The graveyard is full of people...

Fires attracts idiots. These idiots are after insurance money. That's all well and good except idiots tend to underestimate everyone, they actually believe themselves to be geniuses. I'll bet you're wondering what brought this on. I'm going to tell you a story. A couple nights ago, well morning really because it was five, I got a phone call regarding a trailer fire and there were no bodies, so I was thinking "what the fuck are you doing waking me up at five in the goddamn morning to tell me about a fire? Call the station, get an officer to write the report up for the insurance, call the fucking fire marshal, and leave me the hell alone." Well, they insisted that I come down there and I assumed that's what I got for being a volunteer firefighter and friends with those guys. I got out of bed and hauled my very unhappy ass down there. Now, this place was way out in the county, as in you go out past BFE and make a right, drive for three years and then you're there. When I arrived the woman was hysterical, so I started there. She told me, in between angry sobs, that they'd just bought a brand new 47' inch plasma screen TV, leather couch in the living room with recliner, an original Thomas on the wall, etc. My only thoughts were "you live this far out in the county, your husband is working midnights, and you have a Thomas on the wall, really?" Then simply, "wow, that's a lot of shit for a single wide trailer." After that lovely conversation, I headed inside and nearly died laughing. I restrained. The TV was one of those old time, gotta use a knob because there is no remote, rabbit eared jobs, there's one of those velvet dogs playing poker pictures on the wall, and the couch was one of those brown ones that everyone's grandparents used to own. You know what I'm talking about, I'm sure. Now, how did I know all that? There wasn't really that much fire damage to the place. Also, in the floor, was this amazing perfectly square hole and well shit. People will do that to injure firefighters coming in to put out the fire., but this one was filled with sticks. There were seven more of these holes through out the house. Aha. I went back outside. "Ma'am, what do you believe started this fire?" "Lightning." "Did it cause the holes in the floor?" "Yes, it did." "Then tell me, ma'am, why are there no holes in the roof." "I don't know, why don't you ask God?" Lightning doesn't strike the same damn house seven times and if it did there would goddamn well be places on the roof. God didn't start this fire, idiots did. Case fucking closed.

“Please don't be fooled by me. Don't be fooled by the face I wear, for I wear a mask. I wear a thousand masks, masks that I'm afraid to take off and none of them are me. Pretending is an art that is second nature to me, but don't be fooled, for God's sake don't be fooled.

    I give you the impression I'm secure and that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without, that confidence is my name, coolness my game, that water is calm and I'm in command and that I need no one, but don't believe me, please don't believe me.

    My surface may be smooth, but my surface is a mask--my every varying and ever concealing mask. Beneath it dwells the real confusion, fear and aloneness. Beneath lies my smugness, my complacently, but I hide this--I don't want anyone to know it.

    I panic at the thought of my weakness and fear being exposed. That's why I frantically created a mask to hide behind-- nonchalant sophisticated facades to help me pretend-- to shield me from the glance that knows-- but such a glance is precisely my salvation, my only salvation and I know it. That is if it's followed by acceptance. If it's followed by love, it's the only thing that can liberate me from myself, from my own self built prison walls and from the barriers that I so painstakingly erect. It's the only thing that will assure me of what I cannot assure myself, that I'm really worth while, but I don't tell you this, I don't dare--I'm afraid to.

    I'm afraid that your glance will not be followed by acceptance and love. I'm afraid you'll think less of me and you'll laugh and your laugh will kill me. I'm afraid that deep down, I'm nothing and that I'm just no good and that you'll see this and reject me.”

    Don't Be Fooled by Me, Charles C. Finn

I keep scribbling out pages of random snippets. Little snapshots of stories that have been floating around in my head and thoughts that I can't help but dwell on, but none of it's helping. All I seem to be gaining from my efforts is a sharp pain in my wrist. I can't forget. I can't forget the past, the girl, or the things that I can't change. They just won't disappear and it's becoming increasingly annoying. My head won't shut up. So, I've started drinking. It's almost poetic to be sitting here on the tracks with a fifth of Jack D. Almost poetic the pathetic dribble that's becoming my existence. I can't control what I am anymore or who I'm becoming. Hell, I don't even know what it is.

I fell asleep out here. Cool night air and the moonlight to keep me company. Railroad tracks don't generally make good pillows, but this evening they seem to be doing alright. It feels like two in the morning, but I know it's not. It isn't nearly that close to three am, I'd feel that one coming a mile away. It always brings the same feeling, but it's not always good or always bad. I feel like I could go back to sleep, but I don't think I should. This probably wasn't the best place for an unlikely cat nap, then again, in some ways it was perfect. It's not as quiet here as it is out by the lake. Sometimes the noise helps me think and silence would simply complicate me. I thought my phone woke me up, but then I remembered that I turned it off. Maybe I'm missing something important back in the land of the living, but it doesn't matter. I'm lost here in the land of the dead. By now there's a warrant out for my arrest if there is going to be one. You see, I lost my temper in the "good" judge's chambers this morning. Loud enough that what I said was heard and misconstrued by enough people that on top of character slander it might have been considered verbal assault of a public official. Go figure that I finally end up back on the other side of the law. I guess it's only a matter of time before it comes full circle. I'll probably get suspended, I'm expecting that. Assuming they don't arrest me. I'll get suspended, anger management, then back on the streets doing what it is I do. That's how it goes. It's simply more bullshit.

