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 |  I write, therefore I am |
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I write, therefore I am. I am nothing special; just a common man with common thoughts, and I've led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten. But in one respect I have succeeded as gloriously as anyone who's ever lived: I've loved another with all my heart and soul; and to me, this has always been enough. PLUGS:
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| Please sit and talk amongst yourselves for a moment. This next part is a bit hard for me to write. As open as I am, there are few people who are privy to this next little bit of reflection. Bare with me and when I am done, I hope that you can still look upon me with the same eyes. Good Lord willing, and the creek don’t rise. Days passed by in the haze of a drunken stupor. I stood in the middle of school and called LeAnn a slut and a whore, for carrying a grown married man’s child. I said things to her that were so foul and heinous that she ran off from me crying. The sounds of her footfalls echoed in the hall as silence prevailed. No one spoke for they were all stunned by the venom that I spewed. Her sister came up to me while the halls were still overstuffed with silence. The slap rebounded through the hall and I grabbed her swiftly by the arm and whispered to her. IF you ever hit me again it will be the last time. The fights that filled most of my days were epic. I was a bundle of violence. I was always looking for a fight. If I saw one I would jump in, just for the release of pressure. I would not choose a side, both would fall before me. For I was anger and I was looking to spread as much pain as I felt. The odds did not matter; one on one, two, three, four on one. They all were given samples of the rage the filled my heart. I began to steal; comics, tapes, magazines, alcohol, food. Everything. The fights persisted. I yelled at teachers, spent most of my year in, In-School suspension, I threatened others. There was no one to hold me and tell me that it was okay. No one told me that everything would be all right. No one was there to tell me that I was loved. No one, told me, anything. They just tried to stay out of my path. The fights continued more violent and disturbing then the next. Everything was escalating. The world was spinning off of it’s axis and nothing made sense. Then came the day it all stopped. I rarely fought after that day. It was lunch time and I had gotten into a fight with some boy. It was quick and painless for me. He limped away and came back with two friends. I beat down two and choked the third until he started foaming at the mouth. They left and came back with someone else. I stood prepared to go at it again. I smiled and he shook his head and walked away. Still they came back again for more and there was so much violence that teachers left their rooms to come stop it. There were guys on the ground and I was going at it with the last of them and someone grabbed me to pull me away. I bellowed in rage and turned ready to punch whoever it was. The look on the teacher’s face froze me. I had come inches away from punching a teacher. That was it for me, there were no more fights. All I wanted was to be loved, instead I was an outcast. I was part of no group. In my struggle not to be alone, I ended up more alone than I started. Alone to face the world. Alone to suffer in the darkness. There were nights when my father was out partying and I was left alone. I would sit in my room, Barney Miller on the TV, tears streaming down my face, knife at my wrist. I wanted to end it all. I wanted to let it all go and drift into the mugginess of death. I wanted all of the pain to stop. I would howl in rage for not having the strength to go through with it. In my mind I thought who would care? My mother did not want me. My father was to worried about where the next drink was coming from. My girlfriend was pregnant with another man’s child. I hated the world. I hated everyone. I hated them with their smiling faces and real laughter. I hated them with their dates, their friends. I hated me for being alone. I just hated and I wanted it all to go away. I ended up with my mother soon after. Not because she wanted me, but because my father had to do a bit of jail time for stealing items from his job. So she ended up with me because there was no where else for me to go. I was the unwanted child from her past life. Now she did love me and she still does. From time to time it bothers her, the past. She will ask me if I have good memories of my childhood. I love her so I tell her, yes. How can I hurt her as she hurt me so long ago. How can I tell her that the strongest memories of my childhood was death, viewed incest, and watching her get slammed against a wall when she tried to leave. In the darkness there came a light, but it was not strong enough to push the shadow away. It always came back stronger than when it left. Always I was left a wreck in the wake of it’s return. quote; And then, something happened. I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom. Narrator (Edward Norton) - Fight Club |
