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    [Inspired by many things]

    Chapter 1

    A thousand points of light, a million synapses flash, head in opposite directions, but always meet up at the same destination. Likewise, from a mountain of Univision, I descend full of epiphany. A ghost crouched in the corner of an empty room – this is me today. I think I’d feel most comfortable with nothing on the walls. You do know that I’m lying, right? I think I’d like to throw my whole life away. I’d do better with a fresh canvas.

    I’m laughing and I can’t believe I lie to myself so much. I let each one of these little phrases ring in my mind before I dismiss them. Somehow it stays there, like a footprint locked into the dusty road of a ghost town.

    You are worthless.
    You are worthless.
    You are worthless.

    Ha! No, I am not; you’ll never know my bones. So, why did I feel the need to paint "You are not worthless" along my bedroom wall?

    I want to strip this room clean. Indulge in my beat-poet fantasies. Yeah, it’s just me and Kerouac, On the Road; I don’t need any of you. Beatnik fantasies are so 1910. They really don’t apply in a post-Freudian world. Once I realized I was repressing feeling for the good of others, Kerouac just left me empty. I’ll serve myself, no one else. No one fails like me. So let the stream of emotions tell the tale, the emotions always were the whole story, for he who dares dream himself into reality will not be forgotten.

    So I let the sadness come again. I know myself; it’s been a while since I’ve held myself accountable. I know me; and it’s been a while since I’ve felt like that. It comes and goes, sways this way and that, pulls us back and forth between ourselves and is, at times, murderous. Years passed, change rolled with the winds and many, many things came to pass. Yet still tendrils writhed as beast-like things within the confines of mind, body and soul. This thing was killing me, as it had so many before me. Bones weary and cracked, I was losing the fight. Knowledge of this long since attained in deaths throes, in chase of that ever-elusive embrace. Would it be this way forever? Entrenched in memories of the past? The scars are gone, but the belly still stings. The perversity of which would not let go of my heart, my head, my whole.

    And then light entered the room; it charmed the world with its smile. She stood in the doorway, her eyes, (capable of entrancing even the most hardened heart) were sad as she brought about the end of what happiness they had brought me. In that instant faith had waned to a shriveled shadow of its former self. "Leaving." The word seemed to echo in my mind forever, the death of this newfound hope. Never again would this vision of beauty stand before me, ever. That night, alone, I once again chased death and once again, it was to no avail. Sadness welled up within my eyes, my heart; still there was no end. Love, the greatest savior of pain, had failed me yet again.

    "And if I told you, it was all a dream, it was all nothing. Would you give a sigh of relief, like me?" they said. What must one accomplish to be understood? Sometimes the people closest to you can understand you the least, sometimes the people you think will be the most constant are the ones who leave. Best friends can turn enemies and sometimes back again, or vice versa. As friendship turned sour, confusion set in and the resulting pain left behind a crippled soul, wondering where it all would end and why its own attempts to end were so constantly thwarted. The reflection in the mirror looked to the dead before him for answers. But when it doesn’t, then just the opposite happens.

    All dulled and dead, a world too cold, I felt too young to feel so old. Why could no one hear me? Was I not screaming for help? This plea had been integrated into every facet of the life being lived and still no one paid heed. Did they not care that I wished to end it? Self-resentment boiled within as I realized my failure at the simplest cry for help. With no safe place to hide or cry, a battered heart began to harden and as it cried its last tear it was born out of innocence and into darkness.

    Unlock me, watch me blown apart. Unlock me now and watch me play the part. Unlock my mind and watch me fall apart. Unlock my body.

    Then, finally, the cold hard reality came to me. This is my reality, as good or as bad as it is for me. Life began when the sky grew dark, the blanket of night covering us in the midst of the sin and decadent desires we held so dear. Without a thought to spare for compassion we roamed the black sister of a light that had long since abandoned us. Drug filled hazes potent enough to numb the residue of day to day life were fuel enough to bring about many a violently good time, time mostly spent in paralysis, or should the occasion call for it, in a philosophical state of bitterness and hate. Still, strange how strongly friendship and camaraderie flourished in such times.

    The pitiful creature that stood before me could do nothing but stare, empty, back at itself. I had not quite despised something this much before now. What, of worth, could possibly be put to its name? Love? Dead. Family? Sour. Friends? Exactly the same as me. It was in these moments alone that the truth would pierce like a knife through the heart and force me to the ground, the only thing keeping life in these veins being an unholy love for the most decadent of habits and perhaps, fear of what came next.

    As I become my ghosts, something is noticed. I never was the same. As I make the most, of inner demons, I know that I am this.

    The preparations were made; all would soon cave in on itself, taking me away from all this pain on the wings of courage. And why not? Was everything not ruined? Going nowhere? I was what I was and I did not like what I saw. "Any day now." A phrase repeated a thousand times… but never would it come to pass. As I reached what I thought was the end of my path, a new one had unfurled before me.

    Freedom found in something sure, to take a piece of something pure. Purity begged before me, knowing its worth would soon be made obsolete. But as a rush of icy white shot through my body there was no turning back, not that the desire to was even there, on the contrary, it had all but vanished. Icy warm gave clarity while the physical screamed with pleasure and where there once was nothing, a reason had been placed: pure ecstasy, a feeling like no other and seemingly a cure for all and any woes weighing down this heart. Nothing mattered but that moment, that perfect moment, all else had faded into obscurity and as the cold steel withdrew itself from beneath the skin, life renewed itself tenfold. The crisp night air looked more inviting than ever, irresistible, the urge too much, I walked into the darkness with my newfound friend and reacquainted myself with an old one.

