The other night I came up with part of the conversation. The rest of it kinda delevoped along the way. So here is a bit more of Matthew and Tammy's late night event.



I remember her question and I wish I had a witty response for it. The evening slowly coming back in snippits. Amazing what the mind ponders while your riding in a bus. I should be happy as I enjoy my job but I keep thinking about the previous night. I wonder if the conversation coming back to me will distract me for the rest of the evening? I know its definitely distracting now.

"So shall we go down the list?"

"There is a list?"

"Yeah there is...."

"Are you really curious or is this to fill up the time?"

"ouch.. To fill up the time of course.. That way when I forget it wont matter."

"I thought I was the one with the memory problem?"

"Sorry I did not mean that in any mean or cruel way. I do forget thing though."

"No problem. Riding in your car has me on the defensive. Do you race part time or aspire to be a getaway driver?"

"Na.. I am just proud of my 'bird and enjoy driving."

After the initial tension and after I relaxed a bit the conversation lightened up. The stupid but funny comments I barely remember.

"Do you ever wonder?"

"Everyday. Sometimes every hour I question."

"What is it like?"

"I do not remember."

"Haha very funny. How has your family been dealing with it?"

"I do not know. I rarely talk to them. They have their lives to live and deal with and well... They do not feel like my family. I did not even go to Thanksgivings or Christmas last year."

"Sounds like a lonely existence."

"Thanks for the support. Just remember your hanging out with this loser willingly."

"Yeah hopefully noone I know will see me here." I flashed her a hurt look and she smiled back. I knew she was playing.

"How about you? Aside from the car and the removal of 180 pounds of flesh how are you doing?"
"lonely also. My family live in Texas so I rarely visit or really hear from them. So they live their lives and I live mine. Kind of like your life. Except I have memories of getting my butt spanked when I did something stupid."

"Even having those memories would be nice."

"Do you want to be spanked?" She ended the sentence with a giggle and as it sunk into my mind I blushed.

"Well perhaps I should quit on a high note. I have successfully made you blush. Heck I could never do that while you were in the hospital."

"Things are different now. That's why."

"What things are different?"

"Well for one... I can fight back!" I threw an ice cube at her face. She turned up and to the side to avoid it hitting her mouth. Since my aim was horrid it hit under her chin and took a downward route along her neck. Then it slide down her chest under her shirt.

"EEP!!!" She cried out. Now that I remember her little dance as the cold ice cube chilled her I laugh but I remember being worried I upset her while it was happening. The thought made me laugh and I realized some people on the bus were looking at me funny. Since I have already made a scene I might as well enjoy a good laugh.

I was still giggling after I got off the bus at work.

People deal with death in many ways. Some people it crushes them. Others carry on the little troopers. There are those who use it to convince themselves they need to change and make their lives better. Ones who become distraught and overwhelmed with emotion they cease to function. I do not remember how I deal with it. The few ones in my life that have died were never someone that I was really close to. How can one prepare themselves for such? A lifetime in preparation could still fail. Here is one such story.


I can feel my fist shaking. The tremble making it's way down my arm. Until from my elbow down it is all shaking. My fist clenched around it and muscles taunt. The night is still young but I am not. Age has been creeping into my bones and the thought of dying no longer scared me. Today my daughter died and I wept at her deathbed. Millions of dollars spent and still I could not save her. She has had trouble with her heart in the past and we did what we could to get it fixed. She suffered from hypertrophied cardiomyopathy. It is a rare heart condition where your heart stops. We tried everything we could get our hands on. Even some little device that would shock the heart if it stopped. Today it did not work. Today I said goodbye to Tiffany. Tomorrow I will contact our church and cancel arrangements that were made years ago when we first found out about her situation. I being the assistance pastor will be missed when I announce my resignation. If I even announce it. I remember looking at my baby girl her eyes fluttering open for a moment after a doctor performed CPR on her and got her heart started again. She had been clinically dead for several minutes. She looked at me and spoke her final words.

'Heaven is a lie.'

She closed her eyes and they were not able to revive her. The doctor told me hours later that a vessel had been torn. The strain on the heart caused it to stop. Then when they revived her since they did not know there was internal bleeding it caused the heart to stop again after which they were not able to resuscitate her.

The years I have spent in the church devoting my life to God came to me in a rush. The divorce with my wife because she did not agree with how deep my life revolved around God. The years with my daughter spent taking her to various church functions. The late nights spent planning sermons, trips, events, and ..... oh I do not want to think about it anymore. To know if all of it has been for a lie? To know if my baby was speaking the truth. To know for sure that my years were not wasted. I would suffer an eternity for that. I would rather know and suffer than to keep questioning and suffer. I would also be with my baby again. Why did you have to take her? Will you grant me that question when I see you? Will my judgment be so quick? Will you have time to grant me an answer before you cast me out of your sight? God why did you do this to us?

No answer comes from my empty house. All the lights are out. My decision was made hours ago. I just needed to confide in someone. Let my last words to you be, ' I'm sorry'
Goodbye Melissa.

(EDIT So I figured I would add a bit more to what I wrote previously. )

For some reason I just cannot come up with a decent conversation for Matthews and Tammy's visit to Denny's. I keep trying but nothing decent appears in my mind. So I decided for now I am going to glaze over it and only reference it via a dream sequence which will bring forth a desire in Matthew to discover what is in the box which is almost Muholland drive'ish. Either way enjoy..

When I first started recovering the doctor that handled my case would often recommend I keep a journal of sorts. That the brain was a strange device and sometimes it needed to be jumpstarted into remembering things. The plan was that if I wrote down thoughts perhaps something would trigger and I would start regaining lost memories. So I would jot things down randomly for a few months but evuantally set it down and never took it back up. It has been a few years and I plan on writing more. Even as I write this down I stop and glance at previous pages and see where I have written the same thing before. Often it appears I would tell myself that I would write more often and not do so for a length of time. I wonder if I broke promises to myself before in the past? However what caused my sudden renewed interst in writing down my thoughts? Well....

Dreams are wierd. I was dreaming about the time spent with Tammy at a local Denny's. It was almost as if I was watching myself watch myself talking to her. I knew the words that were going to be said and I saw two images of myself. One sitting at the table speaking with her and another me wandering around the table slowly mouthing the words coming out of my mouth. In the back corner of the Denny's though I saw a small glint of light. I kept watching as the witty banter between me and Tammy built up. Every few moments a light would hit the corner of my eye and I would glance over there and I would see a metal box. I do not remember the box from the night and it would seem strange that it would be there to distract me watching me. As the night winded down and both of us were showing signs of being tired we went up to pay the bill. Me being the gentleman paying for her. While I waited for Tammy and myself to take care of the bill I wandered back to the corner to look at the box. It was about 6 inches deep and 1foot by 1 foot. There was a little latch which I slowly turned and lifted up on the top. As I looked inside I saw a small brown package. As I reached down to grab the package red numbers started to glow on it. As I pulled it closer the numbers got bigger but I could not decipher them.

"00:8 ?" As I focused more on it hoping to figure out what it could mean the Denny's disappeared leaving me in a grey room with the red numbers glowing giving an erie feeling to the room. I slowly turned the package around a little to get a different angle and when I had rotated it around it finally became clear to me. It said 8:00. It was then I woke up with my alarm sounding and it sitting in my left hand.

Dreams are wierd.

It still doesn't continue anything just something different. ...

...
I leaned forward so my forehead touched the brick wall. Feeling its cold little ridges against my warm face. I moved my head a little bit to the left and felt it dig into my skin and scratch a bit. The pain coursing through me waking me up more. I slowly pushed myself away from the wall as the cloud that filled my mind thickened and I wobbled a little. I need to not drink as much in the future. Why did I not stop after the beers and the margaritas? Snippets of the evening came back to me and I remembered the reason on why I did not stop drinking. I should have just left. However in my current state the thought that I should not review the depressing thoughts while I am in this condition. I decided to change my line of thinking and figure out more pressing details. Like how did I end up in the alley? I looked down the side of the building towards the street. Now realizing that I am pressed up against the wall again. The cool stone felt wonderful on my face. I need something to focus on. Something to pierce my alcohol induced stupor and find my way home. Not seeing any water around I took a deep breath. I have no idea if this will work I thought as I took a step away from the wall again. I pulled my hand back and punched the stone. Pain shot up through my hand and arm as they caught on fire. I looked down and did not see any fire but some redness in my knuckles. I pulled back again and punched over and over. I didn’t go all out as I did not want to break my hand I just wanted a little bit of pain to wake me up and force me to focus on something other than reminiscing over the evening. After a few seconds I looked down and saw my hand was now dripping with blood. I opened and closed it to make sure it worked and staggered out of the alleyway. I cannot drive so I better call someone and I reached around looking for my phone. Somehow I cannot find it I probably left it inside or it fell out somewhere. I searched for my wallet and pulled out a dollar. Slowly I made my way to a coffee shop. I waked in through the door and was surprised by the little bell chime. The place wasn’t that busy but everyone there looked at me strangely. I walked up to the clerk and hanged him a dollar bill.