| So we moved from our nice little three bedroom house, to a little three bedroom trailer. Even though I had my own bathroom I hated where we moved to. Hated it. There was no one around that was really my age. There were a few kids a couple years older than I and a few kids a couple of years younger than I. Just no one my own age. When we moved there, it was as if my childhood ceased. I began spending most of my time alone in my room or with my much older Uncles and their wives, or an older family friend who also lived in the trailer park. When all you do is hang around older people you stop being the child you are and become the adult that you may become. We moved halfway through my sixth grade year and we moved a good twenty miles out of the school district. Everyday my mother would drop me off at school on her way to work and everyday I would take the bus to her job so that when she got off she could give me a ride home. Again the only contact I had with kids my own age was at school That was really not much different then before we moved. Most days I would arrive home before my parents and I would be left alone until they came home. There were many a day I sat in front of the TV eating a Del Monte Pudding cup, drinking a Pepsi and watching Starblazers. Now the summer before seventh grade, I met a girl names Thelma. She was cute and she became my first real girlfriend. That is until my mother decided that the girl was not good enough for me, just poor white trash don’t ya know. Then I wasn’t allowed to see her anymore. When she would come visit her family in the trailer park I would have to go inside, because I couldn’t even play with her. I ran into her years later and she still had the same crooked smile. We had lunch where she told me why she dropped out of school. She said that she had been told that she was no good for so long that she started to believe it. So she dropped out, got a job and became pregnant. Such is the way of words. They are more powerful than most people realize. You tell someone they are worthless long enough, they will believe it. This was my first realization of that fact, but it would not be the last. Seventh grade started and I met the older woman, a whole year older. But man, was she more worldly than I was. She lived down the road from us and I don’t even remember how we even started going out. Of course, my mom did not approve and it became even worse when I started not coming home when it got dark. To this day she doesn’t know that I had started smoking right around then. LeAnn was indeed something else. She was the first being that I felt sexual toward. I remember one day I was on the bus getting ready to go home and she had to stay and wait for her mother who was a teacher. I told her to call me when she got home. She said what if she didn’t. I told her she would have to get a spanking. She said promise. When I pointed at her she sucked my finger into her mouth. Not long after I turned thirteen I lost my virginity to her. Of course, I found out later that hers was long gone. It wasn’t long after that, there began trouble in paradise. We broke up not long after. Soon after we broke up I discovered the reason we broke up was because she had become pregnant with her father’s friend’s child. After she had the child and I saw her when I reached high school she wanted to get back together and I told her “Um, No!” That was the first step in my fall. The second? Not long after we broke up my parents separated. My mother had an affair with a police officer in town. I knew something was weird when she began to talk about the guys around the house. First, it was how much of an asshole he was because there was a parade in town and a little dog kept running into the street, so he picked the dog up and placed it in a trash can and there were bees flying around it. Anyway, on the day my mother was moving out, my father came home from work, catching her in mid act. They began to argue, scream and yell. I left out the back door and waited for it to be over. They came out the back door a few minutes later and I saw my father grab my mother’s arm and push her into the side of the trailer. He told her, that if he ever saw her with the guy he would kill him. A few days later, I was taken to the house she was staying at with the guy and made to stand out on the steps in the rain and beg my mother to come back home. She didn’t. It’s kind of blurry now and I am not sure. I always thought that she wanted me to come with her and my father would let me go, now thinking back, I believe different. She didn’t want me with her then, she wanted time for herself with the new man in her life. That was the second step in my fall. The third? My father began to drink and party all the time. On the weekends I was given twenty dollars to fend for myself for the weekend. He would bring home strange people and they would drink before they went out for the night, every night. After they left, I would go around the house and drink half of what was in every glass, half of what was in the blender. I began to take vodka, rum or whatever from bottles in the house and hide them in my room. I used to go to school drunk. First class, gym, followed by bouts of worship to the porcelain Gods. Second class, band, followed by raging hangover headaches. Lunch, followed by drinks under the bleachers. My grades dropped and the fighting started. The third step broke and there, started the fall, tumbling and twirling into darkness. Rage, anger, despair and they could only be followed by depression. And so it went...... quote; You're growing up. And rain sort of remains on the branches of a tree that will someday rule the Earth. And it's good that there is rain. It clears the month of your sorry rainbow expressions, and it clears the streets of the silent armies... so we can dance. Jim Carrol (Leonardo DiCaprio) - Basketball Diaries |
