Strange Story

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What do head lights look like to those who run into them?

I am a runny picture of flowers,

I wonder what your painting would look like if, it was run over and over on the side of the highway, which you hated so much, but not enough to stop spending all my cash on ___________.

I am a bird with a rapid beating heart, I am tiny, and I dart away from those, without the sight, to see me pass, without a fight.

painted red like everything painted at someone, hinting at love, at passion, at everything she says she feels but running dripping colors of

Look at me, look at me, I am so badly hurt, look at me, I tell stories untold by human mouth, or loudly screamed above our **** couch..

Why is her artistic style so sad, looking like crying hands, that make me wonder what happened to this poor,

Bull**** artist, how about why do you paint flowers like you are crying over how your lover doesn’t love you, the flowers love you, and you are killing them with crying reds.

I have maintained the anonymity of my real identity not just because I am a liar. I am a liar, but I also thoroughly ruined my life to the point where the anonymity is necessary because there are certain people who are very angry with me who I do not want to have contact with while I am trying to recover from addiction and try to make some sort of effort to be a decent human being. I have faced the very real ramifications of a life spent back and forth on the streets and in houses funded by unsavory methods. I desire the anonymity because there are certain friends I have that are very unsavory characters, who want to kick my *** for lack of a better word. I faced all the situations in this story minus actually having to hurt anyone. I wrote about that as a way to get justice in a fictional way, and get out repressed rage when what really happened was I had to turn the other cheek and feel like a coward because I walked away instead of standing up for myself.

Damien

You killed I will make sure your blood is… oh that’s right you don’t have that because you have no legs to stand on, no place to land on, and need me to hit any vein at all, you can’t even make a call to get sauced or star crossed so get lost! My eyes are mine not thine, and I am no longer resigned to die, because I like life. I am no longer addicted to human strife, no I am addicted of stab pain with KNIFE, but I can’t do that so… because that is not real, and I am no longer a prisoner of feel,

I am now becoming more real, no longer need to steal or lie, I can take out your stupid eye or can’t I because you don’t have one. You see through me, which is sad, because I can’t see clearly, is your vision blurry ****? Her’s a fix, get in ditch.

End transmission.

I don’t know, because I cut her into pieces, I am not sure how I did it. I woke up to this. This is a bastardization in that I am a bastard for doing it, and being that I have no idea how to illustrate what I would not dare take pictures of because I was appalled at what had happened, while I was not present in my own disgusting mind… I don’t even know. It looked something like this to me at the time. I think I can’t even tell you, because I don’t know. I remember this piercing sound, earth shattering piercing like some how I had shattered one of my ear drums, but it rotated from both ear drum to ear drum and it didn’t hurt. Tinnitis? Spelling? Spelling…. I… woke up a second later and there were pieces of someone on the ground and Rei, was gone, or maybe I was gone. I do not know.

I was only there for a second, but then I… I don’t know, I don’t know if I ran or if I woke up from a nightmare that was this, but the blood, it was on and off my hands in flashes of light, but not like blood, like a cast color and it burned. I think I might have been screaming, but I couldn’t hear myself. I woke up or was already awake and I was.. I was..

I’m done… I don’t know what this means, and wanted to write this down so I remember it, but I am.. I am.. signing off. I don’t know what else to say other than that I am embarrassed… I am pathetic.

We have met others who do what we do, I am studying it as a phenomenon now, they have some sort of ability that involves the manipulation of human beings and the universe. They are all addicts, and I do not know if that is that stupid you associate with those like you crap, or if they are like us because there is something about being an addict that causes us to be able to do this. I feel like I have mentioned this before, but I do not know for sure, because admittedly my memory sucks, and I do not like to admit I have any weakness at all.

I have a hard time making assessments of the reality of what I see because of this, I, in my admitted arrogance, believed and still believe in my ability to manipulate space and time with my hands, that is one of the reasons I take life, aside from being prone to lashing out in fits of rage. I am embarrassed even writing this to you, my unknown observer. I do not like being the kind of person who talks to people, and wonder sometimes if that means I do not like being a human being. I sometimes doubt even that, that I am human at all.

I do not know what that means… I do not know what it means to not believe in my own human body. I guess it just means that I am everything they always said I was, and that for some reason in my wretched existence, I am pathetic enough to not… I am going to stop… I can’t stand hearing myself talk, even if it is out loud while typing to you or sometimes in the ranting chaos that is my own mind.

Tol er an ce

Toll error and cease… The lack of capacity of most people’s bodies for drugs astounds me. It is so interesting, and such an excellent cover, for something so sinister in nature. They look like they are taking their own lives, and it’s not true at all. The whole… I can’t spell that word right now… fuck it.

Must be something about it. My fingers must be uncomfortable with it, anything that involves lying they hate typing…. and now I am… tired of using google to spell fucking words. I hate this goddamn shit. Why doesn’t my brain function.

The woman who ate this really liked it, until choking on it. I never got to try it. Damn bitch threw up on it. It was kind of funny. I wonder how long till they figure out it was not accidental. She should have stopped laughing sooner, joke’s on her, and the ground below the bridge. Rei thought it was funny….

