"Vodka"

Today, I think I'll take the time
to develop
a drinking problem.
I'll start slow, but build my way.
And I can think of all the different purposes
it could serve.
I can use it as an angle.
"Artist who struggled with poverty, psychology,
and addiction"
Well, that's actually
the only thing I could think of.
But I'm sure once I'm drunk enough
the rest will follow
and fall
down stairs
like I will.
Wait.
I meant fall into place.
And I don't have steps
Err, I meant stairs
'Cos I only have a few steps.
Regardless, today, I will build myself an addiction
to add to my other few.
I'll have a fine collection.

"Rembrandt-by-Satellaview"

===

Psychotropic wasteland focused
A pure decay is on it's way
A straight-and-true gamma ray
Love's pure gaze has hit today

Crawling around in my bed
Microwave-scrambled thought-filled head
Can't get out, can't stop thinking
Thinking of the new land I've tread

---
Buckle-up Buttercup
This brain is wracked and rigged
Sit back, relax
Just us two in the end
---
---
Buckle-up Buttercup
This brain is wracked and rigged
Sit back, relax
Just us two in the end
---

Fragile is my middle name
When it's started, who's to blame
Glass structures in my view frame
I get like this and just feel shame

Everything will be just fine
I'm sure of it in my mind
I'm not sure of what we'll find
The two of us drifting through time

---
Buckle-up Buttercup
This brain is wracked and rigged
Sit back, relax
Just us two in the end
---
---
Buckle-up Buttercup
This brain is wracked and rigged
Sit back, relax
Just us two in the end
---

Focused way ray today
Bed head thinking tread
Name blame frame shame
Fine mind, find time

===
Guitar clip (right-click and "save link as")
===

I've been writing more little lyrical notes lately. Ever since I finished up with court and everything, I've felt reborn.

Alright, I think I'm almost done. I'll be playing it, and tweaking the lyrics a little bit as I see fit. Over-all though, I think I'm done.
For the last verse, I was going over some of my lousy rhyming, and really liked how "fine mind, find time" sounded, and it gave me an idea.

Thoughts?

Bed

I laid in bed, for maybe two more hours after I woke up.

I imagined what it would be like if they were sleeping next to me.

Waking up with them.

What we would do.

What we would say.

Oh, I would love to just spend a day in bed with them.

Antlers, Maybe?

"What's this?" in an annoyed and/or angered tone, she asks.
"It's a Yoko Ono cover"
"I don't care! It sounds like she was suicidal or some shit. Why listen to this?"
"Well, I'm sure everyone has felt like smashing their heads in to a pane of glass. Although, it's about redirecting your anger I suppose"
"I don't care!" her voice fades away as she gets out of the car, still in the same angry tone.
"Well, I feel doing it, anyways..."

Attraction

Knees are hot
And behind them as well
Especially there
Calves too
Feet and toes

Oh, and the ankle
Also, that spot
between the thigh and the crotch

That inner
Jointy place
Like the inside elbow
Which is also very seductive

And wrists
How I love wrists
The soft, pale flesh
The bumps of the bloodvessels
just underneath

That really sets me off

Hands too
Their grace
and beauty
each delicate little finger

And that bump,
The bone on the top of the wrist

That's amazing too

And the upper-arm
And shoulder
And under-arm

And the small of the back
How soft and smooth
The feeling of Intamacy
When they lay on their belly

Which is also very amazing

And, even more-so, the belly button.

The liver too
But it's no match for the stomach and intestines
Which are probably
The cutest organs

Although, the brain
And the heart
Will put up a fight

They're much more attractive, in their ways

The little indentation
At the front of the neck
Oh, and how the collar bone feels

Soft lips
That you can't stop staring at
Just like their brilliant, glassy eyes
And how they reflect
All of the light around us

But most attractive of all:
Their wonderful, beautiful,
charming face
and the warmth it gives off
When they smile

Draw

One day, when I was nine or so, I was watching the film "Akira" in my parents room. They weren't in there at the time.
I was drawing with a clip board, mostly random stuff. There were a couple of drawings of Kaneda and his bike.
My mom came in the room to get something. She saw my drawings as she walked by her bed.
"Why do you draw like that?"
"What do you mean?" I was totally puzzled.
"That. Why don't you go draw a bowl of fruit, or some flowers or something. Why like that? Why that stuff?"
I was hurt and didn't say a word as I picked up my drawings, put them in a stack, and walked into my room with them. After a while, I heard her walk down the hall, and I went back in to finish Akira.
I didn't draw then.
I don't think I drew for a while after that.

It still bothers me to this day. Fills me with rage. Like haunts me.

I know it shouldn't though.



