You are silent when I listen, you caw when I do not, I am listening to you my friend, outside my window where you are, though I cannot see you.

Talking to you is better than talking to them, them is a word re-arranged. Them is a word re-arranged.

Shut up.

Did you stain the rug?

I did not stain the rug, I did not I swear, I put it down, before the paint was dropped.

I am very careful don’t you see? How could you place the blame on me? I did not stain the rug, and it can be seen in this picture of a rug, that is a different rug, but looks like the rug I did not stain.

Someone with a name I will not mention stained the rug, and it was not me.

Along time ago in a place far away, I cleaned motel rooms and

Let Om.

Om. Sounds like meditation..

I should have cleaned the rooms in a calm manner.

Yeah, maybe then you wouldn’t have lost your job.

I lost my job because I came to work high ever day.

Did that cause you to behave calmly?

Does anyone behave calmly on drugs?

My point exactly.

Do you?

I am you.

I know them is a word re-arranged, and it is word, that made me realize that it is no longer a good idea for stay up for two weeks at time.

What about them?

Who a word re-arranged?

No, them.

The people? Which people? Everyone?

Yes, everyone.

I am sorry to the every ones.

There are not multiple every ones.

I thought it sounded cool.

You sound like a tool.

I am a tool.

Actually, yes.

**** you.

I mean you are being used, like everyone is being used at times, by the hands of the universe to help other people.

Wow, arrogance.

I know, but everyone is used this way.

They are?

Yes.

Tool is loot backwards.

You are such a jerk.

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I thought this was significant for me because it is close to 100, which is crazy. I remember we had to do something when I was a little kid that involved 100 days, I think it was the 100th day of school or something, we celebrated it. The whole thing was riddled with irony actually, because I hated it.

I told my teacher that the day counting was stupid, because it was just counting down your life, and who would want to do that. I think the irony there is amazing, for someone who would later go on to do the drugs that would tick seconds off my life and smoking and drinking. It’s funny I went from being completely petrified by death to being completely petrified by life, or maybe both are the same thing, and it is really just all the control thing? Dunno.

Damien

I am so happy to be at peace, a place, instead of the sensation of mind erase, a drink, but also a place. I am no longer the feeling of lack of space, but am allowed to exist.

I wasn’t before this. I was a state of mind that was pushed away, a meditation thought to be decay, but now I exist.

Yes.

Drinking, using, any of that… is not better than this, and none of that is missed, not for anything would I give up this.

I am so glad to be done, and be able to not hate myself anymore.

I have begun to sow the fractured pieces of my soul back together, but it is hard, a reverse dissection of a fake infection projected on me by my own hand.

At least now I can stand on my own two feet.

Daily writing prompt

What do you wish you could do more every day?

View all responses

I am alone in the woods, on a path, in the middle of the night.

It is around three in the morning. I am guessing, there is a complete blackness to the sky, and silence that suggests the birds are still sleeping.

Looking up at the sky, I wonder if anyone, or anything is awake yet, if there is another animal that is like me and drawn to frantic pacing at this time, somewhere anywhere.

I listen for any noise that would hint of any kind of life at all, but there is nothing, there is an absence to the air, that suggests lack.

I breathe and feel like sound is missing from the universe, unsure if there is something wrong with my ears, if I have lost my mind completely, if I am tripping myself out, what it even means to hear at all.

I cough. I can hear myself. There is sound.

Looking up at the sky, I trace the existence of me, as something separate from the night, I can feel my hands, they hurt. The coldness of night bites into them with every movement, a slicing that feels like sharp needles, sticking into them with every movement.

I cough again, and can hear the sound, radiating into the echoing darkness.

I sigh. I am relieved to have released that in this all consuming starkness of light, I am still separate, able to feel myself, as an entity which exists in a universe of parts.

It is very dark. I can see nothing in front of me. The moon is absent from the sky, and there are no stars, blinking, I think I am crying. I am not sure. I don’t remember what that feels like, or how long I have been standing here, and cannot tell if I am looking down or up.

Moving my neck, I figure out I am staring up.

I blink my eyes. Nothing.

I am still shrouded in the all consuming darkness.

It is very cold, the cold has spread from my hands to the rest of my body, feeling like a bitter aching, hurting like sharp knives with each movement, but without the sound of reassuring wind, that makes me aware of passing storms.

I am not sure if this bitter cold, if it is something characteristic of the season, or of it is something I am feeling in this spot, right now that is very much specific to me.

It is an insane release of tension to write dark horror. I don’t care what anyone thinks… I am going to do what I want now. I am an ***.

I am trying to be more honest and am not going to do the whole fake it thing, I am still the same **** with dark thoughts, I think the key is to find outlets for my rage issues and not hurt myself or bite people’s heads off. I think it is a good outlet for repressed aggression and makes it easier for me to not lash out at people around me. I am very passive aggressive and have a lot of repressed rage I channel into writing…

Sorry.

Damien

I am listening, and I have an instant reaction to something you say, and I react and for a second feel okay, I was honest at least, that’s a step right? I am not lying, I am being honest. I am okay with the world and feel like I am doing the right thing.

