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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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| Come, sit, for I have a story to tell. I will not start at what I can remember, I will start at what I was told. My parents were teenage sweethearts. They married at twenty and had me the same year. I do now know for sure, but I suspect that I was at the wedding. Maybe not in person. They were married in October and I was born in March. At the time I was born they lived in a little apartment above an ice factory. The apartment was right over the "hump", which was a overpass that covers some traintracks. I was born near the end of March and it was snowing. A rather bad snowstorm at that. When my mother brought me home from the hopital it was her father that picked us up and took us home. My father worked hard to take care of us and we moved around a bit, until we moved into my childhood home. I must have been a strange child, because my earliest memories are weird. I remember waking up on Christmas morning, kicking a present and sitting on the sofa to eat an apple. I remember sitting on the heater in the hall and watching my mother and father "together", I remember that it seemed sureal, like a dream. I remember having a nightmare, screaming for my mother and when she came to the door, with a towel wrapped around her wet hair, I thought she was an alien coming to get me. I remember going to an old house and reading a message written on the wall; BEWARE THE MARIJUANA, MAN!!! I remember screaming awake that night, afraid the marijuana man was coming to get me. I remember standing in line in kindergarten for lunch and thinking that I had done this before. I think my favorite memories of being young were with my Uncle James. He was only ten years older than me and because there were not many toys around when he was growing up, he was my play partner. I am ashamed to say that I was spoiled as a child, I got whatever toys I asked for and my uncle was more than happy to help me play with them. Matchbox, Hot Wheels, ERTL, Lincoln Logs, Legos, Race Car sets, Pool tables, remote control cars, bicycles, Stretch ArmStrong, Stretch Monster, Six Million Dollar Man figures, Rookie's figures, SWAT, Planet of the Apes, Star Wars. Name it I had it. I had everything a kid could ask for and a room that was just for that stuff. I was an only child, except for my Uncle and later his brother-in-law who was my age. I now consider him my brother. Even with all the toys in the world I was alone and I hated it. I remember playing in my room, alone, pretending I was part of a family or group; Waltons, RinTinTin, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. It's funny how even my earliest memories are of me being alone and wishing there was someone there to love me. Now, do not get me wrong because I know my parents loved me, but it was the beginning of a different time. They were both holding down full-time jobs to cover the expense of a new house, two cars, and a son. I remember waking in the morning with the both of them already gone for work and finding a note on the counter; There is a bowl of cereal in the frig, with a glass of milk. Put dishes in the sink. I remember coming homw to an empty house and eating Del Monte pudding cups while watching Starblazers and SpeedRacer. There were good times too, but now I look at them bittersweet and I do not know why. There were times watching Six Million Dollar Man while eating fried apples. There were times watching The Blank Game while eating TV dinners with my father. I remember the smell of fresh cut grass as Nadia Comaneche won the gold metal at the Olympics. I remember my first dog, Mitzy, getting hit by a car before my eyes. I remember singing, Put Your Head On My Shoulder, while trying to fall asleep, because there was no one else to do it. Why is it that I cannot remember anything happy, except for a few moments? Was my childhood so troubled? Am I just being the spoiled little, only child? I don't know, I wish I did. I still feel like that little kid sometimes; singing himself to sleep, wishing he was part of something bigger, coming home to an empty home. There is just no more pudding cups, and dammit I like pudding. Qoute; I've been trying to remember things, CLEARLY remember things, from my past, but the more I try to think back, the more it all starts to unravel. None of it seems real. It's like I've just been dreaming this life, and when I finally wake up, I'll be somebody else. Somebody totally different! Eddie Walenski (Colin Friels) - Dark City |
| I would like to thank Highwind for giving I Miss. I Love. I Hate, a ribbon, and for sending me a merit badge for Jounaling. That was awesome and unexpected. She's such a sweetheart. I would like to thank Flower for sending me a wonderful c-note. Also awesome and unexpected. She to is such a sweetheart. How did I get so lucky as to meet two such loverly ladies. Back to your regularly schedules BLOGs/ |
| 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.... Qoute; Let's call it revenge. A certain matter of an exorcism, I think, in which your friend Father Karras expelled certain parties from the body of a child. Certain parties were not pleased, to say the least. The very least. And so, my friend, the Master, he devised this petty scheme as a way of getting back, of creating a stumbling block, a scandal, a horror to the eyes of all men seeking faith, using the body of this saintly priest as an instrument of, well, you know - my work. He's inside with us! He'll never get away! His pain won't end! Gracious me. Was I raving? Please forgive me. I'm mad. Father Karras (Jason Miller) - The Exorcist III |