`Kan eye get some chang for the phone?’ My speech slurred and I wondered if this was really my voice. It almost felt like I was watching myself in third person somewhat disconnected from myself. He looked at me weirdly and I glanced down. I realized I handed him the bill with my left hand which was covered in blood. I pulled my wallet out and removed a fresh bill and stuffed the bloody one into my coat pocket.

`Hey man do you want some help?’

`No tank you. I just peed some chang for the phone.’

He slid 4 quarters on the counter and I carefully picked them up. Again with my left hand and when I realized this I stood there staring at my bloody hand with some quarters stuck to it. I turned around and started heading outside. There has to be a phone around here somewhere. I staggered down the block and found one. I put in two quarters and it rejected one. Apparently the blood wasn’t helping. The pain had reduced itself to a dull throb and my mind was clouding up again. I dropped my quarters and spent a good amount of time trying to pick them up. When I stood back up I banged my head against the phone box. Which promptly left me on my ass rubbing my head. Again with my left hand. I wish I were ambidextrous. I stood up and put in another quarter then tried to dial a number. I got a disconnected tone and I figure I dialed it wrong. I fished the coins out of the tray and put them in again and dialed another number. As the phone was ringing I was trying to remember whom I called and was going to ask for a ride. A female voice came on the line. Obviously someone who was tired. Somehow I did not recognize who it was.

`Hello?’

`Hay tits me. Sorrie if I woke you up.’

`Don’t worry I was just getting ready for bed you interrupted my reading. How are you doing?’

Suddenly her voice and a moment of clarity hit me. She was the reason why I drank so much tonight. I don’t want her to see me in this state. I should call someone else instead.

`I’m um just wanted to say ello and I forgot what else. I will call you tomorrow instead so you can go to sleep or reading.’ I quickly hung up the phone not waiting for her to respond. Then I put a quarter in to the machine and realized I lost the 4th somewhere. So I hungup the phone and headed back towards the coffee shop. Perhaps they have a bathroom or something to clean me up.
..

Oh yeah I know it doesnt continue the story line I was working on but I will not get any writing done on that tonight.

So I was listening to some music and this song came up. It was a cover done by Limp Bizkit for their Results May Vary CD. Just listening to the song even with the poor cover woke up and brought forth feelings I thought would remain hidden for a good deal longer. I have blue eyes and as I close them I can imagine a knife created of words slowly cutting into my skin. I quickly open my eyes to make sure nothing was really happening but the song kept playing and the words kept digging. I grimace in pain and feel the beginnings of a tear working its way out. My arms shake as I have my fists clenched and muscles strain. I let the song finish hoping for release once it ends I do not know if it will happen. Now I worry the pain is real and I will wake up in the morning covered in words and letters describing my moment. Weird tribal markings across my body in some language long forgotten. The song ends and I am set free a gunshot that rings in my head from another sound file on my computer. It fit together so well I wondered for a moment if it actually happened. So I did a search and found the lyrics. Here I post them for others to read and hopefully avoid the song. I give also a big Fuck you to Pete Townshend for writing it.

Artist : The Who
Lyrics for: Behind Blue Eyes

No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

No one knows what it's like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies

But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be

I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free

No one knows what it's like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you

No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through

But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be

I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free

When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool

If I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
If I shiver, please give me a blanket
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat

No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes

A gunshot is a powerful thing. The sudden crack and blast as both light, sound, and a bullet are set free. Each hurtling away from the barrel. In swimming and racing competitions the gunshot is used to set people free. They hear the shot and burst forth from their starting positions. Throwing themselves towards their destination with almost reckless abandon. Throughout history the gunshot has been used to set people free. Ranging from using it to defend against their oppressors to starting a revolution. In the movies people used it to blast bonds apart to free people. The gun can bring freedom. For one who is chained down by their scars or their fears, doubts, lies, and secrets it also offers freedom. The weight of it in your hands as you contemplate the deed. The metal cold against your skin but you know once it is used it will start to warm up. You just hold it up and pull the trigger. it’s a simple plan. Step one load the weapon. Step two prepare yourself. Step three ????. Step four freedom. No pills, nothing complicated, and no worries about hurting someone else. The last sound you hear will be the crack of freedom setting you free.

Ok I admit I have been slacking over the weekend. But I can definitly say it has been an intersting weekend. Hopefully tonight will continue a bit on the storyline I am working on. Here is where it gets more difficult. I had the begining and I know the ending.. now the middle to connect the two..

This isn't part of the previous story line it is something else I was trying to write about. For those who are truly interested in what is in that package know this post has nothing to do with that story.


A familiar car pulled into the parking lot. I sat in my little booth waiting for her to enter the restaurant. We had agreed to meet here for lunch. I hadn’t been waiting long. Perhaps 5 minutes before her car pulled up. As she got out of the car I watched her walk towards the entrance. The windows were tinted so people inside can see out but you can’t look into the place. I wonder if she knew I was watching her right now? As she approached the greeter saw her and opened the door. Then after she shook off some of the cold and her coat the greeter pointed her in my direction. When she looked at me I stood up and waved. There I waited a bit longer as she came over to the booth. After she sat down I reached inside my coat and pulled out a little item before sitting back down myself. I gave her a small chocolate rose wrapped up in gold foil.

`Its not as sweet as you but I figured you would enjoy.’ I leaned back into the booth as she giggled and slowly unwrapped her little gift.

`So how was your trip down?’ She asked while pulling a small piece of foil that refused to come off with ease.

`It was uneventful. That I am thankful for. Though I do have to admit my visit with you almost makes me sad to leave this place tonight.’

`Almost eh? I wonder what would keep you down here forever.’ She put on a wicked smile and fluttered her eyelashes almost seductively except for the burst of giggling that came forth almost immediately afterwards.

`Well that would easily keep me down here for all eternity. Though I imagine you would get sick and tired of me after a few weeks.’

`Oh perhaps but still… Otherwise how was your visit with your dad?’

`It was entertaining I guess. I went in and told him to call his mom. Also I told him he isn’t forgotten just that there is nothing I can do and he is so far away so I will not visit often or at all.’

`Any idea how long he is locked up till?’

`No idea I don’t even think they have gone to trial yet.’

`Were the drugs his?’

`I doubt it. He never had that much money and was not really the dealer type. Probably was there to spend his paycheck and stock up for a few weeks. He tells me he is innocent and knew nothing of what was going on there but I don’t believe him.’

`Why don’t you?’

`I know him. All these years and the people he hangs out with. Somehow I doubt the cops caught him the one time he was just being an honest citizen.’

`Do you hate him?’

`Na… I do not hate him however most of my memories involving him also includes the police. Heck my earliest memory is them taking him away.’

`Sounds like he wasn’t really there for you…’

`Well don’t get me wrong. He wasn’t the greatest of fathers but I wasn’t the greatest of son either. He wasn’t there for me and I never really had the interest to be there for him. There are quite a few times when he blew me off or spent time with his friends over his family. There are almost the same amount of times when I have done the same to him. When I was younger we were rebuilding an engine for my car and often I would go hangout with friends and didn’t think about it. Also one weekend when we were younger he picked up us kids and took us out to the lake. I got bored after a day and started walking back home. I say we are just about equal.’

`You still seem like your bitter over the whole thing.’

`Yeah I am a little bitter. Its for a lot of things regarding him. Oh well I don’t want to discuss him anymore. How did your date go?’

`It went ok however we didn’t get to finish a conversation.’

`What about if you don’t mind me prying?’

`So far we have been comfortable together and haven’t really taken the next step. We were discussing that a bit over New Years but we never got to finish it.’

`How do you want it to turn out?’

`I don’t know we have been friends for so long that it is almost an all or nothing type of situation. I think it would be nice but he spends too much time taking care of his mother. I don’t know if it will work.’

`You didn’t answer the question.’

`I don’t know how I want it to turn out. Sometimes when we argue we conflict even more. When I am angry with someone I like to discuss it and talk it out. He is one of those who you get into a fight with then he stalks off for a few days and comes back ok. I don’t know if we can have an argument without destroying anything that we have built.’

Half an hour passes by as the conversation switches into idle mode. We both slowly work on some cheesy fries covering other topics like work, friends, news, and books we have read. The waiter came up and took the plate away giving us a funny look as he glanced at the weird smiley face and mouth we made with the ketchup.

`Would you like any pie?’

`um.. Yeah… ‘ I turned and looked at her for a moment. `French silk?’

`Yes.’ She responded.

`Lets get a slice of French silk pie with two forks then and that should be it for the evening.’

`Excellent I will bring that right out.’ The waiter headed back towards the kitchen.

`So you have been single now for 9 months?’

`Yeah doesn’t seem that long ago though doesn’t it?’

`Yeah how is Scott doing?’

`He is doing well, working and such.’

I tried to suppress a small laugh.

