Monday, November 29, 2004

Just something to hold space.
A bit more along the lines of the previous writing.

Feeling reborn I emerge from the shower. It is a weird feeling emerging from this chamber of steam and white light into the world. I emerged wearing boxers running a brush through my hair. Sam was standing in the kitchen making someone while talking on the phone. Since it only killed the cat I figured I could stand and listen while I brushed my hair. Like a thief in the night I crept up closer and hid behind part of the doorway.

‘When is your show playing next?’ Little pauses as I could not hear the other party listening to a one-sided conversation is at times difficult.

‘Yeah I should be there. Perhaps catch you after the show and chat for a bit.’

‘Don’t worry I will make sure he doesn’t show up. Yeah he is here crashed on my couch and is now taking a quick shower. Ha no we are just friends. I thought it at one time but we can’t stand each other enough for anything more. No remorse besides its better this way. I can smack him without regret when he fucks up.’ Then I heard laugher from the other party on the phone. So nice to know that my pain brings a smile to someone.

Caution quickly filled my mind. Knowing I would get slapped again if she caught me here I snuck back to the bathroom to get dressed and hopefully get some lunch. I silently went back and closed the door behind me.

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

I still try to work at conversation. Enjoy either way.

“JEFF! Jeff! JEFF!” My name called from a long hallway of light. I remember all the stories when you see a tunnel with light at the end your supposed to run away. So I stood there for a moment pondering which I should follow. I started turning around to run away when, SMACK!

I woke up to the sudden burst of pain. My hand went to my cheek immediately where I felt the sting. I looked around trying to gather my surroundings and find out who would prevent me from running away from the light. Over to the right was the floor and a familiar coffee table. Straight a head was a 19 inch television. To my left and up is the ceiling and the familiar face of Sam. Her hand hovering above me like a snake ready to strike again if provoked.

“Why did you go back to that bar?”

“huh? What are you talking about?” A thick cloud covered my mind as I tried to remember what bar or place I was not supposed to go to? Where was I last night? What happened. I scanned my memories to figure it out.

SMACK! As the snake struck and hit my forehead. My chain of thought broken and I realize I must have fell back asleep as my arm was not numb from my weight.

“Answer me or face my wrath mortal.” Now when I looked up I saw a cup of something. I had an idea of what it contained.

“You wouldn’t dare and get your couch soaked.” I was always good at poker.

“Oh yes I would.” She said as she emptied the glass of water onto my face. I sputtered and quickly got up but the damage was done. My haze lifted and the quick movement made me lose my balance as I fell to the floor striking my shoulder on her table.

“Ouch! Why did you pour that on me?”

“I asked you a question and you fell back asleep on me. Now I want answers and your going to talk. Why did you go back to that bar last night?” She reached back and apparently had stocked up on ammunition as she now had another cup in her hand. It was times like this that I could not tell if she was serious or playful. Nietzsche was right, women are confusing and abstruse often like the truth at times.

“Um I was getting a drink there.” Still I could not remember what or which bar she was talking about. Last nights activities were a blur and a few blank spots. I must have drank a lot and crashed on her couch. I hope she didn’t have someone over at the time. Did I make an ass of myself.

“I’m sorry about last night.” When dealing with women always include an apology. I have to give props to my friend Big D and his guide to dealing with women. Mentally I congratulate myself on the proper retort and I get surprised by an ice cube to the face.

“What? I said I was sorry. What was that for?”

“I told you to stay away from her. Why did you go back to the bar?”

Fuck, now it all came together. She found out somehow. I did not think that my short activities there would have been noticed as I had left quickly afterwards. Then proceeded to drink myself into stupor.

“Um I didn’t know she was there, I’m sorry. It was a simple mistake. I did not stay there very long and left early in the night.”

“But you stayed and I don’t know what else you did but I imagine it was not good.” She reached into the cup and threw another piece of ice at me. I was able to dodge it this time and it rattled against the wood floor in the kitchen.

