Journals

Journals are crazy things. The true chronicles of a boy make an interesting story since I mostly write when I'm unhappy. But, it's interesting to go back and read. To remember those feelings and sometimes think, "WTF was wrong with me?" Ha.

But, while I was looking through things I found a story. A silly snippet of a smitten boy many moons ago.

Pink Girl

Taking a break from work, I decided to go on a snack run. I scanned my badge, waited for the bing, and proceeded. Wouldn’t Pavlov be proud? The walk consisted of a parking lot, a gate, a strip of sidewalk, and crossing a street.

There are actually two nearby gas stations. One is newer, which equates to better, except in the case of nachos. This is where the old store, "ghetto mart", as it’s fondly titled, trumps the "better" store.

I entered the new store; I was in no mood for nachos. I grabbed my Dew, and spent a few minutes deciding what snacky thing I wanted. I grabbed a pack of crackers and proceeded to check out. I waited while the lady in front of me bought a pack of gum.

My eyes wandered around the store, and then to the checkout girl. The first thing to catch my eye was her skirt. It was a red plaid, and reminded me of a Catholic schoolgirl uniform. I quickly ran my eyes up to her face, then slowly down the colorful star tattoos along her neckline. The colors were so vivid. My eyes were drawn down to her forearms where there were more tattoos. Finally, they rested on her right-hand knuckles, where a word was printed clearly. "PINK"

Not wanting to stare, I casually looked back to her face. She had short black hair, I wondered if it was dyed. I noticed her thin red eyebrows, and realized it must be. Her skin was fair and pale. She was a beautiful girl. Her black shirt clung tightly to her, accentuating her round, firm breasts.

She rang up my items. I notice on her left-hand knuckles there was another tattoo. "GIRL"

Nighttime

Ghosts was written on my phone, so there are some typos I'll need too go back and fix. It's just this crazy story about crazy ghosts.

I finally went back and fixed the textos.

Ghosts

"Sometimes the ghosts find me," he whispered into her ear. "They creep out of the shadows, slowly drawing closer. I'll catch some movement out of the corner of my eye. As they draw nearer I start to feel there presence. But, it's when their cold, dead hand pierces my heart that I'm filled with pain."

She frowns slightly and rests her hand gently on the boy. He looks pleadingly into her dark eyes. She says playfully, "The next time one shows up, just point it out to me and I'll protect you. You're my boy, it's my job to keep you safe."

She nuzzles his neck playfully and grins. He grasps her tightly. A soft sigh escapes the boy's lips. This is why I love her. He tries to pull her closer, but she slips out of his grip and giggles.

"You love it, don't you?" He says.

Raising an eyebrow she asks, "Love what?"

"Knowing that I still need you. That no matter much I struggle you're always here. That my mind is tangled with thoughts of you."

At these words she gets upset, "If you don't want me here... I'll leave."

She stands up and turns to walk away. The boy grabs at her hand, but it's already too late. She's hurt and has already started walking away. "Come back," he cries. "I didn't mean it. I made a mistake. Please stop."

But, she's gone. He lies alone in bed. Out of the corner of his eye something moves. As the ghost draws closer he shudders.

"Leave. Please just leave," he begs. But, she does not care. Did she ever care?

"But I care about you. I love you." She murmurs lovingly. "What's wrong? You can talk to me."

"Sometimes the ghosts find me..."

I am locked in my head

I am
Tainted
And happiness and peace of mind
Were never meant for me
All these
Pieces
And promises and left behinds
If only I could see
In my
Nothing
You meant everything
Everything to me

Orale ese! (Or an essay?)

A couple years ago I went back to school. I took an English class. I wrote some essays. This is one of them. It might make for an interesting read. Maybe?

Literary Dragons

My earliest memory of reading is lying on the floor near my best friends in a dimly lit fifth grade classroom. Nearby was the pillow and snacks I brought from home for a reading day. Of the students in the class, my friends and I were the only ones with a piece of paper and pencil to go along with our reading. The paper and pencil tracked our inventory, statistics and abilities in the Lone Wolf novels.

My friends and I loved these “Choose Your Own Adventure” type novels. We would each purchase one or two and pass them around to each other. Not only did they allow us to write book reports for books consisting of a few hundred pages (when in reality we read under one-hundred pages), we also “got out” of reading by playing a game. I remember thinking to myself how smart we were to pull one over on the teacher.