| Is it the season? A time of ghost, goblins and ghouls. I get the feeling that there is something tryong to scratch and claw it's way out of my soul. It itches and I am not sure how to scratch it. There is a tale that I want to tell, and it tells me that it wants to be told. I just don't know what it is. I sit before my computer with Word open and I do not know where to start. I don't even know what I am trying to tell. Do I want to tell a biography of my life? I don't know. There are memories that I want put to paper. My life is really not exciting enough to do such a thing, but it feels like that is what I want to do. Would this be something done for me as a self-psycho-analysis? Would I be my own psychiatrist? Is it the season? Are there monsters lurking in my soul longing for the light of day? In answer to a question from my mother am I longing to find out the answer for myself? My mother worries about me and she worries about the fact that my upbringing was troubled with the seperation of her and my father. What Do I say to that? What do I say when she asks me if I look back on my childhood fondly? Of course I tell her I do, because she is my mother and I do not want to hurt her. I don't look on my childhood fondly. I don't look back on it sadly either. I look back on it with a bitter indifference. It's been so long since I have seen happiness, I don't think I know what happiness is. I have worn a mask of humor and smiles for so long that sometimes even I do not know when I am faking. I have a story that I am buring to tell. Maybe one day I will know what it is and I will go about putting it to paper. Until then it will be an itch that I cannot scratch. Qoute; She lives beyond the grace of God, a wanderer in the outer darkness. She is "vampyr", "nosferatu". These creatures do not die like the bee after the first sting, but instead grow strong and become immortal once infected by another nosferatu. So, my friends we fight not one beast but legions that go on age after age after age, feeding on the blood of the living. Van Helsing (Anthony Hopkins) - Bram Stoker's Dracula |
This came to me spur of the moment about half an hour ago. WHat should it be classified as? I went with Drama.
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| I shall try not to beat a dead horse any longer and let the past lay in the past. At least for tonight. No promises after that. It seems everytime I sit before my Computer God to pay homage with a BLOG entry I tend to want drift off into sad memories of long gone days. Even when I try to shed alittle light after the darkness, my entry still read a little bittersweet. I wonder why I would continue to have such entries, am I trying to find a moment in my past where there was happiness? Will I find one I wonder? Will I find one before everyone tells me to stop being a girl and let the past go? Things that make you go, hmmm? Happiness is such a misleading word, is it not? I mean do we every find true happiness? Or do we find contentment? Sure their is happiness in a first kiss, in first love. in first intimacy. But is it true happiness? Eventually those moments are forgotten as relationships dissolve or even age. Those moments on initial happiness will never be remembered so strongly as in the moment they happen. The only time I think true happiness cam be found would be in the first cry of your child, to have them sleep on your chest and feel their heart's rapidfire beat against yours, to see them walk and talk for the first time. I hope to have that day happen for me eventually. OK enough espousing of my airchair philosophy. Contrary to the way things seem or even they way I speak I am for the first time, in so long, indeed content. This contentment hasn't been found in the arms of a significant others, it has been found in the bosom of unmet friends here at WDC. My writing has suffered innumerable defeats at the hands of other and eventually myself. Yet here at WDC it has begun to flourish in ways I never thought possible. The funny thing is what I think of as my weakest area of writing is what everyone else raves about. MY characters and the ammount of emotion I get across. Now aint that something. So maybe tomorrow I won't beat the dead horse. I don't think I quite made it tonight. Alas there shall be a qoute; I know a good deal more about you than you suspect. I know, for instance, that you're in love with a woman. It is perhaps a strange circumstance that we both should be in love with the same woman. The first evening I came to this café, I knew there was something between you and Ilsa. Since no one is to blame, I - I demand no explanation. I ask only one thing. You won't give me the letters of transit: all right, but I want my wife to be safe. I ask you as a favor, to use the letters to take her away from Casablanca. Victor Laszlo (Paul Heinried) - Casablanca |
| Lately I have seen a few of my bloggy friends talking about writer's block. While I have complained about writer's block in this very BLOG, my writer's block does not stop me from writing something. My block usually stops me from writing what I want to write, but I am always able to write something. My advice to people affected by the dreaded block, try to write your way out of it. Even if it aint what you want to write. I know who am I to give advice, right. Just tell me to, shut it. That got me thinking about a muse. My muse would be the lady D. Every female character I create starts out as a part of her, then they evolve into something else. I tend to use our break-ups for inspiration more than our time together. The memories I have with K are never used for inspiration. I don't think I could ever creat a femal character as dispicable as she is. I like my characters to come across as more realistic so I think that is why I start with D as the basis. I like all of my characters to be realistic. I don't like the plastic goody goody goodguys, nor do I like the dyed in the wool pure evil badguy. I like my characters to wear grey hats. I want people to feel for my villian as well as my hero. I shall now give two examples, class pay attention. In Perpetual Rage, the main character is Eddye H Ward. He is vile and menacing. He has done things that are dispicable. He has also had a lot happen to him; he was unloved, molested, mistreated, lied to and all he wanted was to be accepted and loved. When he finally found that love, it was snatched from him. He is the villian in the story but also the anti-hero.