Then I think about what I said, and the whole world lights on fire, a fire not burning with flame, but with different colors, that I have never seen before, because I have never experienced a world of color before. I have always lived in black and white, never dealing with light of day, with human being, ruler of land of push away. I sit and agonize over things that are tiny and stupid, and then resent myself for doing it, no one does this. No one has to, they are not stupid. I am stupid and think about stupid things.

Then I realize that they know that I do this, and I think I am in some way better than those around me, and that the fact that I do this makes me superior to them, and that if they only knew how specifically hard to be very specifically me it was they would

DRINK USE TOO

I just got this, that this is the process of what I usually do, and that by taking a step back and not hating myself for doing it… helped me. Thank you random stranger in the park that told me this.

I hear things, I hear phrases, they come to me, constantly. I get stuck on them, a decoder of messages coming into my mind, that could mean something or nothing, who knows, but I decode them on here because it helps me personally deal with them, and not shout them on street corners, or talk to myself while pacing around in decaying madness. I noticed with this one, that I put in the title, reckless abandon, that if it spelled like the above, wreck less abandon, that it means something different.

Wreck

 the broken remains of something wrecked or otherwise ruined. (dictionary.com)

Reck

pay heed to something.

Less

a smaller amount or quantity of something.

before subtracting (something); minus.

(Archaic) of lower rank or importance.

to a smaller extent; not so much.

To me this means

The broken remains of something of lower rank or importance

a·ban·don

cease to support or look after (someone); desert.

give up completely (a course of action, a practice, or a way of thinking).

complete lack of inhibition or restraint.

This to me speaks on two levels which makes me employ both

cease to support or look after (someone); desert.

The broken remains of something of lower rank or importance

Wreck less Abandon

Read this way

Someone of perceived lesser importance, removes prior restraints causing lesser importance, and turns to mission of more importance, which is removing inhibitions or restraints, or the chains of addiction and helps the abandoned or lost of society.

Just a thought, through language dissection of schizophrenic thoughts.

The universe paints in color, mostly, but there are beings in black and white, shadow people who do not get the colors of reflected light

Colored beings dance throughout the world, reflecting light on shadow men, who do not participate just observe and defend something that I do not know yet, I am not sure, think I forget… and I have been wondering lately what I forgot, sitting and thinking about what remains to be sought.

I am thinking so, and sitting alone, as I do because I know that I am a shadow of the people I can see, I see them, they can’t see me. I am a shadow of their reflections of light. I am not real, just a lack of light.

I hear a sound from behind and turn around, it is not a light beaming but the sound of down.

I am taken back, but I am not scared, some how it feels like I always knew this was there, speaking to me in shades I get, anger, pain and deep regret

I look to it, and it sees me, makes eye contact and warns me, do not be like me, please.

What do you mean? I say, and then it simply walks away.

I have felt lost recently, and I have been romancing my drugs/drinks of choice through whining and making it look like I feel bad, I was just complaining because I wanted to get high or drunk and I can’t because I don’t want to, that is my choice and holding onto the idea that I am being forced by something external is insane. I am being forced by myself, because I am out. I have realized what horror my existence was to the world, to myself, to my friends, my family, and to the streets of this country, however blown out of proportion I made it for you to see what I saw, because I don’t like to tell the whole truth, I am an ***.

I am speaking for myself and Amanda, because now more than ever we are learning to speak with the same voice, instead of the masturbatory narcissism that was seen on this site so far.

If nothing else, I am looking forward to being less of an inconvenience to those that love me.

Damien

“I want to put my hand out and touch you. I want to do for you and care for you. I want to be there when you’re sick and when you’re lonesome.” “They seemed to come suddenly upon happiness as if they had surprised a butterfly in the winter woods,””I want to put my hand out and touch you. I want to do for you and care for you. I want to be there when you’re sick and when you’re lonesome.” “They seemed to come suddenly upon happiness as if they had surprised a butterfly in the winter woods,”

Edith Wharton, Ethan Frome

My family is helping me with moving it back here, and I am going to use it to organize my life, I read a lot and there are all these books all over the room that make it look cluttered, and are an annoyance to my family. I am trying to be less selfish, and self-centered. I am realizing that while taking accountability for things is good, I have been going about it in a flawed way, which is similar to not doing it at all. I have not been letting myself move past it, and have been dwelling on everything in my traditional woe is me stupid narcissistic way of looking at the world, done. I am sick of myself, and want to move, so I am doing it now.

There are so many cool books in that room that have been left over from our families leaving them after moving. I have plenty do now, so I think it will be easier than ever to stop whining about how crappy I feel and do things to make me feel better.

Later,

Damien.

“It was written I should be loyal to the nightmare of my choice.” 

joseph conrad, heart of darkness

They think I get up in the middle of the night to experience the hours of the day before they wake up, this is only half true. I do not do this out of a desire to be alone. I just simply enjoy quiet when I can. I have not had much quiet in my life at all, and the second they wake up, against their and my will… I listen to their existence every second I am present, not in a resenting way, actually quietly I sit and marvel at the people who surround me now, because I appreciate so much hearing voices other than my own incessant talking in my own head, or against my will at loud to myself. I am so happy to be around people who are not me, because as much as I sound like I am in love with myself, this is a defense mechanism. I am deeply insecure. I hate everything about me, because I am a cruel, uncaring person. I want to be better, but I have been like this so long, it takes time for me to learn to not be.