“I could not help myself.” Honestly I did not know why I ended up at that bar.

“I told you to stay away.” She seemed to be getting upset over this whole ordeal.

“Sorry I meant to but I have to say the thought of her dragged me back there.”

“Why Jeff? Why?”

“I don’t know why. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why I went back there. To try and figure out why. For some reason she has been in my mind. Both her music and her face. Something deeper lies behind her façade that she presents and it draws me in.”

“She does hide behind any masks or layers Jeff. She is not like you. There is no internal monologue with her. There is no ulterior motives with her. There is no plan B that she falls back onto when her initial plan goes sour. She is sporadic and emotional. She is raw and pure. She is the opposite of what you are. Your controlling and manipulative. I love you dear but I want you to stay away from her.” Her arms had lowered the cup was now dangling in one hand as she looked deep inside me.

“Why are you so protective of her?” It was all I could say. Though it bothered me what my friend thought about me. What does she know about the difficulties that I have gone through.

“She is someone special. She will go out and do great things someday. Her band or her music will touch and change thousands of people. She will go out and make a difference while your still here working the late shift at Shop-Mart. I don’t want you ruining her life.”

“What makes you think I would ruin her life? Heck what makes you think she would even take remote interest in me?”

“Because Jeff you’re a likable guy. You’re a nice person by default just you have some issues that need dealt with in your own time. Your laid back and usually carefree. I know that given time what will happen. I wish to avoid that for her. Pick some other nice girl there are thousands out there. You can be happy and complete with one of them.”

I listened carefully letting it soak into my ego a small voice inside my head telling me I should not pay attention as she is complimenting me to hold my attention.

“You cannot protect her forever. Besides if I am such a bad person….”

“Not a bad person Jeff. Your not listening to me. You’re a wonderful person just when your in a relationship with someone your too demanding. Its like we have to choose between you or the world and you expect us to choose you all the time.”
Flashes of insight filled my head as a few things made sense regarding my failed relationship with Sam when we were younger. I know I am a bit melodramatic but damn I did not think I put people in such a position.

“But now that you have told me I can change.”

“You can but you can change and find someone else. Please avoid this girl.”

“That’s asking a lot. What if she is my soul mate? What if she is my destiny? What if she doesn’t even acknowledge my presence? Your assuming a lot about me. I am not some Giacomo Casanova.”

“I don’t want to take a chance.”

“Let me think about this. Your presenting a lot to me. Also I am almost shivering with cold from that water. Do you mind if I use your shower?”

“Sure but know I will not stop hounding you about getting a decision on this matter.”

“Alright just point me to where you placed my bag of emergency clothes.”

She pulled out of the closet a backpack with some of my clothes in it. Since she lived near the downtown area I would often crash at her place after a night of bar hopping to avoid any temptation to drive back home. I took the backpack into the bathroom and started up the shower. While I stood there under the spray trying to rub both sleep and the chill from my face I thought about the previous nights. Did I make a connection with her or am I just another random face? Should I respect my friends wishes or should I try to take a chance with destiny. As I pondered destiny cold water started spraying down on my face as Sam must be trying to tell me to hurry up. As annoying as she was, Sam was a good friend and worth a hundred chances at destiny.

