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Monday, December 30, 2013

TEST: You will fail.

This sentence is not real. This one is a bold-faced lie. This sentence knows that it is a sentence. This one laughs at the three previous sentences. This sentence knows the second sentence is a lie. This sentence understands the fifth sentence knows the second sentence is lying, thereby making it true, thereby making it false and reinforcing the beliefs of the third sentence. This sentence understands the sixth sentence only brings us back to the first sentence. This sentence understands the difference between the first and second beginnings. This sentence says, "Redo, not restart." This sentence says the opposite of all the other sentences. This sentence proclaims a sentence on the previous sentence to restart the redone to undo what hasn't happened again. This sentence thinks all other sentences are crazy, thus it has transformed itself into a question instead? This sentence has its period at the end of the month. This sentence; is semicolon-ized. This sentence wishes it was an equation, like the next sentence is. LOVE = HATE = 42 The last sentence was not a sentence, thus sentence 15 is lying, thus only the question is true. This sentence is the final sentence. No it is not. That last sentence is the last sentence. All sentences are true.

Have fun wrapping your mind around that shit. Can you feel my dick fucking your brain?

Saturday, December 28, 2013


Reverse reincarnation completely destroys the possibility of free will. If our past lives took place in the future, our next life will occur in the past, and the past had to have happened exactly as it did down to the most minute detail in order for us to exist right now, then our next life is already lived and irrevocably unalterable. Which means this current life is bound by the same rules. Free Will is an illusion caused by our lacking acumen of our current knowledge of future's past. We only seem to be making choices. The choices have long been made. Or is the tangled unknown yet unalterable web of decisions known as Fate actually what Free Will truly is?

Interesting concept. Scarier that it is theoretically possible. There are particles which move backward in time (as far as we guess) so our past is actually their future. So why not us, too? Could our life-forces/souls/whathaveyous be travelling backward in time at the moment of death? Could explain a few things. Such as the term "loss" in relation to deathly matters. We do not say "released." The energy of a person doesn't feel released or freed at the point of death; it feels lost. We have suffered a loss in the family, not a liberation. Could be the soul moving backward through time. Gone from us with our pitiful time-bound technology. We can not reach into the past corporeally. They left us to start a new life in the past.

Many religions and pseudo-religions speak of a coming together and a oneness at the end of existence. It could be they are unknowingly referencing the Big Bang. Eventually we would travel back to the beginning, to the place from whence we came. We would be as one with all things. A singularity the size of a dime. That is our ultimate fate as living creatures. We are only a facet of this oneness experiencing itself, destined to return. An all seeing eye looking at itself. Immanentizing the Eschaton could simply be refering to the light and heat from the Big Bang. In reverse, it would seem as if if the universe itself was becoming bathed in an ultimate brightness which took all of creation and brought it together into one.

It would also explain the negative position on suicide. It's cheating. Skipping the path to absolution. The universe wants to experience itself. Terminating oneself and therefor a camera of the universe, leaving what could have been, unexperienced, would be considered blasphemy.

Just a random thought. Sorry for the brain-hurt. Have a nice day.

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

For me, trust is total or nonexistent.

I've been thinking. I live my life based on some very simple rules. They insure my safety and happiness in all situations. I am alive today thanks to my code. I was thinking maybe it would be of benefit to others to share a few of them. I don't have them written down and they usually only come to mind when they are pertinent, but I can give it a shot. I can always edit these later and add more as they come to mind.

-Befriend everyone you meet.
Now I'm not saying you have to hang out with them or maintain contact, but be nice and friendly with everyone you encounter. No harm comes from making friends, but burning bridges could lead to lost opportunities. You might be surprised who comes to the rescue in your time of need.

-Never do or say anything you wouldn't want everyone to know.
This one is simple. Practically nothing stays buried. If you do something you don't want certain people to know about, chances are, they'll find out. More importantly, you are blackmailproof. No one has any sort of leverage on you. You can live comfortably and confidently.

-Keep as close to the truth as possible; especially when lying.
Do your best not to lie. It gets confusing after a while. Lie too much and you run the risk of losing touch with yourself. You get so wrapped up in the lies, you can't remember what's real, and that's just no good. Plus, the more you lie, the higher the risk of getting caught. Not to mention the credibility you lose. It's no fun when no one believes a thing you say.

-Reveal as little as possible to others.
One part refers to the last one. An easy way around lying is simply not mentioning a certain event. If someone asks why you weren't answering your phone, for instance, tell them it was turned off. Which is true and totally acceptable. But don't tell them you turned it off because you didn't want anybody calling you while you were masturbating.

The other part is that people love to fill in the gaps with their imagination. Be an enigma and give out only bits about yourself, leaving ample room to be filled in. People are never going to see the real you anyway. They are simply going to create a mental image of who you are in their minds that will be radically skewed to reflect their views on the world. Thereby preserving their way of seeing life, without all the scary things that don't conform to it and frighten them.

-Be skeptical of everything.
We, as humans, are all given the same tools for understanding reality. Just because some lazy asshole accepts what is told to him without questioning, then tries to pass it off onto you as fact, doesn't mean shit. Make them convince you. If they can not, then they are knowledgeable enough on that subject to be opening their fat mouth about it anyway. Take everything with a grain of salt. They may have hidden motives that are unknown to you at this moment.

-Trust completely or not at all.
This has been altered from Trust No One. (and honestly runs the risk of being switched back.) Only when someone has proven their trustworthiness to you many many times over a long period of time should they even be considered as someone you can trust. Nearly everyone is an opportunistic scumbag who seeks their gain even at the price of your ruin. DO NOT FORGET THAT.  Only when someone has gone above and beyond and you feel completely at ease and have tested them thoroughly, should you trust them. And when you do, hide nothing from them. Drop your guard entirely. If you can not do that, then you don't actually trust them.

-Never be the cause of any problem.
This one is simple. Don't start shit. Don't be an asshole. If everybody around you is happy and having fun, don't start pissing everyone off. Don't cause a scene and ruin their good time. Don't be the only motherfucker complaining when everyone else is fine. If a problem exists solely through your actions, then I'm sorry, but you are a fuckhead. If that wasn't clear, picture this: You and your friends sit down and watch a movie. Everyone is enjoying it. Everyone but that one fucking guy on the end who won't shut the fuck up about how he can't stand the flick. Fuck that guy. Don't do that.

-Keep your word always.
Simple. If people trust you, they like you more. If you can be depended upon, you are held in higher esteem. And if you can keep a secret, you'll learn some seriously interesting shit.

-Never stop learning.
Learning is the ultimate cure-all. It betters you in every way. Learn new facts, skills, theories, abilities, concepts, languages, everything and anything you can get your hands on. I could write a book on this one point alone. Do it. Shut up, and do it.

-Trust yourself foremost.
This works on two levels. First, if something doesn't feel right, or doesn't seem right, it usually isn't.

Secondly, (and this applies to my own life) if you feel the random need to do something, do it. I can't tell you how many sticky situations I've avoided by following this rule. Simple things like walking 10feet to my left, turning at a different street than usual, or waiting 5 more minutes, have drastically changed situations for the better and have even saved my life. Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm telepathic or some shit. I don't know. But I do know that randomly I get a weird urge to do something for seemingly no logical reason and some butterfly effect shit happens and that insignificant action has major positive consequences.

-Do not believe anything.
Believing in something limits possibilities and creates bias within your mind.

-Do not disbelieve anything.
What the fuck do you know? Anything could be true. Disbelieving in God is believing God doesn't exist and what the fuck did I just tell you about believing in shit?

-Never do anything you don't want to do.
Our lifetime is all we know of life. Our lifetime is less than nothing in the grand scheme of things. You don't have time to waste. So don't force yourself to sit through anything you don't want for any reason.

-Live life the right way now, and don't worry about the future.
If you're following these rules, (especially the learning one. Really. The learning one. Do it.) then you are already doing all you can possibly do at this moment. You're bettering yourself daily, being a good person, meeting new people, and networking in new ways. Don't worry. You're fine. Everything is going to be alright.

-Do not take anything seriously.
The very concept of life is a ridiculous joke. So laugh. Nothing matters.

-Experience new things whenever possible.
This is similar to the learning one. Always say yes. Never do something twice in the same way. Take a new way home from work. Try a new food. Shop at a different store. Fuck routine. Routine is death.

-Judge for yourself.
A person's recollection of an event is generally less than 20% accurate. (And I'm rounding up) This is why eye-witness testimonies don't mean shit. Then if one person tells another, the accuracy drops even further. By the time it gets to you, it's complete bullshit. Judge by first-hand account or not at all.

-Everyone is equal.
We're all basically built the same. No one has power, authority, or divine knowledge. You give others power over yourself. You submit yourself to authority. And anyone speaking of Truth or God is either deranged or trying to scam you.

-There are no rules.
There aren't. We made up all the rules. From rights, to laws, to social etiquette. Someone just like you came up with all that shit to benefit himself. Those who benefit maintain those rules. They have guns. You do not. If you disobey, they will threaten you with those guns. They are thugs. If you cause too many problems they will shoot you. This is why we follow those rules. We do not wish to be shot. End of story. Not until we find something worth being shot over do we fight the system.

-Money has no value.
It's green paper. That's all. It only has value if you believe it has value. A lot of people have resigned to that belief. It does not make it true.

-You can not own anything.
Soon you will be dead. You will lose all earthly possessions. Everything we have is borrowed. You can not own anything. You are not immortal. One day you will give everything back. So quit hoarding.

-You are already dead.
You are meaningless. You are less than meaningless. You practically do not even exist at all. Remember this.

-Nothing matters.
You're a dead man borrowing things for a time that is basically over before it began. In 200 hundred years, no one will know you ever lived. Relax, everything is pointless.

This is a wonderful place we live in. Experience it while you can.

That's it for now. I always seem to remember more when trying to make a list of them. I feel as if I have only just started naming them. I guess there are more than I realized. Oh well. I'm going to bed now. Goodnight. Be well.

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Why Are You Such A Stupid Asshole? Do You Really Want To Know?

James Maldano was 36, single, and lazy. He lived in a small studio apartment with his cat, Henry. He worked a pointless job, making hardly any money, most of which went to beer and pot. He liked videogames and crosswords. In short, he was a nobody. Not until he won the lottery did anybody give one shit about him. Suddenly, he was skyrocketed up the social ladder. Everybody wanted to be his friend, but more importantly, everyone wanted his money. He became sick of it all. He thought to himself, "How do rich people do it? I can't stand this incessant pandering."

