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He laid there, dying. I think we all realized what was going on. Slowly his ability to move, even sit himself up deteriorated. It's hard to say anything to someone who you know isn't going to be able to listen and respond for much longer... he hardly can now. His flaccid old penis in the plastic container can hardly even muster up the strength to urinate. He clumsily misses and gets himself wet. Take it and throw it in the soiled linens basket. I'm not sure what I'll do if he doesn't wake up. He probably thinks about joining grandma.
History. History. History. History. history. history. history. his story. his story. his story. his story. hisstory. hisstory. hisstory. hisstore. his store. his? something about his story. oh well. his story. his story. my story. my story. your story. your story. a story of the past. a story past. pass the story. its past. pass it. story. pass the store and him? his store? what's in store? his. this is not what happened. this is what happened. listen to me. I'm ALL-KNOWING. Don't tell me what you think you know. I don't want to hear it. I don't need to. Simulacrum.
We live our lives in a little glass house. This is our panopticon. We are on the outside, they are in. Who are they? We wouldn't know. Behind their one-way mirrors, they watch our every move. Well, there might only be one of them, but you never quite know if he is watching or not. Safe to assume that he is. What is really strange is that there might not even be someone in there... how would we even know? No one has been inside. Who knows what they'd do if you broke the mirror. I'm not going to do it.
I'd love to know your facination with slang. If I holla at you, is that somehow more effective than talking to you? I'm sorry but telling me that you're gettin ready to bounce doesn't impress me. I can't help but think that those words are somehow lesser than if you would just type out what you're really trying to say. I'm not entertained by the linguistic suicide of our culture. It isn't interesting, it's degrading. You don't really talk like that. I've heard you in class. Oh, the effort spent to forget grammar. You really just sound silly... I'm laughing.
I am John, the ever-elusive cockblocking son-of-a-bitch. I am Ryan's thorn. I stick in his side and every move he makes, I am a reminder. I am the cast that tells him of his homosexuality, true or not. I am everything he hates. I am not unique, special, or interesting, but I still own him. There is no scab unpicked, uninfected. I am a cancer. I am a signifier. This is what I am. I stand for this not because I want to or have to or have been told to, but because Ryan thinks I do. I am John.
He just got out. Just today. It was only two years and three months ago that he killed that little girl. She was only seven. Her mother is still alive. She's twenty-nine. She's scared. They say she shouldn't be. She shouldn't be scared because he isn't dangerous. How can someone like him be dangerous? It must have been a freak occurance. People like him aren't violent. They just dont do that sort of thing. That's why we didn't fry the motherfucker. Don't call him that, it's not right. He can't help it. He's mentally retarded. He can't help it, miss.
We all smiled and gave thanks because we knew he had saved us. We knew that without him we were worthless piles of flesh wandering this earth. Alone, we crawled beside the shit of the planet, expelled from his almighty asshole. We are the chosen ones. We are here to serve. Question not and thou shall not falter. We are all-knowing and all-believing and nothing can stop this yellow snowball mentality. Here we are, free because we say we are, free because we made the dictionaries. We are free by limitation and our condescention will allow us to rise above.
The sun rose in familiar fasion, gracing the morning as it always did. Then the fires started, and the once-green fields became a scorched black wasteland. Trees stood with no leaves, no bark, no life. People didn't stand. Bones littered the once-streets and buildings threw their window panes to the earth below. All at once the hum of fluorescent bulbs came to a stop, and if anything would have survived, it would have then realized that the earth itself had a hum, a certain white noise all of its own. This was the day that your god realized his powers.
No longer will you tell me what I mean. Enlkd anks alkndu llmne nk. Linejn nfjl pourkd njjjjjm, limn wqred. Anzd fnjdx qeuc mexberf dcujh nruvm vhyend ycnsol bp m, kskri viem (roin enfk) nlkkkm/n. Crvt ynt rc c yrr kinm tmio ponbwzx cuenc ewqo p. pyu ut trbn frcd lbyu muv y t bgh nhgcs qaaqz wrtc y? Tb5 iio. moc mivf iop zdwxs afnj nje lmop. onp mimce nam, une o f nuck nmm poe. Mod nuk enj uiop uvbp xenf nbo buic pio nuvb mbun eod meun fnu. I still have not succeeded. I can't ever win.