Monday, November 22, 2004

Again I find myself sitting in front of a white screen that is void of reality. This canvas that I can create a new reality upon with ease. The fabric of fantasy that I slowly caress while I envision a new picture to paint with words. I could sit here and write about things that happened today, yesterday, or will happen tomorrow. I could command words to paint an accurate picture of what is to come. I could write about confusion over certain events that would mean nothing to anyone else except me or perhaps another. The circles my mind travels as I pursue a chain of thought. The unnerving rattle in my car, the aggravating friends who have been expecting a game to come out plan on dropping their lives for it. The cancellation of something important for the desires of a few. Plans have been made that will now be changed due to whim. I like plans. I like schedules. It gives structure and form to what otherwise would be a void called the future. It allows me to look on a piece of paper or to conjure up in my mind something that is set and is planned for. It gives me something to look forward to. Something to weave my life around and to basis my upcoming days upon. The past has given me weeks of gaming right on schedule. Months of structure that was followed. It turned into habit now that structure is disappearing and it frightens me like a little boy hearing thunder in the distance and is now hiding under his bed. It makes me shiver like a long run-on sentence that I have no way of correctly stating otherwise. I like structure. There is a structure in my heart. It is a large wall that has been built up over the years. Fortifications planted deep that help separate me from others to prevent pain. Something to counterbalance the chaos that controls my soul and clouds my mind. So I sit here trying to write about the things that concern me and the most often thing that appears is a simple memory. It has happened before in the past quite often. A simple act and a voice inside of my head telling me this is how it started in the past. I looked a little too deep into such things and I have been keeping myself from looking into this act any deeper. It was a simple act of kindness. A simple thank you. No matter how much I tell myself it meant nothing more I cannot remove the feeling of disappointment. I look deeper and cannot cipher what I want. Maybe she will read into this. Perhaps the writing on the walls will appear and she will read it out clearly. I could pursue my logic until I follow the same path a million times. From what I can tell what I do really want is a friend.

It would be easier if my goals and desires were set in stone so I had something to pursue. Sadly I don’t look that far ahead. Short term goals are simple enough. 1. Survive the Holidays with the family and the possibly meeting of old friends. 2. Survive the loss of social gatherings in large quantity. Learn to enjoy the little I get and treasure the memories until it picks back up again. 3. Work on fixing the things that I can fix and try to not dwell on those I cannot. 4. Gather ones thoughts before speaking or writing. Often people get lose in the translation as my thoughts to not convey into speech in their pure form. Work on reducing the amount of incoherent babble that comes out before intelligence rears its ugly head.

Surviving the holidays with the family should be easy enough. I can just spend less time by reducing the length of the visit or reducing the amount of visits. This would save money and heartache and sorrow. The less I hear the less it would bug me? Perhaps the less I hear the more it would bother me each time? Less time during visits sounds good thought. This would also reduce the chance of meeting up with old friends. The one who I have been avoiding by neither calling or making any attempt to visit. Why do I do such a thing? I wish to not interfere with her life. Also I figure if she needs me she can call me. She knows my number but I doubt she ever will. Perhaps it is time to close that book in my life and set it somewhere dark and secretive where no one will ever open it again. Some things even if they are good are perhaps best forgotten so they do not cast a shadow over future good things. I can delude myself and say Hey she will call me if she needs me. I know though that she does not need me. It was always I needed her. Even if she did need someone I would be close to the last person she would contact. There are many others that she cares more for than me. That is just a fact importunely.

Surviving the loss of social gatherings should be easily overcome by gaining more independence. I need to go out and do things alone and this gives me the prefect opportunity. This gives me the chance to try and meet new people or to learn more about others in the group who are not going to be playing the game. I need to not focus too much of the extra attention on some people though otherwise could scare them off for good. Why does this make me feel quite pathetic. Other option is to give in and start playing the stupid game risking falling into the trap I have feel into in the past. I doubt my will is strong enough to emerge this time.

Working on fixing the things that I can fix and not to dwell is also a tough one. It is often easier to reflect on the impossible tasks ahead instead of focusing on the easier tasks. Reflection on the tougher tasks end up with one doing nothing at all except dreaming. It is usually easier to dream than to do. Simply put I must dream less and focus on reality.

Last of all the gathering of ones thoughts into more comprehensive patterns and groups before I start to speak or write. Heck I doubt that will ever truly happen. I can work at it a little but know that my efforts will be wasted. This would definitely fall under the impossible tasks that are easier to dream about than to actually do. Looking at the past page or so of text proves my point. Perhaps instead it proves my unwillingness to change that part of myself. Who knows? I have decided one thing tonight about what I want. I will leave the rest for another night.