My second grade teacher would ask me why I looked "under the weather" sometimes. I would respond, not knowing I looked that way, "I'm fine". Regular.



In fourth grade I drew a little stick figure band, in the margins of some paper. Next to the drummer guy's bass drum, I wrote "boom boom"
My teacher, my mother, and I had a meeting after class that day.
They thought I was drawing a bomb or some shit. Thought I was "bothered".

There were musical notes and a guitar next to it.

Fucking idiots.



Another time, I was discussing Mega Man Legends with a friend in fifth or sixth grade. I was explaining all of the special weapons you could get. When I got to the Grenade arm you can obtain, he asked what the grenades looked like.
I drew a comparison between the traditional hand grenade and the ones from the game.
My teacher saw it and called me to his desk. He told me in a very serious, stern voice, as he glared at me and looked me in the eyes, to never draw those again.

"Red Earth" date n/a

I've decided to start blogging my dreams. I have a dream journal, but it takes so much time and effort to write them out by hand, and I quickly become uninterested in getting down every detail, which I should be doing.

Anyways, this dream is actually from a while back, but it's one of those few that constantly come back in memory.

---

I'm on this vast college campus. Looking back, it was ridiculously similar to the UCLA campus, although I had never visited or seen it at the time.

Going up some paved hills, and across this large concrete bridge/connecting pathway, I came upon this gigantic warehouse/parking garage hybrid. It had this massive opening to walk through, and was almost entirely enclosed inside. There were a few very small, square, dirty windows inside, that allowed a little bit of light to shine through.

As I entered and walked through it, I came upon this sort of motorcycle gang. It was a hodgepodge of old-school types, street racer kids, Japanese-style bikers, and people you'd probably only see in "Akira". Except, they didn't ride motorcycles. They road these sort of old vacuum cleaners. The ones that look like a pill on it's side, with four wheels, and a long tube at the front, with the sucker at the end. The stood on these and basically skateboarded on them, while holding the tubes.

So I sort of tagged along with these guys, as they were going through this massive structure. Finally, after hours of traveling in the dark place, we came to the other end of it. It looked like it was originally just a wall, but something smashed through it.

As you looked, you could only see a massive natural wall, made of red rock. Walking through the opening, you could see that it was fairly large and would be pretty much cylindrical, if it weren't for the opening of the parking garage. Everyone just stood and looked up, examined the rock, talked a bit. I decided to climb up it.
It took quite a while, and was pretty tough. When I got to the top, it had felt like I was entering some sort of portal. A totally different place. I looked around, and just saw flat, red, dusty wasteland in every direction, adorned with twisted, wrecked, freeway overpasses everywhere. A burning hot, dry wind was blowing this fine red dust everywhere.

I was filled with this overwhelming sense that I was seeing something I wasn't supposed to. I quickly scurried back down, and everyone decided it would be a good idea to start heading back. As we were about halfway through the giant parking garage, we heard some strange noises. As we turned to look behind us, in the darkness, we began to see a sea of zombies, running towards us. We all freaked out and began running, and vacuum-skating, quicker and quicker.

More and more of the gang members were being enveloped, until it was down to just me and two others. We began to see light, and the opening back to the campus. We ran out, and continued across the bridge. Halfway across that, we saw another horde of zombies coming from the direction we were facing. Crawling up stairs, sides of the bridge structure.

We were surrounded.

PRODUCTIVITY

Be productive, Kyte.

WIP Gamma Ray: IV

Cain

So why is the heart sort of the poster-boy-organ for love? I mean, all it does it pump blood, right? Maybe it was due to some ancient civilizations believing that it was pretty much people’s brains and control centres? Or what about Saint Valentine? Didn’t he pull out his heart and send it away to the woman he loved? But with love…Is it because of how flushed I become when another boy touches me? My heart beating so fast, not Able to find any words to say, feeling so hot, helpless, nervous, and excited. Maybe girls used to do it too, but it’s just boys now, all ‘cos of that bastard. I guess I don’t have a problem with it, though. I just hate him, and what he’s done to me. I can’t help emotion. But is it just conditioning, or is this really how emotion works? What’s love like? Does anyone really know? It seems like it’s so different for each person. How they feel it, what they think it’s like (or should be like). So have I felt it before? Am I feeling it now? Or is this just all chemicals and mechanisms?

Act Better

I've made a list of things I need to do, in order to make myself better. I'm not sure if it would be considered long or not. One page from spiral-bound notepad. I keep it in my pocket where ever I go.
When I want to remind myself about something or to do something, I'll write it on a note and keep it in my pocket. Whenever my hand is in my pocket, I feel the paper, and automatically remember what's written on it. No need to even look.
I suppose it's the process of actually making it physical, as opposed to a thought, that does it for me.
Anyways, I really made it in order to improve my behavior around a specific person, but I suppose it would do me good in general.
Although, I've also been trying to not place my hand in my pocket as of late, so I suppose that's a little counter-productive (while still being productive?).

