So it ends.  Nothing major just another class of college.  I hope that I pass but even if I didn't pass I hope I have gained enough from it to make it worth while.  While I cannot accurately judge that assessment yet I can hope.  A few complaints on some parts but over all taking online classes has been a good experience.  However for the next class I plan on taking a in person version instead of the online course.  It would be interesting while now allowing me the freedom and flexibility that I currently have with the online classes.  I do not know if I'll keep writing in here.  Maybe the new class Eng 122 will require it too. Time will tell and until then tootles.

Just isn't write.  

One of the things I had hoped going to college would do would be to encourage or get me to write more.  So far it hasn't really happened.  By writing I mean production of fictional content.  Completing class assignments has been difficult enough as I wonder if I have lost my creativity.  Even this blog lacks when you compared it to what I pumped out previously.  My crutch in the past was to use pain as a motivator for writing.  Even when it was self induced through self harm.  Now that I am not depressed nor am I cutting myself the creativity appears to have fled.  Perhaps it never was really mean producing all that,  perhaps it was from the demon attached to my back.  I should be glad to be rid of it as I am content and happy however that does not fit or align with my desire of being a writer.  Now it seems I was looking for an easy crutch or something to help but English Classes has not provided that.  Perhaps I just need more time and effort.  That I do not know.

Book of Morman

So I got to see finally Book of Morman in the theatre.  It made me think about religion and being able to laugh or view satire of something you believe in.  The musical does mock the Morman religion but I think in general it mocks all religions.  You could easily take the story of Joseph Smith and its quirks and compare it to any time in the old testament where God asked his followers to prove their faith.  Yes the plates of gold that no one saw is a odd point but that could be applied to other stories and fables as well.  As one of the songs in the musical covered "Mormans just believe" is a great statement for any follower of faith.  You have to make that initial leap of faith and believe in the religion.  Sure to those who are unable or unwilling to make that leap of faith on the outside it does appear comical or odd but once you make that leap you just believe.

The Church of Jesus Christ and Latter day Saints disliked and publicly disapproved of the musical.  I think instead they should celebrate it.  The same way some Jew's view fiddler on a roof showing a slice of life and idiosyncrasy of their faith I think the Morman church should embrace the musical.  Sure there are moments it mocks and views the things satirically.  However it does correctly show how some bright eyed some religious followers go out and preach the word as if it would solve all the problems.  The word of God doesn't solve all the worlds problems,  it is a guide to show you how you should act and behave while solving problems.  The Bible doesn't cover what to do when you lose health insurance or hundreds of real world problems.  

We are created in God's image and humor is something that is shared among all of mankind.  Sure we all have different flavors of it but everyone appreciates a good joke if they get it.  How can we not view that perhaps our diety also has a sense of humor.  It may be Ironic humor or long story form humor but hey I am sure God can take a joke.  If God can why cannot we.  Laugh at your religion, laugh at yourself, and be able to laugh at the world in general.  Who knows by being able to laugh and perhaps see things a little differently it may strengthen your faith.  For if what you believe in is destroyed by a joke then did you really believe in it?

As one could see from reading the history of this blog I used to write a lot.  Perhaps a lot is not a good way to phrase that.  I used to unleash a flood of words and letters upon a blank canvas that is my monitor.  It was one of my ways of dealing with life and other things.  I think a part of me still associates writing with those darker times in my memory.  Making just blind writing difficult.  There are times that I try to write and I encounter a wall that blocks so much where I can't even come up with anything besides "I cannot come up with anything so I am going to keep repeating this sentence until something appears."  One can wish for sunlight during nighttime but all the wishing will not make it happen.  I wish I could simply write like I did when I was younger.  I know the writings are not that great but writing garbage is better than not writing at all.  However not being depressed is so much better than being able to write regardless of how frustrating it can be for class.

Perception is reality, reality is perception.  If you perceive something like your spouse cheating on you the facts of it being false becomes irrelevant.  I trust my wife with my heart and my life.  I know she would not cheat on me.  Her faithfulness I do not doubt.  I see friends and coworkers struggle with jealously and I wonder if somehow I just did not get that gene?  Perhaps I am the fool or too self assured that my reality is I can trust her.  Until I perceive myself as the fool I guess there is nothing to be worried about.

How do I find someone to interview that ties to my “I believe”.   This is the question I have struggled with for the past few days.  Not many people I know really follow the belief.  The best I can come up with is find someone who is strong and take some of how they react and show how it can be part of my belief.  Perhaps that is the goal to challenge me to find someone who is close and show that I can tie that to something else.  Here goes everything.

It is interesting on how we apply human aspects to mechanical devices.  My TiVo stopped working today and my first thought was a good bye old friend.  Now I'm trying to revive it and thinking of all the shows it introduced me to and the times it allowed my wife and I to share a TV show together without having to worry about the fact it was on when one of us was at work.  I am sure others are as guilty as I am and like me apply it to so many other devices.  Begging my car to start or feeling alone when my friend the smart phone stops working or has no power.  Are we searching for connection and so desperate that we will look everywhere possible but ignore that which is in front of us.  So needy of a friend we consult inanimate objects and apply characteristics to them while ignoring the people around us.  My friend the computer always willing to listen to me even when I'm annoyed with my wife.  Rarely interrupting and willing to take whatever crap I throw at it.  Marry me oh bundle of ones and zero's,  marry me you sexy pile of silicon, marry me for you know me better than anyone else.