So he decided he would join the financial elite and ask them. His attempts to penetrate the social circles of the rich and influential failed miserably. They wanted nothing to do with a boorish nouveau riche simpleton like himself. When he drew near them, they would start speaking French and laugh at him. He didn't fit in anywhere.

Still, he persisted. One night, after dinner, some of the rich folk were in the smoking room having a conversation about our Mr. Maldano. He was becoming intolerable to them. They decided that if he was going to be such a kissass, they might as well use it to their advantage. Possibly, they can use him as a whipping boy, which might be fun. And maybe they could even hammer in some manners into the idiot. They would invite him to their next Federation of American Gastronomers meeting and see how he fared.

When the invitation came, James was elated. It was printed on fancy paper with lots of swirly letters. It even smelled fancy. The day of the party, James put on his most expensive clothes and headed over to the country club. Finally, he was going to learn their well kept secrets.

After the valet parked his ferrari with the others, he was ushered into a grand hall. He looked around and something dawned on him. No one here was eating. He checked the tables, but all they held was water and wine. He asked where the food was. This is a foodie club afterall. They told him to wait. It was still being prepared and would be brought out soon. He asked what type of things they'd be eating. "Only the best and rarest things, to be sure." was the response of the man standing next to him. He introduced himself as Walter Pemrose, an astrological financier. Walter explained, " Tonight we will be having a very rare delicacy indeed. Something only the richest of the rich can afford."

10 minutes later, a great set of doors in the back of the hall opened. Someone shouted, "Take your places! The meal is about to be served!" You can imagine the shock when, through the doors, marched a parade of naked men. Weirder still, each one of them had massive throbbing hard-ons. James did not know what to do. Sure, rich people are weird, but why would they have naked men serve their meal? And why do they all have giant boners? AND WHERE'S THE FOOD?

James watched in complete astonishment as the nude men proceeded to hop up onto the tables and start whacking off. He thought he was being fucked with, and started to laugh to himself. Rich people sure know how to pull a prank. That was until the first man took a wine glass, walked up to the table, and filled it with fresh warm jizzum. He rolled it around in his glass. He admired to bouquet, then drank. James almost shit himself. What the fuck is wrong with rich people?!

He stood frozen as it was explained that the man who just spewed his load into a wine glass was fed on nothing but asparagus for weeks, producing a powerfully rich flavor, and was "milked" repeatedly for the first few days, then was required to save up for the event. He was softly massaged since 8 this morning. This was the process which yielded the greatest volume, and the preferred method of true gastronomers.

Walter returned to James' side as soon as he noticed the look on his face. "Mr. Maldano." he said "What exactly is the matter?"

James replies flatly, "This is the gayest thing I have ever seen."

"How dare you?" exclaims Walter. "There is nothing homosexual about this."

James looks him dead in the eye and says, "There is everything homosexual about this. Now I'm going home. I'm not about to swallow a glass of splooge with you and your cronies."

James could hear Walter yelling, "We are connoisseurs of exotic flavors! If you're going to think so basely, then get out and never come back! You'll never be one of us!" as he strode out the front doors and asked the valet for his car.

"Fuck everyone." thought James as he cruised along the highway. "I'm going to buy a cabin in the middle of nowhere and never speak to another person again for as long as I live."

Friday, December 20, 2013

I'll grab you by the hair and cut your whole body off.

There are 2 kinds of intellectuals. Type A and Type B.

Type A intellectuals are the ones who flaunt their thinking muscle in front of others as much as possible. They're showoffs and braggarts. They can be highly intelligent or fairly intelligent. It does not matter. They are the type to bring up random information for no discernible reason other than to boost their own ego. They are constantly telling everyone in earshot about what they've just learned or are currently learning. They make others feel bad with their knowledge. They use it as a weapon to put others down. They're full of themselves, total narcissists. They can vary in demeanor. You have the Arrogant, the Faux-Teacher, the Encyclopedia, the Helper, the Asshole, the Prick, the One-Upper, and the Bully.

The Arrogant is the one who thinks he's better than everyone else. The one who thinks he has no enemies. The one that believes everyone looks up to him because he's obviously smarter than everyone. Challenge his ego and beware. He absolutely refuses to see the truth. The Arrogants are profoundly annoying. If possible, they are best ignored.

The Faux-Teacher is the asshole who acts like a knowitall under the guise of spreading knowledge. Whenever he spews an unnecessary amount of information out in public, it's not because he's trying to put everyone down, it's because he wants to teach everyone something new, or so he says. Don't let these pricks fool you. Even if no one is paying attention, cares, or even if they already know the information, the Faux-Teacher will continue talking. They are best avoided or confronted very very bluntly. Tell them to shut the fuck up and be on your way. Do not indulge them.

The Encyclopedia is the fucker who knows a bit about everything. They aren't so bad, but they still suck. These are the bastards who constantly regurgitate tiny facts on every topic and object nearby. You can't talk to them about anything or take them anywhere because they consistently derail the conversation with bits of knowledge no one gives a fuck about. If that doesn't bother you, they can be okay as casual friends.

The Helper is the little shit who gives you way too much information whenever you need a simple answer. There is no such thing as a simple answer for them. You ask for the name of a movie and you'll get the entire biography of the director, the full names of all cast and crew, actor bios, and related films. Dealing with them is simple, do not ask them questions; ever.

The Asshole is very similar to the Arrogant, except the Asshole is way more intense. Everyone hates the Asshole. He believes it is because they are jealous, or joking. But no, everyone hates the fucking Asshole. The protection around his ego is indestructible. Unless you are prepared for a long, bloody war, give up and walk away. It's not worth it. Anything you say or do will only fuel their ego.

The Prick saves his bullshit until the worst possible time. He lives to put others down. He has no delusions about himself. He owns it. He is smart and he openly loves to make people feel stupid. He's a contemptible character, but at least he is honest. Advice: deal with it.

The One-Upper always feels challenged. He suffers from a compulsion to always prove his intelligence. If someone says anything remotely smart, expect a new piece of knowledge from the face-hole of this douche. Negative conditioning works well with them. Whenever they one-up someone, reprimand them or give them a disapproving look. When they understand what they're doing, praise them for holding their tongue. This generally works, especially if you are someone they care about, and are gentle with them. They can be great friends.

The Bully also has no delusions about himself. He hates everyone who doesn't know every bit of knowledge he knows and will not be shy to show it. He is aggressive and angry. The more intelligent the Bully is, the more of a fuckhead he is. Kick this guy's ass.

These are some, but not all of the kinds of people who use the gift of intelligence wrongly. They use intellect to make those around them feel stupid.

Type B on the other hand, use intelligence to legitimately help those around them. Others feel smarter and more capable around Type B. They spread knowledge where it is needed. You may not even realize a Type B is an intelligent person for some time. Their intellect shows itself in much more subtle ways. The very smart and the very dumb usually recognize them more quickly than most. Their aim is to help. They can be nice and they can be mean. They can do things in ways that are nearly imperceptible. They generally prefer to pull strings and covertly test others. They use their intelligence, but not obviously. There are as many varieties of Type B as Type A, but I am tired. Perhaps I will go into that later.

The main point here, is Type A spreads stupidity with intellect, while Type B spreads understanding with intellect. Recognize the difference and save yourself from some heartache.

Monday, December 16, 2013

Gimme Your Biggest Strongest Cheapest Drink

I don't feel like saying shit! Here, read this next thing in a cheesy olden time radio newspaperman voice!

Story or whatever


Eccentric billionaire couple Anthony and Patricia Time have gone missing when their 
private jet disappeared over the Bermuda Triangle. The Times took off from JFK at 8 AM 
this Tuesday never to be heard from again!

Sole heir to their incredible fortune is their only son, Justin.

Friday, December 13, 2013


When I was young I developed quire a strange habit. You see, as a child, I was very open-minded. I would try just about anything and liked most of what I tried. The problem was that most of my contemporaries abhorred anything new or different. A good example is food choices. I've always loved food, all food. So when we were having chicken nuggets for dinner, I was excited like every other kid. (Yay! Chicken nuggets!) When we had something out of the ordinary, like seafood, I was still excited. (Yay! Seafood!)

Most kids didn't think that way. They'd make faces and refuse to eat new things. So an unwanted pattern developed. Whenever an adult noticed I liked something strange that they liked, they would obsess over it. In their mind, broccoli rabe, pickles, scallops, or whatever instantly became my favorite food item because I tried it and liked it that one time. So every conversation with them became the same shit. "Hey Anthony, I got some broccoli rabe yesterday and saved some in the fridge just for you because I know how much you love it." "They have scallops on the menu. Well I know what Anthony's going to order." Hey Ant, come over here. I have something special for you. It's a pickle. Your favorite."

None of that shit was my favorite food! I liked it, yeah, but not all the fucking time! It became the sole topic of discussion whenever I was around those people. They would talk of nothing else and never fail to bring it up whenever I crossed their field of vision. This would lead to me eventually hating that person and that food/band/color.

And it still hasn't fucking stopped! I know what I fucking like! Shut the fuck up already! Did you think that maybe I forgot that I liked The Misfits and needed you to constantly remind me by throwing up the devil horns and screaming, "JERRY ONLY!!!!" in my face every time you see me? What the fuck?! Really?!

The worst part of it all is that I love a lot of different things and know tons of people from all over. So each little group focuses on one aspect of my personality and drives it into the ground. There are people who only talk to me about books. Whenever they read a new book, whenever I read a new book, whenever there are books within 50 feet of us, I have to hear about it. Other subjects of irritation: cult movies, horror movies, sci-fi movies, punk music, psychobilly, drums, cassette tapes, black clothes, craft beer, cats, videogames, skateboarding, Japanese jazz, coffee, hating other people, food of all varieties, that one band no one else you know has ever heard of, my hot friends, hardcore music, baking, my job, poetry, writing, and I've barely scratched the surface.

It's gotten to the point where I can pin down exactly when and where you know me from based on the nickname you called me by, and the first subject you bring up. Fuck memory! If you walk up to me, call me Weasel, and ask if I still like CKY, then hi, we went to highschool together. We met sometime in 2004 or 5, and you hung out with the skateboarders. Great to see you again, asshole! Now, fuck off please!