Another of my “clever” moments was writing a book report for a book I never read. I based the entire report on the cover which had a picture of what I thought was dragon-jousting. My imagination ran wild with the idea. To be thorough I extracted character names by scanning the pages. Years later I read the book and chuckled when I recalled my invented plot.

I recall sixth grade English. In a lab with Apple computers, I pecked away with my two index fingers to complete a short-story in Word Perfect. There was more story to tell, and the assignment had to be completed by the end of the day. I had written two pages; it was the end of the week; and there was less than 15 minutes left of class. My fingers made a mad dash to tie up multiple threads in a single paragraph. “A dragon is slain.”

A few years later, in eighth grade English, a true novel opened up the world of reading to me. I’m still not certain how, but I lucked out and ended up with the teacher who taught using Frank Herbert’s Dune rather than Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet. Now, this was a book I could sink my teeth into – science fiction, giant worms, and fascinating political intrigue.

With my literary fuse lit, I began branching outside of my game-books and started reading fantasy novels. At this point in my life, I was choosing books based on their cover and title. Again, fortune smiled on me when I stumbled upon Dragons of Autumn Twilight by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. The fast-paced high-fantasy kept me coming back for more, and thankfully the authors had written five other books in the same setting.

I discovered a love of reading and began sharing my books with friends. My friends and I would often dog-ear pages and mark next to paragraph to save our page. (Apparently the idea of a bookmark was a bit too high-brow for us.) It wasn’t long before each of us was introducing new books to share, resulting in our own unofficial book club.

My sophomore year of high school stands out as the worst English class. For some unknown reason, I still couldn’t say why, I decided to take the advanced class. Per quarter, the curriculum consisted of 500 pages of reading classic books selected by the teacher, 500 pages of reading classic books selected on our own, in addition to other work like essays, tests, and poetry.

A couple weeks into the class I realized how slow of a reader I was. Many students finished the reading assignment in class, while I still had half a chapter or more left to read when the bell rang. I struggled to keep up with the required reading. It got to the point where I read as much as I could -- enough to get three of five questions right on a quiz the following day – and the teacher filled in what I missed when she recapped the chapter.

I failed to keep up with the in-class assignments, and I still hadn’t started on the 500 pages of self-selected reading. I picked terribly boring “classics” like Jules Verne’s 10,000 Leagues Under the Sea and Bram Stoker’s Dracula. The requirements felt like a chore and stifled my passion for reading. By the end of the year I was happy to make it through the class with Cs across the board.

My partial-reading strategy not only caused my grades to suffer, I also missed out on the full experience of many books including Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. I vaguely knew the plot and didn’t understand how the title related to the novel. It wasn’t until years later, typing rapidly at a data entry job while listening to the audio book that I finally appreciated how wonderful this book is. Scout, one of my favorite literary characters, brought to mind my own childhood. (I think it has to do with Scout and me sharing a talent for getting into trouble.)

My enjoyment of audio books prompted me to look up an old friend, Dune. By reading Dune a second time, I remembered why I loved reading in the first place. Having rekindled my passion for reading I proceeded to read the entire series. Eager for more good books I turned to the internet for recommendations. Even after ten years, I have yet to put a dent in an ever-increasing, recommended book-list.

From my joy of reading and perhaps a little in celebration (and imitation) of the authors I loved, I dabbled in writing my own short stories. I find it exhilarating to impact people with my words - to say something meaningful while entertaining. Or, at times, I have fun being whimsical and silly. It is important to have stories that can lift the weight, even for a short time, from one’s shoulders. Writing was a forgotten joy.

Throughout my literary adventures, I have come across many dragons. There were dragons preventing me from attaining great treasure. I rode other dragons to new lands. The worst dragons were the ones I created and imposed on myself. As I venture forward, sword in hand, I hope to confront new dragons head-on.

A Beginning

This is an older story of mine. Well, the start of a longer story. I had a lot of thoughts about where this story would go. But, I didn't like anything I wrote that pushed the story forward. Maybe I'll revisit this someday. Maybe it will only ever be a beginning. I feel a little bad never writing of his escape. It's as if on his world he's still trapped, wondering where life will take him.