`What’s so funny?’

`I was just thinking…’

`Thought I smelled something burning. What were you thinking about?’

`You.’

`You can’t just answer a question like that.’

`Wanna bet?’

`Now your just stalling.’

`No I wasn’t. I was thinking about when I was younger. I remember I was going to make it a point to ask you out and try to start a relationship with you if you were ever single again. Now 9 months have gone by and your still single.’

`Yes I am. Though no clue how things are going to pan out with Mark.’

`Now I do not know how to ask this.’

`What?’

`Well in high school you would ask someone out and start “dating” them. But I take friends out on dates all the time. I cannot think of an appropriate way to ask someone to start a romantic relationship. There should be communication before such is started or so I like to believe. So perhaps the correct question is this.. Would you like to discuss the possibility of me and you?’

`Um I don’t know…’

`Think about it either way. I am not as madly in love with you as I was when I was younger. I have mellowed out over the years. Getting rejected is not going to emotionally crush me. Though I imagine getting a yes would emotionally destroy me. We have been friends for a long time. I don’t remember us ever really getting into an argument but I can imagine it happening. You know what my feelings have been for you over the past 8 years. We know what our bad sides look like and where each of us are coming from. I also know the distance thing is a bit much but hey it is only an hour and half drive. I am willing to do that. However I cannot be the only one. If we do it would be something we would both have to work towards. I do not want to be the only person trying.’

`I understand that…. Though I feel that…..’

The waiter brought out the piece of pie. Perfectly interrupting the conversation then leaving us to pick up the pieces again. A minute of silence went by as we started into the piece. Each of us enjoying the chocolate pie. Each waiting as if daring the other to speak first. It was her that broke the silence.

`I will have to think about it. I do not know either way but it will require some thought. Though we do have a long past together our friendship is not something I want to lose.’

`I understand. I waited 5 years for you to break up with Scott. I waited 1 year for you to finish traveling. Time does not mean that much to me at this point. Also like I said earlier I am do not have as much emotionally invested in it this time. I treasure our friendship but I also keep wondering the big “What if”.’

`Thanks for the pie. I will have to get back to you. Know that the next week I am preparing for a trip to Montana and I am not ignoring you. I will get you an answer back after I ponder it.’

They say that time flies when your having fun. It is rare that I think of my work as work. I get to meet new people and usually there is something fun to do. Either making a new drink for a customer with a special request or watching the bouncers remove a rowdy patron. Today in between mixing a jack and coke for someone and a martini for another I pondered if I used to like going out to clubs before. Still pondering that while I counted up my tips. One hundred twelve dollars pretty good night. As I closed my locker and grabbed my jacket the package sat back there waiting for me. Perhaps I used to be a writer or volunteered reading stories to children. It sat there looking at me as if trying to say, `I knew if I waited you would be back for me.’ Jessica told me she had other plans for tonight so it appears me and my package were going to have a long ride home together.

`So would you like to rent a movie with me tonight?’ Perhaps I was a comedian or the funny guy in my group of friends. Though I doubt humor filled their lives that much. I stood there still looking at the package as if it would actually respond to my question. I was going to just leave it in the locker but since I share with someone in the morning I do not know if it would be there tomorrow.

`I guess your coming back home with me.’ I picked it up and tucked it under my arm as I headed out. Waving goodbye to Nick as he swept up a final time. Late at night there are fewer busses running around. Though there is a stop right near the club the route closes at 9pm so I have to walk 6 blocks to the nearest one. The club is in a good part of town. I know the streets are safe or at least safe enough. Coming out of the club and out of all the noise and lights the silence makes me paranoid. I would strain to hear any little sound and jerk my head towards anything to see what caused it. Was I a paranoid druggie?

While I walked to the stop I felt the package to try and determine what it was. Overall it was a weird shape. Heavier on one side than the other. About 11inches by 8 and almost two inches thick. One side felt like it had a lot more padding and it was heavier. What could it be? While dreaming of possibly items as I walked I caught out of the corner of my eye the bus waiting at the stop. I waved my hands like a madman and started running towards it.

`WAIT!! DON’T GO!!’ I tried to run faster and still missed the bus. Great the next one will be here in an hour. I went to the sign for other routes. Perhaps I can catch another route by walking to a different stop. A quick look on the route listing showed no other late night routes. If this would have happened during the day several stops were nearby. Otherwise it looked like I was going to keep the bench warm for a bit.

Time passes slowly when your waiting on something unseen. I almost wish my clock nearby so I could pass the moments by swinging it time and time again into the concrete. Its not that I hate the clock. I find that time is something abstract and the measurement of time is useless. Why bother worrying over the little things? The doctors said it was a fragment of my previous psyche. From what I can tell through talking to friends and family I used to be concerned about time and dates. Perhaps I was an accountant. I was the end result of evolution. I had a wireless phone, watch, PDA, MP3 player, and a wireless headset for my wireless phone. Why anyone would need a wireless headset for a wireless phone? Was I a showoff? I imagine if I had some way of measuring time the amount of wasted moments sitting there would have seemed even longer. Still though I sat waiting knowing that when the bell on the clock tower down the road rang it would be 15 more minutes. Was I a patient man?

Lights blinded me for a moment as a car pulled up. It was a dark blue car I have no clue what the make or model is. The engine went from a roar to a small deep rumbling the lights turned off as someone got out of it.

`Matthew?’ A shadow spoke in the twilight. The voice seems familiar but I cannot place it.

`Yeah who is there?’

`Its me Tami!’

`Um not pulling up a face sorry its late and I just got off work.’ Might as well been a shadow speaking to me. At least then my confusion would understandable. I hope she isn’t one of my old friends. A year ago I ran into Paul who I hadn’t spoken to in several years. He did not know about my accident and thought I was being mean when I tried telling him. That was an awkward day.

`Oh silly don’t you remember?’ `No I didn’t' I thought but I figured keeping my mouth closed for a moment would be the wiser choice. `I was the nurse who kept teasing you at the hospital. Remember I used to say,' Her voice switched into a mocking tone like she was trying to sound like an old lady. ‘Don’t forget to eat your peas’

Suddenly days filled with friendly banter and a beautiful smile filled my mind. It came back in a rush as I did remember as she was one of the good memories I had gained while I was still struggling to figure out what the heck was going on.

`Ah yes. Now I remember. It has been a while.’

`Its been what 3 years? How are you doing?’

`I am doing ok. Working and just existing.’

`You regain your memories?’

`Nope. You retain your boyfriend?’

`Nope I caught him cheating 2 years ago with a good friend of mine and threw him out. You have not regained a single memory.?’

`Nope still nothing at all. I gave up hope trying to recover them. Though I often wonder what I was like beforehand.’

`Some memories are best forgotten. Lets hope you only regain the good ones. What are you doing out here at this time of the night?’

`Just got off work and missed my bus. Was waiting for the next one to arrive.’

`Oh you still don’t drive?’

`Nope figured once a life time was enough for me. Is this your car you spoke of back then or different car?’

`This is my baby. 1996 Pontiac Firebird with Vortech supercharger on the LT1 V8.… I can tell even without looking that your already rolling your eyes.’

She was right. I know definitely I was never a car person. I remember her telling me about her car when I was still in the hospital. Her talking about the time spent looking for a supercharger that fit her modification RAM Air intake. I drifted off for a moment as I remembered.

`Matthew wake up!’

`Doh sorry I was thinking about your car and you telling me about it back when. So I imagine it got together ok and now runs well.’

`It runs great! Would you like a ride and you can find out for yourself? I recently got the leather seats fixed so the power controls work correctly now.’

`Well being that my bus is still not here and it is a rare moment that I get to ride in such a fancy carriage I would like to take you up on the ride offer.’

`Great hop in and lets go. Would you like to go for coffee somewhere or is there pressing matters to attend to at your residence?’

`Coffee would be great. Nothing pressing at my apartment except a clock that shall be taught its place.’

`Still not comfortable with the measurement of time eh? How are you about handling the new invention called Electricity?’

`Very funny I just find it difficult to accept the measurement of something that really doesn’t exist. Its an entirely sub……’

`Lets talk about this over coffee instead of discussing the illusion of time keeping.’

I opened the car door and climbed in. The leather seat wrapped itself around me as I settled in. Sitting so low to the ground I had difficulty grasping how fast she was going. From the occasional squeals of the tires when she took a corner I knew it was faster than the posted limit.

Light invaded my world. Lying there sleeping dreaming of a place soft and fuzzy and this light would dare to interrupt me. Wait the light has been shining on my face for a while. Then what invaded my sleep?

THUMP THUMP THUMP!

Loud pounding at my front door. So I slowly got up draped with the blanket like a king going out to meet his court. I stumbled through my little apartment trying to separate the real world from the hazy dreamland that still haunted my eyes.

THUMP THUMP THUMP!