Did I mention that I don't care about anyone? If you don't know me now, there's a reason. Go away. I could care less that you knew of me once.

Is that mean? Is that wrong? Why am I expected to give a damn about anything and everything? If someone walked up to you, knew your name, and wanted to talk about the proper way to fold your laundry, would you give a fuck? Or would you wish that person would stop so you can just go away? Most of you will probably sit through that boring lecture about something you don't care about from someone you hardly know. I won't. If I want to fucking leave I'm going to get up and go. Deal with it.


If a tree falls in the woods, lands on, and kills the only man near enough to hear it, does his death make a sound?

Thursday, December 12, 2013



My heart began to race. My chest began to hurt. It felt as if the floor dropped out from under me and suddenly I didn't know where I was or what I was doing. It became extremely difficult to keep my balance. I felt cold, but was sweating profusely by this point. My hands proceeded to tremble as my stomach heaved. I thought, "This is it. I am going to die." It felt funny, so unexpected. There was still so much left undone, still so many many years left to live.

The feeling continued. I felt the beginnings of a headache. I felt a very sharp, piercing pain under my left arm. I knew it was the end. At any moment I would at last know the unknowable. I had trouble moving. I just stood there breathing, wondering which breath would be my last. When, suddenly, the feeling disappeared.

And I felt...


Tuesday, December 10, 2013

I almost cried today

but I didn't. It's been over 2 years since last I did. I don't plan on doing that any time soon. I'm not that down yet. You can't break me that easily.

I was just sitting there thinking. Thinking about all the fucked up shit I not only survived, but conquered. Thinking about how I've always been betrayed by those I loved most. Thinking about how it was the one's I thought I could always count on that left me up shit-creek without a paddle. Thinking about how situations which I had no involvement in whatsoever, somehow blew up in my face and left me with another few thousand in losses. I'm cold. I do not have heat. I work over 70 hours a week just to weather the blows I've received this past few years. I have close to nothing, and what I do have is defective and falling apart. I'm close with no one. I am alone. My dreams fade with each passing day. My hope dies with each passing hour. You know you hate your life when you constantly daydream of suicide...

But still, this world can lick my hairy crack! Is that all you got?! It's going to take a lot more than that to take me down. Bring it, world! You have no clue just who you're fucking with. Not only will I not be knocked down, but I'm going to break free of this hell! Even with insignificant amounts of free time, when I'm weary and unmotivated, I still get down to business on my plans to get out of here.

One day I'm going to look back and curse these sorry days. Don't worry, you won't miss it. I'll be broadcast into all of your homes. And on that day, you'll see me with my shit-eating grin, and know that you failed.

I feel better now.

My latest literary project has me a bit overwhelmed at the moment. In my head, it seems simple enough, but when I try to write it down, just the basic outline, it gets convoluted and confusing. I must admit, I am an idea man. I can come up with endless concepts, premises, and myth. The actual translation to paper is where I have the most difficulty. I can talk and explain the whole thing to you effortlessly, but something about the actual, physical product seems insufficient. I'm not very diligent. I would do best working with a team, but there is no team, just me. So I must make do with what I can manage alone. Instead of one massive novel. I have decided to split it up into separate books. The books will seem completely unrelated but they will, in fact, be telling one grand story that reaches across all of time and space. It will be the product of my trying to understand everything. It will essentially be my answer to the greatest question of all: Why are we here?

If you follow any train of logic long enough, things get weird. My search for purpose has been the main focus of my life. I do not believe or disbelieve anything. Each perspective will be represented. For instance, one perspective isn't the Christian perspective. That would imply that all Christians have the same perspective. In actuality, things aren't so clear-cut. People interpret things individually. There are different levels of belief, different takes on the gospel, and different sources referenced. Not only that, but there are innumerable circumstances in our life which affect our belief systems. You must recognize how each person sees their own universe and somehow fuse all of this into one mythos. How to present such a thing?

My one big question for myself is: Have I learned enough to not completely fuck this up?


For as long as he can remember, people have told James he was good for nothing. They told him to get his head out of the clouds. They said only a select few will ever become rich and famous. That he should stop trying for something that wasn't going to happen and focus on what was in front of him now.
    James did not take this advice. Now he sits in his office on the top floor of the 80 story skyscraper that bears his name and laughs to himself at these memories. He never gave up. Not even when, good-naturedly, everyone told him to. He let nothing stand in his path and now he has everything. His loving wife graces the covers of scientific and beauty magazines both. His net worth is astronomical. He's traveled the world over countless times. He speaks 18 languages and his art is priceless.
    He sits with a cigar in one hand and a glass of bourbon in the other. Life is as good as it is ever going to get. There are no more obstacles in his path... and he's bored. He's been bored for quite some time, because even with everything, he's still human, and he still wants more.

Saturday, December 7, 2013

Why is it so hard to find...

a nice sweet girl who looks like she just crawled out from a tomb, hates everyone and everything, reads excessively, and wants to run away with me to live together in a cave deep in the woods where we will argue about the meaning of death, have obscene amounts of sex, and sustain ourselves on small children we lure into the woods with sweet music, then capture and devour?

I know, right?

So this little project here is going very well. I like to write. I would like people who are interested in reading my mind poop to have the ability to do so. I need practice and this is just that. It's a brainstorming/practice space for my literary mind. I hope you are all enjoying it. It makes me glad to see the pageviews swell. So thanks for the ego boost. Although, based on the content of my work, I'm forced to wonder just what the hell is wrong with you. I mean, what kind of person would regularly read this nonsense? You probably have issues. Just saying. But it's okay, I still like you. Thanks for reading, ya little screwballs.

Lately, I've been really into the sound of gross. If you want to know what I mean, just go on youtube and look up The Monsters, Stitch Hopeless and the Sea Legs, or Banane Metalik. Or click this

I'll be uploading some songs I did when I was bored soon under the name Selfdefeater. I'll post a link when that happens. I have some crap online already if you didn't know. I'll include some of those tracks on the Selfdefeater bandcamp page. You can check those out here


That's it. No story or anything. Just a message from me to you. We don't talk enough.

Friday, December 6, 2013

I Didn't Used To Be This Pissed Off

But the stupidity of the world around me changed that real quick.

When I was a child, I was always extremely curious. I never had much interest in people, but the world... the world was a wondrous place. It was so beautiful and so full of mystery. My parents thought I might be a little retarded at first because I never paid much attention to humans. I didn't speak my first words early, and I always had this big dumb, wide-eyed look on my face. I wasn't brain damaged, I was just in awe of this world. Humans kept getting in between me and it. No, I wasn't dumb, I just didn't give one single fuck about people.

I developed the habit very early of wondering why, but not vocally asking why. I believe this is the true meaning of "QUESTION EVERYTHING." I would see other dumb monkeys asking the bigger, yet equally dumb, monkeys why things were. At this point, I had already been asking myself these questions, and was starting to get a good idea of the answer. So I'd eavesdrop a bit, and everytime, I would hear the most inane bunch of horseshit. There was no way in fuck these answers were even remotely correct. Don't fucking tell children this garbage! But they did, and I shut out the world of people even more.

Grown-ups had the most ridiculous  responses when I prompted them with a question. Either they would blatantly shoot me down with remarks like, "You're too young to be thinking about that." or "becuase it is." "Because it is" is no fucking way to answer any question ever! I would hear people give me answers like that and I would wish I was bigger so I could kick their fuckin ass. Or they would simply ignore me.

Early on I could already see that I was stuck in some big, dumb hell. If these were the creatures that populate and control the world, then I'm in for one shitty ride.

The first time I was introduced to religion, I thought it was a joke. Sitting in church, I'm trying so hard not to laugh as I thought to myself, "There's no fucking way you guys believe this shit. Come on, quit pulling my leg and tell me you're all kidding. That this is some elaborate joke to mess with us." When I realized it wasn't. I got scared. Very very scared.

Yes, it is true that I hate people. I will not deny that. But do you know why I hate them so much? It is because I fear them. I fear the big, dumb unconscious collective that rules my destiny. I fear the parents that bought me toys when I asked for tools and scientific equipment. I fear the authority figure with the laughable IQ. I fear the minds that accept blindly the information fed to them, and never once ask themselves why. I'm afraid, I'm sad, I'm alone, and I always will be.

I want to change things. I'm trying to change things. I'm trying to be patient with you. It can be difficult when you do not want to learn. The only quality in people I've ever loved is the desire to learn. I don't care how fucked up, behind, or slow you are. If you want to learn, I will teach you. And I did not say I will try to teach you, I said I WILL teach you. As long as you have the will to learn, I can teach you anything you want to know.

I get angry. I get very uncontrollably angry sometimes. All I wanted to do was learn and create, but I was not allowed to, so my desire to build was stifled. I became apathetic and full of hate. I'm irreversibly fucked. And if I had the chance, I'd burn this whole fucking world down.


It was Jeremy's fist day of school. First Grade, the long journey begins! He'd never been to a school before. He was a bit afraid, but his fear was overcome with excitement. New things! He loved new things! The previous weeks were full of shopping for all of these beautiful objects he'd always wanted: sleeves of paper, folders, pencils, a pencil sharpener, and  a small case to keep it all together. These were his things. These were tools of the mind. These were powerful in the right hands.

Although during his math lesson that day, Jeremy kept getting frustrated. It was not because he didn't understand the material, it was just that he felt there was something missing at every step. It hurt his brain to think so simply. 1+1?  What is one? If One is an apple, and I drop the apple, and it breaks, what are those pieces?! They can't be one. The whole apple was one! And one is the smallest number there is! WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!       And why is it always +? Every problem is blank plus blank. What if I want to go the other way? How would I do that? Can I do that?

So Jeremy raised his hand when prompted, and asked his simple question, "We keep going one way, with the plus thing. What if I want to go back, the other way? What's the other way?" The teacher gave him a perplexed look and asked, "What do you mean? This is addition. There is no direction, silly boy."   Jeremy thinks for a moment and replies, "What I mean is, what is the opposite of addition? We keep putting things together, isn't there a way to take them apart?" The teacher laughs, "Oh, you mean subtraction! No, we're not learning that yet. That is for later. Today, we are only learning addition." At this Jeremy can't help but say, "But I want to learn the other one, subtraction, too. This is school. You're supposed to teach me things in school. Teach me subtraction, just the basics, I can figure out the rest." The teacher has had enough of this. She gives him a hard look and says sternly, "No! Today we are learning addition and nothing else. Now keep your mouth shut if you don't have anything to say about addition!"