The Great Devourer

I was born of earth and darkness into a prison of cold, hard stone. My prison was devoid of light. To say my world was black, would suggest there was color, in reality there was none. I knew only what I could feel, hear, smell, and taste - the rough, gritty feel of rock; the slimy pool of water whose living entities nibble my toes and tickled the soles of my feet; and, then there was the Chasm.

The Chasm was not simply an opening into the bowls of the earth. It was a living, breathing entity. I heard it sucking in long, deep breaths of cold air that it would expel days later musty and hot. To shout into the Chasm caused it to retort in a chanting mockery of my voice. Its gaping mouth was eternally hungry, swallowing stones and boulders as though they were drops of water to be caught on its tongue. Not once did I hear a stone hit bottom. For the Chasm will never be filled. Not with a thousand boulders upon a thousand boulders for it is the Great Devourer.

The Chasm whispered to me in my sleep, and I knew I must silence its voice if I wished to live. I tore at the walls of my prison, removing chunks of rock and mud with my bare hands and tossing every ounce down it's throat. I lived in pain. My hands bled throughout the day and scabbed over at night, only for my wounds to reopen with another days work. I say day and night, though one does not know the passing of time when one never sees the moon, stars, or sun.

A day consisted of working the stone with my hands until I was tired. When I was hungry, I would eat whatever I could find. Whether it meant some grime or moss that grew on the walls and floor of my prison, or one of the fish-like creatures that lived in my pool, for one would not recognize them as normal fish. They had a bony shell around their head, and their flippers felt like legs trapped in a sack of skin and scales. One might think they were amphibious, but out of the water they did not live long.

After what must have been many months, perhaps even years, my hands hardened to the task. I no longer felt pain or bled, and I was able to bore into all forms of stone. Before, what I could not even scratch with stone on stone; I was, now, able to leave great gashes in with my new and powerful tools. Each finger was a pick, my hand a shovel, and my arms were powerful enough to pound them into stone.

I worked with the single purpose of satiating the Chasm’s hunger. I burrowed in all directions making thirty to forty tunnels until I clawed into a passage not of my making. It took me only moments to realize the walls of the passage were old. They felt older than even the walls of my prison. They were slick and smooth, as though worn down by the Chasm’s breath over many ages.

This gave rise to a new thought. It had never occurred to me that there might be another, like me, clawing through the darkness. For you see, all I knew was my pool, its inhabitants, my tunnels, and the Chasm. I had a new goal now, to find the maker of the passage.

Tainted Love

Now I know I've got to run away
I've got to get away
You don't really want any more from me
To make things right
You need someone to hold you tight
You think love is to pray
But I'm sorry I don't pray that way

Whatever

No sleep tonight I guess. It's a bit unfair. So, I decided to write a story. I worry about the boy in my stories. He's not fairing too well. Maybe I need to write him a world with less evil and conflict.

The Spider

Once upon a time, the boy came across a spider. The spider wasted no time and buried her fangs near the boy's heart. The boy jumped backwards and swatted at his chest attempting to squash the spider. Removing his hands, the spider was no longer there. She had jumped away and disappeared.

There was something familiar about that spider, the boy thought to himself. He looked at the wound left by the spider. It wasn't too bad, a little red and swollen, and it still stung. He hoped the spider wasn't poisonous and continued on his journey.

It didn't take long for the boy's chest to hurt. He examined the wound more closely. It hadn't closed, and much of his chest was red and swollen. He decided he better find some help before things got worse.

After a couple days of journeying without finding help, the wound was festering and the boy couldn't go any further. He was too tired, too hurt, and emotionally drained. The boy curled up in a ball and slept.

He dreamed of past pain. The girl was there, but the girl was different. She had eight legs and beady, button eyes . He fled from the monstrosity, but everywhere he ran she was there. She tormented him and trapped him in her web. Words of how she cared would drip from her mouth laced with venom. Each word dripped onto his chest. Eroding away flesh. Eroding away muscle. Eroding away bone. And, eventually eroding away his heart.

Days passed and the boy awoke crying, clutching his chest. When he looked at his chest the wound was no longer there. Near where the boy slept was a twisted, melted lump of copper resembling a heart. The boy felt hollow inside. With a big sigh, he got to his feet and continued his journey.