I loved getting away from reality so much I devoted my whole life to the worship of the idol toys of a man insane, substances have been my best friend along with my own self in female form. I have existed for so long talking only to me or the other me, on street corners where I am either shouting, crying or laughing in lunacy with lack of regard for those around me. I did this because I was in pain from pain I was unknowingly causing myself. I was drinking/using to forget drinking using to forget what I had to do to get drugs and alcohol to forget, drinking using to forget. I am a horrible human being, no really I am, but I am in the process of trying to turn that around now.

Peace

Damien

I stick stones in lollipops made of glass, that look like men made of glass, standing up right with open mouth screaming white smoke, toke and choke on time lost, my cost is the tossed life of the sauced who living in strife consume life in toke of fire smoke. I am the act of spending time collecting dimes to spend on dimes that waste time by turning it on it’s head till you are dead form drifting through land of screaming men.

I am the eyes of friend, so frayed and decayed, he forgets his own name. I am slain by the hand of item time, or meth mind spelling words wrong, I am song rearranged by chopping into pieces, like rocks burned in glass isn’t life a gas? It is for the dead walking, forever talking of nothing, singing songs and saying words that have no meaning, just screaming, because we forget what it means to talk when we stalk death with lack of sleep, we are afraid to die so we lie down never and lie always and forever.

I am sad but glad to get out of myself, I see my generation on a shelf of caskets, and I am screaming your are dying not climbing. High yes, but high enough to die. Please get down, your mind is fizzing because it is breaking, there is no lifting in your shifting to zombie.

Come back down. Please, before you hit the ceiling and break into a thousand peices.

Can it!

Okay.

I am spinning back and forth space, thinking man isn’t this great, I am no longer doing anything to cause harm, missing hands no longer missing arm

Cheap shot

No, it wasn’t it cost 20$

Every time I fired up desire to live. I am disgusting.

I am glib I am mean I am ad lib?

Add liberation, an activity devised to be liberating, even though I am pretty sure that is not how you spell that, but to lazy to check that, so don’t judge me, I know everything, even though I don’t.

I am learning okay.

Yes, I see that.

You are me, of course you see that.

Lunatic.

You are talking to yourself again.

I know, I am.

At least it is on a screen not a street corner scaring people and at least now I am just insane not high and insane threatening people with posed presence into giving up cash to a man holding a sign at 3 am.

Yeah that too.

I gross my own self out.

Me too.

Thanks jerk.

You’re welcome self.

Right back at you.

I like double shots too.

Heh.

Below the belt.

Yeah.

What is one question you hate to be asked? Explain.
Turn the pages
What can I help you with?
Nothing I am fine, why do I look like I need help?!
Sorry, sir, didn’t mean to…
Well ya did, get the **** away.
Sorry just trying to…
Oh, sorry I am a jerk.

Damien, alcoholic addict in stages and phases reflecting forever in Narcissistic ever quest for self reflection

I mean that wholeheartedly, talking to myself helps me, and I am hoping maybe it will help someone else to see my displayed vanity insanity typed over and over, and it is better to talk to myself on here then cry myself to sleep, or get drunk or high because I am scared. Okay, not going to erase that, it felt very good to write that.

I have a very hard time admitting weakness,

Can I help you with something?

This says to my brain

1. You are paying attention to me
   • Stop looking at me **** it.
   • I am doing fine, if you only knew what my life was like you would look this ****** too, so stop reminding me of how pathetic I am by implying I need anything from you.
2. You have noticed something I am doing that illustrates that there would be any reason I need help.
   • I do everything to the best of my ability at the time, which is very poorly because I am a drug addict and an alcoholic who sucks at everything except engaging in fits of rage or joy on the internet, and I say that lightly because displays of affection towards myself are disgusting. 😉
   • You are telling me something I am doing is inadequate which makes me mad immediately because why are you looking for inadequacy in someone you don’t know
3. You think I need anyone other than myself.
   • This makes me feel uncomfortable because I don’t want to want or need people, because then they can hurt me.
   • I am terrified of wanting or needing anyone.
   • I would rather be rejected immediately
   • Kindness of strangers annoys me, because I am just going to say the wrong thing and cause discomfort for everyone.

Peace.

I don’t know what I was thinking… I am sorry… I have been having a bad day.. so I decided to gross myself out……Meh. I…. don’t know, I am having a really hard time here. I just constantly feel like ****. I know it is the effects of years of drug and alcohol abuse, my stomach hurts, I can’t eat without feeling like I am going to throw up, not out of pathetic narcissism either, but out of the holes I have burned into myself with the acid bile that was the chaos of my life, a digging at my skin and my face, that has dug me the chasm that is the cavernous existence I live now, a prisoner in a body stuck in a decay cycle.

I was talking to one of the people at the meeting, he made me feel better. He said it gets better, we laughed about how if I am not a *** I will not have to go through this again, asked me if I felt like **** and told me he sympathized because he remembered being me. I like the people in the rooms, man. At least they are real. I am so happy to be out of the lying limerick silent screaming world of active addiction, even if I am living in a cavern of fire skin and retching vomit, in dedication to withdrawal, at least I am not out there chasing imaginary dragons or killing people through inaction.