In Price of Vengeance, the main character is Detective Shannon Random Price. He is the good guy, the detective, the hero. Yet, he has problems. Every night after work he gets drunk on Jack Daniels and Beer. He drink hangover remedies made from egg yolks, salt, pepper, and hot sauce mixed in a dirty glass. He is filled with faults, but he will do what's right. No matter what. Even when it is his ex-wive who is kidnapped.
They are two distinct characters, yet they both have things about them that you would not like and things that you would like. They are the characters I like to write. I am not into the cookie cutter hero and villian. I don't think I will be able to find a qoute to go with this entry so I will go for funny from one of my favorite movies; You're a brave man. Go and break through the lines. And remember, while you're out there risking you're life and limb through shot and shell, we'll be in be in here thinking what a sucker you are. Rufus T. Firefly (Groucho Marx) - Duck Soup |
| Apologies to Blazing Sadles there. hehe. Two milestones today. yah for me. Blog went over 600 views Port went over 400 views Woot, yah, yippee, and all that jazz. Now back to your regularly schedulaed BLOGs |
| I think I have shined enough darkness and sadness on the world of WDC, so I will try to add a little light. I hope I succeed. Although my ex claimed to have never really loved me, she was jealous of one and only one. That one was the cause of more fights and disagreements between us, sometimes she was even responsible for the fights, not just the cause. I have dated many, but truly loved only two. my ex, whom I will call K (because I am tired of typing my ex) and the other woman whom heretofor will be called D. K won't be making much of an appearance here tonight so take heart. I am trying to spread light remember. I first met D when our different schools played band concerts for eachother in the sixth grade. She was cute and I made every excuse I could think of to talk to her. Then in seventh and eighth grade we went to the same middle school. I used to always pick on her in band class, like little boys do. Until I met and started dating an older wordly woman, she was thirteen to my twelve. Of course as much of my life goes she broke up with me after becoming pregnant by her father's best friend. (before I go any further, remember I said I was trying to shine some light.) D was there to offer sympathy, but I just saw the pain I was in not the cute little lady trying to comfort me. Soon after my parents seperated and I spent the rest of seventh grade and all of eighth grade a mess. My father would go out drinking every night with friends. When they left the house after getting warmed up, I would go around and drink half of what was left in every glass. Eventually I started sneaking Vodka to school in Sprite bottles. D stayed away from me and really who could blame her. The summer before our ninth grade year we worked together in a vegatable packing shed and I developed a major league crush on her. I began to think of her all the time. Of course she was dating some other guy. I knew when they went out to the movies or what have you and I would not go to bed until I knew that she was home. Just before school started her haouse caught fire and burned to the ground. As funny and strange as it sounds, it is that event that I blame for making me love her. I just remember her walking through high school after that in donated clothes looking so small and frail and sad and wanting. My heart went out to her and we became the best of friends and her family became my second family. During that entire year we both dated other people and our friendship was the cause of more fights and break-ups than you would believe. I continued to work with her and her parents that next summer and every summer after that until we graduated. That time we never dated, but everyday I longed for her more and more. Now that sounds alot more dirty than I meant it to sound. Everyday I wanted to spend more time with her, to make her laugh, and smile. I wanted to share sunsets with her and I wanted to grow old with her. Her parents and even her brother and sister constantly pushed her to go out with me, but she never would. Even when her aunt's and cousins started in on her. By the gods she is truly strong willed. One day I was over at the house and she showed up with her prom date so that her mother could take pictures. Her father appeared drunker than any man should be allowed. He looked from me to her date and back again. Then he said for the world to hear, "What are you doing with that punk, you need to be with Larry. Haven't you seen how he looks at you. You ain't even dated and already he idolizes the ground you walk on. You know he will treat you right, not like this rich boy." Oh the fun we used to have. lol. Only once did I cry for her and only once did I fight for her. She had this one boyfriend that I actually go along with he was a cool guy. They dated for almost six months. Once he got her into bed he brought her home and broke up with her that night. I