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

Sometimes I find it amazing how quickly time goes by. I could be sitting doing something and get wrapped up in it while never noticing the hours pass by. Suddenly it is close to 3am and I have not even started that which I wanted to complete tonight. So I work now on it. Hoping I can complete within the little time I have left.

She entered the town from the south entrance. Going out to track down some bandits that were rumored to be camped near the town. A few select men and fast horses proved the rumor to be true. A swift sword and good planning allowed justice to be done. The stolen goods were being brought back behind her. They were a good mile or two behind her. The wagons they found laden with stolen goods. Pulled by what remains of the bandit camp. Soon they will be tried and sentence will be passed. Justice will be carried out.

The energy from the previous night’s fight and the feeling of a job well done coursed through her veins. Riding along her stallion she rose through the town up to her family’s house. As she approached the gate a young boy ran towards her to attend to her horse. She dismounted and threw him the reins while heading to the front entrance to the house.

Last night while she was looking through the bandit leaders belongings to find any of the money that was stolen so it could be returned she came across a letter written to the bandit. The letter reviewed a contract or an agreement between the bandit and another person. The bandit would pay out a portion of the loot to this person and that person would offer protection. This letter brought many confusing thoughts to her mind and she wanted to speak with her father. She walked through the entranceway and stopped briefly to throw her cloak on a hook. With a purposeful walk she headed towards her fathers study. The door was closed but she did not stop. She threw the doors open disregarding any politeness. Her father was sitting in a chair reading a book as she entered. He looked up at her with a warmth in his eyes watching his only child follow in his footsteps as a justiciar for the town.

“Ello there Emily. How went the hunt?” Word that she had gathered up a few men and left off to the north had reached him quickly.

“The hunt went well father. A rumor I heard paid off and I caught the bandits that have been attacking people for the past two months.”

“Interesting. I thought the bandit reports in the north were further out. It must be dire times when they dare stay that close to our town. Where in the north did you track them down? The ruins? Near the river? Wait was it along the Do’Sek’s Bluffs?” Interest had appeared in his eyes while he carefully put away the book he was reading. A silk marker stuck out from the middle.

“No I actually caught them near Pearson Crossroads to the south.”

“But you left to the north.” A look of surprise came across his face as if he remembered something important. “I have not heard of many attacks to the south. Are they here in town? I shall have to interrogate them immediately and we shall make sure they see a swift trial.”

“I already have spoken with all the bandits, father. They did not say anything at all. However the leader had this in his personal effects. I figured I would personally give it to you. Let you examine it.” She threw down a piece of paper onto the desk. “It appears they had an agreement with someone high. I did not tell the men anything. Such corruption would spread unrest if it got out too quickly. I will tell you the tale another day. I must go tend to my men. They should be entering the town now. I will see you soon.”

She turned around with a quick snap of her feet and walked out closing the door behind her. As she slowly walked away she thought about the seal on the bottom of the letter. It seemed familiar and she knew who it belonged to. After taking a few steps she quickly turned around and opened the door again to her fathers study. Stopping for a moment in surprise as the truth she did not want to believe was shown in front of her.

In the study on the desk there was a simple candle. Hanging above the candle’s flame was a piece of parchment that was starting to catch. The flame was licking up the sides of it. A look of pleasure was on her fathers face as he watched it burn. A look of horror slowly replaced the pleasure as he realized his daughter was watching.

“They offered me a good amount of money. I had been using that to help our poor and hire more guards. Why are you looking at me like that. I did it for the greater good.”

Emily looked upon this scene realizing the truth that stood out in front of her now. The money her father has been getting and had been using for some good had came from the blood of others.