Foolish

So, The Adventures of Hatman #52 was once my online dating profile (nearly 10 years ago). I thought I was being clever, silly, and fun. It was very Batman TV series campy, and I loved it. Apparently, women weren't nearly as amused. I received zero responses using that as my profile.

Maybe with comics being more mainstream, it'd be more successful these days. It's hard to say with how weird the online dating world is. It's a world where content is generally unimportant.

The Adventures of Hatman #52

The moon peered through the clouds casting dim light. Hatman skulked through the darkness, because in the darkness one must skulk. A siren rang out in the distance, but he paid it no mind.

After taking a quick glance around, Hatman deftly bypassed the security and entered his laboratory. The computer screen flashed that there was an urgent message. Hatman punched a key to view the message. “Matter of life or death. Must meet tonight. The file attached contains directions on when and where to meet. – SillyKitty92,” the message read.

“Hmph. Obviously, a fake name,” he surmised. Quite impressed with his amazing deductive abilities, Hatman grinned to himself. Hoping this wasn’t a trap from one of his nemesis, like evil Little Miss Uptight, the notorious Drama Drama Queen, or the dreaded Clinger, he decided to proceed with the meeting. However, he was going prepared.

Hatman dawned his latest hat complete with multi-functional brim and flexi-fit. He rushed out of his laboratory and hopped in his car. Slamming on the gas pedal he rushed to his destination. Hatman arrived few minutes early (* - See episode 27 for more information on why he doesn’t like to keep the ladies waiting.), exited the vehicle, and went to the steps of what must be SillyKitty92’s home.

He knocked on the door and waited, all the while glancing about for any signs of danger. Moments later, a beautiful woman opened the door and said, “Hello, you must be Hatman, I recognize you by your hat.” She then gave a mischevious smile…

To be continued.

Is this another trap for Hatman? Is SillyKitty92 a troubled pussy? Find out in the next issue of The Adventures of Hatman!

New Music

Alright, it seemed only fitting to update the new theme with a song from The Downward Spiral. But, what I didn't plan on happening was finding a Beatles / NIN match-up. So, I included Closer and then had to add the match-up since I thought it was pretty awesome. Enjoy!

Style Update

I was playing around and decided to go with a new theme for my blog. The background reminds of The Downward Spiral cover art. And, I thought, "Fuck it." The theme is mostly the default, but I did up the opacity of the black to 75%. Maybe I'll modify things more later. And, maybe I won't. I did backup my toxic theme though.

So Tired

The story is a very rough draft, typed on a phone in the wee hours of the morning. Sleep is an elusive beast some nights. And, some nights your heart aches. And, you don't know whether it's real pain or some phantom pain. Some pain that says, 'Listen asshole! I got used to being around constantly and some nights you need to hurt again to feel normal.'

I'm tired. I might be broken. And, some days I don't know what I'm doing anymore. But, at least it's reality.

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time a boy loved a girl. The boy loved her so much he poured his heart and soul into loving her. The girl also loved the boy very much until one day she didn't.

On this day she woke up and told the boy that she was no longer in love with him. And, that day the boy's heart shattered into a billion pieces and was scattered by the wind to the four corners of the world.

To go on living the boy filled the empty space in his chest with hope. He hoped the girl would come back. He hoped the girl would fall in love with him again. He hoped...

Each night the boy would go to sleep filled with sadness for the girl did not come back. Some days he would see the girl. Some days he would talk to the girl. And, these days were extra painful because what the girl said and what the boy heard were two different stories.

One day the girl told the boy about her broken heart. About how her love did not love her back. That day was extra hard for the boy because the boy realized his girl was gone forever. What hope remained fled and the boy was left hollow.

Needing to fill that empty space the boy fashioned a heart from copper tubes and wire. He put the cold, inhuman thing in his chest and mourned the loss of his heart. When he was done mourning he took a jar and ventured out into the world to find his heart. Piece by piece he would fill the jar. And maybe someday he would have a whole heart to give to a girl.

Wishing at 11:11

My relationship with Skye was awesome, terrible, happy, crazy, and heart-breaking. She made me a better person and showed me how to live life. She also had a supremely awesome Tarot deck and the most awesome bed ever (not in that way perv!).