So I'm thinking that somewhere in me, there is a gentle tone that I've simply forgotten about for the past few days. Like an old book in a dusty attic, it remains an untapped resource. I'll work towards it though, shuffle through old papers with a sense of purpose. I'll try to forget all the things that make me want to be bitter. I'll start a day with an overwhelming sense of resolve... I'll take some time for personal improvements. Unfortunately, if I'm going to be honest about it, I don't know when that time will be. Probably not soon.
Find a way to stay. Strive to remain grounded here in the very place that you came from. This ground is the soil which raised you and defined you. A lot of trouble, that saved. Don't run away from everything that you know. Don't be scared because you're starting to learn about your surroundings. Being afraid of knowledge is no way to live, I'll tell you that much. Now you're just running away from me, hands over your ears, screaming at the top of your lungs and your desperate song resonates through these empty hills like a shattered incandescent lightbulb.
The smell of your hair, the feel of your hands on the back of my neck, and knowing what's on your mind, yeah, you're thinking that I'm the only one that exists in your world for this one moment in time. I must have been a fool to think it would last. Now I celebrate with this song. It's the first anniversary of your last phone call. Funny I would stumble upon this at such a horribly appropriate time. Funny that I would even notice. Funny that I care. And funniest of all... is that it really isn't funny.
He laid there and stared into the space where his ceiling should be. He assumed that it was still there, though he couldn't see it. He assumed that the power was still off, though he hadn't checked for days. He assumed that no one had called, and even if they had, the phone was unplugged. He assumed that the other side of his too-big bed was cold, though he hadn't rolled over, reached his arm, or moved at all for quite some time. He assumed that he was lonely, though he'd been numb for as long as he could remember.
You wake up at SeaTac SFO, LAX You wake up at O'Hare Dallas-Fort Worth D.W.I.7 Pacific, Mountain, Central Lose an hour Gain an hour. This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time. You wake up at Air Harbor International. If you wake up at a different time in a different place Could you wake up as a different person? Everywhere I travel Tiny Life. Single-serving sugar Single-serving cream Single pat of butter. The microwave cordon bleu hobby kit. Shampoo-conditioner combos Sample-packaged mouthwash. Tiny bottles of soap. The people I meet on each flight They're single-serving friends.
Sometimes I have to wonder what I am. Do I really exist but in my own little world? What do I look like through your eyes? Am I torn? Broken? Sad and lonely? Or do you see something completely different? Is it possible that to you I am interesting, independant, free and happy? Is it possible that I am all those things, even to myself, underneath the fear of admission. Hard to say, but I know that I look into broken mirrors all day long and I've yet to find a shard of glass that has yet to be dropped.
Perfect geometry. Cube. Line. Rows of cubes. Little points move around cubes. Little points are moved by lines. Lines unlike the rectangular pathways down which they travel. Right angles dominate. Curves, acute, obtuse, these words describe only forms outide of the little cubes, those in the larger cubes. These are the cubes of the dominant lines, lines that have begun to grow a third dimension, they buldge and expand and soon they are cylindrical. They are infinitely larger than any of the lines. You have to ask yourself why. Who decided that they should have volume and we've only area?
Here I am, punching myself in the head so hard it hurts my hand. I can't listen to you. Every word that comes from your mouth is laced with condescension so natural you don't even notice it anymore. It makes me want to vomit. It makes me want to choke. It makes me want to pass out in a pool of my own piss and shit and die there. Every apology you offer comes with a knife attached. I'm quite aware that you aren't my friend, that's one mistake I'll never make. You'll never know the reasons for the tears.
I thought about you again last night, getting into bed. It seemed all so natural to imagine you there. I'm not exactly sure what you think about it, but it's so nice to have that feeling as I fall asleep, I don't want to give it up. Maybe I'm living a lie, maybe I'm pretending, but so long as I feel like I do, I can accept those possibilities. I don't even think it's that I'm counting on these dreams one day materializing, it's like they already have, at least for those few moments as I drift off to sleep.
It didn't happen. Don't talk about it, I'm in denial, goddamnit. Don't bring it back up, are you stupid? Senseless? Completely cold and insensitive? You don't need to try and justify yourself to me, you're wrong. Don't try and say any differently. Don't turn it on me, either. What the hell is wrong with you? Grow up. Some parent. Take the attention off of yourself by pointing a finger at me. This is truly a pathetic situation. I'm not sure how to handle all of this, but I think I'm just going to make myself pass out. What a day.
