these things about me?… maybe I make it look easy… always busy… playing with perception…

Years invested in all these thoughts… nothing happened overnight… nothing has even happened yet… digging a hole one day I will regret… because that is the path of life… a grave is more than a hole in the ground… and a mind is more than the thoughts that surround it… broken or fixed… thoughts that I can’t help but live with…

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

Chewing On Glass Presents… New Year’s Eve…

New Year’s Eve

“You know what the best part about New Year is?” The question hangs in the air. An open wound dripping from her face. “I could give a fuck, you fucking piece of,” she is cut off. Silenced by a dirty finger on her lips. Her own blood and who knows what else. “Now, now it’s best you listen rather than blurt out useless words that hold no meaning. For warning the next time you speak to me like that I’ll cut off something that matters not simply bust you up side your head,” he tells her. A fire burns in her eyes as she snaps her powerful jaws at the dirty finger. Useless attempt to hurt her captor. He doesn’t say a word at her sad attempt to hurt him. With a look of disappointment displayed on his face he plunges the knife in his hand into her leg. Precise he misses anything vital and inflicts a pain that she can only imagine is the beginning of the end. Screaming, crying her pain takes over her emotions. Breaking the tension and the air that he has been trying to create. He grabs her by the back of the head, “I’ll ask you again. Do you know what the best part about the New Year is?” A dirty mix of snot and tears falls from her face as she speaks, “Can you. Can you take the knife out of my leg?” He touches the handle of the knife ever so gently. “There is a long answer here as to why I can’t and I would love to explain it to you, but I’m not really all that interested. So the short answer is no,” he takes his hand off the handle of the knife. “The resolutions,” he announces moving on from her disobedience. “Take last year for example my resolution was to not kill anyone. Worked out for a time, but let’s face it a wolf in sheep’s clothing is still a wolf. Is he not? God you whimper a lot,” he complains. “I can’t help it. My leg hurts so bad,” she cries. He caress her hair, “Sweetie you haven’t even begun to understand the word hurt. Now where is that darling friend of yours?” He grips a handful of hair. “I don’t know,” she says through tears. “Not good enough. I’ve been watching the two of you for a time now. Don’t think I don’t know any and everything about you. Your girlfriend is never late and today of all days she happens to be late? Consistency the world runs on consistency,” he says to her. “I don’t know,” she cries once again. “Please don’t hurt her,” she begs. “Please don’t.”

“So what’s the plan this year?” Her hand is intertwined with hers. “I don’t know really. I was thinking this year we could have a calm night at home. Watch the ball drop or something that normal people do. What do normal people do?” Her girlfriend asks. “What do boring people do?” She rephrases the question. “I have no idea what boring people do. I want to go out. Do something exciting,” she smiles. “I’m sure we can find something to do,” her girlfriend reasons. They stop just outside of her apartment building. They kiss passionately. “I guess I don’t have much time to show you the time of your life,” her girlfriend jokes. “Nope, not really,” she smirks. Her girlfriend lets out a sigh, “I’ll see you tonight then?” She smiles and puts her arms around her, “You better.” They kiss once again before parting. She watches her walk away before entering her building. A man waits in the driver’s seat of the car nearby. Rolling the passenger window up. He waits some more. Waits for the right moment.