Since I've started to lose weight and have had the whole diet/hunger issue, not only have I noticed that I get fatigued quicker (especially when I haven't had something to eat), but I also get very depressed very fast. Also, I become a lot less aware and my whole thought process becomes very slowed. Of course, lack of sleep will do that too, but that's sort of a given.

I guess I'm writing this, sort of like how I write my little note. To make it physical, and to remind myself.
I really haven't slept very for the past three nights, have been going to bed too late, and waking up very early.

Right now, for some reason, I just feel like a major fuck up. Like I've just been terrible, and I've been letting others down and just wrecking my relationships. No matter who it is, but especially with one person.
But, they told me that today was fine. No different from any other day.

For me, though, I don't like that. Not only do I not feel that way, but I've been striving for improvement.

And then it comes back to the lack of eating enough (and well enough) and my sort of lack of sleep.

So, I think I will try even harder now.

I feel so depressed, and I'm not even sure why.

I mean, when I feel down, I think it's more because of a chemical imbalance, than anything in particular.

My whole family has a thing with clinical depression. Even resulting in two suicides, and suicidal thoughts from my father.
So I'm already prone there, but then throw in my new boost in metabolism, and I just feel ill all the time. Physically sick, all 'cos I feel I've just been letting everyone down and wrecking my life.

And then I feel like I've just been so hazy and have been asking stupid questions lately, not being able to pay attention.

And, I feel like I'm just running in circles.

I get worried about my future.




I just got home.

I'm so fucking tired.

I'm starving.

I'm not sure if this is still productive, organized well, or even something worth reading, but hey, I suppose this for myself. So:

1) I need more sleep

2) I need to eat the SECOND I'm hungry, as opposed to waiting for whatever reason (coincidentally, as I've been thinking about this stuff today, I was informed I have some doctor's not allowing me to do so be it on the job or in class)

3) Eat better. More nutritious. Also encourage her to eat better.

4) Stop being depressed.

yr crazy kid
-K

"Cloth"

---

Image Board
Stretching my mind
all our text filling the screen
transcending son, or
transient daughter
I'm not sure if I can take it

(chorus)
mich, eine hōrō musuko
mich, eine hōrō musuko

Cute skirt
tight top
Melt-Banana played for the stereo
Heads turned
eyes stared
But no one did seem to realise

(chorus)
Lovely transient son
Lovely transient son

Dissipate yr
past mistakes
'cos you're all new for the moment
The yearning's there
but I'm not sure
I'm not sure if I can take it

(chorus)

I'm a transient son

I'm a transient son

---
Cloth guitar clip (right-click and "save link as")
---

[NOTE]
If anyone cares, I've put a little column on the side that lists some of the song lyrics I've posted here. Next to the titles, I've also put the statuses of them (if I'm still working on them, if I hate the song and have abandon it, etc.)
So, I guess a lot of them continually change.
Although I've added some lines to this one since I've posted it, I think it's safe to say that I'm done now. And am pretty happy with these lyrics.

Also, I've decided to go back to one of my previous songs, "Blurry Art" (the one with coffee and triffids and cats driving taxis) and rework it a bit.

I'd really like any input you can give me on my stuff. Constructive criticism, yr interpretations, even if you're curious what a song's about, go ahead and ask.

Anyways/

[MORE EDITS]
I guess I wasn't done.
I got confused on the german, and got some words wrong, but they ended up being just as useful.
SO, I made the choruses progress, instead of just change at the end.

[EVEN MORE EDITS]
Okay, I think I'm completely happy now. Even before, there was some doubt in my mind, but I think I'm where I want to be.

[WHAT THE HELL EDITS]
Yeah.
Why can't I make up my mind.
Thank god I haven't copyrighted any of this yet, 'cos it would totally be a mess.

yr indecisive friend
-K

"For New Tomorrow"

I feel kind of sappy.
I'm feeling pretty inspired.
Saw some bands, most of which I didn't like. A couple were very interesting, despite how I felt about their music or style.
And I've picked up this new manga, "Bakuman".
It's about a couple of over-achieving high school kids becoming mangaka (manga [Japanese graphic novel] artist), while dealing with pressures of Japanese high school life and how society views them (being total valedictorians) and the path they've chosen.

Anyways, here's some new lyrics I just wrote.
I'd like yr input, if you have any/

---
What's in a dream?
What's in success?
Is it all about trying yr best
Or is it more than that?