Without memory of an event, it's impossible to say if it really happened. Even if other people tell you that it happened, they could be lying, you can't necessarily trust them. How do you find the truth? What is truth? If you find it, how will you even know that you have? How can you distinguish? Who defined truth for you? How do you know that they weren't lying? How do you know that they were unable to remember the exact definition so they just gave you the next best thing. You could be settling with the next best truth.
Today we mixed it up. Initially I had my doubts of this whole idea. It seemed to be a bit like communism: it strove for equality, it looked good on paper, but it didn't seem like it would really work. I decided, however, that I would give it a chance. Well, it didn't get me to talk to anyone who I hadn't talked to before, because the people at the table that I didn't know, I didn't talk to. However, I did converse with people that I know but don't generally talk to. So, for me, it was marginally successfull.
So, I was having a conversation with one of the few people that are actually worth talking to, and she said that it seemed that people who are worth talking to are in short numbers lately. I thought about it for a second, and I replied... I told her that it is true that people worth talking to aren't in great numbers, but it probably isn't a new phenomenon but rather... we have just started to notice. I imagine that as I am typing this, someone else (who is probably also worth talking to) is probably having this same thought...
There are certain things that you learn to hold on to in life. Like everything else, a little misguidance can really hurt a person in their persuits. I think I have my surroundings to thank, because I have people, certain ones that I have, do, and will work to keep in my life. Sure, I'd love to be rich, but only if I could buy a house big enough to fit all of these people into. I'm always ecstatic when I rediscover someone that I've been so careless to let go. I'm getting better though, at holding on, that is.
I am a snoflake, and I fall to the ground lightly, floating and admiring all the earth as I descend. I land on the back of your neck. Suddenly, with my presence known, there is a chill down your spine, your hairs stand on end and you tense up. This sounds quite a bit like the reaction you have when there is a murderer in your house, or you think that there is some big, hairy, ugly monster under your bed, or in your closet. I'm not like that though, I am only a snowflake. So next time, just smile.
"If you're frightened of dying and you're holding on, you'll see devils tearing your life away, but if you've made your peace, then the devils are really angels, freeing you from the earth. If you're frightened of dying and you're holding on, you'll see devils tearing your life away, but if you've made your peace, then the devils are really angels, freeing you from the earth. If you're frightened of dying and you're holding on, you'll see devils tearing your life away, but if you've made your peace, then the devils are really angels, freeing you from the earth." End.
Don't fall asleep, don't lose control. Don't give up, don't open your soul. Don't let your dreams conquer your mind. Don't let your nightmares terrorize you. Don't run down long empty hallways from that which does not exist but within your mind. Don't scream out, don't get that falling sensation. Fight it. Fight it. Caffeine will save you. Don't give up, don't give in. Don't let yourself realize your true thoughts. Keep the locks on the safe tonight. Throw away the key. Let sleep be empty like waking life. Always have control. Always know what will happen next. So tired.
I know that there is a reason to have drive, but essentially, what is it that we are all trying so hard to achieve? Why do we wake up early day after day, working our asses off? What is it all for? Is it going to make me happy? Maybe? Is that not the point? What is? Please tell me that the point is to be happy, because that's probably the only thing that's even worthwhile. I think that the entire point of life has been torn, skewed, glued back and it's just not the same. I'm sorry, just smile.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. What did you do today? Me? I spent it with my family, with my grandfather. We all stood there and watched him die. We listened to his incoherent moans. We watched him turn and twist. I'm pretty sure that he had no idea who was there with him. I'm pretty positive that he died without knowing I was there. He probably thought that I never came to see him. So busy, I thought I could count on today to see him. I was going to go Monday, mom said wait and bring him something. Too late. Fuck.
I'm so tired. I had a great day, though. I feel pretty lonely now, especially by comparison. It's hard to live with a bed that will be empty until I get in, every night. I'm compelled to pretend it's not that way, but I can't seem to convince myself that I'm not alone. I'm still cold on all sides, and there are no arms against my body except my own. There is no head but mine on these pillows and I'm still alone. Get to sleep as quickly as possible. It's harder to know what is real when I'm dreaming.
This is the end of the tape. Stop recording. Get ready to sleep. Playback. Everything is perfect. Everything is right. This is how it all should be. Everyday could be like this if you had no responsibilities in your ultimate quest... to feed yourself. No matter what you make at a job, you are likely paid minimum wage or less as far as smiles are concerned. Money only goes so far. Replay the tape of today - it will live for a very long time and bring many smiles. Smile after smile after smile. If only sucess was measured in smiles.
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