make me feel like a jerk.
fuck you.
i died.

i want to die. i could have died.

My ghost story.

I used to sleep a lot downstairs. there was a t.v. room down there with couches. i used to stay up late at night watching television. One night, i woke up in the middle of the night. the television was still on, but only white noise was pictured across the screen. i looked over to the side of the couch, and there next to me, was a girl, maybe around the age of 18, or 19 years old. she had thick black hair, and she was wearing a white night gown. her head was in her arms resting on the side of the couch. i could hear her crying in inaudible sobs. i couldnt believe what i was seeing, so i rolled over to the side of the couch she wasn’t on. i forced myself back to sleep for another half hour.

when i woke up again, i looked over to where the girl was to find her not sitting by my side, but standing over me with her hands covering her face. she was still sobbing. I knew at that moment that this shit was real, so i decided not to turn my back to her but just shut my eyes as hard as i could until i fell back asleep. that was the only time i saw her, but i have refused to sleep downstairs sense then.

I feel unncomfortable writing in this blog lately. i would rather write in my other one. so.....
The end.

For now.

i ate snow off of his grave.
i just needed something to make me feel apart of life again.

From my journal this time last year.

oday I walked to a well known sporting goods store to inquire about a job. I walked in, talked to the cashier, picked up an application and walked out to find a warm place to fill it out.

Stopping at the neighboring movie theater to sit on the bench inside, I was approached by a homeless looking fellow who promptly sat his stuff three inches away from where I was sitting.

"Selling your soul to the movie theater, are we?"

"Actually, its for Big 5 next door"

"All the same," he smirked "a soul is still being sold"

He went on to tell me about Working class rights, and how our we as the government weren't doing our part to make our country better.

"Read your constitutional rights," he said. "RON PAUL FOR 2008!"

I thanked him for the conversation after finishing the application and walked back into the sporting goods store.

"Your Back!" the plump cashier said to me.

"I told you I would be."

"Do you have a second?"

"Sure, I don't see why not"

She called out the store manager, a slender man with tired eyes and a obviously fake smile that said "I hate my job".

"So you are the one inquiring about a job." like he had nothing else to say.

"Yes I am" I replied in the same fashion.

He led me back to the counter where the store kept the knives and guns, and had me fill out a math comprehension test so easy an illiterate monkey could have passed. After the test he started going over job duties. Mindless, Soulless….

After that he looked me up and down and described the dress code.

I was wearing my usual street clothes. The only kind of clothes I really have, Band tee-shirt, blue Jeans, Running shoes, beanie cap, and my organic wooden gauges. (I flipped my Septum ring into my nose)

"No facial piercings, no earrings, those plugs will have to be taken out, no visible tattoos, No street shoes. Hair must be combed and neat, no blue jeans, no tee-shirts, et cetera. The standard work outfit here is what we call 'Professionally dressed' This includes button up dress shirt, Tie, Slacks, dress shoes, that sort of thing"


The previous conversation with the homless man flooded my mind.
Pretty much everything that makes you an individual is stripped right out of you in order to prostitute yourself to make a few extra bucks.

He handed me some extra papers and told me to bring them back when I had filled them out and I would have the job. I took the papers, filed them neatly in my backpack and thanked him kindly for his time.

After making a pit stop at a gas station for a lighter, I headed straight for the nearest park. I pulled out a Permanente marker that I carry around with me and the papercliped pile of papers to write in big black letters on the back:

"FUCK YOU, YOU SICK CAPITALIST BASTARDS

You don't get to have my soul"

I took out the new lighter, ripped the paper a couple times, lit the pages on fire, and threw it into the nearest fire pit. I sat and watched the flames gobble up the pages hungrily, devouring each blank in which I was supposed to sign away my life for petty cash.

Once the flames died down and embers burned most of the paper away, I decided it was time to go. Knowing the only appropriate way to make sure that the fire wouldn't burn down the park, I pissed all over the still smoldering pages.

Four days later i stopped by the park to retrieve my application, and dropped it off on the steps of the corporation.

This was the most liberating feeling I had felt in months, and thus i was able to keep my soul for at least another day.

Rabble Rabble Rabble.

I can feel the bones in my fingers crawling up towards my skin.
Im scared i will never feel normal again.
I am always relying on some sort of mediaction.
ditch the cigarettes, hit the anxiety pills.
Three days without and i can feel the withdrawls.
i drove for an hour straight in the dark.
i was driving fast. i never drive fast.
i tore apart my closet (not that you can tell).
I can't find my emergency abilify pills. i wonder if they would even help?
A few years ago i went crazy.
I started blacking out and talking in tongues. i would see things that weren't there.
When i was a kid i had another person in my body. i called him jack. one night i got black out drunk and tried to tell this kid with "jack" spray painted across his car why that was important to me. I couldn't make out the words, he asked me about it later. i didn't want to talk about it.

I am not well.

I had the music up in the car as high as it would go. i had to scream. i didn't know the words so i would wait for a moment where it was quiet and filled the gaps.

A few years ago i felt like this, but worse. I was completely sober at that point.
i would drive around and waste my gas money. i was wishing for an accident. it never came, at least not in car form. i told a friend about how shitty i felt all the time. he told me about a place that could help me. Self help sounded better then self mutilation. I joined a cult. and quit my anti depressant meds.

Many months later i woke up. i got a tattoo to commemorate the occasion. it said awake!

Awake!
The sky is set aflame!
and all that was once of god has returned to loving arms.
In this barren state we break off the branches of willows to burn the bodies of the damned.

That was my rebirth.
I was finally free.
I couldnt stand the sight of my 3 ring note book i kept all of my cult training info in any longer. one night at work, after everyone left the building and dark covered me in disguse, i made a frantic judgement.
Scene one, a portraite of gasoline
scene two, a back pack unzipped
scene three, an empty dumpster.
scene four, an open flame.
Before i knew it i combined all four, soaked the binder in gasoline in the dumpster and set it ablaze.
The thought dawned on me 30 seconds after that i had nothing to put it out with and ran inside, franticly finding 5 gallon buckets and filling them with water.
the dumpster didn't stop smoking for 5 hours after.
The next day i was on my toes all day, waiting for my boss to tell me i was fired, but she never called me in. Still to this day i don't think anyone but me ever saw my past burn.


Good, i have clammed down a bit more.
i think i will be ok now.