There's an old saying: What goes up must come down. That's a very true statement. You know when I realized that I was in trouble? It wasn't ten minutes ago, lying on this railroad track and remembering the train only runs these tracks on Wednesday night at midnight. It wasn't even when I looked down and realized I was doing 179 in a 35 and my heart didn't even flinch. No, it was a beat after that when I remembered that I was driving, so I put my hands back on the wheel.
Now, I'm just sitting here on the tracks waiting for a train that won't come for two days. I turned my phone off. I don't know why. I don't even think I get service out here at this old train yard. I don't know why I'm sitting out here, there are no answers. Just empty train cars and lonely memories. This isn't my place, that's out by the lake, but this train grave yard comes a close second. I like to sit out here and watch the cars roll by. I've thought a hundred times about hopping one of those box cars out of here. I don't know where they go, but that's the beauty of running away. It doesn’t much matter where you run.
Somewhere you can get lost and no one knows your name. I believe it's time for some travel therapy. Backpacking through Spain or China, some where different. Maybe Russia, but at least it's somewhere that knows nothing. Innocent land. Sometimes that's all it takes.
It's been dark awhile now, the sunset didn't provide what I hoped that it would. I guess that means I'll have to wait for the sunrise again. I'm not sure that's a lady that I missed much. I guess that someone needs to miss her, might as well be me. I'm just out here biding my time anyway.
There's always been a way to use this to my advantage, this dark well always had a way to still show the stars, but tonight it doesn't feel like it.

Racing thoughts, ten thousand of them at once. None of them make much sense. I'm probably going to jail, I can't stop thinking about this fucking girl, it's Monday. I haven't eaten today, but I'm not hungry. Yes, Chance, you are. You've just got to remember to eat. That's right. Shit. Alright, focus. Good.

As time continue to pass we become ever aware of just how quickly it's moving. It's easy to get caught up in the ins and outs of it and forget to live. You can ride the current, but it's not really swimming if you don't take control. I've been caught up with it for a while now and I'm beginning to come back to Earth. I missed it here were the rush stops.
Today is a day of new beginnings. I was going to quit smoking, but that seemed a little extreme. As a day of new beginnings it must also be a day of ends. That girl I've been talking about? It's done. Over before it started, which is possibly good, and it's time for that dull ache in my chest to fade. I'm done comparing every girl I meet to her. I'm done running from the things I can't change. Next weekend I'm going back to New York to have a little chat with the past. If it doesn't swallow me whole, I'll be done with it. I went to see my therapist this morning after class and then I went to see my therapist. No one listens better than a dog and an old country road. I still won't take the medicine, but I'm also still stable enough to carry a firearm. Good enough.

Today is another one of those days. I don't want to go home, but there's really no reason to stay here though. I could be studying I suppose, but my heart just isn't in it. It's not really in this either.

The weather is starting to turn again, the scent of spring is on the air and it's only February. It's amazing how quickly it all goes. I'm moving next semester to start my doctorate, but I haven't decided where yet. Boston, Chicago, Florida, California. Somewhere bigger, somewhere new.

The strong western winds would being rain, he concluded as he looked over the sky and the breeze tugged at his jacket. It hadn't started yet, but it would. Somber clouds were rolling in over a twilight sky accompanied by the dull roar of threatening thunder in the distance. It looked like channel three had gotten it right this time, a storm was coming. A beautifully painted dusk sky melted brilliant reds and soft purples into the coming black as the night began to stake it's claim on the region. Cracked and pothole marked concrete ribbon wound it's way through the urban wasteland and patch worked a spiderweb maze that became a slum soaked city. The desecrated and scarred buildings cast shadows and created alleyways for cake dealers to peddle their wares. The main drag carved it's way out of the city's center and made home to boarded up business and bars. Down the far end of town, past the mockery of a courthouse, lay the central business distract. A nearly abandoned industrial park that, in it's time, hosted to some of the great captain of industry. Now, as midnight continued it's hostile take-over of the sky, security lights flooded on and touched spotlights of Heaven in the very midst of Hell. Their feeble puddles glowed dingy yellow and stretched out fingers to where the shadows stopped the march of angels. Spray painted dumpsters advertised a gang war that ravished the city as they leaned in between discarded buildings and collected more bullet holes than trash. The gutters ran with blood and filth, broken glass and cigarette butts litter the ground like bodies might after a back alley brawl. In the midst of all this sat the Warehouse, a club that hosed illegal raves and the basis of the Chicago mafia. Down several buildings a faceless shadow melted in from off stage and the flickering light sculpted her curves under short skirt and tight blouse. The unholy stare of a predator fell upon the whore in disgust before his eyes flicked away in disinterest and he choked back a gag. Apparently, the grudge lived on. Traffic roared somewhere beyond his sight, the city lived on despite it's war wounds. On booted feet, the sniper made his way through the concrete jungle carefully avoiding a glowing touch. A sideways glance showed a scene of cheap sex and other back alley business between the buildings, but he carried on without pause. Beyond the range of his focus a second and more sinister shadow formed in the spotlight and business began.

Yesterday, American watched it's first African-American President take the oath of office. It's officially the end of the Bush era. Change we can believe in. Obama fanatics everywhere waited five minutes and then rushed out to get a mortgage. It doesn't work like that, ladies and gentleman. While this might be, though debatable, a step in the right direction for our country, don't expect the troops to come home tomorrow, our economy to right itself today, or anything else some people might have you believe to happen this week.

There is a train coming down the tracks and you are standing at the switch. If the train continues on it's current path there are five workers who are unaware of the train and too far away for you to yell. Should the train travel the other track there is a singular, also unaware and out of earshot, worker in the way. Do you flip the switch? Did you just say yes, make the decision to sacrifice one life for the lives of fie? You just committed murder.
Take this next: the scene is the same except now there is a bridge between the train and the switch. You stand on the bridge with a 500lb man. Do you push this man off the bridge, in this scene the weight of the man will stop the train, to save lives?
There are numerous problems with these situations. Wouldn't the workers become aware of the train and move? How does a 500lb man get up on a bridge? Is this man your friend? Do you know him at all? I'm sure that you can come up with a thousand others, but just take it as it is.
In the first scenario 99% of people would pull the switch, in the second only 2% would push the man from the bridge. Why is that do you think? The first action is direct. Yes, you have killed a man, but did so without dirtying your own hands. The direct action of pushing the man from the bridge in the second while you look into his eyes, or don't, takes a certain kind of person. Maybe it's about the touch, to put your hands on a man and kill him. I don't know.
A girl a row up posed an interesting point. She did not believe herself capable of such an action, but should there be a group of people or even one other person on the bridge with her and they pushed the man then she could condone it. It wasn't something she could allow of herself. She could forgive another person for murder. Socially accepting it and expecting the law to do the same, but she could not forgive herself.
I answered both with no hesitation, just went with my gut instinct and stuck with it, because that's all you would have. There could be no time for thought, there is no time there for anything but reaction or shock. Make a decision or don't, but no decision is a decision all the same. What's your take?