`Wait a second!’ my voice sounded a little hoarse but hopefully that will stop the pounding. As I got closer to the door I saw the screen was open and there was the top of a brown hat through the door window. I tried to turn it open but the deadbolt stopped my attempt. Ug why can’t people stop by during the evening. Why so early in the morning. I glanced over to the clock while I turned the deadbolt.

`11:24AM’ the clock said sitting on top of a bookshelf safely out of my immediate reach.. Daring me to challenge its timekeeping abilities.

The door opened slowly as I poked my head through to see who would visit at such an hour. On my doorstep I saw a young man dressed up in all brown and a logo on his chest that said, `UPS’

`Delivery for Matthew Browski.’ He looked at me and in his eyes I could tell that he honestly did not care if I was that person or not. He just wanted to leave the package somewhere so he could get on with his day.

`Braunski, That is me.’ I hated when people didn’t bother to try and pronounce my name correctly. Its not that difficult. Before I could ponder it any further he shoved a clipboard into my hands with one of his fingers pointing to a small line with signature written underneath it. I quickly signed and the clipboard was replaced with the package. It was rather heavy and I almost dropped it. I was going to give out a thanks but the guy was already gone. Masterful he was in his craft of appearing, delivering, and disappearing. I closed the door and threw the deadbolt back into place. Set the package on the couch and headed back to dreamland.

Hours and days passed by in dreamland. Where time is meaningless. What it was all about I do not know but it was good because I woke up again rested and ready to start my day. After my morning ritual I started heading out and noticed the package sitting on the couch. I guess I can open it at work and see what it is there. I grabbed the package and glanced again at the clock to note it said 2:00PM. At times I swear the bar that lists the various radio frequencies curves slightly so it smiles all the time at me.

‘Someday Mr. Time you will get what’s coming to you!’ I sent out the challenge and it did not respond for a few seconds. Then it threw back its gauntlet.

`2:01PM’

Ug if I don’t hurry I will be late to work. I left the house locked and hurried down to the bus stop. Grabbed Local 14 and 20 minutes later arrived at work.

Work was a club where people came to forget their past. Quite a few people worked here because they were trying to start a new and this place did not care about where you came from. It cared if you showed up on time and if you did not steal from it. It was an ok job as I was a bartender and the pay was decent. However I was different from everyone else there. Everyone there was there to escape their past either as a customer or as an employee trying to get back on their feet. I have no past though. 3 years ago I woke up in a hospital room. For two months my world was white and soft with cute little nurses running around fetching me things. I had been apparently driving and was involved in a crash. Then I had staggered into this club where someone dialed 911 for me. While I was in the hospital I was diagnosed with amnesia. The doctors said there was a chance I would recover completely but over the years and visits to my psychiatrist it was determined part of my psyche did not want to be recovered? Something to do with repressed memories or something. It was a waste of money so I quite going. The owner of the club visited once in a while and eventually we became friends. So she hired me as a bartender. From what I heard from family and friends I used to work at a processing plant for computer coders. None of my old friends seemed happy about their job so I never went back there. Though what would I do in front of a computer I have no clue. I doubt I could even type more than 10 words per minute. I wonder if I rambled before? Since the accident I haven’t really kept in touch with my old friends. They seemed like complete strangers and I wonder what was it that I saw or why they hung out with me? Most of them were depressed and moped around filling their lives with useless activities like video games. Why sit inside a house all day when you can go out and experience the world. Needless to say they would always say no to activities I recommended so I stopped asking.

I threw my stuff in my locker and got dressed in my work clothes. No time to daydream today as Tuesdays were often busy because of the rotary club would stop by after their meeting. Hopefully tips go well tonight perhaps I will ask Jessica out for a movie afterwards.

This is something I was working on over the weekend. As I considered how to be a good uncle for my Niece and Nephew. I will probably add more in the future but here is a start.


How to be a good Uncle. An essay of lessons learned in life to avoid mistakes taken by those before me.

Gift Giving.

1. Be considerate of the younger children. If you get a gift for one remember the others. Do not buy a gift for one on their birthday but when the next rolls around forget the other. Also remember that on a rainy day or snowed in day all the kids will be in the house and probably playing with each others toys. So remember the age of the youngest child and try to not get anything that they can choke on or possibly break. For example. My niece turned 7 recently. Since he was born I have been wanting to buy him Lego’s so he could build and play with them. When he was 4, I did not get him any knowing that his youngest sister was only 1. I knew that if I got him Lego’s they could be a hazard for his younger sister. So I waited until he was 7 and bought a batch. Not one of those play sets with premade pieces and instructions just a bucket with lots of random parts. Next year I plan on tripling the collection.

2. Remember that they are still children and will or may not understand about money. I remember when my niece was younger she did not understand that batteries cost money and that without batteries the toy they play with will not work anymore. Suddenly it becomes a motionless paperweight or something to throw at the other child. Often one of the best gifts you can get for the child is not really a gift for them. It is a gift for the parent. Get them a battery recharger and various sized rechargeable batteries of the same brand. This will allow the parent to recharge the batteries as needed to keep the toy functional. When the next year comes around just include another package of the same type of rechargeable batteries as sometimes they wear down with age and wont maintain a charge anymore. This saves the environment and it will ease the cost burden on the parents who would otherwise have to go out and buy batteries when the old ones die. For low income household rechargeable batteries are an option that is outside of their price range.

3. Stick to a budget for each child. This will prevent one getting a new game system while the other gets a little plastic car. Among siblings there is envy. There is the feeling Tommy got the new bike and all I got was this toy truck. There is often competition and rivalry. If you stick to a budget this will help reduce some of it as being an uncle you are never really there so you don’t have to deal with it. The parents though will and the children will also definitely deal with it as many who grew up with brothers or sisters can testify.

4. If you buy a game if you can buy two copies of it. Nothing ruins a child’s day or even a parents day when the child plays with the game. Then suddenly a piece is missing or broke. Have you ever played Mousetrap without the diving board? Candyland missing the INSERT PART HERE!!!. Checkers missing a few pieces. If you can get two copies this gives them a spare set of parts and cards. Also a replacement board incase milk, soda, or water is spilled on the other. Most of the advance games you would not have to worry about. The younger games that have lots of parts are the ones I am talking about. Now I know it can get a little expensive so only do it if you can heck go to a thrift store and buy a copy even if money is that big of an issue. However it will allow the game to give hours of enjoyment even after someone steps and breaks a piece.

5. Remember the sanity of the parents needs to be kept. So unless you do not wish to be welcome at the house or have the kids get in trouble for the gift you give them be reasonable while also looking out for the other rule about remembering the other children’s ages. Getting the eldest a pellet gun at age 10 may seem like a great gift but if there is a younger child there that shares the same room or could have access to it may not be so great. Water guns are another thing. If you get them more and likely they are going to get used in the house and the kids will either be punished or the guns taken away. Running a gift by the parent before you give it to them is a kind thing to do. It will also allow you to find out if they have had that already and know if the parent really does not wish such torture. One year I gave my nephew a squirt gun and his sister a big thing of cotton candy. Then I dropped them back off at their mom’s house and left. I imagine the havoc created was not a good sight to see. Remember why your giving them a gift. Are you doing it because you do not like their mom or day (in my case I did not like their mom and was using the children as a tool) or are you giving it because you want them to enjoy such an item.
On little family outings.

1. Communication with the parents is key. Know before hand the limitations of your niece and nephew. If one of them has an allergy or some disorder educated yourself on it. Know the symptoms of an attack and what to do. If your taking them away from their parents for any amount of time know you are responsible for them. Find out if one of them has had a cold and if your trip out to the park on a spring day may be too much. Know if one of them has a fear of something like water before you do a boat trip. Also find out if the parents restrict access for their kids to certain media. Do they allow them to watch TV? Would they mind if you took their impressionable youth to a church activity that is different from their religion? Do they allow them to see movies rated PG13? Do they care if the show has violence and such in it? Though again you are the uncle and at times you are supposed to spoil the kids going directly against the parents wishes can mean no more visits. It could also mean that future visits will require a parent to come along as they have to make sure your following the rules that they have set. They are the parents and their rules should be followed because if you do not follow them it sets a poor example for the children. Why should they obey when you flaunt them or allow them to break them when your around? Also find out what type of punishments the parents use so you can do the same. Find out if they believe in spanking or other cruel and usual punishments.

2. Remember who’s kids they are and that they are kids. They are not trophies to sit with you nor are they your chance to get revenge on your brother or sister’s childhood. Also they have limitations to both their physical and mental ability. Taking them out water-skiing when they have never been and expecting them to grasp it quickly is too much. Throwing them off at the deep end of the pool without knowing if they can swim is not good. Do the parents mind if you let the kids light off fireworks while they are still young. With my friends going out and trying something new and dangerous is nothing but with kids it could result in injury or death. Never forget they are not your kids and if something happens many people will feel the repercussions for the act. Also kids can tell when they are being used as a trophy. Borrowing your nephew or niece to take to the mall while looking for dates is not good. Overall I guess the main point is you do not use people as tools to get what you want. It is a bad thing to teach to a child when they are young.