Why do many fail?
And so many more mock?
Are they jealous, or afraid?
Or is it really ridiculous?

How committed must you be
before you make it
or kill yrself
shooting for the stars

So now, I think I'll get outta here
'Cos there's not many options out
And I'm ready to take a chance

Place a bet

Gamble on my future

But you're my lucky charm
I won't do it unless
you're with me all the way

"Silent Complex"

Some crappy old lyrics from a couple of years ago, when Clockwork Dogs was sort of moving a long (as opposed to it's current standstill). Written around the time the original lineup broke up.
Unfinished and terrible!~

Friday night
Me my guitar and my dog
Got a gig next week
the others are in the fog

Everything crashes
Can see trouble ahead
The crops all have circles
I think everybody's dead

I don't need criticism
I've got enough myself
Why rain on the parade
I think I need help

There might be a rebellion
If you don't stop this shit
The end will be quick
So just deal with it

My guitar is in the shop
Using someone's for now
I've been paranoid lately
And I just noticed it now

These lyrics aren't working
Or is it me instead
There's a banshee outside
Unless it's just in my head

Thoughts on Love

It's like, I'm damned if I do, but I'm pretty damned if I don't.
Or more-so, I'm not sure if I'll be damned if I don't, so I go for it, just in case.
Or I'm afraid I'll feel left out if I don't.
Or I might disappoint or sadden someone else if I don't.
And it's not like I'm completely damned if I do, but I sure feel like it, after it's all done.

Love is such a wonderful thing. It's also very tormenting and disturbing. But even in all of that, it still remains beautiful. Real love. Not the "I love you" someone tells someone else after they've asked each other on a date and have been together for two weeks. The love that develops between two people who've done quite a bit together. Who slowly and surely developed a strong bond between each other. When you adore and respect the other person and they adore and respect you. You're genuinely interested in everything about the other. In time, becoming attracted to them in every way, and to everything they do, and every part of their body.
You eventually can't see yourself without this person. And when you think ahead into the future, they're always there. You yearn for the day when you can spend all your time with them. Living together, forging a life together.
But even in all of this, one can become so hopelessly down at times. Worried that none of this will work, none of this will happen. Suicidal over the thoughts of failure, or the here and now.
But, sometimes, you have to do your best to hold on. Wait it out.

"Blurry Art"

---
My mind can't wrap around this day old
coffee
and the kitty cab driver doesn't
understand
Why the fog fills up the trees and
lights
Does it hold them up he just can't
tell

I don't-can't-won't see clear right
now
having no keyboard is making me
sick
you don't understand how it
hurts my health
'Cos other things are boring at my
heart

(chorus)
don't make
like a Triffid
Split my world in two
we'll stop it from happening
neither wants it to
am I seeing wrong
is it bear-cage-hued
I don't want to
drift away from you

I need to catch my breath to stop
cold chills
Am I really starving or will I
puke
So I'll just sit with my
dogmonster guilt
Sleep won't come 'cos I'm thinking of
what I've lost

(chorus)
don't make
like a Triffid
Split my world in two
we'll stop it from happening
neither wants it to
am I seeing wrong
is it bear-cage-hued
I don't want to
drift away from you

we're back together and it's better than
ever
but when I think of what what I did I still get
sick
But I promise that I'll never
hurt you
I love you, and I'm sorry for what I
did
---
Blurry Art guitar clip (right-click and "save link as")
(played clip way faster than the song will be -_-; )
---
I was going through this really tough time for a while.
When I began writing this one, I was listening to Urusei Yatsura, thinking about Blur and Joseph Marcure's poetry book "Secret Single", while walking my dog at night.

I think I'm done. Not sure.

My History With Music

It takes a bit for me to write lyrics.
I think it might have to do with how I was raised with music.

When I was younger, all I really had at my disposal was classical music, and surf music (mostly The Beach Boys and Dick Dale).
Also, the occasional listen to 95.7 The Fox Classic Rock, when my father would turn on the radio.
Then, around five or so, I got my first video game console.
So from then on, piled on the top of that music pile, was the sweet, beautiful sounds coming from the Yamaha YM2612 sound chip inside of it.
I was absolutely captivated by video game music. It almost completely eclipsed everything else I had listened to.
But, around the summer after sixth grade, I watched this crazy animation done by Gainax, called Fooly Cooly. That was when I really started to come out of this sort of musical bubble.
The soundtrack of the show was made up of songs from this band called the pillows.
I think the best way to describe them would be: A Japanese Brit-pop band, inspired by The Pixies.
This was a huge jump, but in ways, not so much.
I began to really take an interest in music. I decided to pick up the guitar.
But, although I moved away from instrumentals, to their music, almost all of the vocals were in Japanese. I could feel what they meant, but understandable words weren't there.

