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silenttempest

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Always prepared? Me thinks no [29 Jul 2005|02:20pm]
[ mood | electric! ]

Jesus, someone up there REALLY had a bad time as a boy scout.

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Pardon my French but.... [29 Jul 2005|03:45am]
[ mood | constrained restraint ]

That's right, I'm posting motherfuckers!

Na na nee boo boo.

Sigh. All the habits reform and rechannel themselves, different wrapping, same package.

Going to bed to once again to attempt the refueling ritual for the night.

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well HOWDY DOODY [04 Feb 2005|02:38am]
[ mood | burperiffic ]

What is this? An entry? Backdoor, up the ass? No no, it’s all missionary here right now, some mundane post of the most vanilla sense, but at least I’m here, putting out. I imagined my first post in a long time to be more interesting, more vile and corrupt and decrepit, but instead it’s going to be just a statement of being, existence. Is this better than nothing? I hope so. I hope this has some meaning, some substance, and provides me with food and tomatoes and buns and meat and make up a damn good burger that I crave, but instead I think it’s going to be a saltine, but it’s something. I’m just trying to convince myself. I realize this, but isn’t that half the battle, 50% of the war, 2/4th’s of the conflict, 16/32nd’s of the crusade?

So much has occurred, so little accomplished, that I am almost ashamed to feel the need and the desire to justify and permenate it by documenting it in anywhere publicly accessible. I think I kept waiting for that right moment to summarize the past two months that the one day, the two weeks, the 532 hours I wanted to notate were looming larger and yet more insignificant in my head that it was becoming an insurmountable task. So tonight, I decide to put something somewhere, no matter the consequences, no matter the intellectual and emotional hangover I may feel one day upon reading my bullshit that I post tonight. I live, I breath, and maybe that is worth putting in somewhere. Valuable enough to record for the books. History in the making.

Could I have possibly formulated within myself a disdain for my lack of ingenuity, my total absence of greatness within my journal that I abstained, such a mediocre attempt at meaning that I was ashamed to continue? Or maybe it’s my fear of being accountable to my words, the permanency of them that I am threatened by. Or maybe fucking work has been bogging me down so much that I haven’t a creative neuron left in my body. I better make a lot of goddamn money this year. My soul must be worth at least 120,000 dollars. Before taxes.

The start of a new beginning? Or the middle of an endless cycle that turns and churns and burns, and never seems to end. Oh, there’s a few stops of interest every once in a while. A nice, “gas food lodging” type rest area where the pie is good and the faces are comfortable and strange in their sameness to every other stop in Middle Town USA. Am I missing all the important road signs, or are there none, just arrows of shit, crossroads of forgetfulness, exits of condemnation. When I wake up I won’t care, but tonight as I lay down the grid map of my life looms before with it’s veinous presence and waits, patiently.

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[03 Jan 2005|08:18am]
Alive, aware, and afraid.

Yeah.
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Requiem For A Lost Soul [08 Dec 2004|10:30pm]
[ mood | painfullysad, wonderouslyhappy ]

My best friend and worst enemy died today of natural causes. She was only 10 years old, but she lived a lifetime. It was her time, perhaps even long past.

Her birth, normally a joyous occasion, was indeed that on the surface. But inside she knew she shouldn’t be here, it wasn’t right. Through her smiles and showers of birdseed, she felt cold and hollow, trapped in a place she didn’t belong. But this was HER she was talking about, and damned if she wouldn’t make it work, create something divine, no matter what the costs. This was the beginning of the realization that even she, this superhuman goddess, was fallible.

The first year, she was able to busy herself with nothing and everything, there was so much to be done, so much change, that the thoughts that would creep into her mind like an infestation of rabid rats would be easily scared off by the bright lights of distraction. Lack of sleep, lack of dreams, or perhaps it was all a dream and that’s what made it bearable. But one day, an awakening, the truth that had hidden itself from all but the deepest dirty corners of her mind came crashing forward. This was wrong, so horribly wrong.

How long did her illness truly fester, gnawing at the marrow of her soul? I think she had one toe in the grave from the start. She tried though, she really did. Trying to live in the shadow of another, greater creature that had become this gauzy imitation of a human being, it was only a matter of time before she required some substance, some life. She had none inside, so she sought it out, hunting the smell of the blood of life everywhere, devouring all in her path. She ate it all, hungry for anything that tasted of trueness, of what she deemed to be the bone and gristle of reality. Taking no prisoners, the fields were soon nearly empty, but the pale replica that she was, was still shining enough to attract more prey, at least temporarily. She farmed these souls, never giving a thought to what the consequences may have been. A few recognized the black hole of her existence and escaped, but not a one without aftereffects, a permanent stain. A few stuck around in spite of the consequences, something she never grasped.

To be truthful, not everything in her life was as dim and grim as it may seem, but it’s all in how you choose to look at it. She lived, she breathed, she even loved the one thing that made her a semblance of a human being, and mostly unselfishly, although at her bleakest even this thing suffered in the wake of her.

