Monday, September 11, 2006

I've never been good with sucide letters. At times it strikes a little too close to home to even attempt to write something even if I know it is fictious. However I know I will need one for a character that is wandering around in my head I have been pondering practicing on writing one. Part of me thinks that I would never write such a letter. Instead it would be the volumes of writing I've already done. But eh.. back to the fiction.. How does one write a letter like it? Microsoft word doesn't have a template for it. Do I use the constant past tense for everything though the act wouldn't happen for a few minutes? Do I have the letter set in a future tense? Is it I'm sorry for what I'm going to do or is it I'm sorry for what I did? Perhaps I'm sorry for what I'm doing... Is it third person, first person, or secondhand account? There is probably a Goth webpage out there giving details or is it something that is hidden from public like the proper way of slicing your wrists. Is it something where people think if they don't speak about it then it will never happen? Bah.. Without furher ado and what will probably be the first of many attempts.

Dear Sara…
Know that the time that I’ve known you my days have been bright. You are my star guiding me to a safe place. I know the events that will happen will leave you puzzled. Know what has happened has nothing to do with you. Every time I needed to talk you were there. Those moments I needed to be held you held me. What has happened has been building up for the past several years. My dearest Sara know that I am sorry that this illusion has caused you a lot of pain. It was a comfortable delusion that I was able to almost convince myself was real. I understand what your feelings are and the fact that what I will do or did will cause you lots of pain. I know it is really selfish of me to do this but I want you to understand I was dead 2 years ago. Nothing can change that. I’m sure you will find better but know that you helped make the time together remind me that life can be beautiful. It is just that in the darkness I have to face and be able to live with myself. Nothing you can do can change that. Goodbye my heart. Goodbye my love. Goodbye.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Yet still I try to work at conversation... ug.. Sometimes I hate it.

“Alright you win.”


“You win. I will avoid her because you asked.”

“You said that before already and you broke your word. Why should I believe this?”

“Because you as a friend is worth more than any hope or dream. Also because I know you can use the gun in your bedroom and do not want to find out how well.”

A penny flew through the air barely missing Jeff’s ear.

“I mean it Jeff. Now what was planned today?”

“Mike’s daughter’s 2nd birthday. Both of us are supposed to attend. It is at 4pm. I was gonna go if you want a ride.”

“No thanks Jennifer and I were going to go together. We even bought a gift.”

“Oh Jennifer… How long have you two been together now?” A touch of sarcasm is easily heard from Jeff when he says it.

“2 months asshole.”

“Ouch.. So mean.”

“Yeah you ask that question every time I bring her up. Just get used to the idea of us together.”

“I just can’t get over the idea of an open relationship. Of all the women I’ve dated none of them would’ve ever accepted it. However the lesbian..” A penny flying towards Jeff’s face interrupted him.

“I’m bi.. she is les get it right. The reason why it works is both of us can are lots more mature than you and the idiots you go for.”

“That last girl didn’t seem like an idiot in fact…” Two more pennies went flying towards Jeff’s face again forcing him to take to ducking behind a counter.

“You know what I mean. Besides our gift is something every kid would love.”

“What ya get her?”

“You will find out tonight.”

“No tell me now.. I want to make sure I don’t buy the same thing.”

“You haven’t bought a gift yet?”

“Nope didn’t have any ideas so stalled.”


“Tell me please I don’t want to get the same thing.”

“We got her a Sit-N-Spin.”

“A Sit-N-Spin!” Jeff starts laughing at the idea.

“Yes. There is nothing wrong with a Sit-N-Spin. Why are you laughing? Stop it!”

What started out as a small bit of laughter turns into more.

“No really stop laughing at me. There is nothing wrong with a Sit-N-Spin. What is so funny?”

“The lesbian couple got a young girl a Sit-N-Spin.”


“You two got her a Sit-N-Spin.” Jeff made a crude hand sign and the reality set into Sarah.

“Oh my God. We have to get something different.”

“No don’t worry I don’t think anyone will notice or if they do they will not say anything.”