So much (musically) has happened since then, though.
I've learned about so many bands, so many genres, so many ways to make music. And I continue to do so.
I think, I might have been jaded from all those years of instrumentals, and then years of the pillows. My tastes are a little more out there.

Hmmmm, this didn't really end up they way I had planned.
Originally, I was going to just post up my unfinished lyrics to a song I'm writing.
Then I sort of thought about music.
I suppose my point to my musical back story is, that I have a really hard time writing lyrics. Heck, I have a hard time listening to them and analyzing them, when a song is playing. The instrumentals really mean more to me, I guess. And the singing, I see it as part of them.
My theory to it, is all that listening to the pillows. I'm not drowning out the singing, but taking it in as one large image, instead of seeing it all as layers.

Is it just me?

But, I have a hard time with writing lyrics.
I've been trying to get better, though. I have this composition book, and a small notepad, which I write down notes, words, phrases, lines, anything that catches me the write way. It sort of a bug net for all of that. I'll go back and look at it all. It's pretty messy. I've tried my best to keep one related set on a certain page, and another on another. Like "these words and phrases sort of go with this idea for a song. Separate from these". I'm not sure if it's helping much, though.
Sometimes, lyrics will just start flowing, like their on tap, or something. I can start writing a song, instead of piecing one together.

Why the Fuck Can't I Sleep?

I decided,
One night
That I would
Pour out my heart

And I found ink
Flowing through my veins

I laid in bed waiting
Anticipating the moment
When it would all
Leave my body forever

But no matter
how long I waited
It just kept pouring
And pouring

So I decided
I would put that ink
To good use

I would write

Maybe, even
it would hasten
My on-coming Demise

So I wrote
And wrote

But I left no time
For myself
To rest
And let it all come

I just kept writing
And thinking

But the end still hasn't come
And all this ink-blood
Blood-ink
It's letting me write so many words

And I can't tell if this
Is good or bad

I will have no rest
But maybe I will still
Reach Some sort of freedom
Unreachable by my previous plan

But I still won't have rest
And I still don't know if this is good or bad.

Lachrymation?

I haven't actually cried since my parents divorced. That's not to say I cried when that happened, 'cos I didn't. But since then, I haven't been able to.

When the family dog died, the way my mom wept, I thought she was suicidal. My brother had an asthma attack from sobbing. I just looked at his corpse. "Oh".

There has been a couple of instances where a tear or two came to my eyes. But it was like squeezing liquid from celery. Not much came out. And it was from songs. Music. When walking my dog and listening to music.

A few times though, I thought I was going to.

You know. When the muscles in yr face contract suddenly. Especially around yr mouth. And yr nasal passages and the back of yr eyes sting.

And then, after a few seconds of that, it went away.

Nothing.

Those were over a couple of bigger things.

Things that maybe deserved a few tears.

I don't think it's from "strength" or anything.

I'm not strong.

I'm very needy, actually.
Although, that I only more recently discovered.
And I'm trying my best not to be.
For their sake.

I wanted to cry.
Or, felt like I needed to.

Genetics

Sometimes I want to cry
Because I wish I had a father
So badly

Not a father
Not biologically speaking
For me to be offspring to

But someone I
could call dad
and look to

I'm sitting next to him
As he speaks
But I'm alone

I know he doesn't care
not one bit
but I wish he did

Really though
I don't
Not him

But someone

I'm disgusted by him
by the thought
that I'm his blood

That in ways
I am him
And can't run from it

But I try
I keep running
Until my legs give out

And then I puke
On this pavement
That lays against my face

Mocking me
Still telling me
That I come from him

And it's times like these
That I wish I understood poetry
'Cos that would be another way

Another something that
I could add to my list
To distinguish myself

To help me tell myself
That I'm better than him
That he was the failed experiment

That I was the triumph
But all that does
Is feed my insecurities

To keep thinking about this
Trying hard
To not be like him

And every time
I do something that he might
Or sound the way he can

I will only beat myself up
Harder and harder
As time goes on

But I can't give in
It's not in me
To let go

Even though all this resentment
Is just poison to me
Filling my head

With more cancer
Draining my serotonin
Draining my happiness

Draining my mood
Which just makes worse
Worse for others

So I know
The only way
Is to change my name

Because I feel good
When I forget
Forget about him

It's like he doesn't exist
But then I'm still sad
Sad 'cos I don't have a dad.

