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

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

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

What does one believe in?

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

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

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

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

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

Please.. Just.. Stay..

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

Please.. Just.. Stay..

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

.... random words....


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

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

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

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


“Alright you win.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“2 months asshole.”

“Ouch.. So mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What ya get her?”

“You will find out tonight.”

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

“You haven’t bought a gift yet?”

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

“Men!”

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

“We got her a Sit-N-Spin.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

Both of them broke down laughing at the whole idea, which took a few minutes to compose themselves before they left for various appointments.

Random thoughts.... My theme when I was younger was "Powered by Hate, Designed with Love"

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

Random stuff....


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

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

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

Something random. As I woke up this morning with a single thought and picture running through my head.

“I slowly traced the scar that curved under her right breast. I looked into her eyes and saw them pleading,
`All I ask is that you don’t try to change me.’ She whispered.”

The young sensitive guy holding his love and realizing that she suffered but wanted him to do nothing. He wanted to be the knight in shining armor and to save her from whatever demons she battled. She asked to be consumed by them instead because it was who she was. To change someone you love and possibly lose that person or to love them for who they are and do nothing.

At times the greatest evil a good man can do is nothing.
.... So after some thought about other things I decided to expand a bit. I think it would make a movitation for another character on his spiral into darkness and depression. Here is a bit I came up with.


The moment started with a kiss. Both reaching for each other at the same time. Eyes closed on both sides as they each lean their head to the side as they each pull the other closer. She leaned to the right. He leaned to the left. A swift thump! As they bump foreheads together. Both of them open their eyes and smile. They start to kiss with their eyes open looking and watching the other. Time passes quickly by as their unsure hands learn the lessons of passion. Clothing is removed while the outside world disappears for them. Soon their universe encompasses the couch and the other person. Nothing more will exist for several hours with these two. Before the shirt comes off she flicks the switch on the lamp so they are in darkness. Groping blindly for the other learning the bumps and curves of the other person. With his explorations he feels a small line on her skin underneath her breasts. Curiosity peaks his mind and he turns on the light. A look of fright is on her face as he gazes upon some scars across her chest. Places hidden normally by a bra. A spiders web that crosses and branches out in several directions. Realization strikes and he quickly ponders why he never realized this before. The years of friendship had never given any signs or had they? Was he daft? He gentle caressed one of the major scars and looked into her eyes questioningly.

`All I ever asked from you is that you don’t try to change me.’ She whispered.
`But this… you’re in pain?’
She reached and placed her hand over his and held it against the scar.
`This is who I am. Every line. Every bit of it. I’m not prefect and you should know that.’
`There is a difference between being prefect and suffering…. Is there something I can do? Is it because of me?’
`No to all of that.’ She still held his hand and brought her left hand up to caress the side of his face.
He pulled back and removed her hand from his face.
`You want me to stand by idly and watch..’
`NO! I don’t want you to watch. I want you to accept this as part of me and to not try and change me.’
`I… I…. I’ll have to think about it.. This is a lot more than I can deal with right now.. ‘
He stood up and the world came in to focus. He grabbed up his cloths and quickly got dressed.
`I’ll give you a call when I get home. I’m sorry but this is difficult.’
Anger flashed in her eyes as she watched him get dressed. She bit back her tongue and let him go. The door was almost shut when the tears came out. She sat there crying wondering what she had lost.

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.