3. Set time limits and time frames. If your going to take the kids out and say your going to be gone for an hour be gone for an hour then come back. If anything happens like your going to come back early or arrive late call beforehand. Preferably 10 minutes before hand. This gives the parents time to prepare incase they were doing a puzzle or wrapping gifts. Since parents don’t get a lot of time away from their kids especially during the summer they capitalize on what time they get. Having the kids come back and walk in on them wrapping a birthday gift or the parents doing something else can cause problems. Also if your going to be late then calling ahead and notifying them will reduce worry and let you know if there was something else planned.

4. Compare notes with the parents afterwards. If you learned something new like Billy likes boats and is interested in fishing do the parents mind? This allows the parents to possibly learn something new about their child or perhaps what direction to help steer them in. If the parents are Vegetarian I imagine the thought of fishing is not a good thing. If you noticed something different like Sarah appears to no longer like tomato’s. You know the saying, ‘It takes a village’? Well guess what? Your part of the village and if one side doesn’t know what the other side is doing conflicts that could be easily avoided can be created. Another example is if you took them to a social function like a church picnic that little Billy was interested in hearing bible stories but you kept him away because you know the parents were atheist. Next time you take him out should you avoid religious functions or do the parents mind if the child makes their own decision on what their beliefs are? Also comparing notes will key in the parents possible new interests for the child or possible gift ideas for the holiday season. Your time spent with them is not some secret that only you and the child should keep. The memory will still be there but sharing information and talking about it with the parents will only improve your relationship with all members of the family.

5. Encourage education. When my niece turned 3 I asked her to count to 3. I asked her to tell me how old her brother was. I encourage them to write their names on paper once in a while. If I take them to the store and have a picket full of change I try to have them pay and count out the coins for the person. To others this seems silly but encourage them to learn and then use that knowledge. This also follows under communication in a way. If you find out that Billy has just learned about something then bring it up and ask him about it. Not only will it reinforce what he learned but most kids when young are happy to show off. This I feel is also important if the child is one of many. In a family of brothers and sisters they don’t get the chance to shine. Sometimes even praise is not split up evenly or even given for some things in larger families. Obviously don’t be ridiculous about it and don’t mock the child but still encourage education and give praise where it is due.

Religion

1. Respect the parents desires. No matter how much you either dislike or disagree with them remember they are still the parents. If the parents follow a different church than you then learn a bit about theirs so you don’t give mixed teachings to the child.

2. Instilling belief or the desire for mysticism into a child can be either good or bad. If the parents are not religious and you want to bring the child along to some activity run it by them first. I imagine most parents would not have any disagreement to a church picnic most would have words to say if you were to bring the youth to be baptized. Find out how they plan on raising their child in regards to religion. Personally I believe the child should be raised with neutral teachings that give background and history towards whatever faith the parents have. However leave it open to the child to make their own decision when they get old. Most children cannot even comprehend the idea of life after death. They most likely cannot even understand the whole death part in itself. So blind faith in a deity or order is expecting a lot out of someone young. Taking them though to little things like Midnight Mass, picnics, and other socials where there are other kids and allows them to be in an environment that is both wholesome and safe is “A good thing”. I cannot stress it enough that you should not go against the parents wishes. As the child grows most likely they will rebel anyways against their religious belief. If you force such a rebellion or if you bring it on by introducing them into another theology you chance fracturing the relationship between you and the parents. Which can mean you will no longer be able to visit your niece and nephew. Gently pointing them in the right direction and helping them along as they grow up the child will discover for themselves their path. If it happens to be the same path that you follow in your beliefs then good. If it is their parents or some other path remember religion should be a personal choice. It should not be something forced upon someone. What is the point of following a belief you do not truly believe and you only go through the motions because of pressure from someone else.

So for the new year I decided I would create a livejournal account to go with the 4 blogs I have so far for writing and characters in various games. I want to write 100,000 words for 2005 and so far am on a good start. I am upto 1300 words and so far only written for 2 days. Overall it should be a fun trip I just have to stick to 500 words or more per day and remember to write every day. So if I dont update in here or the other blogs check the LJ account and find out about my exciting life!

So it is a new year and I plan on writing more this year. Over all it should be fun and hopefully I will complete a project or two but I know I will probably start three more seeking to keep myself busy or to encourage myself to write more. Either way hope your new year went well and have fun.

I had a dream the other night. It was a weird dream in terms of what I normally dream. I was a father. I was an actual father conversing with my son about music. He was trying to play a guitar. He wanted to take lessons and for his birthday I bought him and old Fender to start with. He was slightly interested in playing rock music. I remember listening to the local radio station trying to see what he sought that was so alluring to him. I listened trying to understand him but the music the kids listened to was just not my style. I would often turn back to an oldies station where Nirvana, Soundgarden, Metallica, and The Doors played. Knowing the guitar of choice for some of the oldie bands was an old Fender it influenced my decision for what I bought my son. So I had given him my gift and he was strumming it a little trying to gain the feeling for it. I was bringing out some of my old music CD’s and blowing the dust off my stereo. Now a days everything was controlled by streaming from the net so you never needed to actually touch any media. I bought out an old Door’s CD to let him listen to what history says he will repeat. I think in the end he got frustrated with me as I was trying to give him appreciation for music that I loved. I had tried listening to his stuff and didn’t make the connection and now I was hoping we could do the same through this guitar.

Time fast forwarded a few years and I saw in some cases slow motion replay and in others super fast replay me pushing my son away by trying to make his dream what mine for him was. I pushed him away bit by bit each year. Where my father was not there I smothered mine and he went out each night staying out longer and longer until he would not come home for several days. According to my friend who worked for the police dept he was playing late at night in a rough club. I tried to imagine my son playing music for a few hundred other people and them connecting with him through his music like I was trying to do through that guitar. The connection I would never be able to achieve because though we both are the same we are so different. One night I got a tip on where he would be playing and went to the club. It had been 3 days since I had seen my son. It was also the first time I heard myself speak his name. I entered club seeking out son asking people if they knew where Kenneth was. Then I saw him up on stage standing there with the guitar hanging off his shoulders a bent and lit cigarette hanging from his lips leaving a little trail of smoke that weaved between his bangs and his eyes while he looked down to the floor. Occasionally a bit of ash would drop and land on a his hand but he didn’t seem to mind. He was slowly strumming along while someone in the background hidden by the haze would be playing bass. No words came out of his mouth for the music said everything. He was playing a cover of a Door’s song called “The End” I had never felt so proud of my boy and I snuck back out of the club. I was certain he would be ok that we would be ok.

Fast forward through time a bit more. I am an old man now. Hitting my 50’s my son is now 22 and travels around the world playing music for people. When he made it big he asked me what I wanted and I told him I only wanted him to be happy. He gave me a Fender like the one I had given him so long ago. He kept his still and played it during shows. One day while I was sitting in the den playing with the strings trying to learn how to play as I never did have the time or patience for it. I was sitting there trying to pull the first line out of “Light my Fire”. It was then my wife entered the doorway. She never looked so sad before. I went up to her and the tears started falling in her eyes. As she lost control she started yelling at me it was all my fault. Her fists beating against my chest as she blamed me for something I apparently did.

When she calmed down a little she spoke again, ‘You encouraged him and now he’s gone. Its all your fault.’

`What do you mean he is gone?’
`I got a call a minute ago from his girlfriend. He OD’d last night after a show. … they….’ She broke down crying again. We both slumped to the floor holding each other as we mourned the loss of our son. The loss of a dream. The fulfillment of prophecy I had spoken that he was destined to repeat history. I meant that the great songs of the past would help him learn and make new songs for the future. How could I have imagined he would follow the same footsteps as previous musical artists?

I dreamt I lived a life full of troubles and joy. I dreamt I was a man being a father. I dreamt I failed.

This counts as my 101 post total for my 4 blogs. 53,000+ words written over the past 11months. I wonder how much longer I can keep it up. Some posts take a lot more out of me than I would care to admit. Perhaps I should change the name of it to Tears and Blood. Such would be more fitting as these are not just my words but they are my feelings and thoughts. My dreams and nitemares. It is my story retold over and over with different words and different characters. In history thousands of others have told my story and it is nothing orginal. Thousands more will repeat it again in the future because history repeats itself.

I can’t get past this song. The lyrics running through my head in little circles Even when I can get rid of the instruments I still hear the voice speaking to me slowly. As if he is trying to reach across space and time to tell me something. You know those movies where the person receives a message from the future from themselves or someone else and its like, ‘You need to save the future!’ I keep hearing this and it sounds like a warning to me. It triggers several things that I see it applying to. One is a good thing but it could lead into something more and the end result could be even worse than the other.