    A period of numbness swarmed over life. Feelings exist in madness, but only as withered, illogical imitations. Work, family, love, all unwitting of my insanity given a newfound ability to mask myself into reality, a day pass if you will. Time moved on, I moved down and down and down. Chemicals and herbs alike became more readily available, more time was spent asleep, in thought, in soul searching. Friends shunned did not understand, but friends shunned were so for purpose. In self imposed exile I had found something of a small amount of peace and in the time to follow, it grew.

    Could it be? The slight prick of emotion had sparked a tidal wave of thought, even in the midst of a sea of living. This dead man walking in the realm of life had come to something of a wall on his accelerated path to nothingness. Everything, if only for an instant, seemed in its right place. Vibrant sang the night, a mess of natures chemicals swum about my head in a perfect order, while grace stood before me, all encompassing. Doubt and unfamiliarity slowly made way for acceptance and the moment rang true. This was emotion, that distant memory, almost forgotten. Nevertheless it now held me in its presence, its glory. Life had returned to these bones, anew, vitalized, beautiful. The remainder of the night was spent in awe and learning how to live once again, all thanks to the beauty of one soul, able to reach forth and pull me from the recess of my own mind, without even trying. Her beauty, her peace, her all, had granted life to a soul long thought lost. And though this hope would be torn down the very next day, the foundations for hope had been laid. My attention was caught.

    I was like a newborn discovering everything for the first time. I had discovered that beauty had not left my life, I merely hadn’t looked for it. With each experience, each stimulus, I grew to become something that once again resembled a human being. And as I uncovered what I found, I was drawn, with every fiber of my being, to that which I found beautiful. Music, poetry, art, knowledge, my mind soaked it in like a thirsty soul, starved for sustenance. Songs, pictures, paintings and ideas, long suppressed, sprung into view and out of their cage. This was what it was to live, to simply be. Even while still immersed in remnants of drugged hazes, that would soon cease, a peace had become apparent and all was well. Friends shunned were gradually friends once more and reality unblurred its vision in my eyes as I slowly but surely re-entered it.

    The self appointed diplomats of Earth’s intolerance, are in my face most everyday, tell me that I’m wrong. The mainstream, monkeys, prey on weak minds, while the dictators claim to be one of a kind.

    Now, a proud member of the human race, my peace was found within the confines of quiet moments alone, spent in reflection on myself and the pursuit of art. But something horrible had been brewing on the horizon in my absence. Plastic dolls of mainstream paint were defiling the best of this truth, and my ultimate savior. An anger boiled and writhed within, though this time righteous. This new breed of "milestone", armed with image thorns and the power to entrance a generation of "need to be told" had systematically taken apart the foundations of a better cause, for want of personal gain. They simply had to be stopped. Such attitudes then became apparent in my observation of the general mass of peer, all out for nothing but the "me" and their kind, completely void of tolerance for the "we". Ringing eternal inside, the mortal enemy of a beauty far more worthy of notice was named, threefold: Hate, Intolerance, Greed. I now had not only sustenance in art, but a reason to live in defending it.

    Through it all, I never strived to be normal. Normal people always kept it together. It was always the unique ones who fight to fall apart. It’s a badge of honor.

    Which brings me to the challenge in recording an event without diligence in the recording of time. Does one make oneself a existential enigma – both self-nihilistic and loathing and a proposed moralist; believing both adamantly and living up to that dichotomy right up until the instant when I do not?

    A guy crawls in a girl’s window, and reads her diary. He sees where she says he’s a creep, and a loser, and a lousy lay, and ignorant and egotistical. Then he realizes she was talking about someone else and thinks, “God, this sucks, at least she’s thinking about him.â€



    Feedback please. [img]images/smiles/converted/biggrin.gif[/img]



    I read the first line and sort of gave up! Sorry the thing is to long and it does’nt even have any pics, now whats a story with out any pics.
    later trav [img]images/smiles/converted/wink.gif[/img]



    <BLOCKQUOTE><font>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by aNtiPoP:
    <STRONG>I read the first line and sort of gave up! Sorry the thing is to long and it does’nt even have any pics, now whats a story with out any pics.
    later trav [img]images/smiles/converted/wink.gif[/img]</STRONG><HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

    *scribbling in notebook*
    More pics…
    */scribbling in notebook*

    Thanks for the advice! [img]images/smiles/converted/smile.gif[/img]



    LOTS of Pumpkins references in there. Any significance in those?

    It is very well written and I am assuming you want it to read like a diary entry. Where (if anywhere) are you planning on using this story?

    [img]images/smiles/converted/lol.gif[/img] @ antipop – bring on the pics [img]images/smiles/converted/wink.gif[/img]



    <BLOCKQUOTE><font>quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Jaron:
    4. 1 + 2 + 3 + 5 + 6 + 7 = Meaning – 4 Screw any other so called equalities.

    If man is 5,
    Then the devil is 6,
    and if the devil is 6,
    Then GOD is 7, GOD is 7,

    (Sorry, couldn’t resist… [img]images/smiles/converted/rolleyes.gif[/img] [img]images/smiles/converted/biggrin.gif[/img] )


    K7 Rides Again


    (Sorry, couldn’t resist… [img]images/smiles/converted/rolleyes.gif[/img] [img]images/smiles/converted/biggrin.gif[/img] )[/QB]<HR></BLOCKQUOTE>
    Yesssssssss! the Pixies rock!!!!!!!!



    or the bloodhound gang

    if man is five and the devil is six then that must make me seven this honkys gone to heaven but if i go to hell well then i hope i burn well ill spend my days with Jfk, Marvin Gaye, Kurt Cobain, and webster yeah emanuel lewis cause hes the antichrist

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