Revised Ways to Torture Myself

I'm sitting here listening to one of my favourite bands, the pillows, through my guitar amp. I just remembered that I have a cable that converts stereo mini to quarter-inch mono. It actually sounds very good. Better than any stereo I've listened to. Also, 'cos of how I have the dials set for my guitar playing (Bass is 3/4 the way up, treble at half, reverb at 2/3, and Cry Baby Wah-Pedal set all the way forward) you can hear every part of the song (the bass particularly stands out, compared to normal headphones). Also, when I turn overdrive on, it's deliciously lo-fi, but can get obnoxious with some songs.

So, only fifteen or twenty minutes earlier, I was walking my dog outside. It was awkward compared to usual times. I kept seeing things. Stuff moving just outside of my field of vision. Or darting in front of me. Or changing into other things. I felt like I was also being followed too. Xel also constantly turned and looked behind him, which probably just worsened my paranoia.

But, even though this dog-walk was a little more disturbing than normal, it did give me some time to think and reflect.

Before that, probably by a half-hour, I was talking to a friend over the internet.

I've been losing my mind lately. It's been pretty tough, and my life's changed drastically within the last month or so.
Could be the teenage hormones, or that whole "coming of age" thing, but I don't think so.
But, maybe that's part of the symptoms.

I'm in the middle of the slow process of having my insides sort of mangled. Then, in an attempt to save them, shredded up in the process.

Or so it feels.

I've had girlfriends in the past. Each of them, more uneventful than the last. And each one with less restraint on their animalistic urges. They all really wanted sex from me. Non-stop. Something, I'll admit, I'm not that focused on.
None of them, I really cared about either. Typical teenager shit. The feelings you get. The bonds you make. Then break. It's pretty disgusting to me. Mentally. Although, to note, each one came on to me first, or asked me to go out with them. None of them, would I have ever even noticed otherwise. But I went along with it.

But now, I'm having feelings, and it disgusts me. I'm almost disappointed in myself, but I'm not sure why.
Maybe that's just part of it as well.

What is love?

Damn you Haddaway.

I'm pretty much torn up over two separate people. To top it off, this whole situation has made me realize some things, one of those being, I am in fact bisexual. Which sort of caught me by suprise, but when looking back, shouldn't have.

As I type this, I don't even feel like finishing. I've already typed something similar. Then deleted it. Now, typing it pretty much again.
One person wondered why I deleted the first version of it. They said it gave some insight into what goes on in my life.
The original post was written sheerly out of frustration, in a hope to express myself. It ended up, in my opinion, as a failure. I didn't feel expressed and it could have ended dangerously for me.
Although this feels similar, it feels even more-so, different.

Anyways, I'm borderline sleepless over these two people: one male, one female.
One a ridiculously close friend, who I've known for years, the other a new friend who I feel like I should've known years ago.

Each one has a different issue, which only adds to my dilemmas.

One, is taken already. I've been there first-hand and have participated in it all. As much as want to be with them, I feel I love them and I just want them to be happy. It still kills me, though. I'm with them all the time, and they are my closest friend.
The other, the big issue is, I'm not sure of their orientation, and haven't known them as long.
One thing in common, they're both my friends and I would rather keep it that way, then take a chance at losing either one.

There's so much I want to say, but I really can't say any of it.
Really, somethings are meant to be private.
No matter how much you'd rather just scream them out.

Even with this much, I'm taking a huge chance.

But, what's life without taking chances?

Dojo

I tilted my eyes up to the ceiling. Very slowly. My head looked straight on and my eyes were pointing as far up as they could. I could see the foam tiles and my peripheral vision made them seem like they went on forever. Then, I became very nauseous. I looked straight ahead and regained myself. Examining the torso-and-head martial arts dummy, in it's hideous shade of green. Then, I looked up again. Nausea. Regain composure. Nauseous again. Once more. Shit, I'm gonna throw up.
Not sure why it made me do this. It wasn't the same kind of infinity you get from looking up at the night sky or facing two mirrors towards each other. There were still faint sights, bleeding in from the corners of my eyes, that assured the rooms finiteness. Then, the halogen lights caught my eyes. Those ones with the really long, tube bulbs. There were tons of them and I noticed, that they were wiggling. Horribly too, as if it were a jump-rope being played with by small children, them holding it and making it slither like a snake. Yikes, two analogies in one. There's something wrong there. Like when they repeat a word in two different lines of a song. Fuck. What's with all these similes.

Oh yeah, the dojo. It was okay. No different from any other Friday night. I was a little tired, but not as exhausted as I thought. My sensei's cheesy brand of faux-slap-stick humour was as unfunny as ever.

I Think I have Borderline Personality Disorder

At least that's what my crow, Kir, told me. The symptoms and criteria really hit close to home.