In taking an English class I encounter the typical thing in the text book.  It tells you to keep writing and ignore your internal critic.  Its a difficult thing when I do not have necessarily an internal critic.  I am my critic.  Even when the little voice inside says meh it could be better I had often just scrapped the idea.  One month for National Novel Writing Month I started writing a story.  I got to 8,000 words or so before I scrapped it.  It was a good idea about how suicide effects many people around and sometimes it isn't just 1 life that it destroys.  I was rereading part of it as a quick proof read and I realized this story sucked.  I wasted a huge amount of time on it.  I don't have that time to waste anymore.  The textbook tells you to keep writing and even write that you cannot think of anything to write.  Write about your day, breakfast, the color of the walls.  After 10 minutes of writing about nothing what does it accomplish besides wasting time.  I can understand it is a learning exercise in order to get the word flow going but I find writing from muse so much easier and better for content quality.   I could be wrong as I have no books published and these teachers have probably lots of things published or at least fully completed.

It is hard to change habits formed from years of listening to your own ego.

I play role playing games.  Sometimes I even run a Dungeons and Dragons game.  I find it helps me think creatively and work on character interactions.  So when I'm writing a story I may put my friends in the position I have a character in to see if they react the same or differently.  While my friends wont have the same motives it helps me see a different perspective for my fictional characters. At times it is weird because I can throw together a few hundred words on the fly for something random but will struggle when I try writing with a goal.  So much of my writings are pieces put together with a little bit of glue and prayer rather than something I wrote as a single stream.  Perhaps that is how most writers work but I always envisioned it as being set upon by a muse and after a few hours you have 20 pages or so written.  Will classes help me in this?  Yes it would however currently I'm taking just the English 121 class and then 122 it will probably be a year or so before I can do creative writing or have time for it since they do not offer it online.

What does one believe in?

There are probably hundreds of little belief's that fit within your life. It could start as something simple like "No limits"  perhaps even something creative like "Don't be a Dick".  Religion, upbringing, media, and books help form the basic parts but it is self discovery that should lead you to your own creed.  In the journey through life not many ask what you believe and it is usually only actions that speak it.  Sometimes actions are screaming it to the world and other times it is a whisper.  What hinders it is self deception.  We so want to be better than what we are or at least believe we are better than what we are that self deception blocks us from attaining our goal.  Perhaps the best credo/creed could simply be,  "honesty and know thy self".

My wife and I have two cats.  Toku and Yuki are their names.  Yuki is the one I picked because at PetSmart he was an active kitty eager to play around.  Toku is the one my wife picked because she fell for him due to he only has 3 legs.  His left rear is cut off a little bit above where the knee would be.  Toku was a poor little cat that hid and seemed afraid of everyone and everything.  Three years now we still have both cats and there is a lesson in marketing here.

            The general idea of marketing is to sell a product to someone by making them believe their life or job will be better because of it.  You want to appeal to a persons desires.  I desired a cat that was active that I could play around with.  Yuki was those things.  He would chase after a pet mouse and very active at the store.  Once we got him home and settled in suddenly he became a lazy cat wanting nothing more than to sit in a window and sleep.  Toku surprisingly was the more playing cat once he got comfortable with us.  That is marketing in a simple form Yuki sold us on him being something which was not true and Toku who either unwittingly or deviously crafted act sold us on the “Poor sad little kitty with 3 legs”. 

            We are happy with both but sometimes I look and wonder how did I get fooled and end up with a “fancy” lazy cat.

‘Every day is the chance the change the story” A song lyric that I came across when looking for new music.  It is interesting on how this simple line can sum up so much.  Even within the confines of writing it fits perfectly.   It is simple, each day you affect change upon reality.   Made up realitys are not exempt from this either.  That story you write 10 years ago you can revise it so the main character is a diabolical genius instead of the accidental superhero.   While changing a story or bit of writing is much different than changing your life it is often the smallest beginnings that great things spring forth.  Remember all trees massive and tall started off as a single seed.

Please.. Just.. Stay..

Twilight moon a loft
the day long since gone
her touch was so soft
still she is gone

Please the cry I uttered
my heart held out to her
baby don't go I stuttered
out future was upto her

I know her truth and I did not mind.
I knew her heart and she knew mine

Please was the shout
as I tried to keep hold
Love baby is what its about
I could not keep a hold


Tell me, tell me lies
under the moon none will know
I can forget the why's
and still noone will know

I know her truth and I did not mind.
I knew her heart and she knew mine

just stay.. next to me..
just stay.. and youll see..
just stay.. it was ment
to be..

Please.. Just.. Stay..

Twilight moon a loft
the day long since gone
her touch was so soft
still she is gone

Please the cry I uttered
my heart held out to her
baby don't go I stuttered
out future was upto her

I know her truth and I did not mind.
I knew her heart and she knew mine

Please was the shout
as I tried to keep hold
Love baby is what its about
I could not keep a hold


Tell me, tell me lies
under the moon none will know
I can forget the why's
and still noone will know

I know her truth and I did not mind.
I knew her heart and she knew mine

just stay.. next to me..
just stay.. and youll see..
just stay.. it was ment
to be..

.... random words....


There is great power in the phrase “I”. When one is young you learn it early often. Simply take the word I and attach it to something else like Want or Am. Soon “I Want” or “I am” become these powerful yet mystic words to a child. Words hold power. It is nothing truly mystical as you grow older. There is something mystic in communication though. Often it is achieved even if the language is not the same. Could an English teach be a modern shaman. Teaching children and others the phrases to say in order to evoke a new reality or a change?

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.
-Jeff

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


“Alright you win.”

“What?”

“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.”

“Men!”

“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.”

“What?”

“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!”
“Yeah.”
“What was it?”
“um….”
“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.

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?