‘I wont let this build up inside of me ‘

Self delusion allows one to mask someone else’s weaknesses and faults. It also can block your sight when reviewing your own faults. It is even more difficult when you can recognize some of them but others still remain beyond your sight. Sometimes we seek people who are like us in many ways. Once in a while the person you meet is so much alike you it is frightening. It is also tempting as you feel as if you know this person inside and out. What happens when you hate yourself and you meet yourself. It can become a relationship that can only really go one direction.

“I'm a slave and I am a master
No restraints and unchecked collectors
I exist through my need to self-oblige
She is something in me that I despise fine”

So many people fit the description so many of my friends match a little part of me. If I ever was to die I could be easily replaced. It would be a human puzzle. Take a little bit of personal pride from one. Add a touch of strength and conviction from another. Find the low self esteem in each and harvest it. Then a dash of anger and hate wrapped up in a blanket of love and compassion. Shake thoroughly and then bake for 25 years at 140.

“I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me…..
She isn't real
I can't make her real
She isn't real
I can't make her real”

It has always been my fault to place people on pedestals and admire them. Placing them a bit higher and magnifying in my mind their good parts. Ignoring what bad that I can deceive myself about. In the end after so much deceit I no longer recognize the person I had placed up there. They had ceased being real and became an dream that I wanted to come true. Such dreams fall apart easily. Am I someone else’s dream? Have I been placed up higher and when I disappoint them will they delude themselves into thinking something else? I doubt I could ever be such. I could pity the person who would do that with me. For I do not belong on a pedestal. The janitor doomed to clean the hallways of hero’s I am cursed to forever dream.

“I can’t make me real.”

It has been too long. I could almost say it has been impossibly long but mentally I tally up the days and I come to a conclusion. 13 days it has been. 312 hours have passed either in restful sleep or in twisting torment. 18,720 minutes have passed by many leaving me to ponder what has happened. 1,123,200 seconds unaccounted for. Mentally I tally up again what I did during those days. I know I was busy. I know I did something to pass the time by. Still does any of that time matter? I could possibly add up a whole minute and have something that would brighten the darkness of a wasted youth. Wait counted it up again. It would be 10 minutes of time total that were bright and shiny. Small moments that have added up together. Taking by themselves each are small and would mean nothing to most people. Ah… but to me those moments were the bright points the fill up my life. A thousand moments each by themselves could fill a lifetime. Little moments like those which allow me to tally up an otherwise wasted 2 weeks and know that I did receive something. I could not really name what I seek. It is not salvation. It was never redemption. Perhaps what I seek is something close to intimacy.

I often try to not let it build up inside of me. But how can I compete with 13 days. A magical number in itself. How can I compete against the 312 hours that passed by some slowly and others burning like flash paper in darkness? The 18720 minutes tell me that I waited too long and that telling myself that I will not let it build up inside of me is self delusion. It is impossible to change the past. That is what those moments compete against. A lifetime full of those moments but on the other side of the coin. What stops the healing process is I wont allow myself to forget. That hinders the forgiveness. As I remember vividly those memories that will haunt me. I will not forget however nor will I forgive. Denied forgiveness I am stuck in a circular path. Slowly digging deeper into the earth. 6 feet the depth will be and a decision will be made. Either forced or it will be a natural conclusion. It is evolution baby because all endings are the start of a new beginning. Now listen carefully because the chorus is radio friendly and almost catchy…

‘all I have to do is believe
In the things that believe in me
My ends justify my means
As my means will be my end’

According to a website every day 24,000 people die of hunger. In my 13 days 312,000 people died waiting for nourishment. Every hour 1,000 people die. That means every minute 16.6 people die. I wonder if the .6 means they suffer for a minute before the next one comes along to free them from their torture. Every 3.5 seconds another person dies. So by time you finish reading this sentence someone has died. Feels good doesn’t it? What it doesn’t. Too bad because another person has died while I played with your emotions. It doesn’t really feel like anything at the moment. Perhaps you should let it build up inside of you and build up and build up… until you explode into a mushroom cloud of rage.

My ends justify my means. I wonder how many religions have used that in the past? How many people have died because of that phrase? So what is my end? What drives me? That I still do not really know as what I seek is difficult to name. I could probably spend a lifetime trying to decipher it. Actually I kind of am spending a lifetime on it. One spent quickly like burning a field of dry weeds for warmth. I shall be the flame that will burn bright briefly then disappear leaving a cloud of smoke and a scorched land around me. I speak in metaphors. Perhaps replace land with souls and minds of people who knew me. Replace cloud of smoke with clouds of confusion and sorrow. Or just let me butcher the language even further and I could suggest more things to describe it. I seek something close to intimacy.

‘all I have to do is believe
In the things that believe in me
My ends justify my means
As my means will be my end’

Leniency, passion, trust, and compassion? So many words that fill my mind when I consider what my options are. I consider so many different things as I started this to get back in touch with someone who I lost touch with. Someone who I haven’t spoken to in 13 days. Someone who possibly sat in some ethereal realm watching the 312,000 souls pass into the afterlife. Sometimes it takes me 3.5 seconds to breath in deeply. Amazing what those moments add up to. If you met an artist who killed people to create beautiful masterpieces would he still be an artist? If you took someone who forced themselves to listen to sob stories and read sad tales to conjure up the emotions they needed to write that sad song would they be any less talented? If a witchdoctor was able to grasp the passions and feelings from souls of the dead and used them in the beating of his drums that made thousands dance would he not be an artist? Using the tools at ones disposal should not make one any less than what you would be if you used lesser tools. Though placing murder as a tool to gain something is a broad step to take. Taking lives should never be an option but what if they were scheduled to die by execution? What about those doomed to die and wanted to get it over with? What line do you cross or how does one find the line? Nothing is ever really what it seems anyways isn’t it about what ends you achieve. In the history books do they not write about the ends that were achieved? Do they go too much in depth to the tools used or are the tools just a footnote to what changes were created?

‘I have to do is believe
In the things that believe in me
My ends justify my means
As my means will be my end’

I have him conjured in my mind now. We are speaking and I know what his point of view is. It takes so much to reconnect and now I am afraid I will lose this connection. Though its all abstract that which I am writing. Its an illusion, delusion, and confusion. I sit and write random drivel that most people would have stopped after the first paragraph. It would have taken them a minute to decide that I was insane. Though the 16.6 people who died in that time could not be contacted for comment.

Though a flash of a dream or perhaps a vision induced by music I see a doctor leaving a nail inside a poor boy who made the mistake of stepping on it. ‘I think I will leave it in there for a few days. It will build character and teach him a lesson.’ Unnecessary cruelty it screams to me. How much character does one need? If there was a counter that went to 999,999 before it rolled over I would imagine mine rolled over either quite a few times or at least once. If some being has a greater plan for everyone why would such a compassionate being choose a life of pain for someone? How can you love your children and punish them when they are ignorant? Am I being punished or is this my reward?

‘I have to do is believe
In the things that believe in me
My ends justify my means
As my means will be my end’

So I sit there pondering completing a story. Finishing something that I had completed but my computer conspired against me. I was going to finish a story for a character but now as I look it over the reflections looking back at me almost scare me. Previously I never really thought about how much in common I had with this character. Now I look and I wonder if I was writing about myself. Changing only a few things and creating metaphors to hide that which I did not want to say right out. Perhaps I shouldn’t bother as now I think I understand him more. I should look no deeper inside than myself. Though when I utter the phrase, ‘Breathing death and dripping torment out of my hands as I walk’ I do not mean it literally. I probably don’t even mean it at all. I could vision myself achieving that statement. Breathing out a slight growl with my brow furrowed. Eyes still blue but now the kind of ice. Five thick ropy lines of blood dripping down my arm each going down to a finger where they converge into a single blob held together by my will while still dribbling onto the carpet. When I was younger I often said I was powered by Hate. Sadly there are too many types of hate. Its like gasoline. You have the cheap, medium, and premium grades. Premium carries a high cost often associated with its name. You still have to seek it out and usually pay for it anyways because the difference is shown while you start to burn.

‘I have to do is believe
In the things that believe in me
My ends justify my means
As my means will be my end’

I plan on continueing this later on. I have a general idea on where it will go. Hopefully it will work out. Either way enjoy or hate. I plan on adding more tomorrow or tonight. Whenever I get to it. As I now have to sleep.


Lights are bright inside this room. Making even the sunlight outside seem dim in comparison. I stood there for a moment looking into the mirror at my naked body. The fine lines and bits of hair scattered about. Scars on my chest and arms too faint to make anything out but my imagination and memories made up for the lack of detail. ‘Grant me death’ was the plea but never was it given. The execution was stayed as none wished to do the deed. At least no one within my own mind. I now stood there alone. Having found rebirth has made living an addiction. Each moment spent trying to do more than the previous one. Experiencing new things at all times and sharing it with others. Minutes filled with conversations about theology. Hours spent hiking and enjoying the world. Days filled with study and reading trying to grasp a simple yet so complex of an idea. Weeks packed full of conventions and fellowship with fellow believers. Months of talking and words used over and over again. Years if fighting trying to fill my life with something more than what I already had.

