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Her heart skipped a beat. Whether it was fear or panic was hard to tell. Once the moment was over she chastised herself for having let either one take over. "Be brave," she told herself, "just be brave and take it one minute or even one second at a time."
She looked down at her hands, thankful they were not visibly shaking, to give oneself away so obviously only made it worse. Desperately she tried to turn the fear into courage but her chest was filled with resistance, like an icy hand inside her squeezing her heart and lungs. Breathe.......
The grass was scorched yellow from the crippling summer heat. Walking through the fields the crunch of dry grass and waves of grasshoppers made the land not only look sick, but feel and sound sick too. Rain didn't come often but it usually managed to show up in time until that year. That horrible year everyone tries to forget yet no one can help but remember. It would be another bad harvest if it didn't rain and another bad harvest would be devastating for the town. Living in a small town when times were good was hard enough. Bad ones..........
Well I made it finally. The drive was good but I had trouble finding the apartment building. A lot of trouble. Turns out it burned down on the weekend. I drove to the office and my new job and explained I had no place to live. So they made a few calls and I am temporarily residing in a doublewide at the local trailer park, it was the best anyone could do on short notice. There is no phone line to my trailer, it was owned by an elderly couple who didn't believe in phones. Hence the snailmail!
It's been hectic at work this week, new people and so much to take in. I managed to get a date with the phone company to install a line but when I told them the address they referred me to their competitor!! So looks like it is pen and paper for now. Actually it's kind of fun!
The neighbours have invited me for dinner tomorrow, I would much rather just curl up in bed but I suppose I should make an affort and be social, who knows how long I will be here. Hopefully not long!
The neighbours are ok. The wife is sweet but just a bit slow. I met her husband and one of her sons. They have two others I have been told will be out on parole soon. We had KFC (thank christ!) and a riveting discussion on just what the "personal possession" quantities should be. The boys were both in the safe legal limits for pot, coke, heroin, crystal meth, LSD and mescaline but apparently the state hired a fancy lawyer and pointed out one can have limited quantities of these substances, but not all of them at the same time.
Phone company today!! Guy wasn't able to install the lines. Turns out the employees wear blue uniforms and the neighbours dog has been trained to attack men dressed in blue as an "early warning system". Alice explained they have tried to train T3 to react to only certain shades of blue but he's just one of those "overachievers" you see on the dog whisperer shows. The bites were bleeding pretty bad but apparently that's not a surprise to his owners. Turns out the dog was born with three testicles and has aggression problems from all the testosterone, hence the name T3.
They say crazy people don't know they're crazy. I have discovered that completely self centered people can't have it explained to them that the whole fucking world doesn't revolve around them. Sure I agree you gotta look out for number one but that doesn't mean if you're a bit better off than number two you have the right to measure them by your own standards. It has been my experience for everything a person is good at there's another thing they could be better at. Yet rather than work on something hard they'll hide behind what they excel at.
One of my favourite books is Salem's Lot by Stephen King. It's not because of the vampires and the horrors and scares. In fact they are discussed very little in the book. The book is an examination of living in a small town, leaving and then coming back. The genre aspect of the book allows the reader to see the ugliness, hate and poison spread through the town by the residents. The people in the town have courted their own demise and their secrets, lies and prejudices have broken down any defenses they had to save themselves. Ignorance is death.
There is a mood in the air and it is bliss. It is a billowy cloud in a bright blue summer sky. It is raindrops rolling off crisp green leaves after a storm. It is closest to tranquility without silence. It is presence, it is being. It is what we all take for granted everyday. It is a gift either divine or sublime that must be embraced. It's right there, it's all around you and mostly you can't see it. It is the big picture, the forest not the trees. Why do so many fight it? Why do you?
So is the unexamined life not worth living? I'm not sure exactly, but I think the exercise would be a lot more effective if we focused on the examiner and not the subject! Ten people could examine my life and give me "constructive" criticism that would almost not hurt my feelings. Give that task to my ten worst enemies and I'm sure I would learn more ugly truths about myself than I would ever want to know. While they would surely be exaggerated there would be enough seeds of truth to send me over the edge. I haven't the courage.
