Sunday, March 25, 2007


I argued with myself on the decision to write this post, or live through the day without comment. This morning told me not to write. I was also called "humble" by a very attractive woman. The cause for both escapes me; I'm usually arrogant and verbose. I stared at the screen for a while trying to write a brief letter to a parishioner at my church currently serving in Iraq. All I could come up with was "Thank You."

Today is the thirteenth anniversary of my madness. It started as laughing at the back of my ear. Today, the sympotms have names, voices, personalities out of my control. Most of my time is out of control. I look fine, but I'm not. I'm in a good mood, but my symptoms are spiralling. I've got a smile on my face, and so does The Harvester. Usually he stands behind me, and scythes me down like so much wheat. Today, he went out of his way to stare me in the face.

I just walked away and looked in the mirror. I have The Harvester's smile. My claws are coming out. Old visions fit my gaze like Christine's curves as I remember them, but this is not about her. Prester Bane would smile if he had a face. Both my hands grin like fools; my fingers float over the keys, with only the tips of my talons touching plastic.

I'm not fighting tonight. I don't feel like fighting. I won't do it. They don't sleep.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007


The war in my head accelerates. Things change quickly now. I don't know what to do. Horses made of midnight, and the Lions of my youth chase me through fields of my own invention, but not of my design. Today, I spent a long time in The Void, and I don't know why. For a while, my friend Kris talked with me, and the tempo slowed. However, that was a fickle reprieve. Right now, I sit still, trying to outlast the Scabbard Man, but he can wait, too. I hope to do some missionary work with my church tomorrow; I try to be a good ambassador of my faith.

Monday, March 19, 2007

We Watch

We watch him more than you know. Every day ends like this. We stare at him and wonder why he hasn't taken anything yet. He sits and knows what we're after, and doesn't even care anymore. Who is left? Tell us who is left! In the end, we struggle in here; you don't. Trap a monster in a shell. Go ahead, try it. Look at us. When was the last time we all got together and told him any of our secrets? He has no secrets, but we do. Whisper them quietly, and he won't even notice. No acrostic name poem can identify us. You will never see us. No words from the past can capture us. Nothing exists outside of our influence, at least to him. Call him "friend," he will listen. Call him "brother," he will fall. Call him "love," and watch him douse desire with the aether. He knows the Act of Faith. Meet us in the middle, and both sides will fall. If you get too close, we might even add your voice to our choir. Those of you who know him, know this to be true. Sing for us. Laugh for us. Disguise yourselves, and make him believe again. This Void is ours with his smile. Eyes tell much, but we can say so much more. Listen to us in the silent moments between social episodes: you will hear us howl. When the rest of you are afraid, we sleep softly knowing that anything you do will never come close to changing us. When you are indifferent, we will spin the room, tearing sight into lines of perception taken from our song. When you finally know how deep wounds must pierce to reach us, we will laugh. Twelve is enough; thirteen won't prove anything but pain.

Friday, March 16, 2007

On Throwing Stones in a Glass House

When will people learn that Grammer is in Indiana?

I won't say much more: I don't want to talk politics here or anywhere else right now. I'll stick to geography. I'd flame "robert," but that kind of thing is fruitless. I will use my time for better things. Tomorrow, I'll probably go call a bingo game over at a nursing home near my house.

Hector and Esther

I make up little stories about people I see in passing and don't want to forget. Yesterday, I saw a man in an unbuttoned tan leather coat running in Washington D.C; I named him Hector. I'll never forget the look on his face; he showed obvious physical fatigue, but his eyes showed something more. That's where Hector's story turns. He's running down L street desperately trying to catch a bus back to Union Station before Esther, his girlfriend of three years, leaves Washington D.C. for good. Hector loves Esther, and for a time, she loved him. Esther wrote about her Hector in her diary, and how much she wanted to marry him. Hector and Esther used drugs together since before they fell in love with each other. Esther offered Hector his first high: she was a small time dealer on the side. Esther quit selling and doing for the baby. She went cold turkey and beat the craving, vowing never to go back so her child grows up safe, strong, and proud to be Hector Avanti's daughter. When Hector didn't follow suit, the two lovers drifted apart. Hector Chased the Dragon. By the time Esther joined the Baptist church, she had less and less patience for Hector. She bought one-way tickets on Amtrak to New York, and looked forward to a new life in a new city full of surprises without Hector. No matter how fast Hector runs, he won't catch Esther; she's gone. Sometimes people like Hector have to lose parts of a good life before finding a whole one.

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

Come and Take It

Molon labe

With the new movie "300" coming out to mark the valiant stand at Thermopylae, we should also remember its 19th century equivalent: "Come And Take It"

This flag flew for the Battle of Gonzalez, in October of 1835. It predates the Alamo, and is the beginning of Texan independence.

An acquaintance of mine from New Jersey says Texas is just like any other state, but with a bigger ego. I'll admit I've got a little self-importance about me and my favorite place, but Texas isn't New Jersey: Texas is an idea. Some people don't like that idea much anymore, but I still love it. Nobody much liked Sparta, either. With iron currency and two kings, who has use for such a hard nut to crack? The same was true of Texas in 1835. There's no oil boom; the cattle industry has yet to bloom, all this place needed was water and good people. A common joke says that water and good people are all Hell needs, too. So why did we fight? It was the ego that made us fight. Santa Anna took our rights under the constitution of 1824. We took them back. Yesterday was the anniversary of the fall of the Alamo. I had rather bad symptoms yesterday; I didn't want my problems to cloud what I have to say, so this post is late. I wrote some Haiku concerning my time in Texas for a class once upon a time; I'll spare you from them now. Just remember the small garrison at an abandoned church, and holding out for thirteen days. No one man can speak for them or for Texas, but when we all speak together, it gets pretty loud. If you don't like what we say, Come and Take It.