Her life has been slowly draining, not even a slow build up of internal clogging. Instead, of late it has been the slow deflation of her soul, like the untying of a balloon instead of the loud pop of a burst one. She knew it was her time, and she tried to say goodbye, but it pained her to know that most of those she needed to talk to had been pushed away at her own doing. In the end, she died alone, alone with myself as witness. I pitied her more than anything, as would you if you knew the half of it.

Coming from the funeral, I was overcome with the realization that she was finally free, this poor child of a self-induced prison was released, her life sentence fulfilled. The tears I shed in the parking lot of a KFC were for her, and for me. What ultimately was the largest sacrifice someone can make, she gave her life for mine. For my rebirth. Welcome home.

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[24 Nov 2004|12:32am]
I've fallen out of the habit of writing here, a couple of weeks is all it took. I truly want to continue my mental spewage so I'm forcing myself, getting back in the stream of things, trying to throw myself back into the current. But for tonight at least, I'm going to go easy on myself, not force the words that don't want to appear out of me, but to at least acknowledge a bit of effort on my part. It shall all come flooding back again, I am sure. Not that I was writing the GAN (Great American Novel) or anything remotely close, but putting a small portion of my head out there for the taking was liberating. In the past few weeks as I've recoiled even further back upon myself. Tomorrow, another attempt.

Thoughts at the moment-

Can't get out of my head that perhaps I am the most contemptable example of the human species that has ever walked our good Earth.

I am trying to re-conjur the thoughts I have had over the past couple of weeks and nothing, not a spark of vague recollection is even there. My flint is wet and the wood is damp anyways. I don't expect much out of my mind in the next few weeks/months/millenia. I'm too discouraged at the loss of some of my best internal ponderings, all gone till someone smart enough to write them down claims them for their own.

Wow, what a woe-is-me pussy I am being! Someone fuck my vagina-hole of sorrow.
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Let's Call The Whole Thing Off [18 Nov 2004|02:57am]
[ mood | cannot encapsulate it ]

Watching Taxi Driver again, and nearing sleep. Must keep a promise to myself to post tonight, even though it’s the last thing I feel capable of doing. But if I don’t keep a promise to myself, how can I keep one to someone else? Quite the conundrum, well, not really, but I am bored enough to create one.

Home tomorrow, it feels like Christmas Eve, I cannot sleep for my excitement, prolonging the night, extending into forever-world. My gifts are my own bed, the hugs of the family, access to my music once again, and the promise of a few rounds of voraciously hungry animalistic sex. Then I get to leave again Friday afternoon, Iowa yousonofabitch here I come. Must prepare my blank stare, get ready to ignore everyone leering at the 19 year olds, and practice my laughter at the college-day stories that I am sure that I will be required to endure.

Just a couple of notes-

I can maintain the appearance of competence, intelligence and wit for ten days. Following that I am drained of material. Thank goodness I depart tomorrow, leaving my co-workers here none-the-wiser. I am tapped out, with nary a knock knock joke at my disposal.

I believe the true meaning of friendship is sitting on the phone with me for several hours, discussing my plethora of psychoses and not only enduring my Beaker sounds on the computer for twenty minutes straight, bearing witness to my demented laughter, but encouraging me to do so. If I had any doubts of his love and devotion, they are all dissipated at that.

Jude Law, despite being named the Sexiest Man Alive, can’t seem to manage a box-office hit to save his life (or marriage to Sadie). Saddens me. Give the guy’s movies a chance, most are really good. But then again, I haven’t seen most of them in the theater myself, hypocrite me, out I come.

If you are having phone sex with me, and happen to suddenly mention that you stuck your finger up your ass, I will burst into insanely loud laughter without any thought to recourse, it’s not personal or a show of disgust or anything of the sort. It is just a guarantee. You have been warned.

I am going to start a production company who’s sole purpose is to identify inane shows to put on DVD collections. Jem, the most craptastic show of my childhood, is already done, yet I cannot locate anyone who has begun the Dungeons and Dragons cartoon collection. My others that I require: Parker Lewis Can’t Lose, all the Reading Rainbows, Scrubs (which will happen soon I am sure…if you haven’t watched this show give it a shot…gut busting funny every week), He-Man and She-Ra, Thundarr the Barbarian and the old Superfriends (must contain the WonderTwins, as these had the Green Lantern). I will think of more, and keep my public informed.

I can survive, given the appropriate liquids are in plentiful supply, solely on Pizza Hut breadsticks, Campbell’s Chunky soup and cereal for 14 years, give or take a few weeks.

I would like to go to the redneck shithole that is Texas and deliver shock treatments to the woman who complained to the local school board that the high school's tradition of cross-dressing day, a day that goes back forty odd years in school history, encourages the students to become gay. This event has subsequently been replaced with Military Fatigue Day. A rose by any other name...

Sexual Harassment training only prods my filthy mind into new realms of innuendo, opens up new avenues that hadn’t been considered before. It also creates an uncomfortable level of horniness in a room of 60 people, and sends me home early to violently masturbate to erotic boss/secretary dom/sub thoughts. I am the boss, my naughty male employee must be reprimanded. Suit with a nice pointer stick. I am the secretary, glasses, pinned up hair and a very demanding boss. Many more, which I will contemplate to my lonely self now. It’s a fact. Tried and true.

Sleep.

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