Happy New Year's Eve. Welcome to the last day of the year, Chance. Part of me feels a need to reflect and the rest of me feels the need to hide from 3am and sleep. Guess which part wins?
Goodnight midnight.

There is something to be said for the city at night. This isn't New York, I know, but it's still nice. I do think, while walking in the godforsaken snow, that I've discovered what it is about this place that attracts me. You're completely alone in a place like this. I mean, I pass people on the street while I'm walking and some of them speak, Hello. How are you?, and I answer the same, I'll never see them again. It doesn't matter who I am or what I've done, just a passing word and glance and then it's over. No one here knows my name or cares what it is, except my cousins, but they won't be here forever.
There's a bar down on Cedar, it's close to where we're staying, called Jillian's. It's just another dive, but it's interesting. I've been going there some nights, become a regular, but no one knows my name. What do we call you drifter? I didn't know what to say for a minute, I was enjoying the anonymous, so I just said that'll be fine. Now, they play that song for me when I come in, The Ride, I can't remember who it's by. Drifter, can you make folks cry when you play and sing? It's a good song, anyway. I've only been here for four day now and it feels more like home than anywhere recent.
Ah, the city lights. Call to me, seduce me, fuck me, and make me leave.

Welcome to Cleveland, Chance. I'm not sure if I hate this place or if I love it, the city and I are having one of those relationships at the moment. It's been a long time since I've seen this much snow or this many people who drive like they've just escaped from a mental institution. It reminds me a little of New York, without as much fear of homicide. I've been wandering the streets at three am again, back alleys and rooftops, just to see if it took the same place as the lake and silent trees. It's louder here, but that doesn't make it harder to think. It's a comforting loud. I'm used to empty streets by one and here there seem to be more insomniacs. The city makes me miss a lot of people, think too much about ones I've left behind and ones that I should. It's a nice sort of reminiscing though, like a reunion with old friends. I could deal without the cold though, been awhile since I was playing in the negative numbers. It's almost enough to make me give up smoking.
Staying in this hospital is depressing, waiting on a heart for my cousin. It's been a long time coming, but it's hard not to remember sleeping in a Pittsburgh waiting room with him while his mom did the same thing. It didn't work out so well for her, it might not for him either. The city is nice, I just wish I were here for other reasons.
We're staying in a communal house and it's interesting. There is a family staying there that doesn't speak a touch of English. The littlest kids know how to say hello and goodbye, that's about it. Sometimes it makes it a little complicated. I made some friends in the smoking corner, I seem to do that where ever I go. At least  there's a benefit to getting cancer. I'm not the only one freezing my ass off at two in the morning for that last nicotine buzz before sleep. Though, sleep doesn't come that easy in the city. I lay awake at night staring at the ceiling a lot, then I walk. I walked into downtown Cleveland at three am, into a bar and had a beer. I don't know if that was my smartest move since I've been here. It's a long walk from the hospital to downtown. I got back around sunrise. Sunrise is a different experience in between the buildings than through the trees. I went up on the roof of the hospital and watched it come up over the cityscape. I miss the city. Even right now, when it's cold, snowing, and hateful.
Some places just feel like home.

Sleep deprivation is usually always a bad plan, generally more so when you've a lot to think about. Your mind wants to take it all at once, but there's not enough of it left awake to do so. It'll also trick you into thinking things, the way cheap wine and Jack Daniels does, like it's a good idea to say this. If you need to have that thought then it's probably a bad idea to actually say it or anything else for that matter. Sometimes silence is the best answer and sometimes it's the the only answer. Even when it is though, we're still too stupid to find it. Occasionally, even though you're thinking it or everyone in the room is thinking it, it's still not a great plan to say it. I wish life was like instant messaging, you've time to erase. Though sometimes you still don't have the brains.  should have sent that message, ah well. There's no unsend button on that either. It'd be nice to erase some of the shit I said. I don't know if I would though, not much. I meant it, maybe that's the part I should erase.

Well, I didn't die. Even though I was almost certain that I was going to, gah. I hate being fucking sick, I'd rather be broken in twenty places. At least I understand that type of pain. So, break went a little too fast, but the pause in life was welcomed. It's Monday now though and I've had to rejoin the world in a productive manner. How depressing. I've got two exams to make up, my CW journal to finish, nineteen poems to comment on, four written finals to study for, an oral final in Japanese, and a ten page paper due in two days. I'm trying to quit smoking. Hahaha. One day at a time, I suppose. Today I just need to worry about finishing my kanji and passing an oral quiz that I wasn't here for the material. (y) One second at a time then.

Watching campus while sick is a little surreal. I think it's because the senses have dulled down and you have to focus harder to notice anything. Or it could just be that you don't really give a flying fuck about what's going on around you. One of those. I still feel nauseous, shit. Fuck pneumonia, fuck it. I guess I'm not allowed to just get sick like normal people, no half assing it for me. My doctor is a hateful wench, who sends someone back to work and school on a motherfucking Friday? More chest pain, I just wanna go home. Goodnight.

Three am came to me this morning an tossed chaos around my mind as though it were a child's playground. There were too many thoughts and I isolated the things I could. That didn't help matters much as isolating something leads to branching from that one thought. More thoughts, more focus. Sometimes it's my most valued tool, in this case it was potentially fatal. Things have slowed down with the sun. Not much, but enough to survive.
Thanksgiving break is coming up soon, I've been praying for it. I'm going out to the cabin up until the actual holiday I do believe. I need the quiet and the alone. It'll give me some free time to think and while that's bad, it's good.
December is coming rapidly, I think I'll go to Scotland after Christmas. Maybe Australia and spend the New Year's somewhere else. Ireland. Spain. Anywhere but here or there. I don't suppose it matters much where, when you're running away you can hide anywhere. And usually you can never run far enough.
Hello lady Wednesday, never seeing you again would be too soon.