“The greater good eh. Tell that to those who died during one of those bandit raids. Tell that to the men who I took with me and fell to bring those bandits to justice. For the great good you dare have the audacity to say.” She reached behind her back and grabbed a pair of manacles she kept out of habit. She unhooked them from her jerkin and threw them on the desk. The steel slid slowly across the wood leaving little scratches along it.

“For the greater good then put these on.”

“Emily I cannot do that you know. What would the townsfolk think?” He stood up and took a step back away from the manacles.

“What would the townsfolk say if I tell them what you did and nothing came of it. We are here to serve justice both our law, job, and god dictates that no one is above the law.”

“But I brought peace to this area. I squashed the orc tribes that used to harass travelers. I cut a deal with those bandits because one bandit group in the south reduced the total amount of raids and made the roads safer. I have done so much for this place and for you. This is how you wish to repay me?” He took another step back towards his coat rack.

“You taught me that justice is for both the poor and rich. You also said both uncivilized and civilized people deserve the same amount of justice. Yet you stand here and dare say that after all those years and teachings the law will not apply to you. Who do you think you are?”

“I am your father.”

Emily faltered and stopped for a moment now realizing she had a hand on her sheathed sword and was slowly advancing on her father. She was halfway around the desk when she stopped. Tears filled her eyes as she realized that indeed this was her father. She remembered the cold jail cells and the cries of pain that filled the hallways when she did her time as a guard there. She remembered the crying women as their men were hauled off to the gallows. Even the tears of men as they realized what punishment was awaiting them either in the cell or in the gallows. She lowered her head and looked at the floor watching a few drops fall to the floor.

“Your right you are my father. I’m sorry but I have to follow the law. You taught me that much.”

“Then I am sorry for the both of us.”

He had pulled out his sword and leaped forward to pierce her heart. His words spoken out of love though had given her warning. She turned to the side and the sword glanced off the supple chain mail she wore underneath her jerkin. The tip of the sword still drew a cut along her skin but it did not go deep. She looked up at her fathers eyes and realized what he meant to do. Taking a step back she drew her sword and slashed at his hand hoping to disarm him. He parried her strike with experience and swung again this time aiming for her neck. Her right arm came up instinctively to block but lacking her armed gauntlet she was used to the blade bit into her forearm into the bone. She screamed out in pain causing her father to freeze for a moment. When she regained control she used her right hand to grasp the blade and her left arm to drive the blade into her fathers belly. He tried to pull the blade away. Twisting it and pulling attempting to cut her hand enough the muscles would fail. She gripped it because her life depended on it. Blood spilling down onto the floor in large amounts. Her strength was quickly leaving her but she also felt him weaken. She pushed the blade in at an angle deeper and deeper into him until he released his sword and fell to the floor. She quickly followed him to the floor after throwing his sword across the room. She knelt over him mentally preparing the words she needed for a prayer. She knew she would only get one prayer off but she needed to heal him. All those times she fell as a child and he would help her up and kiss away the pain came to her mind. Tears blurring her vision while blood covered everything it could stick to. She reached to his face to say the prayer and he looked into her eyes. The light in his eyes started to fade and he tried to mumble something. She tried to say the words to heal him but could not. Darkness enveloped both of them.

A fading sun’s light pierced through the window. She found her self surrounded by soft. A fuzzy brown world was all she could see. Except a pinpoint of light shone through a hole and found its way into her eyes. She tried to roll over but a sharp pain in her right arm woke her. She tried to sit up but failed. An old man was sitting on a chair nearby reading a book.

“My dad?”

The old man looked up at her with compassion in his eyes. He set the book down to move closer to her.

“He is dead. I could not save him. We did however find the remains of the parchment. We figured out what happened and healed you the best we could. Your lucky the young captain wanted to personally deliver a report when they got back into town. If he had not found you both you and your father would be sharing the same afterlife together.”

“I wish he would have found me later. I do not know if I can bear the shame of living now.”