Standing there one hand caressing my clean shaven face. It traveled downward along my left shoulder and arm. It followed the path etched upon my soul. It was a short path and memories fill me as I idly traced over a scar that once spelled out ‘Why‘.


It was a dark and rainy night. Mom had tried to put me to bed early tonight. I wanted to stay up and watch TV until daddy came home. So I lay right outside of my bedroom door. Head laying in the hallway so I could watch the TV. I remember cupping my hand over my ears and I could barely pickup the one liners and parts of the punch lines. It wasn’t the words that entertained me. It was the pictures on the TV that moved and the occasional clash of the drums when a joke ended. The funny tricks people or animals would do late at night so others can watch them. I would lay there still as part of the floor. Slowly and mentally pushing further into the floor as to make myself disappear. A few times mom would look in my direction and she would not see me. So I stayed there laying watching TV, silently hoping daddy would come home before I fell asleep. Time passes by differently when your young. To me it passed slowly but to the rest of the world only an hour passed by. The TV show was ending and the jokes were being tallied. People were still laughing when some stomping at the door was heard. I had dozed off a little laying there but now Daddy was home! I silently got up and went back into my room. Barely closing the door so I could peek out and catch when Daddy walked by. I made a plan, on opening it quickly to give him a hug before as he passed by heading to bed. More stomping at the door and the front door opened. It groaned like an old man getting up as it opened slowly. Heavy footsteps sounded as one stomping ones feet on the rug near the door. The slight creak as the large person turns around then the closing of the door. Occasionally a creak in the wall as someone put their hands against it as they balanced themselves. Though I could not see what was happening I could imagine it. Mom welcoming home dad. Typically an argument would ensue but tonight there was a few seconds of silence. I crept towards my door so I could listen in on the conversation. I stood there waiting and holding my breath as it was so loud it could prevent me from hearing everything.

“Where have you been?” Her voice sounded stern and angry. She had work in 5 hours but had stayed up waiting for daddy.
“I was over at Joe’s place with some guys. We were talking about the move the rig could be taking….” His voice was just a little slurred but to it still sounded like dad.
“Why didn’t you call?” Her voice raised a little bit but still controlled as she apparently did not want to wake me. Good she thought I was sleeping.
“I did but the phone was busy.”
“No one has been on the phone all night long.”
“um no I meant someone there was using the phone and I couldn’t call.”
“For 3 hours? Someone was on a call that was so important you could not even call?”
“um It wasn’t my house so I didn’t bother asking.”
“You know what today was. Why did you not bother calling?”
“Um today.. ?”
A crack filled the air. Even without watching I could tell mom had slapped dad hard. I waited wondering what will happen next.
“Ouu….”
“Today was my doctor appointment. Don’t you remember me telling you this?” Her voice was now shaking a little. I can still picture tears in her eyes.
“Oh sorry. The replacement crew was late and we got back late I missed it figured you could handle it ok. How did it go?”
“It went .. You don’t care your just asking now because you will feel guilty otherwise.”
“No really I do care. Martha you’re my life.” Suddenly his voice changed a little. It grew warmer as if he was shaken from whatever was preventing him from grasping the situation. “Though I hangout with the guys now and then you’re the one I want to be with. Lets sit down and tell me how it went. Was the prognosis good or is there some treatment we have to pursue?” A few sounds as they moved to the couch and further away. I could hear crying from her though as she tried to tell how her appointment went.

“I was told it is terminal. They cannot operate due to the closeness of my spine. Even if they could remove it I would have very little chance at survival.”
“We can beat this dear. We will find another doctor to look and examine it. I will take a few days off next week and we will both go.”
“He told me even if they did try to operate the chance of me surviving and not suffering permanent damage or being disabled for the rest of my life was nil.”
“Alright its ok. Don’t worry we will beat this. I will call your work and tell them you wont be in tomorrow.”
“No I need to go. Otherwise the girls will work short and I don’t want them to suffer.”
“But you will suffer. Sometimes you have to put yourself before others.”
“No I cannot. I want you to promise me one thing though.”
“Anything dear you know I will do anything for you.”
“I want you to stop the course of action your on.”
“What?”
“I want you to be a father. I know you are doing exactly what your dad did and it worked fine for you. I want you to be more though. I want you to be the dad that you never had. I want you to be the daddy to Nicholas that he deserves.”
“I will do that not only for you thought but because he is my son and I love him.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise. Now are you sure you don’t want me to call in for you?”
“I will be fine. I want you to find a day to take off work next week and we will go see another doctor then.”
“Alright dear. Remember though I get wrapped up in other things I still love you.”
“and I love you. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Sounds as they got up off the couch and started heading into the hallway forced me back into my bed. I quickly laid down and pretended I was asleep as my dad came in and tucked me in. I remember this memory so vividly because it was the last time I heard my mom. The next day she suffered an aneurysm and died at work. The next few years were tough but my dad was there. Always supportive. Always there when I needed him. He kept his promise to her and was there for me as if trying to make up not being there for her when she needed him.


I put my under cloths on. There was a tradition that I was to cast off my old clothes and present myself to the congregation a new man dressed in white. New clothing to cover up the used body that I inhabited. I read my literature. I memorized the words and I went through the motions seeking an answer. Seeking something to help me find where I can find the answer I kept asking throughout my life. As I pulled the robe around my shoulders the white reminded me of hospital sheets and brought forth another memory.

The years had passed since she passed away. I got involved in sports and just like my father I found out I had legs that could carry me swiftly across the ground. I could almost run on air. I remember dreaming when I was younger about running up into the sky to meet mom. As soon as the coaches found out that I could run I was placed into ever sport program they could fit me. Age 10 it was baseball and football. At 11 a local soccer group tried to form and I got involved in that. At 12, 13, 14, and 15 it was all the same. I would go out for a sport and excel in it. My dad would sit on the sidelines watching and cheering. He would help me train and even bring me along to the oil rigs so I could run around free and during their lunch and other breaks they would take turns throwing a football or hitting a ball out to me for me to run after. Both of us were almost possessed. Trying to be something more than what we really were in hopes it would honor her memory. Being good at sports made me popular in school. Girls would notice me and guys would hangout with me just to be seen. I remember my birthday parties were always full of people I barely knew but didn’t care that much if they were there. I was a rocket ship heading to the stars and if a few people wanted to hang-on I would not mind the extra weight. Every weekend though my dad would be there for the games and would be there after the games.


On the weekdays though when life had to return to normal for a few days before practice again he would go out and drink with friends. I did not mind him going out and leaving me home alone at night. I could take care of myself and he was there for me in so many other ways heck he deserved to go out drinking with his buddies. I remember one night he did not come home. I found this out because he wasn’t in bed in the morning as I made breakfast and headed out to school. When I got home he still had not arrived so I practiced by myself and ended up cooking my own dinner. That night though I got really worried and hoped onto my bike to find him. I rode down the streets until it was dark. The moon full in the sky lighting up the world making an almost eerie twilight. I stopped at a few places he would haunt and his friends places. I rode, and rode for hours on end. When I started out I rode fast pumping my legs hoping to find him before it got really dark out. I kept my legs moving until they started hurting but kept on riding. When the moon was high I figured I should start heading home incase he was there and turned on a street. I was riding on the side of the road and I remember seeing a truck coming down the street.

That is the last thing I remember of that night. I wish I could remembered more. The next memories are of rooms of white and tubes. A silent TV in the background and random faces entering and leaving my field of vision. White sheets, white bowls, beige cups, off white wallpaper, Nurses in light blue dresses and white smocks, white ceilings, and white floors. If I had thought about it back then I bet I could have imagined I was in heaven. There was no pain. There was always this grogginess that filled my mind. People brought me juice and food. All the Jell-O and TV that I could ever want.

I was 16 at the time when I found out my dad had killed himself. He apparently went on a drinking binge at a local bar then bought some more beer and drove out to a remote location. He slept there and came back to keep drinking. When he left the bar the second night he was legally wasted. Even after the crash and several hours at the police dept he was still trashed. They say he drove because he couldn’t even stand up. In the years I had spent with him I never at such a young age realized he still felt guilty over my mom’s death. Then after he hit me and sobered up he found out I may never walk again. He went home and ended his life. I found this out a week after it happened. No one had the heart to tell me.

I wonder what it was like for the nurses who would come in and try to cheer me up to only be confronted by questions of where my daddy was. Questions on if I could still go to the game. I felt no pain from the drugs they pumped into me. How was I to know my knee was now a jigsaw puzzle? It was my grandmother who ended up telling me. The morning before they wheeled me out so I could attend the funeral. It was her who also told me how they figure that nights events happened. It was her who spat on my daddy’s grave and me who slapped her for it. She gave me a look but she said nothing of it. I remember thinking how dare she do that to my daddy after all he had done for me. How dare she?