Tears welled up in the little boy's eyes, but he held them back, and tentatively raised his hand one more time. The teacher let out a great sigh, put her hands on her hips and asked him what he wanted now. He quietly let out his small question, "What's in between numbers?" At the utterance of these words, his face flushed red and he thought he might cry. Having put up with enough crap already from this snotty little shit, the teacher simply barked out, "Jeremy! You are not to speak again for the rest of the class!"

Jeremy stared down at his papers. He kept his hand folded neatly together under his desk, his legs tight together, and felt hatred taking root in his mind.

"Now I want all of you to come to the front of the room and sit indian style in front of me." Ordered the teacher, "I'm going to read a story to you."

The class gets up, shuffles forward, and sits cross-legged in a semi-circle in front of the teacher. All but Jeremy, who is sitting on his knees. The teacher was at her limit with this disobedient boy. "Jeremy!" she barks, "I told you to sit indian style!" He has no idea what the fuck she's talking about. He's sitting on the floor in the half-circle with all of the other kids. Why is she so pissed? "I said..." she yells louder, "to sit indian style! Don't sit on your knees like that! Sit like an indian!" Jeremy is just staring at her. How the hell is he supposed to know how indians sit? And he was sure there wasn't some mysterious force controlling them, rendering them incapable of sitting however they chose. So what is this madwoman yelling about?

The teacher kept staring at him, waiting for him to do something. He had no idea what was expected of him, else he would do it. "You do know how indians sit, don't you?" She yelled even louder this time.

Jeremy thought for a minute. He knew nothing about indians, and he was sitting there just like all the other kids.

 Finally, it's his turn to raise his voice. He looks the old hag right in the eye and exclaims, "I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about!"

Tuesday, December 3, 2013



My thoughts are my only real company. They hide me away where no one can reach me. They can be dark and old, full of mystery and wonder, and delicate and beautiful. They keep me safe from the dangers of a cruel, hopeless world.


My mind is a jumble... I mean, a jungle. Thoughts and dreams grow and branch out and hang and fall. I am the king of this jungle. I am the lion that roams without fear.


I am myself reliant upon self-reliance. I stand alone. Alone, but not lonely? re: lions. I myself suffer lions, or is it suffer lie-ons?


Clear-cutting is an awful way to explore a jungle. Wandering aimlessly into the depths of the unknown is equally and oppositely as awful. Explore, but trail your crumbs, lest the lions take you. Alliance with the lions. Suffer the silence.


Solitude is silent. It is peaceful, and calming... and dead. A jungle with no life is no jungle. It is a petrified forest.


I've slashed and burned these trees time and time again, yet they still continue to grow. I want this soil barren. I want these thoughts dead.


That's how many days

          since I last held you.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Bring me my shotgun.

It bothers me when people liken bluesmen to a bunch of emo crybabies. These people have no idea what the blues are. It's not a bunch of guys whining about how sad life is. It's about seeing the world for what it is, a shitty, dark, evil, cruel fucking place inhabited by soulless, two-timing, no good, lying scum. Not only seeing it, but actually deriving a sort of pleasure from it. A bluesman is a sick son of a bitch. He can not only take the fucked up realities of life, but laugh about them. The difference between a bluesman and a little emo bitch is that if you call a little emo bitch a pussy, he might whine at you. You call a bluesman a pussy, and he'll fucking stab you. These motherfuckers are made of cold, dead steel battered and shaped by a life of shit into fire-breathing ruthless monsters. Now, a bluesman isn't necessarily a bad man. He doesn't go round intending to cause trouble. Trouble just seems to follow him. Bad luck and misery are his closest friends. And when you live a life so full of misfortune, you tend to develop a growing desire to see the ruin of others. You get so down sometimes, you just want to go grab your shotgun and start shooting. Doesn't matter who. No need to worry though, a bluesman wouldn't hurt a fly, not unless that fly comes up and bites him. Then it's dead before it knows what hit him.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

How Do You Define Yourself?

Now this is an interactive one. Take your time and be sure to follow my instructions as you read them. If you read ahead without doing so, you'll ruin all the fun, and you'll regret it. Don't worry, it's quick and easy. It won't take any time at all.

First, I want you to grab a pen and paper.
It doesn't actually have to be a pen and paper. Open a new document in your notebook program, whip out your shitty phone with the cracked screen, use poop and the wall behind you, I don't care.

I want you to write down at least 10 words that you would use to describe yourself.
Pick as many as you want. The more, the better. Shouldn't be too hard: kind, funny, tall, whatever. Hell, they don't even have to be just one word. "gets along well with others" works fine too.I guess I should have said "character traits" or something instead of just "words" but fuck it, you get the idea.

Take your time. Don't rush. These words aren't going anywhere/ They will be right where you/I left them.

Just things you would describe yourself as. Easy peasy.

Who are you according to you?

Pretty sweet list ya got there. Lots of positive things! Maybe too many positive things. Add some faults to that list. We all have them. "Terrible at following instructions" That might be a good one for those of you who haven't even started your list yet despite all of the warnings that you'll ruin the experience.

Okay! There we go! I'm proud of you! Good job!

Step 2 of this 2 step activity is also very simple. Last chance to make that list...

I want you to imagine that no one exists but you. Not one single person in the entire universe. Just you, and nothingness. You know what? Take away the universe, too. Nothing exists beyond yourself. There are no people, no plants, no animals, no Earth, no nothing. Only you.

Go through your list. Start removing things that have to do with other people and objects. Remember: nothing exists beyond yourself.

Kindness? GONE. How can you be kind to nothing? There's nothing to be kind to.
Good listener? GONE. Tall? In relation to what? GONE. Sweet? GONE. Attractive? GONE. Fat? GONE. Smart? GONE. Terrible at following instructions? GONE. Observant? GONE. Unique fashion sense? GONE.

I want you to go through this list removing everything that you use others to define you as. Everything that could end in an "er" and just throw that shit out. You can't be smarter than yourself, hotter than yourself, or kinkier than yourself.

When you have finished, look back at your list.

Who are you?

Monday, November 4, 2013


A pathetic. Ape athetic. Copacetic. Coat pacific. Goat specific. Most terrific. Motorific. Boater-fitted. In it to win it. Interperific.   Interlogistic. Intergalactic. Planetary.

Hmmm... not quite.

It's like... falling in love in a cemetery.
Or hot sex in the back of a hearse...
Like... that growing empty feeling in the pit of your soul that accompanies each achievement, or passing year.
Something like crying at the sight of a baby, or laughing at a man on death row.
It's like... talking of forever... knowing you'll get old... waiting for sunrise.

Almost. I still feel as if something is missing.

Something like white dust gathered at the bottom of a chalkboard.
The smell of wet cardboard.\
A high fly ball on a summer day.
Like the whispering of flowers.
A secret buried in the moon.
Snow shoes.
or stale bread.
It's a lot like that I guess...

Here, maybe this will help:

We can not choose who we love,
but we can choose to deny that love,
bury it deep down,
and let it fester into a black,
malignant cancer that robs us
of all kind feelings and leaves us
in a state of misanthropic apathy.


Sometimes, when I'm
Under the influence I
Can't help but say
Kind words, but

Inside those words,
There lies a hidden message.

The links are good. I would not worry of that. They work just fine. The input is correct. Try tuning the receiver. That could be the problem. Is that better? Have you fixed the issue? It could be.

I wrote a little song last night. I sung it as a lullaby to help me fall to sleep. Here it is:

Put a bullet in my head
All I want is to be dead
Life's a dream I want to end
Say goodbye to all my friends

And if you should ask me why
All I want is just to die
Take a look, there's nothing real
And there's nothing left to feel

Once upon a time I felt I lived
Thought I had so much to give
But I lost what I had sought
All my efforts were for naught

So put a bullet in my head
All I want is to be dead
Life's a dream I want to end
I'm too tired to pretend.

Saturday, October 26, 2013

50 shades of gay

I've been sort of busy lately. Oh well! How are you, you sexy little weirdos? Are you getting your squirrely bits all good and sloppy? Taking the purple-helmeted warrior out to battle? Just make sure to stow away some time for big things, whatever your big things are. It's scary spooky season. Do creepy things. Make someone uncomfortable. Go ahead.

I think it's so bizarre that people don't notice the things I notice. I mean, it's not like it's hard or anything. They're right there. Staring you in the face. All the time. How could you miss them? When I talk to people, they remember me. It's not that I'm really all that memorable, but what I say is. When I point out, for example, how more and more gender roles are being reversed these days, people start to look at things in a different light. Kind of like you're doing right now. Just look how many guys wear girl clothes when given even the flimsiest pretenses to do so. Or girls who outdrink men and quite literally kick their asses. Need more? Fine. Guys ordering traditionally girly food like salads and fruit cups while out to eat with chicks who order traditionally manly food like a bacon double cheeseburger or a big bloody steak.. Guys whining like little bitches about their emotions and broken-hearts. Women who don't want to be serenaded, but fucked, hard. Guys pussing out, leaving their girls to stand up for them. The roles have switched. Most women are more manly than most of these annoying little pricks. I personally love that women are way more badass today than they ever were before. Hell yeah, girls! Bring it on!

And guys, please shut the fuck up and grow a pair. Quit being so goddamn insecure or I'm going to kick you in the fucking nuts. I'm more of a man in my 110 lbs of skin and bone than you 250 pound bodybuilding bitches.

Generally when I speak like this in public, at least one guy tries to stand up for himself. So I challenge him to a fight, and he makes excuses and tries to back away. This is when I start insulting his whore of a mother and his puny little penis. Still nothing. I'll push him, throw shit at him and still he refuses to fight. Have you seen me? I look like someone your grandmother could take. These guys who completely outmatch me are too scared to prove it. Know why? Because inside they are nothing but scared little children looking for a mother in a lover. I'm a man, and I want a woman as my equal.

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

No Frills. Part 3. The Part where I get stoned.