Veteran's day. Well, given out current state of war today I suppose that applies to a lot more people that it used to.
Thank you for your service, your bravery, and probably your loss. Your country is proud of you.

There are a thousand things that I should be doing. This is not one of them. I should be writing my IS paper, revising my Japanese, or writing that CJ paper. I guess you can see that I'm not. Too many thoughts to focus, fuck.

Alright, alright. Chance has been very well behaved about this whole thing and now I just need to say it and get it over with. If Obama is the answer for the United States then we must have been asking a fucking stupid question. /political rant.

On another note, I hate mid-week. It's just as close to Monday as it is Friday and that's just fucked up. Maybe I need to start sleeping more, I don't think that will happen. Ah, well, whatcha' going to do?

The day pressed on and that should not be allowed of Wednesday. The weather is changing. I can feel it turning colder with it's chilly nights and ice cold mornings. Winder nights are the easiest to hide in, but I'm not so sure I missed them.
I miss naps in front of the fireplace, curled up with her while the snow fell. Coming home to warm sheets and hot kisses. Winter makes me wants someone to come home to again. I don't want to slip into a relationship I don't mean. This hopeless romantic can't stand the thought of sacrificing his heart for the sake of touch. Feel free to place bets on how long that last. I miss her and she doesn't even have a name. I wish she did.
For now fall will continue to reign, autumn cool won't give way to the winter freeze just yet. At least I can be thankful for that.

This highly political, opinionated bastard has said absolutely nothing about this highly controversial election. You should be amazed and you should be grateful. I'm going to stick to that just for you guys, at least for the time being. You owe me for that, although some of you might be relived that I'm speaking about something besides, yeah? Ah well, I promise this entry will be more mundane. Midterms have passed, I'm thankful. Although it puts me closer to finals, which is shitty for college students across the country.
What have I been doing lately? I don't usually write about what I've been doing, but I did promise mundane. Been getting more involved on campus, not so much with the school itself, but with the people. Mostly I've just been hanging out a lot more. I've cared less about my 4.0 and more about just chilling. It's been nice, really. Those grades keeping up and just relaxing. I've been drinking less, well maybe more, but less just sitting around the house. I'm thinking that's a good thing.
Hm, Monday. This one isn't as bad as some of them are, even with the lack of sleep last night. So far, it's been decent. Well, two more classes and I'm out for the day. Headed out for a year long nap or so. Nah, I'll probably hit the WH with Ryuu and company for some chill out before Tuesday. Tuesday or Friday one should last all week. That would be grand.
Work went fairly well this morning, but class is dragging like it'll never be tomorrow. Pretty sure that's because I hate this class. I've got to stop showing up for this shit. It's much to early to be reminded that I'm going to die. I knew that, thanks.

I hate these glowing red numbers. Thirteen seventy-two. No, that can't be right. Three seventy-two, no. Ah, three twelve.  suppose that makes more sense. My three am lady has returned to me. I don't know why she wants to dance after midnight. I'm tired of walking these same steps night after night. It's just a tunnel with no end, there's no light. If there is then it's a goddamn train.

You always had to eat, dinner was always made by noon. If you didn't eat then you were hounded, if hounding didn't work then she cried. That always worked, no one can stand to see and angel cry. You might as well be prepared for at least one hug, even on your first trip, because you weren't getting out the door without one. Everyone was welcome in her home. She always wanted you to come and never wanted you to leave. Sometimes I think she should have run a bed and breakfast, she'd have loved it. Every time I went up that way I stopped and sometimes I just needed to drive and I'd go to her. Now I can't. I've never felt as much as home as I did in her kitchen. I don't know where home is now.
I'm lost.

I'm getting fucking tired of people dying. That sounds a little stupid, doesn't it? Maybe a even a little offensive. I really am though. I don't know how many more funerals I can go to before I lose it. There were two on Thursday, I went to the Marine's funeral over the uncle I never met. Mom didn't and doesn't understand why. This eighty three year old man never bothered to know us, I don't think that was disrespectful of me. That young kid in that casket saved my life more times than I can count. That's where I went. Sunday was no better, another boy that was too young to die, it chokes me up. The second died on American soil, never woke up, I don't know if that was better for his mom or not. I lived in my dress blues this weekend. There's another funeral today, not one of mine, family. A great-aunt. Another suit, tie on this tie again. I have been completely sober since Wednesday and I don't care. I'm numb, feeling nothing, and that's dangerous. I don't really care about that anyway, that might be the problem.
I have Mondays.

My sleepless lady slipped between the sheets with me around 4:30 this morning, she gave me a few minutes to get settled. I didn't want to sleep or even try. When to the pool hall and had a few, not as many as I wanted. I was supposed to be home grading papers. I got them done, then my own work. Quick shower, but I didn't want to sleep. I tried anyway, but all there was..was a dream filled haze. I usually don't remember my dreams, but they've been rather vivid lately. Flashbacks or fantasies, I'd rather not dream.
This morning needs more caffeine.

Mythology explains a lot. Zeus extracted revenge when the gift of fire was stolen from the gods. Do you know what he did? Gave the guy's brother a woman. Now, I'm not sure what that says to you, but....well, it re enforces a cynic's dream. [ I killed Cupid. ] Society has shifted and with the modern coming true love vanished. There is no sanctity in marriage, chivalry is dead. You can no longer hold a door for a woman, pay for dinner, or drive without it being assumed that you're a sexist pig. We change with the times. This hopeless romantic seeks to find the balance between sexism and romance and discovers that the line is thin.
I talk of love as though it matters to me anymore. I must be a dream to even speak as though it still exist. I think I get too easily caught up.

I'm forgetting who I am again. Slowly who I am and who I was are trying to become one person despite their complete hatred for each other. Although it's, admittedly, intriguing to watch. Compromising morals to satisfy something else and it's nothing worth the sacrifice.
There are mornings where I can't stand to look in the mirror anymore; it's sickening.