Both of them broke down laughing at the whole idea, which took a few minutes to compose themselves before they left for various appointments.
Random thoughts.... My theme when I was younger was "Powered by Hate, Designed with Love"

Storing memories like gifts in a secret vault. A special place where they will not be effected by what I am about to do. The horrors I conjure and imagine to create that power that I need. I power myself by hatred. I conjure images and thoughts to make my anger seethe. Powered by hate the alternative fuel of the future. Something we will always have an abundance of. A nonpolluting fuel that exists on nothing more than our own fears and rotten desires. The anger is easy to conjure. My mind is full of those moments I need. However as I grow older I suffer from maturation and I have been leaning towards pity for some of the memories. The anger is getting colder so I hurry to find others to stoke the fire with. Soon I know I will fail and even the most vivid and painful memory will provoke nothing but sadness or pity. What is happening I do not know. I just know the fire is burning out and I require something to keep me going. When I no longer have my anger and hate to fuel off of will I then fall apart. Will I be a nonmoving object sitting around waiting for someone to find me? Like those futuristic movies where cars stand around because the gas has long since run out.
Random stuff....

“Did you feel that?”
“Huh? What?”
“Did you just feel that?”
“What are you talking about?”
“That bump the creak the moment of silence broken by that sound.”
“No I didn’t like most people I was asleep.”
“Shh… listen…”
A long slow creak of wooden floorboards as weight is pressed upon it off in the house is heard.
“Did you hear that!”
“What was it?”
“I think someone is out there.”
“Perhaps it was the wind or something.”
“No the wind isn’t blowing.. Look out the window.”
The window has a picturesque view of tree with the moon in the background. No branches are moving.
“Alright so it wasn’t the wind. I think you’re over reacting.”
“I want you to go check it out.”
“What! I got work in the morning.”
“I won’t feel safe until you check it out.”
“ug.. But sleep”
“and I won’t let you get back to sleep till you check it out.”

“Alright wait here.”
The bed shifted slightly as one body got up off the bed and slowly made its way in the dark to the general area of the door. A drawer opened up in the dresser and a light was produced after some rummaging and a click of a button from the flashlight.
“You stay here. I will be back in a minute.”
The door opened and the light exited the room with the man wielding it.

Monday, January 23, 2006

I am alive. What more could one write about. Some scars have faded the memories have dimmed. The fire that burned inside me and fed on my anger is smouldering. My life has been reduced to a series of moments that are passed by quickly by idle things. I waste my life away playing a game with friends. There is no satisfaction gained from it. There is no healing happening during it. Nothing is getting better. I could dare say things have gotten worse. However they have sunken below the surface. One of my main reasons for never seeking drugs to stabilize me was I was worried what it would do to me. Whats the point of living if your not feeling things as they are? Would we have had a Poe if he was sedated and kept from the things that made him produce such works? I'm not anywhere near as good as Edgar Allen Poe but ... Some point I will produce something that will be the reason for me being alive. It will be something that I will be rememeberd by. Will that happen if I'm sedated? Would that happen if I was wasting away playing some game? Would Virgina Wolff have written Mrs. Dalloway if she had been normal? How long can I maintain a pretense.. How long until it catches upto me? I havn't been writing. I have been keeping myself from getting in that mindset. Often when I sit down and get in the mood to write or when I let myself fall into that feeling of lonlyness bad things happen. As long as I maintain my mindset of being at work and detached I never fall into that position. Unless I fail. Built up weeks, months overcome me and I get hit. So I am alive. I am not better. I could honestly say I'm worse. I'm running from it instead of embracing it or seeking a cure or help. It is going to be a couple of difficult months. Here I come and watch out... Perhaps if I'm lucky an Epiphany will await me when I hang on the edge. Perhaps St. Peter will appear and save me. Perhaps that story that I am bleeding out onto notepaper will form something that will rock the world. Will my legacy be my death? Will it be instead my life? Millions have suffered and thrived why cannot I?