Most of the time, he goes about his typical behavior. Walking around, flapping, cawing for food occasionally. Then, sometimes, he goes into these warbling fits. He makes these noises, and expects us to understand. He thinks he's speaking, no, he knows he is. Envisioning himself forming coherent sentences. Poetically combining words. Not unlike a small child that can't quite talk yet. They believe they can and continue on expecting everyone else to understand them. Make sense of their logic.

Kir's gotten better at it lately. He tells me things I already know and reassures deep fears. I love him, but sometimes I fear he has a more sinister agenda. He communicates with me in an almost hateful way, at times. Like some sort of bully, preying on a meek classmate, or when that snake tricked the girl into eating a sacred fruit.
Something darker lurks in his words and sometimes, it worries me.

But maybe I'm just too pessimistic. I need to keep on the brighter side.
But when I do, the song "Mr. Blue Sky" sometimes pops into my head and I'm filled with a resentment towards my mother. She took a song that I liked and ruined it for me. Playing it over and over, singing (and horribly mutilating) the lyrics, transforming it into some sort of terrible thing that no longer holds a special meaning to me.
So, I continue on with pessimism. It's almost like a hobby now.

I Don't Know Why I Torture Myself

I bought a cup today. It's a very Hello Kitty-esque crab with a straw sprouting out of it's head, next to the right eye-stalk.

When I was younger, during grade school, I would find these objects. Quite commonly, they'd be ridiculously adorable things, or at least, something with a face on it. On sight, we would form a sort of bond. Even if there was a dozen of them on a shelf, the first one I would see was connected to me as if in that instant, it saw into me and knew everything there was. I would immediately feel empty. I'm not quite sure why, looking back. Maybe I was more depressed than I recall, knowing I would never be as happy as the object. Or, maybe, I felt a sort of sympathy for it. Knowing that it was to go on with a meaningless existence, only to be tortured or neglected, unless I were to step in and take custody of it, making reality slightly better for it. Maybe both. We need each other. Regardless if I went home with a new companion or not, I would become overwhelmingly depressed.

Anyways, today, I bought a crab-cup. I saw him, and it wasn't quite like when I was younger. It was more shallow, more distanced. Like a barrier had been put up after residents had complained about years of being vulnerable. I was conscious that it wasn't quite the same, but yet still drawn. I knew I would have to buy him anyways. The check-out-slave lady asked me, in a flirtatious way, why I was purchasing him. She just laughed as she rang him up, along with my giant container of Nutella, when I answered her with an excuse for this compulsion that I didn't quite understand.
"Just look at him" I told her, "He's one bad motherfucker".

So now I site here, devouring this disgusting piece of recycled zombified cow, staring into the eyes of cup-crab, as he looks into me. Now I can't tell what I feel, or what he feels. If he's glad I brought him home, if I'm glad I brought him home. So, I place him in the cupboard, next to my hand-painted Japanese tea cup and my bag of gunpowder-black licorice tea mix. But as I close the door to it, I feel a sort of sadness come over me.

Maybe I'm still connected to some plane of thought, typically reserved for the thoughts of inanimate objects.

Then again, I probably just need some sort of medication.

Gamma Ray: III

Cain
What really brought chainsaws into popular culture? Was it the events of "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" depicted on the silver screen? The awesome power of, essentially, an automatic sword? But then, what brought it into the association with the living dead, the supernatural, and horror movies in general? Could it have been the sight of Bruce Campbell playing Ash Williams, wielding one in place of his hand? Even though it is one of the most over-done weapons in the film industry, we felt it was a good idea to pack one.
No.

Maybe we packed it because of its status. That can't be just it, though. Maybe it really does deserve all the attention. The fear that it evokes, the sheer boost in confidence, the roar of its devastation.
So, in the back of the trunk, sits this hulking piece of equipment.
Just sitting there, for now.

Ready
Life's pretty interesting. It's pretty fucking scary too. For example, I'm not really a Johnny Cash fan. He's all right, but too "country western" for me. Two days ago, when we stopped at a Wal-Mart or Target or some bullshit, Dmitri happened to buy a Johnny Cash CD. Since then, he's been haunting me. I turn on the TV, and that "Walk the Line" movie is on, as well as numerous commercials for it. We're driving on the highway, and there's a billboard for a Johnny Cash tribute concert. And now, I'm sitting in a diner we found called Chubby's and there's a goddamned "The-Man-in-Black" burger. What the fuck Johnny?! Quit following me!
What the hell...I think I'll get it.
The timing of my decision making is quite perfect. The waitress walks right over to our table.
"Can get you something to drink", the young Hispanic woman says in broken English. I look over to Dmitri, giving him the right to order first.
"Uh, I'll have a Coke"
"Pepsi fine?"
"Uh, actually, I'll have a root beer instead"
"And you sir?" Without the slightest hesitation:
"Doctor Pepper. Oh, and I believe we're ready to order, as well."