I woke up this morning in darkness. No, that's not right because I haven't been to sleep yet. Sleep for me has consisted of a haze with too many thoughts and the flashes of pictures. Insomnia. The movie said it right: You're never quite asleep, but you're never quite awake. It's worse when you stop and try to shut down. The mind is unleashed and free to do as it pleases. You're too tired to stop the loss on control and to awake to sleep through hell. I can't clearly remember the last time that I truly slept. It might have been last Thursday or ten years ago, it doesn't matter. After around seventy-two hours the body no longer longs for sleep, it assumes that it's will never get it again and works to do without it. A morphine junkie who's given up one a high without the withdrawal period, just a going of something that was needed. Ah. The withdrawal period comes, but it sneaks up on you like a ghost. Around day five it attacks and for a good twelve hours you've completely insane. You start seeing things from the corner of your eye and then right in front of your face, reaction times and perceptions slow, senses seem to sharpen and your heartbeat thunders in your ears, there is too much blood in your caffeine system, among other things. It fades off after that to an extent, though the need for caffeine and that movement out of the corner of your eye still catches from time to time. There's probably a point where you pass out or die, but I've never found it.

Life doesn't always work out the way that you want it to. More often than that things turn out to be exactly the opposite of what you were hoping for. I suppose that life is a bitch that way, another one of those 'is' things that you can't change. It's hard to let go of those moments, the ones where you thought it would all be different. They haunt your memories like pathetic ghost that scream of what if and what might have been in misty voices that drag along your senses. It's almost sickening the way we let it rule our sleepless nights. We are nothing beyond creatures of emotion, that is true insanity.
There are a thousand things beyond our control that happen every day, every second, and never phases us. Breathing, blood flow, involuntary motor function, rain, snow, idiots. That last one might be a controllable problem, anyway. We can't control these moments either, the ones that never leave. Life is indeed a bitch, can't change that either. To have that control would be a lot like being a god. What if all your dreams came true, every wish granted, every prayer heard? I think we'd we worse off than we are. I guess some things really aren't meant to be.

There are some days that I just can't bring myself to go home. It's not that home is a bad place, but it's always either silent or distracting, occasionally it even manages to be both. It feels like a cage and I've never been one for cages, or have I been? It's been one system, systems are like cages, for another my entire life. But by nature I'm a creature of routine and discipline, then something I'm not. Maybe I'm more complex than I first envisioned. Sometimes the system simply is enough. There's something to be said for spontaneous action though. Like now. I should be on my way home from class, or already there, but I'm still on campus. Sitting here on a bench where I've never sat before jotting all this down as though it might really matter. I've had a lot to say today it seems. I think that if I could have I might have written all day without a pausing thought. Since I couldn't I've missed out on the transitions that may or may not have been important. I can still feel those depths closing in on me, but it's not that sledgehammer that it was this morning. I'm eerily content or maybe I've just gone completely numb to it. I'm unsure, but I suppose that's okay.
I'm in a content period of learning. I learn so much when I'm like this. Here I am, questioning everything and nothing. Life and all it's wonders. I don't know why good people have to suffer. Not that I'm speaking of myself, because I've never been a good person, only fighting for it and redemption, but generally good people are suffering right now. Some of them are even dying with the weight of it and why? There is no cause for the suffering. Even the best break and though they might put it back together, what is there? It's a lot like sanity, virtue is. It's all like a vase. It can break, you can glue it back together, but what good is it? You can't handle it anymore, can't trust yourself too. It might break again. It's no good for flowers, water might dissolve the glue. I guess trust is a lot like that too. Why do we keep fighting?
Not just the good. Humans. Why do we bother? Somewhere there's a greater purpose and it's just beyond my understanding.

It's chilly out tonight, that cool summer air slipping in to remind me that August will soon be here and fall not far behind it. I don't mind the wind's bite so much, it's something to remind me that I am in fact alive. There's not quite like a silence that's so loud it's screaming. Early morning and I couldn't find that peace that once radiated from thick trees. There's no calming allure in the way that the moon cast it's eerie glow reflected off teh water. This morning all the answer lie somewhere else. Not in the bottom of a bottle or the blur of a sad country song on repeat. No, what I need to find won't be found in the familiar. That's how I ended up in this no name one horse town, this is a time for letting go of the things that made sense. This rough brick against my back makes up the outer wall of the bus station. Funny that a town so small should have a bus station or that I parked my car blocks over so that I could walk up on it. There's no one here this morning but those lonely passing drifters. That's what I feel like right now, another drifter who's always been looking for home. I wonder now, that I once again count myself among them, if they ever actually find it. This used to make sense to me; a man, a book bag, and a half empty pack of whatever full flavored smokes were the cheapest. Every breath was drawn in defiance of all that society considered to be the right way to live. I was really young when I left the first time, couple of notebooks and pencils and clothes in a book bag, just trying to figure out where life when wrong. Soul-searching is a tricky business.
It's not as dark here as it is in the trees but it might as well be a pitch black night in foreign jungles. Habitated towns shouldn't be this quiet. I've been to louder ghost towns. Time nearly appears frozen at four am, just like ice and death have settled over ever inch but the ones that we claim. It would be ironic if my watch stopped to mark the occasion, because for now I'm stuck in the past with no way to figure out the future.
I left another time. I was a little older, but just as gone. Life doesn't get any easier because you think you're finally in control of it. Control is relative. There was nothing. I guess that's where life as I know it today started and this chapter came to a close.
There'll be another bus coming soon and if for a second I had a working brain cell in my skull I'd give my phone and my house key to the ticket window. Give them a number and get on the bus. There's something to be said for those wandering hearts, the world taught them to hate and I've never known better friends than people like these. Dave, Joe, Susan and I are waiting for that next bus. They'll get on it searching for home while I go back to my life. My soul got on that bus.
It's been more than a decade since I've broken down and cried. Those taillights broke my heart.