“Tisk tisk. You will be alright. It was not your fault he had allowed corruption to grow inside him. Besides the people here need you. They need another justiciar one that they could look up to and set an example for those who struggle against evil.”

“Why would they believe in me? I almost failed. If he had not…..”

“You did not fail though. Love is not a fault. Nor is it a weakness. You have done something few can ever achieve. Many preached it but when the time comes for them they find themselves wanting. You were measured my dear. I have found you to be more than enough.”

“You found me. Who are you? Are you from the council?”

“I am from a council of sorts. I just know that you shall live and I hope you shall uphold the laws in this area for the people.” The old man stood up and a cane appeared out of nowhere. He walked towards the door and opened it.

“Wait a moment. Who, what, where”

The old man appeared to hear nothing as he walked out of the room closing the door behind him. The book on the floor lay there for a moment and she looked over and read the title. ‘The weight of justice’ She pondered for a moment then shook her head. She put her arms to her face and cried as both the pain and the memories filled her up. The tears poured out but the memory still stayed fresh in her mind. When she finally opened her eyes she looked at the hands that killed her father. With hatred and contempt she realized she never wanted to look at those hands again. Though the right one was bandaged up completely she reached over with it until she found her boots on the side of the bed. Pulling a knife from them she held it while pondering the next action. Cutting off her hands would not do as it would take too long and she would pass out before she could finish. Seeing her only option left she quickly thrust it into her left eye and while the pain filled her she stabbed into her right eye screaming out in both pain and rage darkness became her world. The vision of the dagger the last thing she saw as she again passed out.

Years later people would enter the town of Marmauth and marvel at how nice the town was. The lack of crime and seemingly wonderful place out in the middle of a lawless land. They would sometimes question a guard on how the place came to be. All of them would hear the tale of Emily the blind. Justiciar of the town. Who killed her own corrupt father when she found out and he attacked her. Who was blinded by the Gods themselves so she would dish out justice equally and evenly. She at a young age became the woman who lead the town in establishing law around the area for 2 days ride in every direction. One who applied laws to everyone including herself and others who entered the land. One who made peace with an barbarian tribe to the west who respected her as one of their own.

Monday, November 15, 2004

So tonight ends a week of disappointments. I get paid and realize that the amount I pulled in sadly pales in comparison to what I owe. I want to do so much more but funds are lacking. Pondering a part time job of sorts. Who knows. Also tonight marks a night where I censure myself for various reasons that I will keep to myself. Thoughts and feelings that have occurred which trouble me deeply and make me ponder what paths will be chosen during 2005. Family members who make mistakes or screw up royally and I get to hear about it through my mother. I want to be there for my family but often I have to choose either friends or family. If I choose family it involves a monetary expenditure and a small amount of risk both legally and financially if my car breaks down. In the past quite often I have chosen my friends. It bothers me to think that I have turned out like my father. My mother named me after him because I was his first born. Now I wonder if I am living up to the name with my deeds. Though I choose my friends because it is the path of least resistance. it is the easy choice. I should not talk about self-improvement unless this is an aspect I am working on. Either way here is something I wrote that is completely different from my current line of thought. It is removed from anything that has anything to do with me. It is something I wrote because I did not want to write about something else. Sorry.