I did something pretty recently. Since I have no idea what an actual blog is, or looks like, I decided to check out a few. What a load of crap most of them are. All of the ones I saw had themes and fancy pictures and no substance. It was eye-catching, but ultimately disappointing. Now I understand why blog is an "ugh" word. Just hearing it leaves a bad taste in your mouth. I wasn't amused, intrigued, or entertained by any of them. I'm glad I decided to do what I always do and disregard the intended purposes of things and make it my own. I mean, look at this shit. No pictures, no fancy format, no boorish attempt to be catchy. I just write. I write and fuck it, if you want to read, then read. I'm not stopping you. I'm not even really promoting it. I just share a post after I've done one. One time, I messaged a handful of people and suggested they check it out. It doubled my readers. That's about all the promoting I plan on doing.
    I'm happy you are reading this. All of you. It's nice to feel appreciated. So thanks. I try to give nothing but substance. It's not showy. Yet, I like to think it's interesting. Even when I don't actually feel like writing but am trying to get out a story anyway, like this one. Here's part 3.

The Finch's nourished themselves on fruit from the nearby trees. They never imagined there could be a place like this down in the antarctic. All of the flora and fauna they encountered resembled what they've seen up north, but it was all somehow different. A peculiar striping of the fur, an odd leafing, most bizarre was this blue and white dog-like creature with tiny horns.
(Alright, I'm bored. I'm going to get really stoned, then finish this.)
So these two dumbasses were wandering around the antarctic jungle. Yes, the antarctic jungle. How is that possible? It's not, but fuck it's cool. They were all excited to explore this new land. That was, until John sees a figure in the distance. A massive bastard he was. I'm talking like King Kong size. He sees this dark shadow in the distance and nearly shits himself. He's all, "Fuck, I didn't sign up for no King Kong shit." And his wife is like, "This is fucking stupid. Let's get the hell out of here."
So they get the hell out of there. As they're running away like bitches, they see a dude fighting a tiger. They ask, "Hey, guy? Why are you fighting a tiger? Are you an idiot? It's a fucking tiger."
And he's yelling, "Help me, you dicks!" So they help him, but he gets all hurt. They take care of him and he's super gracious. He tells them he wants to take them to his village where they will be safe, and maybe could possibly somehow find a way home. On their way, they see that King Kong bastard again and run for the hills leaving their guide behind. Now they're all scared and freaking out. They survive for a few days in the wild being badasses, but that shadow keeps popping up. It's like it's following them or something.
   One day it pops up right in front of them. They turn to run, but there's another, and another, and another. They're all over. They're getting closer. Uh oh!
   They faint like a bunch of pussies. The King Kongs take them. Later, the Finch's wake up. Turns out the Kings Kongs are totally cool and not monkeys at all. They're just extremely gigantic people. Little buddy is there. Turns out he's only 34 and considered a baby by the others. Some of the extra huge ones have been alive since before Jesus was made up by the Flavians to keep the violent Messianic Jews under their control and paying taxes. Everybody in the village is pretty chill until they discover the Finch's are foreigners. The giants immediately bring them to the little humans from the port. Now captured, the couple is explained what's happening in true James Bond bad guy style.
    Turns out people aren't supposed to shrivel up and die. They naturally keep growing. It's these assholes who are slowly poisoning us so we die. They say it's to prevent over-population, or keep people stupid, or weak, or whatever. It doesn't matter because the Finch's are then shot in the head and dumped in the sea.


Sunday, October 13, 2013

That story I started last post Part Deux

The pair of adventure-crazed adrenaline junkies followed the barge to a port on the coast of Antarctica. The barge was unloading large crates by the time they caught up to it. In the distance they could see that their presence was finally noticed. Men could be seen pointing in their direction, then hurrying off in different directions. "It's about time." says John Finch. "We've been behind them for two damn days" He then stands high up on the bow and waves. His greeting is returned, with cannon fire.
   The sailboat doesn't stand a chance. The sea swallows it, and the Finches. The secret remains safe. If it got out, millions would be slaughtered in the ensuing chaos. It was a necessary loss. Small craft are sent out to make sure there were no survivors. Teams begin to seek out the ship and who sent it. No one must ever know what is housed here. Anyone possessing even the slightest knowledge of this place or it's contents must be eliminated. No exceptions. It is crucial to the survival of the entire human race.
   After an indeterminable amount of time Kait Finch wakes on an icy embankment. Her body is numb with cold. She finds John and wakes him. They're delirious and lost. All around them a blanket of white obscures the landscape. Out of a mad desire to survive even this, the couple wander stumbling through the cold, determined to find anything, to live just a bit longer if anything. They find a cave in the side of a cliff. They crawl inside and rest their aching legs. They sit together knowing death is not far off. They exchange words of love and of having not one single regret. They lived according to their principles 100%.
    Just as it seems all hope is lost, they hear strange noises emanating from deep inside the cave. "You up for one last adventure, Honey?" asks Kait. "You know it." laughs John. Struggling with effort, the couple rise to their feet and make their way deeper inside the cave. The temperature rises consistently as they travel. Eventually, they strip off most of their heavy frozen clothes. They come across some stalactites dripping water and stand under them mouths open. Some of their strength returns with the meager hydration.
    They continue deeper into the bizarre cave. John notices a light at the end of one tunnel. He and his wife can't believe their eyes. Reaching the aperture, the cave opens up revealing a lush jungle. The Finch's fall to their knees in disbelief. Kait is the first back to her feet. The only thing she can think to say is,  "I've seen just about everything, but what the fuck is this?"

Saturday, October 12, 2013

They are driving me insane

Since day one at the loft, my roommates make me feel like I'm schizophrenic. Not like openly accusing me of being a madman or anything, but because they can be sneaky bastards. They mess with my personal things and pretend to be unaware when confronted. Small things like disappearing shampoo, roaming toothpaste tubes, self-eating food, self-shattering glass, vanishing rent money. It leaves you asking, "If they didn't do it, then who? Did I do it and forget? Am I losing my shit?" These things are definitely happening. I am a logical person. Someone must be doing this. I have been called crazy for my entire life, so years of subtle conditioning made me wonder. How can one know if one has gone off the deep end? One cannot diagnose oneself with the diseased organ. Could I be sleep-eating? Could I be losing large chunks of time? What could I be doing during these blackouts? What if I do something weird? What if I hurt someone? It's scary. Logic dictated my next course of action. I simply took all of my possessions and gathered them up into my room. The problems stopped then. Fuck them for screwing with me! I was seriously worried for a while.


We all know the story. You are born, you grow bigger and stronger, and that strength eventually fades. You shrink, and you die. But what if this is wrong? What if this isn't natural? What if we are all being manipulated into believing this because it is all we know?

On an isolated land deep in the Antarctic lies a land of lush fields and dark jungles. Since it's discovery it has been kept secret. Only top world leaders know of its existence. There lies a shaky truce between us and the inhabitants of this land. These people have lived undisturbed for millennia. Our people stay out. Their people stay in. That is the truce. That is what keeps the secret.

Mr. and Mrs. Finch are modern day daredevils and adventurers. They met on a climb up Everest and have been risking life and limb together ever since. They were in the middle of a race around the world. Just the two of them on a sailboat with no navigational equipment except the sky above. A squall threw them off-course south of Australia. When the storm had passed, they did a damage assessment. The boat held superbly, but a cache of supplies was tossed overboard. They would need to stop soon to resupply. Spotting a passing barge, they altered course to intercept it. They were planning to ask for or buy some food from them to hold them over until they reached shore. They hailed the ship but received no response. In fact, the barge seemed as if it were speeding up to get away from them. They kept following under the assumption the crew aboard did not spot them. They trailed it south hoping to catch up. Where could the ship be going? There is nothing south but Antarctica. The Finches, thrilled by a sense of adventure followed onward.

Growing Up AKA The Process of Weeding Out

I'm sure a lot of you will not agree with me on this, and may get upset by what I'm about to say, but it's my opinion and my blog! Don't like it? Then skip ahead to the story. No one is stopping you.

I'm watching Hellraiser right now and it's a little distracting, but here we go anyway. When we are children, we all have dreams and ambitions. We all want to be someone. We all want to do something. As we get a bit older, those dreams become more concrete. Some of us want to be musicians, or astronauts, or writers, or what have you. Some just want to explore, to see the world. Everybody's got something. Nobody wants to be nothing.
    The reality is often much different then we had imagined, the struggle too great. The older we get, the harder it is to keep holding on. There is simply never enough money, never enough time, never enough energy. We keep waiting for that easy break that will send us on the fast track to our dreams. Hey, hate to break the news to you, but that is probably not going to happen. If you keep waiting around for the right moment, it's never going to come. You could wait all your life for the bills to be settled, debts to be paid, classes to be finished... and you will. You'll just keep on making excuses and little postponements til the day you die a nobody.
    I am 25 and when I look around me, I see losers. I see people who have completely given up. Slowly through the years, I've watched musicians stop playing, painters stop painting, writers stop writing. People who once only spoke of travel, have yet to leave the state. It's pretty, well, pathetic.
   More and more around me, people are joining the military, having kids, getting married. Are these the dreams you talked so much about all your life? For a few, the answer actually is yes, so if you're one of those, congratulations! You did it! I'm happy for you. But being a government dog, a single parent, or stuck with someone you can't stand anymore, aren't the things I remember you speaking of with stars in your eyes and hope in your heart.
    Hellraiser fucking rules.
I hope you enjoy your second-place prizes. It's the ones with true grit, with real determination, and with pure strength of spirit who get what they really want. It's those of us who are still fighting, still struggling through it all that will get the big payoff. It is with hard work that you achieve. It is by reaching for your dreams despite lack of funds, time, and energy that get you to them. Everyone talks the talk while they are young. It is years of disappointment and let-downs that separate the wanna-bes from the true believers.
    You must ask yourself if you want it badly enough to forgo sleep, comfort, and even love. Do you have what it takes to become what you've always wanted to be? Did you keep your eye on the prize, or did you settle?


This is a story all about how my life got flipped, turned upside-down. I'd to to take a minute just sit right there. I'll tell you how I became the prince of  

Just kidding.

