Wednesday, February 28, 2007


Monday was bad; that much is clear. The past two days were better. I played some games, lost some, and won some. My Dad had partial knee replacement surgery two weeks ago; I'm taking care of him for Lent. I think it's a worthy project; we've had difficulties in the past, as regular readers of this blog would know. It's the first special thing I've done for Lent in a long time.

Monday, February 26, 2007


So I took a large dose of tranquilizers. I'm writing this to see how long it will be until my slumber takes me away. The horsemen are after me again. The first time I saw them, I thought they were polo players; they're not. These riders have sharp teeth and axes in shadows. I see them more and more as time wears on. I have trouble falling asleep; right now it's 12:52 Monday morning. When I finish this, I'll note the time.

I don't know why I seek. I know I will never find anything by searching for it. I get a little glimpse of love, sanity, purpose, and it's gone just as fast as it came. While we wait for thirty, I think I'll start making plans. It will be thirteen years next month, and I am still lost. I don't know why I bother trying. In the end, there's me and nothing else makes sense. Sometimes, I don't even want to know me. How can I expect someone to be happy with me when I am incapable of being happy with my own skin. My hand looks better to the rest of you, but it will always be the same to me. I see him; I feel him. He's mine, and you can't see him. I know us better than anyone else, no matter how much I tell to the rest of you.

12:58 This is slow

I want to be free. I have a few memories left of our life without my demons. It was unhappy then, as now. However, at least then I knew why. Depression is a bitch, and schizophrenia is a bear. I can't fight either well enough to get them off me. Every day is a challenge, especially now when I'm alone at night, and it seems like the rest of the world rests. Rest is not for me, I think. I have only pain and slumber. That won't matter for long. I'm close; I can feel it. Heavy eyelids can't come fast enough.

I also don't know why I write. It brings me nothing but pain. All the effort in the world, and I still make no sense. Understanding eludes me and makes the rest of you pause. Memories trickle onto the page, but not into your hearts. Like I've said before, this is the only way I know how to show you. This is me! This is my pain! I'm not a butcher, I am meat. I am not a person, I am a relic. I am not like you; I am a monster.

1:06 It won't be long

Check out the entrails I leave here. Nothing is a secret. Even the worst charlatan in the world couldn't mistake my signs etched in blood around me: youth is wasted on the young. Luckily, the end is close. I should be asleep soon; my stomach growls at me, but I shut it up with pepsid. This should be lost.

My intentions are to bring some kind of awareness to the rest of you. I'll never write another note; when the end comes, this will be my best epitaph a few years from now. It won't be a surprise, and everyone will know my motives. Backwards

Did you ever dream it differently? I don't think you have. With my condition, nasty accidents happen. We all know the constant nagging of doubt. Give the benefit to the rest of us; I'll stay on the other side of this madness, hopefully asleep in a few minutes or even a few seconds. Every word has its place at least once. My word right now is Four.


Tuesday, February 20, 2007

More Trouble Than He's Worth

I'm a bit of a Bible Boy, but those familiar with this blog already know that. For a while, I couldn't find a character that resembles me or my struggle anywhere in my favorite volume. I share a few things with Job, and for a while, I thought I shared a few more with Barabbas. However, I probably share the most with the man afflicted with Legion.

I continue my search through the scriptures, and it still bugs me that I can't find someone somewhat like me. I find my friends, family members, and everyone else I know in small measures, but that character to identify me eludes my perceptions.

The search brings me nothing, but it's part of the reason that I fell in love with Thomas Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur. I identify with Balin, knight of the two swords, heavily. He's a virtuous and strong knight who always means well, but perpetually ends up being more trouble than he's worth. He beheads the Lady of the Lake in a family feud. It's Balin who lays the Dolorous Stroke upon Pellam, the Fisher King. He's always honest, and knows that Truth is the best quality of knighthood. He's cursed, but still struggles with virtue. He's also a bit ahead of his time; he's dead before the establishment of the Round Table. His life is pain, strife, and a heavy sword belt.

I feel cursed sometimes. I also hunger for righteousness, probably a little too much. Pride is definitely my favorite deadly sin. Anger is close behind.

Sunday, February 11, 2007


I want to write a pause
A space so long and deep
That it transcends the line
Vaults over the page
And only shows its sheer size
In the vacated absence of breath
The Bard promised to leave for us
But never did

I'd fill the pause
Pour in everything
Every first chance
Every last dance
Every wasted glance
In pursuit of a pause
That never meets the ear halfway
Like a staccato sonnet
Off the entrails of consumption
That most simply assumed
Was surely a broken heart
But wasn't

When John Keats and William Shakespeare
Compete for time in the pause,
That's when you know it's big enough

Big enough to wear as a hat
Heavy enough to sink a drowning artist
Attractive enough to chase
Into deep water where I make my home, but
Strong enough to maintain your street cred
When you

replace the poem with the def jam
substitute a reader in favor of a mob
swap the intricasies of verse
for this tired style, the only one you cheer
while you drink a tall espresso with no lime
no lime

Feign passion for cheers
Fake concern for sympathy
Take Maya Angelou as an idol
Be quick to offend easy targets,
And quicker to complain
When someone has the sheer gall to treat you likewise
Live the thug life just like 'Pac
Because we're cool like that

Oh yeah, and play the race card, it works.

Now that's a pause.

Read Keats!
Study Shakespeare;
Know that I'm the very butcher of your silk bullshit!
And populate your pauses
With letters, lines, and stanzas if they'll fit

Monday, February 05, 2007

Following Friendship

I lost a lot of respect for a person I can no longer honestly call a friend. He teases me, baits me into arguments, calls me stupid, and mocks me at every opportunity. However, in my usual fashion, I ignored the stones he threw at me: I guess I'm just willing to take abuse for company. As is often the case, it took a soulless, cruel, and selfish act put upon someone I barely know to force a change in opinion and action. For a while, I was ambivalent over how to react to his flagrantly improper choices. I couldn't decide if I wanted to confront him, use lower voices to get to my point, ignore everything in favor of feigned ignorance, or just sever all ties. I decided on a compromise: I'm going to treat him with the meaninglessly polite etiquette I treat to all strangers. I won't curse, I won't raise my voice, I won't even laugh inappropriately. I respect oaths, promises, vows, and statements made before God. People who unrepentantly destroy or aid in the destruction of these endangered Human honors have no place in my circle of friends. Following Friendship is the cold, inflexible, and meaningless stability of intentional estrangement.

Friday, February 02, 2007

Pipe Dreams

Peace, Love and Understanding are all pipe dreams for me. I sit alone as always, typing to a screen that doesn't type back. However, this is where I shine. I can pretend, through writing, that I'm together, eloquent and intelligent. Everything goes well until I speak. When you hear me, you'll know this as truth. Sometimes the rest of you make a little detour and visit me; I never understood why. It's clear that I'm not like you. My virtues are sure enough to earn a modicum of respect: I'm not a totally incoherent madman yet. That will change. I behave enough like a person to carry on a conversation and deceive those unfamiliar with me to believe in my humanity. Take note: I am from Deep Water, and I will return there some day, probably not as soon as most of you would like. Until then, let's play a game; I like games. I'll pretend I'm one of you, and you will pretend I'll live to see thirty. As the clock ticks away, so do I. The keys sound like the movement of an old wind-up watch on its last hour. My hour is measured in years, and my misery is measured in milligrams. Give me more! I want to feel close; I want to feel loved. Instead I'll settle for the sleep I need while I desperately desire something more permanant.