| The last years before we moved out of Machipongo were the last years of peace in my life. There were friends to play with, family close by, and the world seemed so much brighter. I remember a big snow storm when I was six or seven and we made a fort under the snow in my backyard. It was cold, dark, scary and fun. I think this was also the year that I saw a “Bigfoot” in the woods behind our house. I used to go down to my grandparents house almost everyday, even after they passed away and my uncle Robert stayed in the house with the younger of the kids; James, Brenda and JoAnn. Now they loved me, but I was a kid and I was always underfoot. Most days when I would run down to visit my Aunt Brenda would come to the door and tell me to wait while they put the dog away. I knew there was no dog and I would tell her to let me in. Then my Aunt JoAnn would come running down the hall on her hands and knees with pantyhose over her face and the legs hanging off like ears. She would bark and growl at me and charge the door. I used to run home scared to death. I never told my mother about it until about five years ago. I kept it a secret all that time. My Uncle Robert was a big influence on me as a child. He was big into horror movies and books. When I was eleven he gave me four books; Frankenstein, Dracula, Strange Case of Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde, and Portrait of Dorian Gray. I used to sit in his bedroom with him and listen to classic horror movies on cassette tapes that he had made with a tape recorder placed in front of the TV. As I have said before I was good in school and it wasn’t long before it began to bore me and feel as if it wasn’t a challenge. In fourth grade I questioned the book given to us in a list for book reports. I didn’t want to read any of the books on the list and after badgering my teacher I was allowed to read a book of my choosing. In fifth grade I was a part of our school “Newspaper” and I started band. In six grade I discovered girls. And the rest as they say is tragic. The first girl I liked was a tall redhead named Ann Marie. She was tall and cute with freckles on her nose. My best friend Jimmy also liked her. It was a weird triangle and in the end we fought over her. I mean really fought over her. In the end I made my first attempt at chivalry. She asked me to let Jimmy win. I did. They dated up until eighth grade when Jimmy moved away. Then there was Dawn. She moved in from Hawaii. She was purty like a dream. Blonde, huge smile, huge eyes, sweet voice. Her twin brother Richard was just as his name suggests. Then there was Christy who, even thought I was ten or eleven, the way she stood drove me crazy. Being young girls were changed like socks; Leslie, Robin, Missy, Dawn. Jimmy and I were best friends. His father was a preacher, so you can guess that he was bad, just bad. He gave me my first cigarette, my first drink, my first sneak night sneak out. In turn I gave him his first nudie mag, and we would stay up all hours of the night talking and playing poker. There are times now when I think of Jimmy and wonder what he is up to. Does he have kids? Is he married? Is he still alive? Did the drugs get to him? I only remember ever having two birthday parties growing up. Were there more? Maybe earlier but I only remember two. The first one I told you about, where I beat up the neighbor for trying to take away my present. The second one only DeAnn and Cathy came to it. There are picture of my smiling from ear to ear before my cake. I was never allowed to have anyone come over to spend the night, though I was allowed to go to other places. At age ten I got my first paying job. I was paid to take care of a distant neighbors horse while they were away. I remember the horse barn stank to high heaven. I got bit and my foot got stepped on. It hurt and the horse wouldn’t move. They moved away and my new distant neighbors the Smith’s moved in. They were hippies for lack of a better term. All of the children wore long hair and their mother made them eat nothing but healthy food. Spinach noodles, granola, and other junk. Just after I turned eleven we moved to Cheriton. Most of my toys were given away to neighborhood kids, since my dad said there was not enough room in the trailer we were moving to. I traded almost all of my toys for a room with it’s own bathroom. I traded all of my toys to move somewhere that I didn’t know anyone. Then my uncle Robert and his wife moved in behind us, and my Uncle James and his wife moved in front of us. After moving, the sun went down and the world was flooded with a darkness that I think never completely lifted. There were changes coming and I would never be the same. quote; We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they're called memories. Some take us forward, they're called dreams. Uber-Morlock (Jeremy Irons) - The Time Machine |