The warmth of the car fading as I sit in the drivers seat. Looking at the front of my house I notice that there are no lights on. Nor is her car in the driveway. Weird, she is always home before me. She is always there for me when I got off work. I remember the short conversation today during my lunch break that was interrupted by my boss. I had to cut her off in the middle of a heated discussion. It bordered almost an argument. I wonder is she took my having to go the wrong way. Sitting there in my rapidly getting cold car I almost am afraid of going inside the house. What will I find. Will she come home tonight? Should I stay up. So many thoughts fill my mind just off a simple assumption. I guess I should not assume anything. Who knows perhaps she went to the store. I get out of my car mist forming in the air as I breathe. I close the car door and lock it remotely while walking to the doorway. I grasp the knob and it chills my hand as it is cold. I attempt to turn it and find out it is locked. I pull out my keys and shiver a moment as cold sinks deeper into my hand while I insert the key into the door. A turn and it unlocks and opens. I pull my key out and enter the building. I flick a light switch to avoid tripping. The warmth wraps around me as I head into the kitchen. I press the answering machine button while I pass by it still heading towards the kitchen. A day of work and no food leaves me hungry. While I stand there searching the refrigerator for nourishment the answering machine gives me a sad, ‘No New Messages’. I reheat some leftover spaghetti and throw a slice of cheese on top. While its doing its laps in the microwave I wander to the dining table to check if any mail was there. A few bills keep me occupied before a ding informs me that my food is done. I pull it out and eat it while watching the news on TV.

So many different little activities that I do to keep my mind off the topic that concerns me the most. Where was she. Why did she not leave a message on the answering machine? Is she ok? While worry is pushed in back of my mind I gather up my mess and then head into the bedroom. Perhaps I should sleep on the couch so when she returns I will wake up. Perhaps I should leave blankets on the couch so she wont wake me up? That would seem selfish. Ug I will just go to bed and hope she wakes me. While I busy myself in the bathroom I come out and notice a piece of paper on the pillow. I bend down and read it. The words slowly come but as I keep reading it goes quicker. She said that this has all been progressional. Why did I not see it coming. Looks like I am sleeping alone tonight.

Monday, November 08, 2004

So the month of November is national novel writing month. There is a website that is dedicated to it. With a goal to write a novel in a month. Fifty thousand words in a month. That’s a lot of words. To simply take an idea and put it forth with reckless abandon. To write it all out and get it done in a single month. I wanted to try and prepared myself with a story idea but ended up failing in it. I lack the dedication and the discipline. So instead of a novel or even a chapter to said novel you get this. A short message saying sorry nothing to see here continue on. That is sadly not the way I work. I cannot leave people with nothing and it is not like I do not have something to write about it is just that it is not a novel or anyway in relation to a book. Its just another group of random words and thoughts strung together during a late night while I consume caffeine.
“I wont let this build up inside of me.”
Those words are repeated over and over again during the song. Almost as if he is saying it to convince himself. I can picture him sitting in a chair with a guitar playing it with his eyes closed while singing the song. Still though those words pierce into my heart. They burn across my flesh. A hot brand that marks me for all to see. A slave of sorts not to a man or woman but to my feelings and emotional thunderstorms.
“I wont let this build up inside of me”
I say it slowly. Hoping to catch the words hanging in midair. I could repeat it over and over but still I would never be able to achieve it. I reach for my arm and look for the words but they have since disappeared. All the remains is the memory to comfort me while I sleep.