One day I really fucked up our relationship and my repentance was a story. Well, not just the story, but it was a start. The relationship ended maybe a month after the story was written.

There's something about how the story is told that I really like. When it gets to the poem, it's just, I like it. It's a cheesy poem, but, it's mine. Besides, it's better than my moon one.

Skye's Story

Once upon a time there was a boy who had recently had his heart broken. He convinced himself that it was all healed up and decided to find a new love. Not knowing where to find love, he went to the land of the singles.

In the land of the singles, he talked with and dated a few women. He was about to name it the land of the crazies and leave, until he met this awesome girl with blue streaks in her hair. When they met, they got along really well. So well, in fact, that neither wanted to part with the other.

They dated and fell in love with each other. But, both were afraid to tell the other person first. Eventually the girl, the braver of the two, told the boy how she felt. And, the boy happy to know the girl felt the same way said, "I love you, too."

Sadly, there relationship was strained by many factors. Their love was a difficult love. One day a troll said something terrible that hurt the girl. The girl told the boy about how she was hurt and wondered why the boy would be friends with the troll. The boy, who was too stupid for his own good, let the troll stay which caused much hurt to both the boy and girl. By the time the boy had finally seen the troll for what she was, it was too late.

The boy's and girl's relationship was extremely fragile at this point. They still loved each other, but hurt, confusion, and resentment clouded their hearts. The girl had a brilliant idea of absconding to a far away land to be together. They could eat, drink, and be merry. The boy, who was again stupid and less brave than the girl, wanted to go. The girl went traveling without the boy and begged the boy to follow. The girl felt rejected by the boy and was very hurt, and even though the boy finally did meet her in the far away land the girl had started to resent the boy.

The boy fell deeply in love with the girl while in the faraway land. It was magical and wonderful and being the fool he was he never told her how much he loved her. So, when they returned from their adventure, the girl decided that she would date other boys. This hurt the boy very much because he wanted the girl to be his and only his. But, the boy had a lot of pride, and did not let the girl know he's true feelings.

Weeks went by and the girl, who was still very hurt too, told the boy what she needed from him. And, the boy was hurt by her request. So, when the girl asked to be only his, he rejected her which continued the cycle of hurt.

One day, the boy did the most foolish thing ever. He decided to do the same thing the girl was doing, date other people. While on the date he only thought of the girl he loved. When he later talked to his love, he told her a lie and he regretted it immediately. The boy wanted to say, "No, no. That's not what really happened." But, he was the biggest fool in all the land and wanted to protect the heart he loved from his mistake.

But, lies are not little things. They are big, evil, awful creatures. And, the lie he told made the boy's heart ache. He wanted to tell the girl, but was so afraid to lose her. He loved her. Loved her very deeply. The next night he showed the girl how much he loved her. He poured his heart into hers, but alas he failed to do two important things that night. Tell her about the lie and tell her how much he cared.

Sadly, the girl found out about the boy's lie without the boy telling her. And, instead of saying, "Yes, it was an awful thing to lie to you. I'm sorry, this is what happened." The boy spun new lies. And, each new lie made him sadder and sadder. He hated deceiving the girl for he knew it was wrong to treat someone he loved this way. And, summoning all the courage he had, which was much less than what the girl had, he told the girl about his lies.

The girl was hurt very deeply by the boy's lies. And, the boy loathed himself for telling them. The boy loathed himself for hurting his love. The boy loathed himself for dating another girl. The boy told the girl, "I am sorry, my love. I will do anything to make it up to you, but I know not what to do. Please, give me another chance."

The girl could not think of anything to fix the hurt he had caused. She hated the boy. And, the boy deserved it. The boy not knowing what to do comprised a poem and hoped the girl would someday forgive him.

The Fool
A boy loved a girl
He should have told her
He sided with a troll
Instead of crushing it with a boulder

He broke her heart
When he should have held her close
He told a lie
That hurt the one he loved the most

He shopped for flowers
He shopped for jewelry
But alas the long shipping dates
Made it seem like tomfoolery

And so he sat
Scribbling this poem with a pen
Recalling the girl
Whose love he did not want to see end

Her heart is beautiful
Unlike this foolish guy
I wish my head were in the clouds
So I could be with my Skye