| Even now I can remember sitting in kindergarten learning the Alphabet from some school show. The Alphabet Group or some such. Crazy videos where the letter T walked around and had big tall teeth and he came from Texas. There were letter books to fill out and learning how to write between the lines with a pencil that at the time felt like holding a 2x4. There were macaroni or black eyed pea pictures made with glue and construction paper. There were pictures made from our silhouettes. I had my first kiss in kindergarten from a girl named Keisha and I had a crush on my first teacher then as well. I had my first sense of Deja Vu there as well. There were packed lunches in Six Million Dollar Man lunch boxes. I liked school then, just as most kids do. I was on the honor roll all the way up until my seventh grade year, but that is a different entry. By fifth grade I became tired of school. I felt bored and just going through the paces. I wasn’t challenged and I began to hate school. In our fifth grade year we started learning musical instruments. It was not long after that I met the Lady Dee for the first time. Our schools played concerts for each other. I met her and here comes a burst of honesty. I started talking to her because her friend Amy did not deem me worthy of talking to. Amy was really, really cute. Brownish red hair and blue eyes. But, I ended up talking to Dee that day. Coincidence, or destiny? Of course sometime in those early years of school, before the exodus from Machipongo I learned other things. I learned how to do tricks on my bike. Wheelies, no hand riding, standing on the seat, stirring with me feet. I learned that you could pop tar bubbles on the road with your bike tires when it was really hot. I learned that you could not fool the old blind man in the trailer park and grab more than one candy. He always knew. I learned that fishing with bread as bait, sucked. Damn lying movies. I learned how to swim when DeAnn’s older brother pushed me into the eight foot deep side of their pool. I learned how to use a yo-yo. I learned that there was some bad things in the world. Bad, evil things. There were things seen and heard that were kept quiet out of fear only to be forgotten about later. Sometime in the late seventies there was a body of a little boy found, naked and cut, in a ditch near the graveyard in Cape Charles. His killer was never found. Friends of my parents had two of their daughters stabbed, raped and left for dead. Their younger daughter would break my heart some twenty years later. The guy who attacked them was put to death in the early eighties. One of them is still in a wheelchair to this day and the other is not allowed to have children. There was a girl named Ellen who lived in the trailer park near our house. We were mean and cruel to her, always joking her and her family. We were young, stupid, and it shames me that we were that way. We joked her for the clothes she wore, for being poor, for her father never working and always appearing to be dressed in brown slacks and dirty tank tops, for her mother’s nasal speech and appearing to have no neck. Like I said we were mean and cruel and it shames me. One day I was walking through the trailer park, I must have been eight, to go see my Uncle James’ girlfriend’s brother who was my age, they had just recently moved there from Pennsylvania. So this one day I am walking through the trailer park and I walk by Ellen’s trailer and I see through the window that she is doing things to her father. His head is leaning back and he his holding her head with his hands. I walked close to the window to see what was happening and she was crying. Her mother was in the backyard hanging laundry. She sees me and pulls away from him covering her face. He turns to see me and runs out of the house grabbing me by my shirt and telling me that if I say anything he would kill me. I ran all the way home, crying and never saying a word. There was no joking her from that day on. I wouldn’t allow anyone to do it. I couldn’t say anything about what I saw, but I know that she suffered enough humiliation at home, she didn’t need more at school. She killed herself a few years later when she became pregnant with her father’s grandchild. I was ashamed and I never told anyone. I wish I could go back and save that girl. I wish I could take her father in my hands and make him suffer painfully, as much as he made her suffer emotionally. I learned that there was bad in the world. There was bad at home. I learned that not every boogeyman lived in the closet. I learned that the small and fragile need, deserve, someone strong to stand up for them. I didn’t stand up them when it counted, when it was needed, but I try to stand up now. I hope when I see her again she can forgive me. Maybe then I can forgive myself. I had forgotten her name until tonight. I’m sorry Ellen, rest in peace.... quote; This is the very moment of your reckoning. In the next 30 seconds you're gonna open 1 of 2 doors. The first door will forever traumatize your own flesh and blood. It'll change your daughter from a beautiful child into an empty shell. Whos' only concept of trust was betrayed by her own sick pedophile father. Ultimately... it'll lead to her suicide. Nice Work Daddy. Evan at age 7 (Logan Lerman) - The Butterfly Effect |