The darkness it bleeds. It screams in pain and twisted agony and divulges into a manic laughter more suited for it's distant sibling at those who've fallen. From just beyond the realm of light, hat place where balances holds fast to it's children. it cries out to inflicted souls who know nothing but to answer it's calls. Understood is something they are not, those lost confused souls damned by all that is holy and dragged kicking and screaming from the realm of light to be cast among the shadows in hell. Though, if even for a moment, you could postpone their darkened fate they would not allow you the pleasure. Pride captures and cages the tongue and words stop stillborn amidst the bars. It may allow the darkness to show from the soul, but never the truth of it's depth. The dark storm continues to rage on and though words of the worried my be the cure for the night they're picked up on a gust of wind and only a hint of true meaning finds their ears. They remain lost and true to the fact your endeavor is one to be written off with time. It's certainly not that they don't appreciate the concern written on your face, they mean more than you might at first realize, but they know this song and dance like an old lover returning from war. After all lost causes is all they are and no one minds them for long, a passing glimmer of the night and then another. They blend together and disappear. Fear not the implications that your words my bring, these souls know already that perfect phrases were not originally meant to be sugarcoated lines. Those goodbye apologies are unneeded, your actions were forgiven before you even thought you'd make them because you aren't the first to dance these steps in razor blade heels. Bloody marks will eventually fade to pearl scars and in the end even though you've left them more damaged in your wake they were already prepared ten steps ahead of you. This ill-fated waltz was one they allowed even knowing, for that moment, because even the lost harbor human nature and they were damaged long before you tripped down this rabbit hole. The scars are reminders, fear not for the damaged because they already know they can survive. Though the darkness my scream, it's pain means nothing. The darkness it bleeds, but it does not die.

It's deeper tonight than I can remember it being in a long time. A darker night I can't recall seeing in years. I felt it coming today and knew beyond reason just how bad that things were going to be, but this is beyond anything that I could have imagined. Something that I didn't want. I need to speak, but there's nothing to say. I need to listen, but no one is talking. I need to go, but there is nowhere left to run.

It's ten thirty-two pm on the eastern coast of the United States. Three thirty-two in the morning in London, Ireland, and France. Nine thirty-two pm in Illinois and Texas. Seven thirty-two pm in California and Washington. Every place that I've just named has something in common, the death and funeral of the sun. In all these places the day has either died or is currently dying it's slow death before the eyes of hundreds. It amazes me how it goes with such silence and every evening I expect to hear it screaming. An entity as powerful as shouldn't go out so quietly, that's concerning. It's dark outside, now that the funeral of the sun has ended and it has fallen to the dead, but then again I think it might always be. In the depths of depression it's always three o'clock in the morning, over and over again. I don't remember who said that, or something very much like it, but it was clearly someone who's been here before. Then again someone else, quite possibly the same someone else, said that no matter how dark the night is or becomes the dawn will always break. That's probably as true as anything else, but it's easy to call bullshit and hard to be a believer at three am.