I hate myself now, sorry….

peace.

Damien

Bear with me. I am trying to decode all this eerie memory myself. I am telling you this in the most clear way I can. It will be choppy like my memories, because I was intoxicated for most of it. I also don’t feel good right now, physically I mean. I was at the hospital all day.

I am standing holding a sign on a street near a 7-11, and there is a man who knows me, he says we have spoken before, and I feel the same way. I see in his face, I know him and I don’t know how or why. He tells me that he needs to tell me something, and that he cannot tell me this thing in public, so we go and people follow us, I don’t know who they are, and I am sober, I am lucid, I am paying attention. I can tell they are following me. I can see them out of the corner of my eyes, they are actually following me. I see them, but I pretend I don’t.

He tells me they follow him too. He tells me they always follow him.

I ask him why. He says he doesn’t know, he says he need my help. I follow him. We walk around and he tells me about these people, that follow him. He says he doesn’t know who they are or why they follow him.

I am standing in a different spot in a different place. It is a grocery store, it is 3 am. I am looking down at a pack of spare ribs, I don’t know why. I do not have anyway to cook them, a man comes up to me and asks me if he can follow me for awhile. I say yes. We go drinking. We are outside, we walk up to a house, with an open gate that looks abandoned tonight. The lights are off. The windows are bare, and there is no one inside. I am remembering earlier, the house… so full of life… a swing set in the backyard… a pool filled with water, and children swimming… the pool is empty… no water… the walls are bare. I can see this because all the windows are open and there is…

I am running… different time… different place… there is a blue splendid looking light in the sky… in the shape of a jelly fish.. I am high and tired, and think it is about that… I am with my friend who has since gone insane and we are on the beach and we realize there is this same blue light on the ground we run our hands through it, and spread it all over laughing and joyous talking of the beauty of the universe.

I am another place another time, I am sitting on the sidewalk talking to someone with memories that are fractured, telling me that he is a jigsaw puzzle…

Rei and I are doing better now that she doesn’t think I want sleep with myself anymore. That also means I am doing better too, because now I don’t want to sleep with myself anymore either. I remember that being the best way to break up with people ever. ‘I don’t need you, I can drink and do drugs and talk to myself for the rest of my life!’ Oh, to the lack of loneliness of an alcohol, addict recovering from addiction, and trying to establish sense of self in a chaotic world, while also trying to recover from psychotic delusions and battle health problems made worse by addiction.

Blah blah blah… my life is harder than everyone else’s you sound like the worst people in the rooms of recovery.

I know I am on a roll right now. Swish.

What does bowling have to do with basketball.

I don’t know I am not much into sports, except the blood sport.

You mean running away from drag racers, while preforming stunts at drag races?

That was fun wasn’t it?

Yeah, but we are done with that now.

Ever forget which version of yourself was talking?

Me, too buddy.

I also grabbed a blanket, because if I am going to be a pile of disgusting, weeping chaos, fuck looking like I don’t get cold. I am not touching what I said yesterday. I don’t remember what it was, but remember enough that I have made the decision to not look at the archived post. I don’t care that I don’t remember…. now I remember… fuck.

I really have to pee, but I am afraid of mirrors, and everyone is asleep and there is a mirror in the bathroom. I don’t want to piss my pants, but don’t want to look in the mirror, I am afraid of demonic possession alright… because that would be a problem, obviously… it might make me into someone who kills people they know and doesn’t remember things….oh right…

Well… hold, on. Oh, right you can’t see me.

Back and I remembered to wash my hands, and they are not bleeding because I only did it once, oh small steps. Literally only about 2. My bathroom is very close to my computer, I don’t know why you need to know that.

So you can hopefully kill me in the middle of the night and I don’t have to live in shame and guilt, oh yeah the whole people in the next room thing.

Okay, that is all you need to know.

Peace.

Damien

So I am allowed…

I fucking found Rei, or she found me. Or, what really happened was. I don’t know. I don’t know…

I woke up in this motel bed, sleeping next to Rei and she is alive, and my daughter is still in the next room alive.

There are two living people in this motel room, three including me.

Rei is in my bed, not fucking dead, and my daughter is on the couch.

I am going to shoot myself, not really. This is the most amazing thing I have ever had happen to me in my whole life. I love this new weird typing lunatic.

Well, right now that is me or is it her or is it me?

I keep looking at my family and they are still here, and I can feel if I concentrate…

My universe being typed onto my existence. I think I am going to… lay down.

Diane’s daughter, continuity is hard for me. I do not know who’s, whose I mean, daughter she is really.. mine? Diane’s? Rei’s? I don’t really think she can be mine, because I don’t remember… never mind.

So anyway, spelling and my insanity aside, I think the girl might be my daughter, so I am trying to help her. I don’t know which woman she comes from. I think it might be Diane. If it’s Rei I have to hang myself, because I don’t think I could handle anyone coming from Rei being my responsibility.

I am pathetic, I know.

But, yes I know you can’t start a sentence that way, look what I made! If there is anyone reading this.

I don’t think I am the best person who could have been chosen to protect a child, but I am dangerous enough I guess. No one will bother her on my watch.

Poor child. I am literally the worst babysitting choice the universe could have made, but I guess not because it made it. It kind of makes me feel better about myself.