Hello there. My name is Jake Robinson. I was a scientist at the Hayden Planetarium at the American Museum of Natural History in New York. Now I'm a skyentist in basically the same place. You see, I was in Switzerland attending a lecture on advanced thermodynamics in relation to new technological advancements in electric-based rocket propulsion systems. At this point in time, we still require a combination of the two in order to reach escape velocity. The lecture detailed specifics on how and when combustion is best applied during launch and flight. Dr. West's frustration with current solar energy collectors really hit home for me. Until higher energy conversion efficiency is achieved, it's still an impractical solution to reducing craft weight. But oh, I apologize. I did not mean to bore you with my old life. You can learn all about that on your own. I'm here to explain something completely different. The membrane will only be porous for a short while. I have no time to waste.
   Being nearer the vicinity of the Large Hadron Collider at CERN Laboratories than I will likely be for some time, I decided to have a visit. I phoned a friend who was currently employed there and he offered to give me a tour of the facility. It is even beyond my understanding, but you must listen. I have no time left. A collision released a burst of energy never seen before as I'm sure you've heard about by now. Do not worry. Dr. Halsey and I are alive and well. The energy tore a hole in the fabric of the universe! We .... transported..... parallel... multi.... has finally been confirmed!!! Do... ou hear?! It's real! ...the cars are made of vegetables..... A tomato with..... just.... drove by. ..... world peac... that easy.... all music.... by farts! It all sounds like farts! The reason is.... see?! That's why.... on Earth. You must listen!............................ AIRSNAKE!----------

Fuck Cars.

I fucking hate cars! So little innovation in such a great length of time. Cars are the biggest bunch of bullshit. Super fucking expensive and all you get is a giant piece of crap. Let's just take a second to look at these ridiculous lumps of trash. First of all, these dumb things run on a finite fuel source that is both inefficient in converting that energy, but pollutes the fuck out of the environment. A full tank doesn't even go that far and gas is as expensive as all hell. Secondly, these massive loads of crap are supported by four strips of rubber filled with air. How in the fuck is that intelligent? Rubber? Pliable, shred-able, stab-able, rubber? How the fuck is that supposed to last? Drive over a nail, and you're tire becomes instantly useless, thus the entire car becomes useless. Plus, any fucker with the urge can stab them and fuck your whole shit up with barely any effort. And the shitty rubber strips are filled with air! Motherfucking air! How is that safe?! 2 tons of metal zooming down the street at 50MPH on four fucking balloons! Great idea, asshole. Hey, here's an idea. Why don't we start building our houses on foundations made of fucking styrofoam? And every year we pay to jam some more underneath in order to keep our houses standing up straight?
   Here's another awesome thing. The braking system for these things are two flat rocks on either side of the wheel that pinch it and the resulting friction expends energy from it's momentum. Two fucking rocks literally squeeze the wheels to make them stop. That is just so damn technical. Come on, it's 2013. Every part of the car is weak and easily worn. Shit breaks on the slightest of bumps. You are constantly replacing some stupid thing or other. It never ends. You spend craploads of money just to get the thing, and all it does is constantly suck the money out of your account. All this just so you can get from point A to point B. Why? Why don't we just get rid of all the useless fucking things already and have buses and shit that will take you anywhere quickly? Why are we still driving ourselves at all?
    As you all know, each crapmobile is equipped with 2 giant lights in the front. This is so you can see where you are going at night. Great idea, until you have hundreds of these fucking things on every street. These lights have 2 settings: annoying as fuck, and paralyzingly blinding. Why don't the streets light up as you drive down them? It would save power and increase road safety. And speaking of road safety, WHY AREN'T ALL CARS FACTORY EQUIPPED WITH BREATHALYZER STARTERS? How many people a year are killed by drunk drivers? You don't want people to drive drunk? Here's your fucking solution you money-grubbing pricks. I have barely even scratched the surface on my total, all encompassing, passionate hatred of automobiles, but I'm tired, and I'm guessing you've had enough. You get the idea, I'm sure. FUCK CARS.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013


We're a strange breed, you know. A very rare and strange breed; us romantics.We generally don't have long shelf-lives. We're disaster prone. We risk it all for our beliefs. We die fighting for our love. We openly oppose insurmountable forces. We're reckless, foolish, thick-headed, obstinate, stubborn, spontaneous, unrealistic, emotional, over-zealous, overreacting, dramatic, fickle, impractical, dreamers. Yet, we are beauty, and love, and honor, and courage. Our faults run as deep as our good qualities reach high. We are treacherous territory indeed. It is our boundless love which separates us from the rest of mankind. We love too strongly, we care too deeply. We are the stuff of poetry and fairy tales. We are sullen and dark. We speak of terrible things. We liken ourselves to the devil, while at the same time, we inspire those around us. We lose sight of this easily. This is our normal state of being. Others long to be us. Others fear us. Their world is singularly focused on our ways. They use our words, our art, and our actions to give themselves meaning in this world. They glorify us. They make demons of us. They hold contradictory thoughts of us, usually switching from one to the other at the drop of a hat. This is because they do not understand us, nor will they ever. They look to each other for signs of how to react to us. Only a romantic understands a romantic. The rest stew in their jealousy, looking for any excuse to prove our ill intent, or to falsify our accomplishments in a mistaken effort to expose our lives and hearts for the farce that they wish them to be while solidifying their own belief that their hum-drum way of seeing things and of living, is the correct choice. They fear. They fear to be like us. They fear to let themselves go and take a risk. They hide away safely in their shell of anonymity and lunge at the slightest opportunity to force us to do the same. They fear to be us, and they use us as examples of the danger of being free, of being oneself through and through, of wearing your heart on your sleeve, by making hyperbole of our slightest misfortunes.

But do not forget, no matter what may happen, we may never change our lot.


I once knew a man with a fire in his belly. His back was straight and his jaw was square. He'd come and go as he pleased. He never did anything he did not like. He did not show distaste for things that did not interest him. He was simply indifferent of them. He'd leave one night without a word, and return with stories of grandeur. He'd hop on trains and stroll aimlessly into the night.
    I asked him once how he chose his path. He didn't, were his only words. He left on a whim and returned on another. He had no job or place of residence, yet he was always provided for. He seldom went hungry and his clothes were all new. I envied this man deeply.
    At night people from town would gather round. They'd listen to his tales and hoot and holler at his boldness. He seemed to have no fear. No matter where he went or what he did he always came out on top. His bar tab was always nil as those who listened always offered the next round.
    When he was gone, his name was still spoken. Theories of what his currents adventures would hold would be exchanged. He held us all in the palm of his hand, yet at the same time, he acted with a carefree air. No amount of money or lucrative prospect lured him. It was as if he were untouchable. He was the most powerful man I'd ever known. His laugh was strong, his muscles tight, the ground beneath him seemed to shake. His voice was loud and his mind was keen. I came to believe he was more than just a man. That he was an ancient Greek hero come to life. I longed for what he's always had. Around him, my stability felt claustrophobic. My routine seemed not worth the bother. By comparison, I felt utterly insignificant and boring.
    He took to me for some reason; always seeking me out of the crowd. He confided in me his secrets. He said I truly listened whilst the others only heard what they wanted to hear, but it was I who heard his soul. I idolized him for many years. His charm was contagious. Then one cold autumn night, with the rattle of leaves filling the air he took me aside. He drank heavily and straight from the bottle. He swaggered back and forth even as he sat. He looked infinitely worn and tired. He told me a story. A story from long long ago. Of a girl he once loved, and would love forevermore. Her skin held the sunlight. Her eyes held the world. Her voice was like music from a land long forgotten. Her kindness was abounding. Small animals followed her trail. Her touch was the softest, and her kisses like wine. He was drunk off her smiles, and was with her all the time. But she cast off his love and left him behind, to wallow in madness and fortified wine. Not a day goes by when he doesn't think of her. Her memory is like ice. It freezes his insides, and leaves him longing to die.
   I stopped my envy then. Each day for him is a hell. He was found in the morning hanging. In his hand, a note of farewell.

Monday, October 7, 2013


I am officially going to be the house band at the Asbury Lanes once a month. Basically, sexy ladies will be on stage doing sexy things while overweight middle-aged creepers draw them and take pictures of them. I will be in my own little corner just drumming away completely oblivious of everything. I'm hoping money and free drinks will be included in some way. I'm a fan of those things when they are for me to have. I hope house band does well. I hope we get booked for other events. I hope I can bake less and jam more. Then I can write more, too. Also I'll be way less suicidal, which is a good thing.

In other news, I've been having some really great conversations lately. This is rare for me. Usually when I talk to people I get very bored very quickly and the whole time they're talking I'm trying to will them away with my mind. These interesting conversations have melded together in my head to become a new exciting story for all of you to enjoy. Hooray! Good for you. I'd like to thank Amy in particular. She is one of my few fans that always encourages me to be a better, more productive writer. Not by bluntly saying it, but by being genuinely excited by my work. That's the best motivation you can get. I saw her at Sam and Mike's wedding, which was one of the best wedding ever. I also discovered one of my readers that night. Hi Chrissy! I'm talking to you via my blog! Is that weird? I hope so! But if it wasn't for Amy making the connection with the crazy shit we were talking about and writing a story, I probably would not have had that epiphany a few days later. I guess I have a lot of people to thank then. The premise comes from a real life project that Sarah told me about at Toast. The bulk was inspired by all the fucked up sci-fi and drama movies that I've been vegging out to lately thanks to the Netflix password provided by my cuddly, lovable singer Jill. The idea for a romantic interest for the main character popped up while talking to Marni. I often forget about relationships and inter-people-thinginess in my work. Honestly, I don't give a fuck about em and forget that people actually do those things, and like, that's normal behavior or whatever. She's really into how people relate to one another, thus a seed was planted yet again. Who else? I don't know I'm sure there's more, but I'm lazy and remembering is making my brain hurt. Hey, I just realized that all the people I thanked are girls. I guess it's only fitting. Women inspire art, men create it.

One more thing before storytime. The other night I was drunk, getting stoned, and playing Resident Evil 5 at like 3 am, when two really hot chicks just up and walked in my room wearing nothing but bra and panties, gave me a lap dance and walked right back out. I know, weird.

Story now!