| When I was really young my mother got her first job. Every morning before sunrise I would be awakened to a breakfast of Scrapple and scrambled eggs. Then I would be taken to my Great Grandmother’s house for her to babysit. She was a sweet old white haired lady who scared me to death. She always wanted a kiss when you came to visit her and she had stubble on her chin. I remember being scared of her everyday, until I got there then everything was okay. Until I misbehaved then I was sent out to the woods to get a switch and if it wasn’t good enough she would go get one for herself. Now that was not wanted. She was from the old country. I do not remember when she died or if I even went to the funeral. It’s things like this that I wonder about sometimes. I discovered recently that she came from a very well off family filled with lawyers, doctors and such, but when she married my Great grandfather she was disowned by her family. I find that troubling, but not entirely unexpected. Which is really sad. My mom’s mother could have been raised in the old country herself. She was a very strict woman and if she was a mother today, surely she would be locked up for abuse. She was known to have cracked coffee mugs, boat models among other things upon her children. My mom always talked about how hard it was to get a meal in the house with eight other children and how fast you had to be to get a meal. I remember once hearing my grandmother say that she knew each time she got pregnant the very night it happened. She said that whenever my grandfather came home and folded his pants neatly over a chair or hung them up everything was fine, but if he came home and dropped them on the floor she knew that in nine months she would be delivering another child. I didn’t understand what she meant at the time, but it is kind of funny now. I never saw that strict side of my grandmother. She was always sweet to me, but then again I was her first grandchild. We used to make her mudpies which she would graciously take and pretend to eat. She was just into her mid forties when she was diagnosed with emphysema. I don’t remember how long she was sick, but I remember that there was always a pall over the house. It was like everything and everyone was on a deathwatch. She used to read the Bible in her room and when she became to sick to do that, her children took turns reading to her. She died in her sleep and her funeral was quiet. My grandfather was an immensely tall man of short stature. He was only five foot five, yet he was the tallest man in my life. Everyday when he came home from work he would bring me a little brown bag of candy and he would tell me about his day. He would make breakfast from scratch, as well as candy. I was the only one allowed in the kitchen while he cooked, everyone else was shooed away. I used to sit on the enormous petal for my grandmother’s sewing machine and watch him. He was always dressed in white shirt and pants. The hair on his head was always slicked back from his forehead and a filter less Camel was always close at hand. He was quiet and soft spoken. The tattoos on his arms were stretched and faded. After my grandmother died, he lost his will to live. He died just four months after her. His funeral was cold and rainy. I think. Or it could have just been how I remember it. No one else remembers it being that way, so maybe it was just me. I woke up on the night before the funeral to find my Uncle James asleep on sofa cushions beside my bed. He was dressed in his funeral clothes and his short was ripped along one arm. He and my Uncle Ricky had gotten into an argument until James punched him. James then ran to his room, blocked the door with a dresser and climbed out his bedroom window, cutting his arm in the process. As I have said before, down the street from us their lived the Corbet’s and their children Billy, who was my uncles age, and Kathy, who was a year younger than me. Kathy was a cute little blond with big blue eyes. She was my first puppy crush. It’s amazing now looking back at how old I remember feeling then. I was only seven or eight, but I feel so much older in my memories. I remember walking through a huge corn field with friends to go to the Corbet’s house to play. I remember doing bike tricks and making forts in the woods. I was such a babe in the woods, yet I feel so much older in my memories. But, I wasn’t. I think I was only seven when the Corbet’s moved away to Florida. Well not all of them moved away. Kathy was left behind, she choked on a piece of candy still wrapped in plastic. I don’t know, or don’t remember the specifics behind it all. I just know that she died. I remember wanting to hide away from the world. For awhile I did. I went to one of our forts, up a tree over looking a huge uprooted Willow. The hole made by the willow was so huge that it was filled with water and I remember just sitting there for what felt like forever wishing that I had my own Bridge to Terabithia. Bridge to Terabithia was a book I read as a child about a boy and a girl who played in the woods. When they walked across this plank that was laid over a small stream they were in their own fantasy world where they were king and queen. One day the boy and girl got into an argument and the girl went to Terabithia on her own and she fell off the plank and drowned. So the boy would go there after her death so he could still play with her in his imagination. Losing her was the first real heartbreak of my life and it felt as if I would never recover. Feelings are so much stronger at that young an age. Sometimes, like now sitting here with tears in my eyes, I wonder did I ever recover. Sometimes I don’t know if I would want to. quote; All I know is, the choices you make dictate the life you lead. "To thine own self be true." Bill Rago (Danny Devito) - Renaissance Man |