I will make sure no one hurts her, and we will get to the bottom of who she is running from. Maybe, we will both learn something in the process.

I have started calling my daughter, Joy, seems like a good enough name.

Later.

Damien

https://reinventionsreena.wordpress.com/2023/02/23/reenas-xploration-challenge-269/

I am deviant creature, I pretend to be a great teacher, I speak through the addict as preacher, I am of infernal design because I am not kind and write of the peril of men and women like me, because I am the blind one I cannot see that who I am undoing is me. I am going insane, merely documenting my brain, and its moral decay.

I live in a world with fake creatures, yet pretend to be a learner and teacher, while pretending to reflect, sit back and reject that the person I hate gets clearer and clearer with every look in the mirrored reflects of me seen in my work. I am a developer of murk. I am also an arrogant jerk, who is obsessed with themselves and creating this hell that I pretend to use to make points even though I still am conjoined

In my heart and my soul with resentment. I am not that far from those of who I speak, I have the same soul and cannot teach anything to anyone because I stopped just because it was no longer fun.

Damien to whoever is writing my story.

Ps. I can only speak in letters, sorry.

I found her.

Damien

in a house that wears clothes that are an indication of no good.. that is the first thing that came to mind when I sat down here. I am sorry give me, oh right…. you can’t see me.

I found a pair of clothing and a golden necklace in the warehouse I have been staying in. I am not sure who put them there, and from what I remember I was there all morning, and Diane is missing. I do not think she is the owner of the necklace, and I insist with viole…everything in my being, that this is not being typed on here as a way to process some kind of guilt about having killed Diane, I do not kill any woman I love. I did not kill Rei. She overdosed, and while I may have through my own foolish insistence to keep using not done anything to stop her, I couldn’t have stopped her from doing that shot because I wasn’t there, any dreams or feelings that I had that, made me think anything other than that, are complete horse shit.

I am telling you this is different. I know this is different. I can feel it. I know this is different, that there is some reason this is different. I have this eerie feeling, that I am supposed to do something to figure this out, that somehow, something about me drew me to Diane and it has something to do with this.

I know I didn’t kill her, but didn’t I? Wasn’t it me who was the goading force behind our illicit glass blowing and sowing? Whether I killed her with knife in hand, or with entry in to a land of sharp objects and cold air…

Does it really matter? Isn’t it the same thing?

I am still wondering what the whole thing means, and it bothers me how much the whole thing looks like a set-up.. Misery… Ms. Re. Re minus the i and the why.. and the y.. I hate scitzophrenia. Spelling, Damien, spelling…

I have been watching him on here, I met him outside my house, he was standing outside talking to himself about not knowing what was going on, I have my ways of calming men like him down. I invited him inside, and he sat on my couch with me, and started crying and laughing at the same time. He was manically speaking like he had been awake for days about about six hundred things at once, I think he was unable at that point to differentiate between regular speech and talking, either that or he didn’t care. It was probably that he didn’t care, the whole thing made me think of a man melting onto the floor, as if someone had poured acid on him.

He is storing this computer and actually himself, in my living room, because I like him, and I am lonely. I don’t think he would remember to come back here if I let him outside. I will be writing with him on this site in place of his ex-girlfriend now. He seems like the kind of man, who can’t handle being alone despite a tendency to kill his lovers.

Yours,

Diane.

I don’t think. I don’t know. I can’t tell. I can’t remember who I was before even, or even really understand what that means, the words don’t make sense to me. I am changing from second to second, so fast I think that I am not a consistent person at all. I think I am going to go back to stopping doing drugs. I mean… I think I am going to stop doing certain ones. I can’t handle this manic thing. I don’t know why I wanted to be alone. I can’t handle this. I don’t remember anything but I do. I remember everything that happened but as if it was told to me. It seems like a script of a movie, that I am upset about my role in. I feel like I am having a hissy fit. I did something awful. I am awful in general and I am having a hissy fit because I can’t seem to wash the blood off my hands.

I am going outside. My finger is healed. I don’t know how long it has been since I cut the tip off. It looks normal now except it doesn’t have the tip on it. I am going outside.

Later

Damian

I found this interesting new spot. I was walking late at night and had glasses on because I have astigmatism. I do not think I mentioned that, I only mention it now because I think that is what caused me to notice the coin. It was a very strange coin, that I had never seen before. I think a street light must have caught it just right to reflect onto my glasses in a way which was disconcerting for a second, and I almost walked into a taxi. The guy was a real asshole about it. I threw something out of my pocket at his car, fuck that is where my phone went. No matter, I will just get another one anyway.

I still have the coin somewhere, the back of the coin appears to be removed, but I am not sure how, and for the life of me I cannot figure out where the coin is from. I do not wish to share details about the exact nature of the coin on this website. I don’t trust whoever is reading this, and something about the coin is making me paranoid. I will share more about this later, maybe. I am doing this mostly for myself anyway, so I have no idea why I am trying to be polite to you.