“Can’t hurt what isn’t here. So where is she?” He asks impatiently. “She should be here already. She should have been here by now. She is never late,” she tries to reason. He grabs the handle of the knife and moves it ever so slightly. She screams out in agony. “Now there is no reason to lie to me. Lying to me will only bring you pain,” He says calmly. “I didn’t lie,” her tears dripping off her face. “She is never late?” He questions. “Unless you are speaking of a different woman. Then you of all people should know she is always late,” he releases the handle of the knife. “How the fuck long have you been watching me?” she asks. “Long enough to know everything I needed to know. Long enough to know that no one is anywhere to be found. You’d be amazed the amount of information people are willing to give. I mean willing. Not knife in your leg willing, but pretty close. People never shut the fuck up really. They just talk and talk. About anything and everything,” he lectures. “Kind of like now?” She asks. He smiles under the mask, “There we go. That’s the kind of wit that will get you far in this game. Quick. Always be quick. Don’t let anyone take advantage of you.” She looks puzzled, “What is that even supposed to mean? Besides you know one is taking advantage of me.” He pretends to be pondering something. Acting out all the nonverbal expressions hidden behind his mask. He rubs the chin of the mask. “Are you sure?” He asks. “I mean where is she?” He wonders out loud. “I don’t fucking know,” She screams agitated. “Really? Because I think you do. I mean I know I do. But between me and you where do you think she has been spreading her legs lately?” He asks. “You are fucking sick to think that I am going to play along with your stupid little games,” she says in a pissed off tone. “Oh, you are going to play the game,” he says as a matter of fact. “Why the fuck would I give you the satisfaction?” she asks. He reaches for his bag resting next to her chair. His breathe brushing up against the skin of her leg. “I’ve been telling the truth. I have been talking,” she pleads in a panic. He pulls a camera out of his bag, “You seems rather nervous for someone who doesn’t want to play, the fucking game,” he mocks before laughing. He holds the camera out for her to take, “Go ahead take it.” She dead stares into his masked eyes. “My hands are bound,” she reminds him. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t want to see what I’ve got anyways. I mean you don’t want to play the game. You don’t want a chance to live,” he repeats back to her. In one quick motion he pulls the knife out of her leg and presses the blade to her throat. “So what is it going to be?” His voice deep and serious. “Are you going to play the game or am I going to slit your throat and fuck the wound while you slowly bleed out?” Her words are barely audible. Somewhere between a whisper and a cry. “Speak up or forever hold your peace,” he shouts. “I’ll play the game. I’ll play the game,” she shouts each word and each breath pressed against the blade. “Good then let’s begin,” his voice completely different as he takes the blade away from her throat. “How have we already not begun?” she questions as blood seeps from the wound in her leg. He shrugs his shoulders, “Because I make the rules?”

“Your whole life is based on rules. When do I sit? Where do I sit? What are the rules to sitting? Just relax. Go with what feels right. Be yourself,” the woman before her says. “I think you mean what is the proper etiquette to sitting,” she responds back. They both burst out into laughter. “Of course you would focus on that and nothing else I said,” the woman smiles. She puts a puzzled look on her face, “Did you say anything else?” The woman takes her by surprise into her arms, “I could say or not say anything to you, and still find things to not say to you.” She kisses the woman, “Good.” A server walks up to them. “Excuses me ladies your table is ready.” He walks them through the dining room of the restaurant. They take a sit at their table and he hands them their menus. “Your server will be with you shortly. Is there anything I can get you to drink in the mean time?” he asks. They order drinks and he walks away. She looks over the menu. Eyeing something light for tonight. Talking as she reads the menu. The woman keeps taking glances just past her. “I said do you think I should have the salad or the salmon?” she asks again. “What?” The woman asks burning holes into her menu. She glances behind her to see what her girlfriend was looking at. She doesn’t see anything beyond more people eating and drinking. “Did you see someone you know?” She asks. “No, I thought I did. But I didn’t,” the woman says quickly. “Okay,” she says awkwardly. “So should I get the salad or the salmon?” She asks one last time before picking the menu back up. “Which one do you want the most?” The woman ask. “Neither, what I really want is the nachos with extra shit,” she jokes. The woman smiles but even a blind man could see she is somewhere else. “Then get the nachos with the extra shit,” her girlfriend says. She puts the menu back down, “What’s wrong? Where did you go all of a sudden?”