| Before we begin pull up a chair and get comfortable. This first entry is more a laying of foundation than actual events. Although this is written for you to read, it is written for me to see where I have been and how I got to where I am now. So relax, get comfortable, drink some hot chocolate, eat some snacks and enjoy the beginning. Come let us palaver... I was born the last warrior of the Cherokee people, um, wait. I was born in a little house on the prairie. Okay, hold on. I was born in an Ice Age. I was born near the end of March and it was snowing, one of the coldest Marches on record. My grandfather picked my mother and myself up at the hospital in his car and took us to our home. An apartment over a ice plant. See an Ice Age. My parents knew each other from childhood. Although my father quit school in eighth grade, they dated through high school and were married at the age of twenty. They married in October and I was born the following March. I have never asked, but I wonder if they married because my mother was pregnant. I was born five months after they married and it is a question I never asked before. I know we moved around a few times in my first year, before finally moving into the house that would be my home for my first ten years. That house was four houses down from my mother’s parents and seven of her brothers and sisters in a four bedroom house. My parents separated for the first time when I was nine. I remember very little of it. I know I used to go visit him once a week with my little bag of clothes and a small suitcase filled with legos. I have never known why they separated that first time, but I know that not long after they got back together my mother started going out on the weekends to a local bar called the Candlelight. My father didn’t go. There were a few kids in the neighborhood that I played with. On one side of us their lived the Spady’s and their always seemed to be an arguement brewing between them and my mom. Even after the death of her parents when they came over to make nice, she told them she didn’t need their sympathy. On the other side their lived the Eder’s and their demon children Eddie and Danielle. Although Eddie was a year younger than me he would beat me up constantly and I would never lift a hand in my own defense. My head was busted with rubber hoses and rakes and hoes. Then one birthday he took a gift from me that had come from my grandfather. I fought then and from then on I was king of the hill. Beside them lived another groups of Spady’s, son to the Spady’s beside us and his wife with their two kids; Ronnie and Shannon. They both grew up with their hormones mixed. Ronnie likes men and Shannon likes women. We knew it even when we were kids. We would play super heroes and Ronnie always had to be Wonder Woman. Beside them lived my grandparents and beside them lived the DeMarino’s. Their daughter DeAnn and I used to play doctor in the woods. Across from my grandparents lived Mrs. Mapp. She was the sweetest old lady I ever knew. She used to let me go up in her attic and borrow books to read. Verne, Hardy Boys, and Nancy Drew were everywhere for me to consume. She used to take me to church with her until we moved. A few years after we moved she died in a car crash. Down the road a piece their lived the Corbet’s. Billy was best friends with my Uncle James and I had a puppy crush on his sister Kathy. Billy and my Uncle used to always pretend that they were Billy The Kid and Jesse James and the were always robbing the utility closet. I always got stuck being the banker. I think those years living in Machipongo were the happiest years of my life. I think when we moved from there everything fell to pieces. Sometimes I wish I could go back and beg my parents not to move away when I was ten. All my time there was not happy times, but that I think can wait until tomorrow.... quote; There are many stories about Michael Sullivan. Some say he was a decent man. Others say there was no good in him at all. But I once spent 6 weeks on the road with him, in the winter of 1931. This is our story. Michael Sullivan Jr. (Tyler Hoechlin) - The Road To Perdition |
| I have decided to go back to what I was doing in the late part of September and early October. I started to tell of my life and after reading windac's honesty in her life story I think I am ready to go back to my own and start at the beginning and look at it all with honest and acceptance. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ I awaken to find myself tied to my bed and there is a strange little man standing on a chair in the corner. He is holding an old Bible and he looks more like he is wearing a shirt turned around the wrong way than a Priests collar. "Um da bum da dumdy yah. Bum da bumdy dumpa can of crisco." he says. Of course I ask him, "Is that Latin?" "No it's giberish," He says shaking his head. "Why are you here and why am I tied up?" I am here to excersize your demons." he smiles. "Don't you mean Exorcise?" He raps me on the head and says "Hey buddy, don't ask me this is your mind." And he is right it is my mind. I just do not know where to begin to exorcise my demons. Do I start from my earliest memories? Even I know that they will probably be told out of order. I want to clear my heart and soul honestly. I do not want to write fictional accounts. That is what Perpetual Rage is for. The old saying is, just pick a point and make that your beginning. Where you go from there is up to you. It seems that in rereading past posts that I have a knack for not glossing over facts, I seem to let out all the dirt. I am sure that is for the best policy, but sometimes I find it hard to read. The truth, truly does hurt. Yet, it heals as well. Come, sit and let us palaver. I have a story to tell that must be heard for my benefit, if not yours. I have a journey for us to take. Is it a good journey? Well, that I cannot say. There is something inside that is screaming for a voice. It might not be exciting or thrilling. Hopefully it will be happy, if not a little sad and honest. For in the end is that not all we can ask for? Shall we start, at the beginning.... quote; When the first baby laughed for the first time, the laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about. And that was the beginning of fairies. Peter Pan (Kelly MacDonald) - Finding, Neverland |
| It seems that when it rains it pours. I had a dream last night that was so vivid, I think there is a story there to tell. A long time ago I started a story called, The House That Jack Rebuilt, about a man who was remodeling a house and he bacame possessed by it. After my dream last night I think I might return to that story, but a little different. I dreamt last night that I owned a big huge house. I was remodeling it and all kinds of strange things began to happen. After awhile I descovered that the house was part of a plantation and there had been a fire. One of the slaves of the house ran around and saved almost everyone. As people arrived to handle the fire they found him in one of the room holding one of the children of the house that died. SO they grabbed the childs body and locked the man in the room to die in the flames. I woke up thinking that could be a real good story, if I just take the time to work with it. The only problem is I smell research and I hate research. lol. Anywho, I shall return later. quote; Houses don't kill people. People kill people. George Lutz (Ryan Reynolds) - The Amityville Horror |
| To write, to feel the muse, what a wonderful feeling. It seemed like my writing had suffered a major setback. Nothing I could come up with showed any spark of decency. My entries in the 15 for 15 contest have been below par, just words flung to keep me in the contest. Then the inspiration hit and two stories were created from the aesther. I am fond of both stories and each of them beg to be continued. They are yelling at me that they were rushed and there is more to say more to "show". Now If I could just have a decent entry in the 15 for 15. On top of the muse returning so has the sickness. I have been ill yet again the entire weekend. Still I finally managed to judge the VerySara Poetry contest that should have been finished by the fifth of January. I suffered through repeated bouts of flu and virus for most of this month. Finally I made myself do it. Thanks to my two fellow judges. Somewhere along this turbulent illness filled month I have found something else that was missing. Me. NOt only have I began writing again, I have also begun to review. I think I have reviewed ten to fifteen items this weekend. Can I keep it up? Well I think I am off to sleep the sleep of the undead, got to get rid of this cold/sinus thingy that has crept into my head. Peace. quote; It was a mistake. I wasn't disgusted with her, I was afraid. At that moment, I felt small - like I'd lacked experience, like I'd never be on her level or never be enough for her or something. And what I didn't get was that she didn't care. She wasn't looking for that guy anymore. She was looking for me, for the Bob. But by the time I realized this, it was too late, you know. She'd moved on, and all I had to show for it was some foolish pride, which then gave way to regret. She was the girl, I know that now. But I pushed her away... Silent Bob (Kevin Smith) - Chasing Amy |
| Me thinks my muse has returned for a bit. How long will she stay? After finishing, Family Matters I felt really good. Although I think there is more to say on that story. I don't think it is finished just yet. I took a look through the Contests listed and I saw one for a Vampire story. They said that they were looking for something different in a vampire story. So I started thinking and the muse kicked in. I think I have created a decent story for the contest. We shall see.
Again I fell that there is more to tell with this story, but I wouldn't want it to become a pale copy of it's inspiration. Oh well, I shall be back later. quote; One creature, caught. Caught in a place he cannot stir from in the dark, alone, outnumbered hundreds to one, nothing to live for but his memories, nothing to live with but his gadgets, his cars, his guns, gimmicks... and yet the whole family can't bring him down from that Mattias (Anthony Zerbe) - The Omega Man (based on, I am Legend by Richard Matheson) |
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