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

Sunday I went to a fetish ball. It wasn’t really a ball more like a gallery so people could put on display their lifestyle or put forth an image of what they wish to be. People dressed up as idols or dreams. Hope put forth by some guys seeking attention or to catch the eye of a woman or another man. Women dressing themselves up to be appealing or mysterious. Sometimes either dress up in very little or they dress up so far the only sight you see of them is their eyes out from under layers of black or white makeup. I went to this with friends who wished to see how the scene was. I had my reasons for going but for the most part I went for observation and for entertainment. The main theme of the night was S&M or Sadism & Masochism. My own history being that I have masochistic tendencies that I keep only to myself nurturing my own inner sadist. So I went along to watch. To observe and see what I found out regarding my two friends and other people in the area. It was a dark and smoky place that brought back memories of the past to my mind. The smoke made my eyes water while the memories made my silent. Sitting in the background watching is a pastime of mine. Ranging from watching people out of the corner of my eye while reading a book or just observing society in general. Storing a bit here and there for future ideas and writing concepts this place gave me lots to use. From a girl wearing nothing more than two leaves carefully glued and a rubber snake to cover her top while a short skirt covered her bottom. To someone wrapped up almost completely in leather leaving everything up to the imagination. The culture of Goth has grown greatly since its humble beginnings. Now its mass marketed and has a chain of stores in the malls everywhere. For a moment I wondered if the S&M culture would also grow like that too. Will we soon be able to buy at Wal-mart a pair of handcuffs complete with a leather whip? Will they have in the toy section ‘Betsy’s First S&M kit?’ How long till it becomes customary to hit your lover playfully with a whip before a passionate session? How long till its out in the open and everyone is doing it on some level or another? While people fake it and gently tap each other to add a bit of spice to those who whip each other and leave welts that disappear in a few days? At the other end of the spectrum you have those who take razorblades and draw lines of blood and pain across their skin so they may enjoy the sensation with their lover in a twist of sin. What draws the line though or will it become an all accepting culture open from one to all. From Billy the boy scout to Sally the local slut. I imagine it is good overall but it still seems sad as it is an end of a time that once existed where such was held privately and the only ones taking part were the two who were sharing the experience.
So I stand there a crowd of people bunched around me. The room was tightly packed so much I was pushed against the corner. Someone near me kept me from poking my head completely around the corner so I stood there watching with one eye. I felt like I was a trespasser onto someone else’s ecstasy. I was felt so dirty not because I was watching an act that is in general looked down upon by Christian society but I felt dirty because I dared to watch something that is private to others. How would someone who practiced S&M feel with me watching there like they were zoo animals waiting for their food. I stood there watching helpless to my own desires. I wanted to leave but I could not remove my eyes from the gentle caresses of leather against the skin. I could not pull away from the look of care that was in the eyes of those wielding the whip. I stood there watching basking in my own filth knowing I should be ashamed for this voyeuristic act. I should be ashamed for not doing it myself. I should have went a go and let someone whip me or whip someone else but the S&M thing is about trust and I sadly do not trust myself nor anyone else at this point. As I watched and my friends looked at me when they were done doing it I wondered if they could see beyond my façade and see the me underneath. I knew though such an act does not make one super powered and they could not but I felt shamed that I came with them and instead of taking part of the whole party I stood back and watched. I felt ashamed I was a trespasser on this culture that embodies trust between two people. I was a voyeur upon their world and instead of taking a step out and say Hey this is part of me too I shrank back and hid behind clouds of smoke and dark lights. So much happened that night so much sensations both inside and out. New things were all around and new things were felt. Like that moment though rather than coming out and say something I hide behind my façade. I will never be a part of such because one cannot trust others fully unless you present real self and remove any masks hiding your heart.
It has been a few days but over the past few days I have been mulling over some thoughts in my head. It is amazing how private ones thoughts really are. With the invention of the Internet and even before then there has been a way to record thoughts in a forum that was public. Before that there was a journal and even before than writings on cave walls. One of the things that amazes me is still what you write down even if it will not get read how censored do you make it. How far does your mind go to prevent everything from spilling out. Even if there was no censor and what you could write down was completely everything sometimes thoughts or dreams do not translate into words. So often I wish I could just scream out everything in my mind that my hands fail to communicate in writing. My mind does not know a language. It does not understand grammar. It is a complex and flowing avalanche that rushed down the mountainside of my psyche until it finally settles into a valley. From there it settles and remains a motionless sculpture long since lost the edge or power it had while it was moving. I do not know the English language. I cannot apply such to the rushing past of words, feelings, thoughts, and sounds. How can my hands using a limited form of communication dare to translate this idea fully. So I must censor. I must filter it out or try to sift through what has settled and pull the picture back out of it. Its either attempt to translate in the mists of the powerful phenomenon. I try so hard but fail so much. Sometimes I think I have achieved something closer but as I step back and remember the scene how it was when it was roaring down the side of my psyche I understand I translated it poorly. Like a child trying to draw a picture of his house I am a child trying to write down a life changing moment and all I have are such simple tools.