Later

Damien

We are standing next to each other, but in the coldness of night… I can feel our separateness. I can feel that we are merely parts in a universe of pieces, and for a second I panic, knowing that the only thing that connects me to him are threads that are unreal. I have no invisible tether which ties me to this man. I am truly alone, and that frightens me, and I hope, as horrible as it is to say… he is frightened too. I look at him and realize he is crying. I heard him coughing or what I thought is coughing. I walk away slowly, and he starts to say something, but stops and I pretend not to hear.

“I wish….”, echoes into the dark night from his lips, as I walk away. I do not know what he wishes, and I will not find out if he was talking to me. We have an unspoken, understanding that I am not to see his moments of weakness. I simply pretend that he does not have them. We never speak about them.

He comes back over to me, but does not make eye contact with me. His downcast gaze, passes over the ground, painting it with the red stare that he casts on the day walkers. He looks as though he is trying to cast himself off the earth, and there is a part of me that wishes that he could, to end his pain. I do not know what it is about, and dare not ask.

You must remember this, Damien.

I didn’t write that, but I am leaving it there for you, so you can read it, and I sound less like the weak raving lunatic that I have come to know myself to have become. I was not always like this, or this bad. I think. I don’t really remember. I do not think I am a dead man. I think I am a dying man, but I have nothing wrong with me. I am not dying in the way every human being is dying. Like I said, there is nothing wrong with me, medically. The hospitals I have frequented for their free food know about the mental illnesses they tell me I have.. I don’t believe they are illnesses. I know that is cliche, but I don’t believe it, in that I won’t take medication for something that is who I am, not an illness.

This is me, and there is at least one person who likes me, the only person who likes me, but I don’t think that is fair because she is also the only person who knows me. I didn’t let anyone else do that.

I am a dead man, remember?

It says it is even in her name. Rei. I am not sure what that means. I think it thinks Ms. Rei spells misery, without the y because why? Because I am an asshole, and I don’t get to ask an illness questions. Okay, I feel better now, so see ya.

Damien

Which is strange, because I swear that I only fell asleep a moment..I don’t have a watch, but I feel it. He has not been gone long, and certainly not long enough to be completely out of sight. I panic, and sit for a second, trying to keep a hold of myself. I must not freak out. He will be back in a second I tell myself. I am freaking out for no reason, I tell myself. I know something is wrong. I know it, and I can’t tell you why. I do not know what is going on, but it is something different than has ever gone on before, and even if he returns I am not sure, if things will ever be the same, and that terrifies me. What have we done? What have we done?

Have we done enough to warrant whatever this is? The answer to this is yes, he and I both know this. We know this, and we run, chased from cover of darkness to cover of darkness, wanting nothing but each other’s company while we slowly die of madness. I am not sure if we will…

I look up, I was talking to myself.

“Oh, you are awake, I went for a walk,” He nervously laughs, looking down at his feet, which no longer have shoes on them.

“What happened to your shoes?” I ask with concern that seems a little bit too motherly, and I cast my eyes to the ground, ashamed.

“I…. don’t know…” He looks back at me, and I can see that he is shaking slightly.

“Come here,” He comes without me having to ask again, and we don’t speak for the rest of the night.

It is hard to see anything through the veiling nature of green.

There is a shadow cast by the act of lushness that comes with greenery. In that greenery exists a deception that casts over all, in the plenty that exists with green comes a deceptive veil that cannot be lifted unless there is a removal of the vines which entangle around the human soul, because in their entanglement of the limbs that are your source of movement comes a restriction of breath and removal from the world in which you live.

Him and I walk through both places, we walk in valleys of green and areas of blue ocean, and I always seem to lose him in those green places.

“YOU HEARD ME GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND. Oh, you thought you were good, you thought you were very good didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!” He kicks the man directly in the nose, and I can hear the very quite sound of the tiny bones of his nose break as it goes to the left side, he spits directly on the wound and then kicks dirt mixed with leaves at the man. The leaves are changing color where we are right now. I find it interesting to watch the dripping dark red velvet seeming blood of the man, who is white,
Cau·ca·sian

“DO” NOT INTERRUPT ME!”

So slow the dissent of chaos and disorder……..

Whose voice am I?

I am the sky.

I am the rain.

I am the reign.

I am the insane man

?

?
?

I am the ever slow hand of the swine herder, I do not know how to spell, look at me go. I type slow. I am missing fingers, so sad for you my poor girl, your death it swirled, you have escaped me know, my sweet, write their stories.

In the darkness… I forget where I am..

In the dark nest of death I forget who I am?

Does it matter? Does it matter? Does your reality shatter with the breaking of souls?

I am the toll of death’s chime.

I am somewhere else now. I am walking. Damien throws a red jacket at me. I like the color. It reminds me of something.

I was killed where I stand. I stand still. I took the wrong pill. I made the wrong deal, should have instead bought a meal. I dealt with a steal-er. He made me a meal here. I stood on the ground, hearing not a sound, but a pound, that came in my ear, shattering conscience, conciousness…spelled it wrong… bitch…

Foolish hands that write of man, who stands as me, I am herder of swine don’t you see. I am a liar and host of deception-ist sort. I am a maker of words, singer of cries…. I am the dying of dies.

I lost my train of thought, who was I before. I was someone. I was someone.

My name is Miranda. I was a writer and then Ms. Rei.

Misery, don’t you see….

Cut off my hands.

You were using them wrong, you were writing death’s song.