This is not THAT story. THAT story will come later. THIS story is about how dating would be if I was world ruler of minds. A man is sitting at a bar. There is a band playing tonight. It's a divey little spot. Cheap drinks, good people. When the band starts playing, everyone puts down their books and dances all around the place, arms flailing, legs kicking. Spinning and prancing are highly encouraged. Everyone is being silly and some people are naked and letting their dirty bits flap in the wind. (Did I mention I'm world ruler of minds in this story?) The drinks are large and pretty colors for no reason at all. Our man accidentally spills his drink. He promptly goes to the bartender, asks for a rag and some spray, cleans it up, and returns the items to the boozenater. He turns around and sees a beautiful woman. Not missing a beat, he walks right up to her and says, "Hello! You're beautiful. Wanna be my girlfriend?" She replies just as cheerfully, "Sure! You like lasers?"
"I LOVE lasers!" he says.
They leave the bar and walk to the beach. When they get there, they have an epic laser sword fight. After that she falls into him and they lay splayed out in the sand making out. They look up from their tongue-fight to see that the sun is rising. Our man rises and holds his woman in his arms. They stand swaying gently. He gives her a soft kiss on her cheek and says, "Take me to a dream, and never let me leave. Close my eyes to help me see, a land where all are free."
"But we're already here, silly." she giggles, "Get your mind out of the old world. There's no fear here. No hatred, no greed. And right now, you're here with me, on this lovely beach. And soon, you'll be with me in your bed. So let's go wash off this sand."
The two walk off the beach and back into town. The world fades in a wash of smoke as the dream disappears back to the fantasy land which bore it. Way back. Far out of the reach of reality. Where it lingers, just barely visible, to a place where only a few can glimpse it. Glimpse it, but no more.

Thursday, October 3, 2013

I've been indulging my dark side lately

I'm loving it. It's absolutely beautiful. The only real problem with this is I'm supposed to perform some of my writing tonight. People always go nuts for and ask for my humorous stuff, which is fine, but I'm in the mood to read something that will have people throwing themselves into traffic by the time I finish. I want to defile the minds of complete strangers. I want uncomfortable shuffling! I want nervous glances! I want to imbue the feeling of absolute desolation into the souls of men! This probably will not happen. Insults, strangeness, and hidden morals are guaranteed, but I doubt I'll violate the fragile glass structure their piece of mind rests upon. I'll save that for next time. I want them to love me and be excited for my next performance. Then I'll unleash flaming hellfire upon them! I find it is much more effective when they're not expecting it. As the misery and hopelessness trudges on, I want them waiting every second for the inevitable joke, which will not come.

Just in case you were wondering just how dark I can get. Here, read this.There is beauty in this tragedy, but I warn you, what you are about to read might seriously make you very unnerved. I wrote this while brainstorming for new, interesting characters. When I write, I generally invent a character and backstory, then write as that character and view the results.  I wanted to create a psychopath. I did.


I've given up pretending. I'm wildly insane. To truly admit it fills my heart with dread. I can't know what's real anymore. My senses lie to me. My mind tricks me. All is smoke and mirror. There is no up or down. It's all a mess. I lock myself away. I hide from the world. I am embarrassed to be in it. I want to disappear.

I have never known a loving caress. I have never shown fear. I openly hate everyone and everything I see. I walk alone, as I always have. I have become strong, too strong perhaps. I madly search for the one thing I desire. Yet when I get close I throw it all away. I hate it. I hate to want it. I hate to need it. I hate you. I hate me.

I purposefully make myself out to be awkward and boring. I don't want your pity. I despise your attention. Go away. Go away and take everything with you. I long for the void. In the void I was free. Time was lost. My life evaporated into nothingness. I had no self, no desire, no sorrow. I was one with the void. Empty and shapeless. In time, it all fades. I've seen time itself from start to finish. Nothing new will ever happen. All physical existence is a joke waiting to end.

I spend all my time in my room staring into my laptop expecting to see something significant. I never do. I live in dreams. The world holds nothing for me but pain. You are all thieves, liars, and villains. I am unable to feel safe out there. All that lies outside is danger. Greedy beasts that wear masks and costumes. You read from your scripts and you play your roles. Fuck you. I've glimpsed Truth. I see your games and I hate you for it. Out there the only law is selfishness. Everything is for you and nothing is for others. You honestly make me sick.

I am searching for something of substance. Something real and long-lasting. Too quickly your gains fade away. Your lust for momentary pleasure is insatiable. You are trapped by them. Your games will never end. You shall die an empty child who's superficial fun left nothing but sorrow and longing.

I have years of progress on you. I began to change early. My tormentors made sure of that. In retrospect, I realize my innocence was too pure for this world. My strength of will only served to fortify my noble beliefs. I refused to lie and to attack. I honestly wanted peace, love, and happiness for everyone. My love was boundless. I'd have given my life to bring that happiness to you all.

But you fooled me, you used me, you tortured me. I was without ally in this den of wolves. I suffered in silence. I ached greatly. Yet I persisted to follow the righteous path.

In time, I lost all but a glimmer of hope. Could you people really be saved? Did you even want to? Do you even deserve it?


My hatred only grew. It grew to unbearable levels. I must have been 6 or 7 when I had my first fantasy about mutilating and killing those around me. I'd revel in my dreams which I began having 20 or 30 times a day. Oh how sweet it would be! I grew fond of a particular musing early on. In my daydream, I would sit awake until everyone had fallen asleep. Then I would creep up on them silently. I'd stand beside their bed smiling. I would do this nightly. Once I was sure they would not awaken, I'd grab the baseball bat out from the garage and place it in my room. Now for this to work I would need to eliminate those of greatest threat. I would grab a kitchen knife and slit my father's throat. While he was bleeding out, I'd retreat to my room. When my mother became hysteric, the others would proceed to wake up. Now because of the setup, everyone else would have to pass by my room to see what was happening.

My brother being the oldest, would rush out first. As soon as he came passed my door I'd strike him down with the baseball bat. I wouldn't stop until he stopped moving. Then to my mother, she would already be on the attack, but a cute face and , "Please don't hurt me, mommy" would give me enough time to knock her down the stairs. I'd follow her with the knife, if need be.

After that, all that would be left are my little brothers and sisters. I couldn't let them go. They would tell someone. I needed as much time as I could get for what needed to be done. I'd gather their bodies in one room. I'd close off the rest of the house and disconnect the phones.

Those who were still breathing were the unlucky ones, my experiments. I've always wondered what people looked like on the inside. So I'd start by skinning them. It'd have to be a slow process. They needed to be alive and if they passed out, I'd have to stop and start again when they awoke.

Then I'd begin removing small appendages and peeling the meat from their bones. After that it got a little blurry. Some ideas were to remove parts from one person and stick them onto another to see if they'd still work. Another involved sharp skewers... I wanted to create physical pain equal to my mental pain. I began to wonder if it was even possible...

After that I'd kill any available targets until I was caught. No one would suspect a small boy. Plus the killings would be random, making it much harder on my pursuers. If and when I was caught I'd cry and I would lie. I'd pull all the tricks to get out of it. A jury wouldn't dare touch me.

Then I wondered what would happen to me. Probably the loony bin. I might get out eventually but do I want to take that chance? Would I give up my freedom for revenge? I'd never fall in love, start a family, or have a normal life. I'd never travel or try new things. It would be the end. Was I ready to end it so soon? No one would treat me normally again. no one could love me...

Then I began wondering what would happen to me. Not my body, but me.

What if there is judgment in the afterlife? Is suicide a one-way ticket to hell? And what about murder for that matter? Where my crimes forgivable? Is there a god? What does he think of me? Did he make me this way on purpose? Am I the hand of god? or the devil? Could I be possessed? Am I evil? What is evil? What is death?

Question upon question filled my head. I was so enraptured by these questions. So interested with these riddles, that my plans for mass murder were put aside. I actually enjoyed something for once. My head was finally clear of the voices. I felt better.

And so I began my intellectual journey...

Yeah... I know.

But I gave you fair warning.

I've often thought of finishing his story, but it's kind of hard to write. I might add him into the background of another story. Maybe the Revolutionary Road mock-up. He's definitely a powerful character. I'm sure some fucked up individual would be all about this crazy fuck.

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

I really want to play videogames right now, but...

I haven't written anything in here for 2 days (Bones Time or BT) and if I put it off again it could start a viscous downward spiral of procrastination. I convinced myself into writing this by goading me with wine. I told me that I would only give me wine if I sat down and wrote this for me. So here I am, slowly getting sloppy wine drunk and behind the wheel of a computer. Nothing says "rebel" like drunken blogging.

I've recently discovered a few of my readers. Yes, YOU. (that was weird, wasn't it?) You're good people so I'll stop eschewing pure hatred in your direction... for now.

I forgot what I was going to say...
So I'll say this:

Sometimes I like to leave notes for my future self. Like a time capsule of personality. Sometimes future me forgets what it was like to be present me and he can use a reminder because he's a forgetful bastard. You should also do this. It's fun and you can't go back and do it again, so the first time is like all you got. Don't blame me if ten years from now you wish you had a cute letter form yourself at this age. You have been warned.

Idk what else to say. Someone gave me a good idea to write something about doing drugs in space. That's a good idea. it combines two of my favorite things: drugs, and space. I hope I do this one day.

I'm not going to write a new story today. I'm drunk and I want to play videogames. It's my day off and I don't have anywhere to be, so meah.

Why I Hate

Now it’s no secret that I hate everyone. You people are always asking me why that is. Well let me explain. First, you need to gain perspective.

Circumstance. The implications will melt your brain if you let it. Have you ever wondered what life would be like if you were born blind, for instance? That your one and only life would be a blind one? It could have easily have been you instead of the other guy. Or born with a rare disease, or Siamese? To have been born 300 years ago and lived through that timeline, or a thousand years into the future? A different race, nationality, height, weight, gender, appearance…? There are people different than you, just look around, and that tiny individual perspective is all they’ll ever truly know of life. Have you ever tried to understand that an unimaginable amount of insanely specific circumstances are what you owe your life to? Everything that you are. Had your great-great grandfather not have decided to go to a bar one Saturday night, wearing what he wore, gotten there when he did, and said what he said, you could easily have never existed. The odds of you existing as you are right now are impossible. It is quite literally a miracle. To quote Alan Moore, “…you are life, rarer than a quark and unpredictable beyond the dreams of Heisenberg…”

Life. You have defied the odds and literally achieved the impossible. So how, you ask, can I hate such spectacular miracles? Easily.

Here you are. You’ve done it. Life is whatever you make of it. And how do you spend it? You waste it! On this thing you call living. This big broken thing. This rat race, this quest for money and power, this obsession with pleasure and entertainment. What the hell is wrong with you? You are given the single most precious thing in all the multiverse and you spend it being lazy, ignorant, in fear and hatred of others, and being stupid? And you ask me how I can hate people who ignore the frontiers of science and make a mockery of art? Fuck you.