Damien

Have you ever felt like you were being suffocated by someone holding onto your fucking neck, literally squeezing the life out of your body, but telling you that they are just hugging you, just keeping you perfectly still so you can’t fucking move. I am so goddamn sick of it. Well I was. Rei is finally gone. Thank everything that is in existence that she is gone. I do not know where she went. I do not care. I do not have any desire to find out, but I can finally breathe again and this is now my site. I am going to gradually put it back into one piece. I hated the whole mocking we are one person bullshit. Her entire bullshit thing was an act to get drugs. I do not need drugs. I am drugs.

Her name comes in two parts, and so does my heart.

It has been weeks since we got here. We are in the desert somewhere. I am am working for this woman who lives in a city. We have been staying at these random motels, they don’t notice us because the owners of the motels don’t notice anyone. They don’t pay attention to anyone I mean. I am kind of seeing Dianne behind Rei’s back. I have also told her I will fucking kill her if she interferes with me and Dianne. I want to see what it is like to love someone else, I think I might be able to love Dianne. She is so much like me.

There is something about Dianne that fascinates me. She talks and I am enthralled because I do not want to protect or devour her. I just want to listen, in a way that I have never wanted to listen to Rei. I feel like Rei is the childish love I should have had, when I was 16. I am 36. I deserve….. I deserve the electric chair.

Who am I kidding. I deserve nothing. I am a piece of shit, but there is something that makes me feel better about being around Dianne. I think it is because she is a piece of shit too. I like that about her. I can hear death in her voice. It is strongly fascinating. I can hear death in her voice and it is not my own, or hers, I wonder what the fuck is wrong with this maddening woman.

I was in an abandoned building with Rei, we were sitting talking, and I am not sure if the people who came in after us heard us. They were speaking a different language that I couldn’t quite make out because my ears were ringing, and I hadn’t been paying much attention to anything that was being said by anyone because I was more focused on something that was being handed to me, and I hate myself for that, which I am going to start charging myself a dollar for saying.

I got this strange feeling, like I had been there before, exactly there and that we had done it wrong, and both of us had been burned alive, which is strange because I feel like I remember Rei saying the same thing. We are quiet for a second and they seem to notice a change in the level of presenting sound in the room, stopping and looking for us. I get this strange idea, that I can focus on not being there, and I focus on it and they don’t notice us. To me at the time, I just think I am having an episode, and that for all I know I might already be burning alive.

I wake up with Rei somewhere else, vomiting. I hate how much time I spent vomiting. It’s disgusting. I am disgusting. I put this picture in with this post because this vaguely illustrates what I saw. I made it using some insane fucking program, sorry for my language. I am frustrated…. and yes… I see words in the sky sometimes…

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.

Under the bridges of cities, in the untraveled areas of towns in the darkness of night there is a meeting of sameness, a meeting of men with decaying souls who exist in the bright lights of lonely day silently screaming in acts that scream with hands that kill. They act with howling violence on the streets which are the same in a painted grey, black and white. In the stars is painted the story of atrocity that exists in the heart of every city of human being with humanity.

We were staying under a bridge. He kept talking about the music, and I won’t lie I heard it too. The chaotic piecing together of the sounds of the city, clicking and beeping and screaming. He says it sounds beautiful. It is a symphony of insanity. He says it plays so loud sometimes that he can’t hear people. I wonder if that is why he can’t hear them screaming, I can. I am unsure if I like it or hate it.

“What the fuck?!”

He came up behind me.

“Who are you talking to?” He looks at me, his eyes hot with contempt but his mouth cast to the ground. I do not know what his problem is.

“I wasn’t talking to anyone….” I look him in the eyes at first with anger, thinking the question was an accusation, and then wondering if I was even talking at all. I might have been, I do not know.

“Come on, I have to see a man about something,” I follow without asking any questions.

In the darkness of the soul of the human being lurks a desperation to be known, a desire for finding something that makes him unique, a mark that is his own. There are certain men who have marked souls, souls that wreak of a sadness so profound it radiates out there eyes in a penetrating blue that paints the darkness of night with a chaos that is like the moon. These men seldom cry, but rage internally, and are prone to long periods of walking alone in a madness driven search for something that exists outside themselves. I live with one of those men, and understand nothing that is what it is to be him. I look into his eyes that radiate so much, but also seem to radiate nothing at all. They in their darkness contain a soul that exists in such a state of loud screaming that they appear to be a constant wanderer.

They can be at home and they seem to be lost, pacing as if they have somewhere to be, and really they are wanting to be nowhere. This is not possible, so they spend their lives, in my experience perpetually ruining themselves. Damien is a madman. He is consumed by a constant quest of motion. I am frequently plagued by a lack of rest that penetrates my whole body, it feels like rotting, but it’s not.

It is a pounding of exhaustion of the mind not the body, a calling for the desire to be at home anywhere, but nowhere has been our home. We go many places, and he destroys them. He is continuously searching for something he cannot find, because I do not think it exists, and if it does the most likely thing it is ruin.

We go, as we always do, as if we are running from something. I do not know if this is just a feeling or if it is a truth, or if it is something false that lurks in me. I feel as though I am running from something constantly. I wonder what it means. It sometimes feel like I have abandoned a person with that name, a person named Joy, who I do not know, and I don’t why. I know the meaning of the word and it is simple enough to think that I abandoned like a crashing wreck the idea of joy itself. I understand that enough, but I do not think that is it. I keep having this digging feeling in my soul that I have abandoned, like a mother who has a lost or given up child a daughter named Joy.