He snaps his fingers in front of her face. “Did I lose you there for a second?” He asks. “If you know where she is. Then where is she?” She asks. “I thought you’d never ask,” he says before closing the knife and putting it in his pocket. “First I have to ask though. Where do you think she is?” He asks while turning on the camera. “I’m not even sure I want to know as much as I think I do,” she says in a low tone. “Well that’s not an answer,” he mocks. “She is probably with some whore right? That’s what you want me to say. That is what you want me to believe. Let me guess you got some photo of some hot bitch with her head between my girlfriend’s legs?” She says through gritted teeth. “I’ve got something better than that,” he moves the camera preview screen just in front of her face. It takes her a second to focus on the tiny image. “That fine looking bitch sure does have a pretty hairy ass,” he jokes. Her face is filled with confusion. “Seems your girl needed a little bit more than you could provide,” he offers as a relief. “She said that was her brother,” she says out loud. He flips the camera preview back so he can look at it, “Nope, that’s not her brother. I have seen her brother. Not in the same night mind you. But even creeping through his apartment in the dead of night. I can tell you that is not her brother,” he says. “You fucking think? Jesus what the fuck,” she screams in agony. “Damn, that really wasn’t the reaction that I was going for. I almost feel something. I almost feel bad, but mostly I feel jealous,” he says tapping the side of the chair with his foot. “What the fuck are you talking about?” She asks. “I mean here I am. I got you strapped to a chair, I put a knife in your leg, and I was already to torture you for hours. I mean hours to get a scream like that out of you, and all I had to do was show you a picture? I really need to up my game,” he says before flipping through the other pictures on the camera. They sit and stand there awkwardly. The sound of the next photo button filling in the silence of the room. “Did you want to see this one where she shoves his whole dick in her mouth? I was able to get a before and after shot. Like going in her face was fine and then taking it to the point of tears. It looks pretty sexy to be honest. I got this other one where she is sitting on his face. Did she sit on your face too or was that more of your thing? Maybe she just needed a new kind of domination? I don’t know how that works really. I’m not going to lie. I don’t know. I’m not good with relationships or human interaction for that matter, but how does that work? One is the man, one is the woman, or you are both women?” He keeps pressing the next button. “What the fuck are you rambling on about? We are both women asshole so, we both play the woman. Is this insanity really part of your sick twisted fantasy?” She asks annoyed. “Not really. I’m kind of torn really. I did all this research and all this planning. I’m not feeling it. I felt it when I stabbed you in the leg. Maybe I need to do that again?” he questions. “You already broke my heart. What difference would it make at this point?” she asks. “That’s it? You just want me to kill you? No passion, no rage, no god damn fear. How am I supposed to work with that? I mean you want me to stab again? That’s really what you want right now?” He asked confused. “Yeah,” she says. “Jesus Christ,” he screams. “We were supposed to get married, she said she loved me, she said that she wanted kids, and it turns out all of it has been a lie from the start,” she thinks out loud. “What do you want to do about it?” He asks. “I want to kill the bitch. Rip her heart right from her chest. Just like she did to me,” she says intensely.

He walks over to her and begins to untie her. “What the hell are you doing?” She asks. “Well you can’t kill her strapped to a chair now can you?” he asks. “I guess not,” she says stretching her arms. The feeling comes rushing back into her hands. They sting like pins and needles as he unties her ankles. “Sorry, about the leg,” he says in an embarrassed tone. She smiles, “I’d like to say it happens, but honestly this is a first for me.” He smiles back under his mask, “This is a first for me too. I usually don’t relate to the victim so much, but for some reason this time I really do.” They sit and stand there awkwardly for a moment. “So are we really doing this?” She asks. He nods his head yes. “So what is the plan then?” she asks. He lets out a large sigh, “I guess drive over to her boyfriend’s place. We might have to take them out of there. Not sure what the visitor situation is over there. He doesn’t have a roommate or anything so, that is pretty convenient. Do you think you have the will power and the strength to stab her? I mean with your leg and all?” He asked genuinely concerned. She looks down at the bloody mess that is her jeans, “It hurts like hell, but I think I can manage. I’m going to have to change my pants before we go though. The adrenaline has to take over at a certain point right?” He takes the knife out of his pocket, “The adrenaline is the best part. The feel and the rush of it all. Here you are going to need this.” She takes the knife into her hand. “Thank you,” she says looking down at the knife. “Hey, no problem. Again sorry about the,” his words are cut off as she rams the knife into his throat. The knife lodged at an awkward angle from his throat to his spine. His knees buckle from the weight of his own body. He falls down to his knees and she catches him. Supports his weight and hers with the one good leg she has left. “I made a resolution last year too. One I failed at until today, but where does it say you have to complete your resolution before the day ends? It doesn’t. Lucky for me or unlucky for me. Depends on how you look at all I guess I’m not as weak as you are. My resolution was to not follow the rules. Go with what feels right. Go with what feels like me. So thank you for helping me complete my New Year’s resolution,” she pulls the knife out in one swift motion. Blood sprays all over her one clean pant leg. The alarm on her phone starts to go off and she lets him fall to the floor. He digs and scratches at the carpet in agony. She walks over to the kitchen counter placing the knife next to the phone. She swipes the alarm off with her bloody finger, “Looks like you ran out of time to complete yours.” She limps her way to the door dialing the police as she does, “This pants are fucking wrecked and there is no way in hell I am getting the deposit back on this apartment. Fucking asshole. Hello.”

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

Chewing On Glass Presents… Education In Absolution…

“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 comes intelligence.”

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 doctor says.

“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.”

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

Broken Thoughts… Throwing Around Words…

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…

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