They were fighting again. No provocation, no sound reason, just fighting to fight. At first it had been bearable but now it was every little thing and all the time. You could set a clock by it. If there was no fighting it was surely because they were not in each others line of sight. The few happy moments actually made it worse. Each one letting down their guard and offering vulnerabilities about themselves just to have it flung back at them as ammunition when the war would begin again. There was no end in sight. It was just beginning.
It's the end of a long day and I can honestly say I am a happier person now than when I woke up. I truly am. I see so many people around me drowning in anger, self pity and self doubt and I feel almost guilty about not getting dragged down by those things and having the strength to focus on other things. In the end all vices feed off weaknesses. I am surrounded by people with so much and I am truly not jealous of one thing they possess. Not one single solitary thing, material or otherwise. Why me?
The mild weather was a welcome relief. The day would be that much easier and she wouldn't be completely wasted at the end of the day. She might actually have the energy to do something she enjoyed rather than just coming home, feeding herself and falling asleep to start all over again the next day. Today she would feel a little less like a mouse in a wheel.
The morning would pass quickly and quietly. When the first car rolled in it would be all downhill from there. This job felt more like a prison sentence than a job.
What describes your life? Comedy or tragedy? Do you love yourself or hate yourself? Are you an optimist, pessimist or opportunist? Do you spend any part of the day wallowing in pity and regret or do you try to shake those indulgent feelings off when they creep up and try to enjoy the life you have been lucky enough to be given? If someone who didn't know you got their hands on your diary and read it, what would they think of you when they got to the end of it? I'm not talking about your damage, but it's results.
She kept her gaze steady and her body relaxed. At first it was easier than she thought it would be but as the footsteps got closer to the door it became more of an effort.
Then the prick was in the room. He walked over to lay the peck on her cheek and ask how's she doing.
"Good," she replied, steadily.
"Fucking bastard," she thought, "you're walking around with your secrets, well guess what buddy, I've got a few of my own now, and I'll destroy you."
I often wonder what the fuck emotions are and what we have them for. Who the hell had the idea to allow us to feel euphoric at times and like there is no hope at others. Why do we laugh and cry? Is it written in our DNA to exhibit bipolar tendencies? Is this punishment for sin or is it the price we have to pay to exist? how lucky should one feel to exist in the world? Are our lives miracles or punishments. Sometimes I can't figure it out and feel the hopelessness of it all engulfing me.
His heart was heavy with the task before him. His father lay in the bed and his departure from this world was going to be decided by the same being who he helped bring into it. It was the last and ultimate guilt trip a parent could have over their child. It was like the last piece of innocence a child has in their parents eyes being ripped from their soul in a quick painful blow. The fear was crippling. How do you know if the person is not in there, hearing everyone and screaming to not let go yet.
Of all the classics Russian literature is my favourite. It is gritty and real and almost always devastating. The English tend to pretty it up to appear proper and skip the offensive reality of life while the French tend to add a healthy dose of egoism and patriotic melodrama. Let them eat cake indeed!
The Russians on the other hand, the drunken, weak and sinful Russians lay all their cards on the table and show no shame in them. You take them as they are or continue to live life with head in sand, the point of it mostly missed.
How can a person criticizing someone for being judgmental without being judgmental themselves? Are we subject to a lifetime of hypocrisy? What makes a judge a good judge? It's a judge who is not looking for the bad but the good. One confident enough and without ego who can recognize the strength of others and show them those strengths to help them exploit them. A good judge will see the weakness but not treat it as a failure but rather a point of departure. A positive place to start working from to improve using the natural talents one already possesses.
One of my favourite books is The Torn Birds by Colleen McCullough. The span of generations and intensity of relationships in the book, both between people and people and people and God is a flawless representation of struggles people live and face in their lives and the damage it inflicts upon them. The novel never crosses the boundary to the implausible to illustrate the points it is trying to make. It uses real people in real situations and creates a world you feel you could step into. It also captures the beauty and cruelty of the Australian landscape with perfection.
Jesus Christ the Bible has to be the biggest crock of shit I have ever heard of. Or is it? Why do I feel a strong urge to erase that statement? My conscious mind tells me it's a fairy tale but a part of me wants to play it safe. What I want to know is where that part comes from, the "you never know" part. Do we all have it or is it just me? Do I believe in God and can't admit it? Is declaring you belong to a specific religion proof you have faith? Otherwise why differentiate?