I even if I close my eyes sometimes feel like I can see her, if I shut my eyes and pay attention very closely, I feel like I can see the blurry outline of this person who should have been so close to my heart right? That would be the way that someone would feel about a child right?

I can only think, that there is some person that was an idea abandoned, somehow….. I haven’t ever told anyone about this, and Damien speaks of nothing like this, but he is a fool, who knows nothing, but stroking his own fragile ego.

“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 am the screaming sound of quiet, the pounding madness of the human ear with nothing to hear, the vibration of the sensation of nothing to contribute to the human psyche. I am the speaking in languages beyond the frequency of man.

We are walking in the woods, where doesn’t matter, the woods are the woods, though they may have slightly different trees they scream in the same language. We are tuned to an unearthly frequency Damien and I, through our travels we have come to know a life that is beyond that of human. We are of the earth, we are dealers of the down and dirty mirth of men, sent by chaos or the wrath of some unknown God that used to be man, and thinks he knows how to do it, but he is very wrong. There were ways that existed before he spoke and those are the ways that we follow. We are tuned to the waves of the ocean. We come for the souls of the damned by the forces of time, the steal-ers of life from the rest of the communities of men. We come for the fallen so far from the community of human being that they have thought it was proper to steal and deal time. That is our job with

TIME
ITEMS
SPEED-ING DEMONS

I am the extending of the ING.

I do not know why, but I am beginning to doubt the sight of my eye or eyes?

Can they lie? I have come to see things differently, and this is not due to any lack of clarity or disparity between my ability to see and anything that exists in a world that is real. I have begun to see differently. There seems to be some level of communication between my eyes and light, that is different from the sight of most because it is communication and not in the sending light signals way.. I don’t really understand it, but in that…. I am not sure about the reality in which I exist as compared to ultimate reality or if there is even such a thing as a such a thing.

I am addicted to your saturnine face, your never changing gloom. I want to crush up the chaotic madness of your dilated stare. I want to consume your soul, I want to devour your gloom whole. I want to eat everything you are. You are night’s dying star.

She was a drinker of glasses of Chardonnay and also partial to Rei, so we invited her to come over and play. Now at her apartment she will permanently stay, not because she’s there, but because her leg is bare of skin.

I cut it a little too thin I guess, she had such a pretty dress, I must confess, that though she cried… I could not hide….

WE NEED TO GO!!
STOP STARING AT THE BODY!!!

Oh, sweetheart, your poor heart…

I am on my knees for you

Begging, baby, please tell me what to do.

What do you need from me? I only desire to be

Everything you need, with every step I take, planned with precision

To do what you say. I desire only for you not to go away, for then where

Would that leave me? How would I get what I need? We are a team, inhaling

Shared steam, and dreams of the same GODDAMN DREAM!

No kill or damn it I am leaving, it is me who you have been deceiving…

This is all about you…. everything you do.. I am present in nothing….

BITCH! SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH OR I WILL RIP OUT ALL YOUR TEETH!!

I am misery’s wreath. I am a decoration of pain, I live in utter disdain, but I have an addicted brain, that thrives on the drugs, that with his hand he shoves in mine. I am not a murderous type, I am simply addicted to strive. I am a consumer of poison and poised for any fight. I need what you gives me you see, and if you

MAKE ME SET IT AGAIN I’LL SHOOT OUT YOUR KNEES!

Does your vision fail you?

In the darkness of night do you delight in lack of light or are you full of fear of the unseen?

Do you allow the passing of backs you have seen? Or are you tempted always to learn?

With mind constantly ticking are you aware of your surroundings?

Do you see? Do you hear? Do you taste? Do you smell?

Or do you tell lies?

Are you a deceiver of you? Who lies in everything that you do?

Are you like me and Rei? Who only wish pain and fear went away?

Are you powered by hate, so much so you can’t relate?

I stand, I meaning me, Rei, but also meaning you. I stand on the sidewalk, but anyone could replace me, and would. I stand waiting for him, the reaper of sin. I am the replaceable mate of the reaper of those who sow pain into their skin with the power of forgetfulness. I am the tattoo needle of the damned. I am the heroine of a story where the protagonist is agony. I am reality being brought to its knees by a generation, whose existence is a stance of weeping. I am self-seeking. I am the dying of the young in America. I am tears shed for heart bled out in suffering on the streets of every city, in the corners of darkness, dark nests are made for crows of the streets who eat pain and suffering…misery stuffing madness….

I witness everything because I no longer sleep. In my chaotic existence of sleep deprived madness, I am the stark raving mad mind of a chaotic new god. I am everything. I hear music in the clicking sounds of time, combining with the footsteps of every creature of earth. I am the mirth of hell. I am sent by the ringing bells of the reaper, to herd the souls of the damned to hell, bringing holed whole human beings down to the ground with sound of the prick of human skin, paper thing, cutting away with blood spray, human soul.

We are demons of madness, we are lovers of torture, we are have-rs of more, sir or ma’am, we kill you where you stand, we collect the hearts of those damned with addiction, we are not fiction, we are illusion, we are a writer’s conclusion that her pain was too much, we are the lovers of stuff, we are the idea of suffering, we are love buffering, we are hate, we are greed, we are death seed. We are non-love, we are the chopping off wings of dove, we are sent from below, we are the dirt, we are human show, we are the existence of decay, we are the act of to make sway.