PS I lied. hehehe

Thursday, September 26, 2013

I dreamed of ecstasy

and I woke to this.

I had a really deep thought ready for today. I had it all planned out in my head, and now I can't find it. It's floating around somewhere between dreams and opinions. It will resurface again. When it does, I'll be sure to make a note of where I've hidden it. Until that happens it will remain nothing but a bit of seaweed in the aether of my subconscious. Too bad for you, I guess. Would you like another story today? I can probably come up with another. The first few were old. The last 2 or 3 I came up with off the top of my head. I did not edit them. I hope they are alright. I like this way better. It's good exercise for the imagination. Plus, as I go through the list of ideas, I'm forced to invent more. I'm enjoying it. I hope I'm not boring you. Then again, I wouldn't know. At this point, you are nothing but a page-view to me. Nothing but a nameless, faceless statistic. Maybe you'll say hi one day and quit being such a creeper. Maybe you won't. Maybe you just like secretly stalking me and my daily reflections. Maybe you're sitting the bushes outside of my window right now. Wave if you are, so I know where to throw this empty bottle.

In the sky there floated a speck of dust. A plain, old insignificant thing. It was no different than any other speck of dust that came before it, nor any future dust that will one day pollute the air and clog our sinuses. With no appendages or any other form of locomotion, the puny little fleck is doomed to go where the wind takes it. It has been taken across great distances on the wings of the wind. It has been swept under couches with the forceful shove of a broom. It has rested in the gutter with the stray dogs and drunken men. It has been atop mountains and lazily skipped lazily across great plains. He'd seen so many great things, and lived through the vast changes of the known world.

He'd seen so much that one day, he had a thought.
"These humans, why do they struggle so? Why do they tirelessly try and change the world to suit them? Why do they not instead relax, and let the world happen as it will? Why fight at all? I've never in my time have seen one single human, with all its efforts, change the way the world works.Nor have I heard of any great leader change the hearts and nature of mankind.A great many have tried and it has always been for naught. Mankind never learns; and mankind never learns that mankind never learns so the cycle continues endlessly. Why can't they see? They're just like me: a bit of nothing? An affect-less speck tossed around in the flow of circumstance. Nothing more. Why can't they see it and enjoy it for what it is?"

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Hey. It's me again. That guy I am.

When I take a look around me I can't help but shudder. The thousands of people who answer questions primed with the words "Only geniuses figure this out on their first attempt" or "90% of people get this answer wrong." or some other bullshit. It's just another example of the stupidity and desperate need for recognition people have. They want to do as little as possible and get the largest reward. They want to stand out, to be looked up to, to be admired, and they don't want to try. It's simple lies like these that fuel the ego of the tragically deluded. It's these same lies that keep the social media websites powerful, and these same lies that keep us bound to our insignificance.

On one side, I'm glad the unoriginal and unremarkable people have an outlet in which to feel proud. They can answer an easy math problem correctly and feel like a genius for a moment. They can get a ton of likes for some pointless statement, and feel admired for a time. It's a good feeling that everyone should be entitled to at least once in their life. It's that feeling which first pushes us to work hard and create something worth remembering. Something meaningful to leave in this life after us. But this is not what happens. Instead, they just answer more silly questions and post more stupid statuses, and that feeling (like a drug) wanes over time. They don't feel the same gratification they did before. They end up cluttering our minds and the internet with inconsequential dribble in an effort to feel affirmed.

I feel sick. I don't want to see all the selfies of girls too afraid or not good enough to actually model. I don't want to read awful short poetry by people who haven't written a single poem. I don't want the opinions of the uninformed. I don't want bits of "wisdom" from the small-minded. I don't want to see unverified "true fact"s with a pretty picture. I don't care what you had for lunch or how much you worked out today. At this point, I basically want all of you to die. Shut the fuck up and die. Please.

Now that that's taken care of, here's a story. Enjoy


Joseph Patrick Marsh wakes from another restless sleep at eight in the morning. The sun burns bright through the open window and reflects harshly on the white walls and furniture. Nurse Heeley is standing at the foot of his bed. She asks how his sleep was and holds out a tray containing a bottle of pills and a small paper cup of water. Joe takes his pills with a grimace. He deposits the empty containers back onto the tray and Nurse Heeley walks out into the hallway as chipper and bright as ever. Joe grunts and climbs up from the bed. He's been at this facility for little over two weeks now. They say he killed his wife, tore her to shreds, but he doesn't remember. What he does remember is loving his wife dearly. That, and a growing pain in his chest and limbs.

Before the accident, Joe went to see a doctor about the pain he was feeling. The doctor said there was nothing physically wrong with him. He was told it was just stress and to take it easy for a few days. Joe took a few days off from work. He sat on the porch with his wife Martha, and passed the time drinking iced tea and telling stories.

If Joe could claim to have any real talent, it would be his ability to tell captivating stories. Every time he told one, all other talk would cease. Everyone within earshot would inevitably get pulled into the magic of his words. His memory for details was incredible. Joe would always be able to recall even the most trivial of details and weave them seamlessly into his masterpiece. Even when he would invent a story out of thin air, it seemed as though he truly lived through it first-hand. It was nearly impossible to tell the difference. People would play games trying to tell the real stories from the fake, and Joe would just sit and laugh. He took great pride in his storytelling. It was his one art.

The night of Martha's death, the last thing he remembers is falling asleep by her side.When he came to he was waking up in the New Hampshire Mental Care Facility. The doctors told him that he brutally murdered his wife in the night. It made no sense. Why would he do that? They said he must have suffered a psychotic break, as his forms did indicate he was suffering from extreme stress, and that he was not in control when he performed the act. Afterward, he must have repressed the memory. The police had a solid case against him. All the evidence confirms this. He would stay here at the facility until his hidden neuroses were found and cured.

Joe's current roommate was also committed the same day as him. The man was clearly disturbed. He would only talk in broken sentences. He was always giggling and acting very much like a man who belonged there. "Won't you quit it, Grady!" Joe shouts, "It's bad enough I have to be trapped here, but I don't need you acting like a twisted freak all the time!"

Grady quiets a little, then responds "but I know... I KNOW! The reason... why... you're here... we are. You don't understand yet, but you will. Time... we must wait! It's only--"

"Will you just shut your mouth?!" Joe yells angrily. He stomps out into the hallway and down the corridor to the activity room. He spends his days lately sitting around reading in the sunlight. He hasn't told any stories since he arrived here. His heart just isn't in it. He'd much rather lose himself in the stories of others. He reads and basks in the sun. It's the only time he feels safe. Safe from what, he isn't sure. Sometimes it seems as if there's something waiting, lurking.

At night, he tosses around in bed restlessly. He can not believe his beloved Martha is gone. There is no way he would ever hurt her. He loved her more than anything in the world. She must be alive, waiting for him. If only Joe could get to that house, to see it for his own eyes. He needs to get out, he needs proof.

The pain he feels inside gets worse every day, worse still, at night. The pills aren't helping. The doctors tell him time will heal all his wounds. They aren't.

Two days later, as Joe was in his chair reading, Grady comes up to him as feverish as ever. He speaks of a plan. He talks of escape. Joe tries to get more out of him, but the man is as loony as ever. After getting no concrete details, Joe grabs Grady and starts shaking him, trying to force the answers out of him. Nurse Heeley comes to break up the commotion. In a reprimanding voice she says, "Joe, let go of him." He releases Grady and the frightened man takes off running. Nurse Heeley continues, "Now I don't know what has come over you, Mr. Marsh. You are usually so well behaved. Take these and go to bed. It's a sedative. Maybe a good night's sleep will calm you down."

Joe takes the pills. He goes to his room. He lays down on his bed. He sleeps a dreamless sleep.

Waking in the middle of the night, the facility is in chaos. His room is filled with smoke. Alarms are blaring. People are screaming. Grady bursts out from the smoke shouting, "Now! Now we go! Come with me!"
Joe grabs his hand and follows blindly through the white-out. Stumbling through the corridor, they come across the bloodied body of Nurse Heeley. Joe tries to stop and help her. Grady pulls him onward screaming, "Leave her! She's dead! Leave her!"

They exit out of the south entrance. A crowd is gathering at the north side of the building. They slip away into the treeline unnoticed. A cloud of black smoke rises from the burning building to join the ones up above. Walking through the woods Joe asks Grady how he knew Nurse Heeley was dead and not just unconscious. He answers that he came across her body earlier on the way to the room and checked then. She suffocated.

"We need a place to rest and change our clothes. We can grab a ride on the freight in the morning." announces Grady. Joe responds, "I know just the place."

The pair slip in to the yard of the Marsh place by way of the back hedges. At the back-door, Joe lifts up a plastic rock and removes a key. "We're monsters, you know?" speaks Grady. "They don't know but I know. I've always known. And now we're free monsters."

"Tell me again how you knew Nurse Heeley was dead?" Joe questions. "She was bloodied, as if she were struck. It wasn't smoke inhalation."

Grady answers matter-of-factly. "I killed her. She caught me trying to start the fire so I killed her." He then slips Joe a mischievous grin and adds, "But don't you worry. You're safe. I would never hurt my good friend Joe."

As Joe fiddles with the key in the lock, he tries to think up a way of ditching the maniac, maybe tying him up and leaving him for the authorities. The clouds part and soft moonlight crawls up the backyard toward the house. Grady turns and looks up. "Really? It's tonight? I thought we had one more day." he says.

Angrily, Joe asks, "What the hell are you talking about? One more day for what? Will you ever talk sense?"

Grady laughs, "You don't know, do you? How could you forget? Don't you feel it? Something deep inside of you, dying to get out? Something powerful, primal? Well, you can't fight it. Not tonight. Just look, it's the full moon. Been about 3 weeks since you mauled your old lady, right? Can't be helped. We always go after the ones we love most first."

Since the instant Grady pointed out the full moon, Joe has been unable to take his eyes off of it. All throughout Grady's speech, the two men stared wide-eyed up into the sky. The pain inside their chests grew. It grew and slowly tore the flesh from their bones. As the muscle and skin ripped and fell, a thick fur coat revealed itself from underneath. The two men screamed and convulsed. The screaming became warped, changed to howling. Sharp fangs sprouted bloodily forth from their jaws. They fell to their hands and knees. Then there was quiet. The two beasts stood side by side, snarling and growling. Ready to spread terror through the hearts of men.