It has been my experience that inspirational quotes last for about as many minutes as there are words in the sentence expressing them. Considering they all come from human sources and the source should always be considered, they are doomed for failure from the start. Some of the most inspiring (and logical) ideas expressed about vegetarian and veganism came from one of the world's most famous men. You guessed it, it is Adolph Hitler. Hard to agree with his disgust for slaughtering animals after the holocaust quite honestly. In fact I do not think I've heard anything more ridiculous. Gobsmacked.
Well, since I have spouted my disapproval for judgmental attitudes quite freely let me openly contradict myself and say that people who pretend to love and accept everything are completely full of shit too. We all have opinions and keeping them to ourselves is our right and sometimes the best idea. Expressing them in a respectful way is also everyone's right. But honest to God to sit there flapping eyelashes and playing it up like you are more humble than Jesus is a true crime. Who do you think you are fooling exactly? It's not me or anyone I know.
If people stopped having children tomorrow what would be the point of anything? We are the only species aware of our own existence and understand the concept of extinction and yet we destroy each other in shameless ways that negate the very essence of existence. It has always been natural for a species to destroy their environment and suffer the consequences of extinction because if it, and so the state of the physical world today does not surprise me. What does shock me is man's inhumanity towards man. Is this what makes us human? It's a sad state of affairs.
He felt cold, dark and empty. There was no feeling left in him, not even self pity. There was no desire to move or speak. He felt as though he could sit there silent and motionless until the end of days. He was so hollow he could not even muster the sense of injustice and sadness this tragedy entitled him too.
When he first heard the news he could feel this awful severing of his self. Terrified by the thought of the grief that would consume him he shut himself down and was now in a limbo without feeling.
"Why am I so confused?" she thought. "What just happened, where am I?"
She looked around at the familiar surroundings, her room, her things, her house, but drew a complete blank on the day, the time, there was no memory. The context was completely blank.
"Concentrate. What's the last thing I can remember??"
She got up from the couch. "Start there, why was I on the couch?" The TV was off, no book, no magazine, no pillow, no blanket, definitely not a nap.
She tried to clear the clouds from her head and saw her bloody hands.
Is there any form of written word more insulting and useless than the romance novel? I'm not talking about literature where characters fall in or out of love, I'm talking about the Harlequin-type that are written for plot and not characters. Meet from afar, fall in love, deny it, succumb, fight and split up and wind up in each others arms in 300-325 pages, with oversized font and a healthy dose of empty space between the lines. A form of soft porn meant as research to make stupid women learn new ways to suck cock and keep a man.
There it is, right on the desk. The best novel ever written and it isn't going to get published because I can't think of a fucking title. Six years of my life spent in front of a screen, spilling all of my thoughts, fears, discoveries and epiphanies and I can't name the fucking thing. Best Novel Ever or Something More Poignant? The second one could work but no one would ever get the joke but me. I have never even had to proof read it it's so fucking good and spell check's a miracle. How about calling it 100words?
I often wonder who the poor soul will be that finds my dead body. Will it be in a hospital, in a bed, discovered by a young and beautiful nurse that will smile at me lovingly, saying a small inward prayer and gently touching my cheek. A moment of quiet reflection, sunrays through the window forming a halo over her head?
Or will it be a policeman or fireman, breaking down the door because neighbours have complained of a bad smell? Will they crack jokes about the fluids leaking out of me and pilfer through my stuff?? I'm so scared!!!!
I was struck with absolute awe. I had known self-centred and self-involved people before, but until this moment I had never witnessed one who was so damaged that their perception was warped beyond imagination. Reality had become abstract to this person and was becoming buried deeper and deeper in denial and self delusion. I couldn't figure out which was worse. The complete ridiculousness of it all or the mind boggling egomania this person obviously suffered from. A wave that could only be described as "gobsmakced" swept over me as strong and real as any real wave could.
"I'm sorry mom, it was an accident." She looked at her mother with panic filled eyes, trying desperately to recover the green ash that had scattered all over the floor.
"You were a fucking accident," she growled as she was so overcome with rage she couldn't help but swing her arm way back to build enough momentum to knock the four foot tall child halfway across the room when her fist finally made contact with her.
Her sister watched the event and had to swallow the urge to fight back. It never helped, it would only end in more violence.
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