Tonight is apparently a night that is bound to include many different trains of thought, because I'm bouncing all over the place and seeking a place where I can unload what I'm thinking. Hence why I'm back on LiveJournal after the night's post with more to say than I thought I was going to have to this evening. There are a number of things that are lacing my mind this evening, running paces around dark depression and threatening to send me shifting there. I guess I should explain that before I continue on with a jumbled pile of thoughts that are certain to make little sense. Even if it scares off the locals that I've seemed to accumulate on this journal, feel free to wander away as this is about to get a little boring and then a little scary, then just when you thought there was nothing I could say to make it worse...I'm going to. This isn't one of my fiction tales that I can twist when things get too bad and make it all look like happily ever after. The truth is much more horrid than anything I could have written under the guise of myth and creativity. If you're not easily put off by the clinically insane, continue to make yourself comfortable here.
This evening I'm having what my doctor would call a "mixed episode" which sounds a little like someone on the Disney channel messed up and stopped Lady and the Tramp half way through only to start playing Bambi. That was probably the most horrid analogy that I've ever written in my entire life. Besides that it's more a melding of the scariest movie you've ever seen, another movie about crack heads on a high, and a movie where everyone at the end slits their wrist. That almost paints a pretty picture of what I'm trying to say doesn't it? This entry is going to do a lot of that. Medically speaking, "mixed episodes" are a by-product of Bipolar that cause the person inflicted with the episode to be in a state of high mania and deep depression at the same time. That's a complicated way of saying you're running in the fast lane down a country road at midnight doing one hundred miles per hour with your headlights off just waiting on a semi or a sharp curve. These "mixed episodes" usually occur in the valley between severe depression and raging mania, but can occur with no regularity. Other symptoms of this particular example [ which would be yours truly ] of Bipolar include rapid cycling, minor psychosis, hypomania more often seen than true mania, and depression that isn't severe enough to lead to hospitalization but occasionally induces thoughts of suicide. Rapid cycling is defined medically as four or more full cycles [ from mania to depression as one full cycle ] during a twelve month period. Episodes of rapid cycling can cause mood shifts in a matter of hours while other shifts will occur over periods of days or weeks. In this example episodes of true mania can last as long as a full seven days before inducing depression than can last as long as two months. Other periods of lesser mania, or hypomanic episodes, may only last a few days before fading into what is medically described as periods of balance. Periods of balance are rarely seen during this example's episodes of rapid cycling and are usually replaced by "mixed episodes." However, out of a twelve month period the subject shows signs of balance periods four months at a time with no medical interruption and eight months where Bipolar cycles in a rapid fashion at irregular intervals.
Example also suffers from a mild form of PTSD [ Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder ] inflicted by childhood trauma as well as time served in the United States Marine corps and mild symptoms of Borderline Personality disorder. Mild PTSD causes example further trouble with sleep [ often to the point where the subject remains awake for several consecutive days and the body forces sleep ], reoccurring nightmares, and occasional "flashbacks" when wandering through the woods at midnight. Borderline personality causes the subject further reckless and self-endangering or self-harming behavior [ as already caused by Bipolar II ], increased suicidal thoughts, difficulty controlling anger or the intensity of anger, identity disturbance [ which causes the subject to regularly take second jobs, move from house to house, switch out cars, and explore the possibilities of moving from state to state with no ties ], and increased depression in Bipolar depressive episodes. Couple that with chronic insomnia and you'll find yourself with someone who thinks too much and can't go to sleep.
That was a much longer explanation of what I was trying to say than I intended on giving, but I suppose that it'll have to do for the moment even if it was one page long and I referred to myself as "the subject" the entire time. There's probably something unhealthy about that kind of disassociation, but I think I have enough other problems to allow it to slide. It's funny how when discussing a situation that one doesn't wish to speak of you begin to refer to yourself as someone else simply to avoid associating yourself with what you're talking about because to do so would make you physically ill and fight so hard to hold on to whatever measures of sanity that you could find that you'd end up driving yourself further into the realm of insanity. If nothing else at least I educated anyone who dared to read this far [ and didn't fall asleep through the numerous "according to medical sources" sentences of clinical explanation ] on the causes and effects of personality disorders on the mind and they can go to sleep a person who understands people like me a little better and is a little more patient of things they didn't get before. For those of you who have chosen to remain here, I'll carry on with how all that effects who I am and move on to something else that isn't at all related to that and so on until my mind stops running on fast forward. Though along the way I'll stumble over something else that leads to an entirely different line of writing and still explains nothing. Eventually I'll make it to the end and close, but expect it to take some time.
This isn't something that I constantly talk about or that everyone knows about me or anything like that, but if I can't explain myself to total strangers then who exactly can I explain myself to? Probably no one if not you anonymous readers who are possibly the greatest sound board that I've ever known. Here I'm nothing more than another stranger among the millions that frequent this site and share their deepest secrets with an impartial jury who [ hopefully ] does not actually judge or hang, but listens. All of you are wonderful strangers who understand or don't, leave comments or don't, but you allow me the impression that you're at least reading. My best friends from thousands of miles away who listen and don't judge. All of you..you are examples of the best people this world has to offer. Thank you. I've run myself completely off the track this was supposed to go, yet again. It's hard to remain on one train of thought when ten thousand are racing through my head and constantly screaming for my immediate attention. I imagine that I'll be oing that a lot all through out this jumbled mess and I'm probably going to lose you several times. Apologies in advance then, because what has happened here is I felt the need to write and stopped making sense around the time I was going to get to the point and close it off, missed the point by ten exits, got off a no reentry exit and am trying to work my way back through the dead of night with no map. It'll come together somewhere down the line or I'll run out of gas.
I'm not at all a perfect person. I'm no one's role model or someone to be looked up to and remembered and I don't want to be. I don't crave that kind of attention from even one person, because it's pressure. When people pay an extended amount of attention to your existence then you being to wonder just how many of your bad habits are rubbing off on them and if you should change in order to continue to provide good examples for those who make up this country and those who are it's future. I already second guess my every thought without that kind of responsibility resting on shoulders that already feel they hold the weight of the world. I've done some things in my past I'd rather not have the light shed on, then again I guess that's why I enjoy the night as much as I do. It's so much easier to hide here in the shadows than to step into that spotlight and let everything reoccur for an audience of critics. That's also probably why I enjoy the screams of thunder, flashes of sickeningly white lightning, and the down pours of rain so much. Where better to hide than the moments right before the bright burst of lightning when the night is at it's darkest and the roar of the clouds is so loud than not a soul could hear you scream? There is no place that I'd rather be on the earth than sitting in the pouring rain at two in the morning on the edge of a cliff. That's not at all what I started this paragraph out about, is it? There goes my train of thought again.
There are dark shadows that lie through out my life that I don't think I could explain if it turns out there is such a thing as God and I'm called before him to explain my past transgressions. I mean, if I die and I'm suddenly standing at the pearly gates speaking with St. Peter or St. Paul or whomever they've got guarding those things up there I'm in deep shit. I've done things that I'll never be proud of and I've seen things that make terrible dinner conversations. In fact, a lot of the things I've done or been a part of would make the average person sick to their stomach. I'll admit that once the whole story is told I'm not going to come out looking so great and I think that, at least for the moment, I'm perfectly okay with that. It's not as though I haven't always known that I was the villain of this story or anything. We accept what we have to, deny what we can, and forget the rest of it. Since I'm sitting here at my computer listening to the rain hitting the roof it looks like I've all but given up denying and forgetting the things that I've run from for the longest time.
The first thing that my father ever gave me, to my limited memory of earlier years, was a bruise. No, before I tell you that I want to tell you something else. Sympathy for this portion of the story isn't needed and may actually cause violent and obscene strings of comments to your concern. I think my first honest memory of life was when I was seven. I was a big baseball player back then. No, I wasn't big at all I was actually on the small side fro my age and it was my dad who was really into baseball, at seven it's hard to be uninvolved with anything that involves dirt. First game of the season that year and the last inning. I was the first batter up in the box and I ended up striking out. Now that I think about it, that one strike out didn't cause us to lose the game. We were behind ten points and there were two outs left when I headed back to the dugout to chug gatorade and talk about cooties and monster trucks, but Dad never did see the big picture quite like that. So, when we got home he hit me. I don't mean he spanked my ass because I struck out I mean that he blacked my eye. I ended up telling my mother that I got in a fight with some guys from the other team after the game. I don't think she bought it, but I'll bet that she wanted to. It seemed so wrong to tell her the truth somehow, something bordering betrayal. Nothing makes sense when you're seven. I did decide to tell her that I wasn't a big fan of baseball anymore, but she wouldn't let me quit. I didn't play again when the next season rolled around, but my brother decided to. I must have tried to talk him out of it for weeks, but being a year younger than me he still knew everything there was to know and his big brother should shut up. I never went to any of his games it would be too much like watching a death row inmate eat his last meal, but I always knew when they lost. When we both refused to play that next year, let's just say that Dad put his foot down.
Running from the past doesn't change what happened, then again neither does writing a confession of sorts to a group of strangers that wouldn't know you on the street from Tom, but maybe it helps a little bit for reasons that I might never understand. There I go again with not knowing what I'm talking about, because I'm not sure why it matters that I'm writing any of this. I think what matters more is that I am, why is relevant to any number of psychotherapist analysis anyway. I've already admitted to clinical insanity, so I think we can just let the why of the matter drift off with the wind. I think I'll skip over the repeated bruisings, including the one where I "put my foot down" about who was going to get beat on and who wasn't and earned myself an all expense paid trip to the local hospital. I have a scar that runs diagonal down my back, it's faded now but under the light you can see that imperfection of the skin that tells the story of why I and my three brothers ended up in foster care after my parents were divorced. Looks like both sides of my family never quite understood the difference between forceful discipline and excessive use of said force. That's neither here nor there, because I've never done any of those things. I was just there, another kid growing up in a world that's slowly taking it's self to hell.
What I have done borders on [ and crosses the line ] of things that are legally and morally acceptable so I think in the interest of remaining among the free and unhandcuffed [ not to mention keeping my job ], I'll keep those bits a little closer to the vest. What I can tell you is simply that I have my own code of ethics when it comes to the way things should get done and while it's improved it's self morally over the years in a drastic way and now that I'm on the right side of the law it has also greatly improved legally. Actually I think I'll just let it ride on the obviously stated fact that the law and I haven't always agreed on an acceptable to both parties way for me to live my life, but nowadays we usually mesh. Unless you're going to ask me to wear my seatbelt, drive the speed limit, or not cause the occasional bar fight. Morally, let's just say that there was once a time when the list of things I considered morally wrong included: battering women and children, rape, and standardized testing. That was pretty much the entire list with little variation. I'm not that stupid kid who ran away from home and let the vermin of the human race raise me anymore. Somewhere along that line something in me shifted, it's hard to tell what moment caused it exactly but without it I'd probably be dead. That's when my life came together, that's when I joined the Marines, that's when I thought I had it all figured out. I don't recall a time in my life where I was more wrong.
I won't say that I'm a decent guy, that I'm not an asshole, or that I'm the upright citizen example that I'm supposed to be because there's a rather good chance I'd be lying. I'm brutally honest when I'm not busy playing so many word games I forget what I was trying not to say in the first place. When there's something that everyone in the room is thinking and refuses to say I'm usually the asshole who decides the silence needs to die and whatever it is needs to come to life. I'm probably the hardest supervisor to work for on the face of the planet. I have a tendency to spout of strings of cuss words when there were less obscene ways to discuss my point. I expect as much from others as I force from myself, even though sometimes I push myself over the edge. I bottle everything up until it breaks me and when that happens I'm not usually the most pleasant guy to be in a room with. Until very recently I'd decided that liquor was the perfect solution [ and probably the cause ] of all of life's problems, achievements, disappointments, and breathing. A lot of the time, I'm a jerk. Okay, maybe not to everyone. There's usually a totally different side to me with those things outlined as character flaws rather than honest being, but tonight it doesn't feel like I could be anything but all those things. Tonight I'm fairly sure I'm an asshole rather than a sweetheart with addicting eyes.
There are times when I'm standing in a room with a hundred people and though I'm laughing at the most recent joke someone just told or having a beer, my mind is racing and I'd give anything to be home alone brooding in the dark. My entire life is about wearing mask and telling lies. At least I know where this train of thought originated from, a conversation that's going on somewhere else as I write this. I'm always fine, which as the same person has told me, is what we say when we're really not. On that note she's probably the only person to ever call me out on that and the first time she did I was almost at a loss for what to say to that [ Of course if I'd been completely at loss then I wouldn't be nearly as good at that front as I am ]. I tell people that I'm fine all the time and no one has ever came back with the equivalent of calling me a liar. I'm still not sure if it's relief or worry that being read that easily brings me. Though, it's not as if I mind her having that particular talent, as long as it's because she's that good and not because I've lost my touch.
Because the fronts aren't just there because I'm afraid someone will realize I'm truly insane and have me committed, though it's always a possibility and one that I'd personally like to avoid, but more because of who I have to be. I have to go to work, go see my mom, be there for my friends, be there for strangers when I become the barer of bad news, etc. and every second of every day I have to be the guy that doesn't break. It doesn't matter what's going on. Later, when I go walk the woods or sit down at my computer, that's when it frees. I used to come home at night and write it all down, when the notebook filled I had a small fire in the back yard and started over, but it never really helped so much as it made me believe it was. Just like this.