I lifted a cup of cold water to my lips not to drink but to wet them a little. I still looked in the mirror the metal bracer on my left leg looked out of place. The metal shined and reflected light back at me. A cruel reminder of life sometimes I could almost see a face in the reflection laughing at me. Even now as I look in the mirror at myself. I am all white even my hair as I bleached it a few weeks ago out of boredom. All white except for my blue eyes, red lips, and my shiny reflective metal bracer. The memories came quicker this time around.

Three months of surgery and laying in bed. Faces of people important and not so important would enter my little white world then they would leave. The insurance money from the truck paid for everything that had to do with my injury. My grandmother’s pleading paid for the time and for people to come and visit me. Teenagers are so flighty. You don’t show up for school a few weeks and suddenly your forgotten. I remember wheeling myself into the school one day to pickup some things out of my locker and half the people didn’t recognize me. A few teammates would stop by and say hi. They would quickly leave as if my injury was contagious and they worried they would no longer be able to walk. I wanted to scream at them that I was still me. I wanted to tell them to not take what they had for granite. I wanted to tell them so many things but my anger kept me silent. I doubt my anger helped. I was made on not being able to play football or hangout with them. I was forced to an existence of being bound to a chair and stuck in a room at my grandmothers as she tried to catch my education up. At times I would wake up screaming from a nightmare or from when the pain medication wore off.

A year went by silently. It was then I found out who my friend were. Sadly there was not many of them. I could count them on a single hand and still have room for improvement before expanding to the next hand. They were the last people I expected too. One of them was from the Art class I had taken as I had to focus my energy on something and trying to draw or paint took up a good amount of it. Another was a girl who liked to read. I would approach her with a question about a book, an author, or subject and she could point me in the right direction or warn me what would happen if I pursued the path. These two filled my life up with hope and fun. It was also these two who encouraged me to get a surgery done. I had heard in the news about this new surgery that could help some people walk. It was reconstructive and it was not 100% but it had helped restore others. Being that I had no job I tried pursuing charity and fundraising to cover the costs. In the end the town could only give so much I had to choose between using what was left from the sale of my parents house or the possibility of being able to walk again. Being young I followed the dream.

It took 6 operations 4 pounds of metal though only a few ounces remain inside me now and my family’s savings for me to take three steps. I promptly fell to the floor but I was happy. It was just a step on my path. She was there watching me. My grandmother tried to be supportive but she knew where dreams could take someone. Especially if they were delusions of grandeur. She always told me that self deception was a tool of the devil. I never really understood it but she was older and knew more than I did. Still though I took my first steps and from there proceeded further. A few months later I could take a small walk across the room and into the arms of my girlfriend. Soon I was able to walk to my desk in class and sit down. I could not stand or walk for very long without my brace but still I could walk. There was several years to go before I could run and I would never be able to achieve that which I already had but it was my efforts in trying to recover what I lost. It seemed though that every time I gained something I would lose something else.

It was the summer after I turned 17 that she killed herself. I never really understood why she was so distant and always off in some other place. Her vivid imagination and smile are what attracted me to her. She was found in a bathtub of her own blood. A note written with love to me found in her bedroom. Her daddy apparently loved her differently from other fathers. She could not stand hiding it anymore and was scared I would find out. When I did find out it was apparently too late. When I went over to her house to confront her father it was also too late. The police had hauled him away. When I went to court to look into his eyes as they sentenced him it was also too late as he had either killed himself or was killed in his cell. The paper said he hung himself but there were conflicting reports otherwise. It appeared to start a trend. My being too late. Slowed down by my brace and broken body. When my grandmother passed away that fall it was expected. She was old and the past years did not go by easy for her. She left instructions with a lawyer to make sure I had money for a few years and a place to live. What she did not however leave was instructions for me. I had lost everyone that I cared for and was alone. It was this loneliness that forced me to spit on her grave after we buried her.

Depression is a tough thing to fight. I remember taking pills for the pain in my leg but never could find anything or take enough to stop the pain that existed elsewhere. Sometimes I would take no pills at all and feel nothing but the pain inside my body. Other times I would take so many I would go numb and collapse on the floor, chair, bed, or wherever else I was. I eventually dropped out of school and spent my time at home surfing the internet listening to dark music. The songs of darkness that filled my existence I remember fondly as I caress the scar on my arm. I remember writing “Why” because I wanted to know what I did to deserve this. Other words appeared across my body as I kept asking questions and never got a response. The pain pills would go unused as I wanted to suffer. Perhaps I would suddenly expire from suffering too much. I would push myself to the brink and be ready to accept death but could not do it myself. Anger would then fill my mind as I would be sickened with how weak I was. I would cut further and deeper into my skin to punish myself for not being strong enough to end it. Sometimes intelligence would reemerge from the darkness and I would make sure I would clean my knives and wrap up my cuts to prevent infection. Stories of people getting their arms removed from infection would scare me. I was partially crippled and did not want to be completely disabled. This continued for several months. Long nights full of songs of sorrow. Thousands of droplets as my life and pain was slowly bled out of me. Still each night as I sat there the light would reflect off the blade as it would with my brace. I was a slave to pieces of metal. One that caused me pain and the other that was put in me because of the pain. At times which was which would overlap and I could not disconcert the difference.

Just posted a few links that I wanted to share.


http://johnaugust.com/index.php

http://www.scphillips.com/morse/index.html?http://www.scphillips.com/morse/trans.html

http://www.moonwashedrose.com/

http://www.fadeinmag.com/

tomorrow I will write something and post it.. tonight its too late to do anything.

Wrapping gifts is always annoying. I try to fold the wrapping paper just right so it looks nice. I always apply too much tape. It always seems like I just do not have enough hands to correctly wrap some gifts. Also it means that once I finish wrapping up the gift that’s it. Either they will like it or they will smile and say thanks. There is no turning back once the nametag is written on it and the last piece of tape is applied. Also once it is finished there is no longer any chance for mischief. It seems somewhat final. Like closing a book after reading the last chapter. You read about the problem as it slowly grew. The hero’s valiant search for the treasure or the prefect gift. Their conquest of the creature guarding it. Either they best it with swords, magic, or credit card. Then the trip home and returning to normal life. Then always the short chapter as they try to settle back in as they work around their house. Suddenly the adventure is complete. The gift is chosen. It is then sealed inside a box or just wrapped up. A nametag and a bow complete it as the book is closed. I try to wrap only a few gifts at a time. Otherwise the sudden loss of being able to change my mind can make me panic. So I always leave one or two for the last minute so I know the adventure is not quite over. Soon I will have to journey to faraway lands and search out my prize. Will I find a prince or will I find a new blender in the land of Wal-Mart? What creatures will I have to battle to obtain my prize? Shall it be a snooty cashier or will a dragon leap out from the toy isle and attack me while I am armed with nothing more than a wallet full of debt and monetary promises to a bank? Perhaps tomorrow I will go on about choosing wrapping paper.

I hate cleaning my room. Heck even organizing items as I often get sidetracked. It is just time consuming and since I keep getting sidetracked it often takes longer than it needs to. So many memories and things that I keep with me.

An old box fell to the floor tonight. It spewed open papers across my floor. I put away what I was trying to put in my closet and I bent over to look at what fell. Inside of it had a lot of old papers that I keep for memories. One of the papers was a worn out piece of paper that has been folded, and refolded, and folded, and wrinkled, and mashed, and even has a bit of water damage on it. I remember this piece of paper. I try to stop myself but I cannot. I bend down onto my knees and pick it up off the floor. My hands start to unfold it while my mind screams against the next course of action. My hands have held this piece of paper before many times. My eyes have read it over and over in the past. My mind each time would comprehend the letters and the sentences. The meaning of the letter is simple. Lots of things have happened to me from this letter. My heart was broken over and over again. Fresh memories brought forth to the front to relive in vivid detail. Words that jumble as I try to think of a response to the words long ago spoken. Even now I cannot think of a response. The words get stuck inside my throat as my heart expands and will not let a single breathe escape. I read the letter again. The one sent so many years ago. It was the letter that told me you were not and never will be mind. I read it slowly allowing the words to sink it as I also struggled with myself to prevent the next course of action. In the end I replaced the box on the shelf. The papers refolded and made neat so if I need to retried them I can. I read your letter again today. It made my realize how filtered I am compared to what I was. A sudden burst of emotion and release that I do not get anymore. The intensity of what I felt made everything else pale in comparison. It seemed back then when I did something it was with everything in me. I did not go halfway in the matters of the heart. These days I hold so much back to keep myself from falling apart. I do it to maintain my sanity and to keep me alive. After reading the letter again I wonder if I died that day and now I am just suffering slowly. What is life without loving like you’ve never been hurt? What is loving someone halfway? Why have defenses up to prevent you from being hurt when they prevent you from experiencing it to the fullest?

I read your letter today. It was when you said you could never love me. I read it word for word. I think I can now give a response to it. Though you will never read my response or perhaps even understand it after all these years. I read it over and over watching the tears smudge your writing. It is now that I say goodbye and I hope you can find someone that you can love.

Just something to hold space.