We are desire to go away. We are the acting of crying, we are hearts dying.

IF YOU DON’T SHUT YOUR MOUTH YOU WON’T LIKE WHAT COMES NEXT!

We are the act of hexing, we are perplexing because we are a question, we are not real, we are the desire to not feel. We are the onion un-peeling. We are the takers of make. We are the act of forsake.

I shot her, baby. I shot her.

I am glad we did not save a piece of her body, consuming it whole, we ate her flesh, now we can rest, just for a second because another beckons around the corner we are standing, with lances that are landing at the heels of those calling for death in solution of delivered resolution to partake in drugs, we are face drug across rugs. I am death’s hug. I am hole dug. I am the sprout of the idea to die. I am the tear in mother’s eye. I am the lack of the “Oh!”. I am the maker of ho. I am the existence of sell. I am the lie that you tell.

I aim at your heart. I hope that you start to realize grave mistake. I aim to take. I am forsake. I am to break. I am to lose. I take your shoes. I take your ability to not choose. I am the cost of the mind. I take sight. I make blind. I am the screaming will of the confined. I am the hell of the mind. I am the desire for secret.

Get on the fucking ground!!!!!!!!!!

Bang.

I am unknowing observer. I am the heart of desertion. I am lack of assertion . I am the desire to use.

Shut up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am your lack of feet to use.

We scream for ice-cream. We scream at the faces of the damned, the faces of man pleading and begging for things we are letting them eat till they die, in hell with closed eye, they live waking life riddled with strive, and try with all power to do nothing but devour, every minute consume, every second a tomb is not dug because we flesh of man, we do what we can to make loved ones disappear, we are the universe presenting fear, we are the devil’s lived appearance, we are the idea of occurring loss, we are the idea of cost, we are live down the drain, we are man’s brought pain, we are the human stain.

We are DISDAIN.

D-I-S-D-A-I-N

d-i-s-d-a-i-n

D I S D A I N

d i s d a i n

I add sin!

I add sin!

I am contempt that comes from within. I am wrath. I am rage. I contempt’s cage.

I am the is not.

I am s-i-n.

I am the will not be. I am not free. I am the churning of death wrought. I am death sought.

That I am unlike them, I am the bender of men, I am that which transcends the desire for life. I am the remover of strife. I am one who shifts sands below the evil which stands on lands that are created by the perception of those fated to begin to exist in them, with misery persisting within. I am the birds dear, I am your ear, I am your eye. I am everything, but to die.

I stand and I listen, to the voice that shouts mission, and I lean in an kiss him, as he stands ranting about what we are chancing and chanting what we do versus what they do. I am a grim reaper, I am a soul keeper. I am the darkness of men, I am to transcend. I am a bender of minds. I am a chimer of chimes. I am not the divine but the human bind. I am made of skin so I sin. I rot from within. I am to make thin, the pockets of those drug addicts and whore’s who eat sinister hors d’oeuvres. I am the action of the score, I am man’s aching sore, I am the universe’s whore. I am your human desire for more.

I am the ever-presenting questioning mind of God. I am the one who makes rod. I am sod. I am a liar, I am none of these things, I am one of the fallen, and have no wings. I am a bringer of pain and death. I am riddle, I am your quest. I am request for lack of pain stolen with lies. I am despise. I am darkness. I am pain. I am disdain.

In a world so sore, with remorse, I am the source. I am the darkness, I am your kin. I am sin. I bring you in. I am your maker, I am liar, I am fire. I am deception, I am deceit. I am replete. I am judgement. I am hate. I can relate with no man, because I steal from plates. I aim to please, I cut at knees. I am disease.

I aim to chop off all that you love, I fly on wings stolen from doves. I act like I come from above, but I come from Hell, I aim to tell you that you are weak, but it is me of whom I speak. I am fear. I am loss. I am to be shunned at all cost.

We combine

And push minutes on a clock

Tick tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

We are cullers of the human herd,

Limiters of the human word, slicing into

The human tongue, in night we come to

Make you numb, we come for you

My humble man who sleep because he thought

he can. Look at me I am an eye. I will

Make sure you slowly die.

I walk through life, unsure of who I know, being as I am. I, Rei, don’t ever know if I have met someone under different… mindsets… so when I see faces, startled in fearful returned gaze, I stop, questioning why. Maybe, this is odd… but, it is just how I have learned to live, as an addict, and passenger in my own body, at times.

I wonder what is this all for, why am I in my situation? It can’t mean nothing, can it? We are all cogs in a system, an ever functioning clock, that is everything it is to be? Does that clock, being the universe tick for a reason?

Or does it tick because it ticks, because that is what it is to be a clock?

You are one of a kind.

Individual, yes.

You are one of a kind, in kindness

Your existence is powered by the forces of

Kindness too

Whatever you believe

You are here

Gifted with the ability to be

Right now,

Being right now

You have that gift

Whatever you believe I am glad you are.

Right now,

I am glad you have life,

Be.

Sometimes I dream while awake,

Of a world where I cannot stay

Because it does not exist.

In this world