I was leaning over a pool table tonight and I started thinking. Granted, my first thought ran along the lines of killing whom ever was operating the juke box and playing the same four songs over and over again, but the next thoughts were a little more reasonable. Do you remember back in high school geometry when you were sitting there staring at the board thinking when the hell am I ever going to need this shit? I do and I also remember that no one was able to give a me an answer that was worth hearing. Ever want to play professional pool? It's one giant geometry equation after another and you have a limited amount of time to figure the answer. Losing points on a test? Fuck that. If I was going to teach geometry I'd teach it by playing pool. Hundred dollars a ball. Every missed equation becomes something that could make or break the payroll, it requires more focus. I never think about it like that however, because I despise math and everything surrounding it. I don't think many pool players think of it quite like I just described it, but that's what it is. It's a series of math problems laid out like homework you have forty seconds to finish. It requires thought, planning ahead, complete concentration. There are much better ways to teach than classrooms.

Not only am I not asleep right now, but it seems like I'm fighting with it. I don't want to go to bed, get comfortable, turn it all off. Why not?
This ol' highway's getting longer
Seems there ain't no end in sight
To sleep would be best, but I just can't afford to rest
So, I'm going down to the all night diner. You know the one, connected to the truck stop down off the interstate. They have the worst coffee.

It's interesting how one conversation, that's going on verbally, can stir an entirely different conversation in your mind. Everything you say takes on some new meaning and you wonder what brought on the sudden shift. Then the answer is there and you, in a way, wish that it wasn't. But it was something you had to know. Whoever is behind these sudden realizations should invest in some old fashion post-it's, at least that cheerful yellow softens the blow.

This entry wasn't written here. It was written somewhere else at another time of the day that haunts me. Then it was typed and copied over here for reasons that I don't understand.