came over the next day and her mother told me what happened. "Is she okay?" was all I could ask as my eyes filled with tears. She was fine, just really upset, because she was starting to love him. I found him in his house and beat the living crap out of him. If his brother and other friends had not pulled me off of him I don't know what would have happened. That may sound like a harsh reaction to you, but you have to understand. He soiled my princess for a kick. He took something precious just for a high five from the guys. He took her innocence and left behind a broken heart. He hurt her, which in turn hurt me for seeing her in pain. He deserved what he got. Senior year I started dating K and D was dating some retard or another. Upon first meeting eachother they formed a club, The I'm Jealous Of You Club. It had a limited membership. D would come up and flirt with me openly when ever K and I were together. She enjoyed every minute of it. We were flip side of the same coins, D and I. We had the same interests in music and movies. Our sense of humor was similar. It was almost as if we were conected by some kind of bond. Whenever she had problems with her current boyfriend, K and I would have problems. After we graduated K and I had our little forced seperation D and I spent a lot of time together until she went off to college. While at college she met some guy and K and I got back together. About a year later K and I seperated for a bit because I didn't want to end up like my parents. Around that same time D became pregnant and the father told her to either get rid of it or he did not want to see her again. That was the second time I cried for her. She had the baby and he is now a strong young man with his mother intellegence, just not her beauty because well then he would be a she or something. Okay stop confusing me. He is a strong young man. We started dating right before he was born. After he was born and she went back to work I used to go over to the house and he would sleep on my chest until she came home from work. She would put him to sleep and wake me with a warm kiss. We would spend the rest of the night watching telelvision. I think that first time we dated was one of the happiest times in my life. We played all the time and we were like a couple. I would help her keep the house clean for her mother and take care of her brother and sister and cousins, not to mention her son. It did not last of course. Even our break up was good. I was still welcome at the house and still welcome to do things with her son. K and I got back together, but that break up with D was not the first or the last. Over the years we have dated off and on, never being able to stay together. One time I will feel it is too much for me. One time she will feel I am too serious for her. It's always something. The last time we fought was rather bad and it just about ripped me apart inside. She was dating this guy who did not love her son. I tried to tell her that she should leave this guy, because how can he love her when he does not love the biggest part of her, her son. There was hurtful things said and we parted badly. When I heard she was engaged to this guy and planning on a Febuary marriage, I called her. I begged her not to marry this guy. I pleaded with her. SHe said it was her life and I should let her live it. I asked her if she thought there would ever be a chance for us to be together again and she told me no. So she married this guy and they are now in the midst of a divorce. It seems that he was cheating on her almost from the day of their marriage. I ran into her brother and he said she wanted me to call her. So I did. We have seen eachother a few times and talked on the phone alot. She says she would like to see where things go because she is tired of the way things are and she feels that we could be happy together. At least she wants to try slow and easy. After the divorce is final. So here I sit hope burning brightly in my soul, when it is not swallowed by the darkness. Every night I want to call her and tell her that I have loved her for so long I don't remember loving anyone else. I want to tell her that if she would but ask I would drop everything to run to her side. I want to be there when he son learns to drive. I want to be there when he finds his first real girlfriend. I want to be there by her side to hold her when she experiences the pain of his first heartbreak. I want to be the first thing she sees every morning and the last thing she sees every night. When she passes away I want fond memories of us together to be all she can remember. I want to love her the way she deserves. I feel like I have loved her forever. I love her....still. Qoute; Women, ain't they perfect? Yes, they are, they're perfect. Don't matter if they're skinny, fat, blond or blue. If a woman is willing to give you her love, Harvard, it's the greatest gift in the world. Makes you taller, makes you smarter, makes your teeth shine. Boy, oh, boy, women are perfect. Simon Wilder (Joe Pesci) - With Honors |
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