I look back to Dmitri and he gets my message. He orders some sort of Swiss cheese mushroom burger, and I get the Johnny fucking cash burger. Goddamn you! Ring of Fire isn't even a good song!
"So, what do you think we should do after this?"
"I think we should maybe secure a motel and check out the sites. Spend a day or two here, before we get to the point"
"Sounds pretty good."
It took us a while to get into Fresno, and by the time we decided on a restaurant, it was 6 o'clock or so. It's been a long time since I've been in Fresno, and not that I like it or anything but, I think it wouldn't be a bad idea to drive around it. Visit places I've been to. It would also be a lot better to do it before we finish up what we came here to do.
We've been mostly sitting here in the booth. The waitress brought over our drinks a bit ago, Dmitri's been steadily drinking his and I've been playing with a fork, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
"Hey, I've gotta use the restroom. I'll be right back"
Dmitri gets up quite swiftly and walks to the back of the restaurant.

Gamma Ray: II

Willing
You know that song by Aerosmith, "Janie's Got a Gun"? It was as if the song was written just for her. Her mother used to abuse her and then abandoned her, leaving her with her father at the age of 6. That's when he began molesting her. She finally got fed up and at age 17, shot her father in the face. She took to the streets after that. It was about two weeks before the police found out about the murder. When the authorities investigated the home, they found Janie's father nailed to the wall in a Jesus-like fashion, with incomprehensible writings blood encircling the corpse. They were, of course, written in his blood.
At the third week after the death, the police put out a search for Janie and at the same time she met Cain and Dimitri.
It was around 2AM. Dmitri and Cain were coming down from Oregon and passing through Eureka, looking for a motel to stay at. They managed to get a room at a Motel 8, but they didn’t feel like sleeping just yet. The car was parked at the Motel, still containing all of their stuff; as they decided against moving it into the room "just in case". The two decided to take a walk around town. Take in the sights, get the feel of the place, since they would be in town for a day or so.
"Even if it's two in the morning, you'd think that some place would be open!"
"Where do you think we are? Vegas?" retorted Dmitri as he reached into his breast pocket, retrieving a lighter and a pack of cigarillos. He slowly and delicately took one out, lit it, and took a deep pull, savoring it. As he let out the cloud of smoke, he offered Cain one as well. Cain took one, lit it, and the two continued walking.
The night air was filled with fog, and it was almost as if the darkness was one with it. It was an all-swallowing darkness, only hungrier due to the lack of street lights in the area. The cherry from their smokes cut through the mist, as they walked silently along the street. The imagery was as if it were plucked straight from some French noir detective film.
"I never considered it that way while reading it!" Cain said this last bit with a passion, raising his fist slightly.

"I took it as a serious piece of work. I was quite drawn into it".
"That maybe so, but what Kubrick did with it was genius. He took Clockwork Orange, and turned it into a wonderful example of black comedy".
"So what! He still screwed up the experience! The whole thing was supposed to make you rethink human nature!"

As he said this last bit, he threw down the bottle of Guinness he had in hand, and towards an alleyway they were passing.
About an hour had passed since the two ventured out around town. A small liquor store, complete with stereotypical Indian owner, seemed to be the only place open at this hour. A beer might be a good way to relax and set up for sleep, so Cain sent Dmitri in to get him a Guinness, while Dmitri got himself a Blue Moon.
The bottle hit the ground quite forcefully, and the shards of glass flew against an old-fashioned metal trash can, the point of impact being only inches away from the base. The glass shattering was quite loud, contrasted by the encompassing darkness that brought with it an eerie silence that is quite rare in the modern world. Something like this, though, would change the silence for quite a while.
"Watch it, fuckheads!" A young woman yelled this, as she pulled out a revolver (a Rossi five-shot .38 special which seemed to be suffering from wear-and-tear, covered in filth) and rose up from behind the trash can, all in one smooth motion.
She wasn't particularly short, but she wasn't exceedingly tall either. Fairly skinny, even for a girl in this day and age, and had dyed red hair (despite her hair being a natural red to begin with, examining the roots). She had a very fair complexion and dressed in a somewhat 60's/70's eccentric manner.
As she held the gun there, Cain and Dmitri stopped in their tracks. Not particularly startled, but more-so interested in what was going to happen next. The two stared back at the girl, and she had fierce look in her eye as she pointed the gun at Cain (who just happened to be the closest). A minute passed, as everyone stood there in silence. The girl then clicked the hammer back, operating the cylinder, cutting the silence with the almost musical sound of the revolver's mechanisms all working in unison. The second the sound was over, Dmitri lit up.
"It's fucking empty" he said, as he walked over to her, pulled the gun from her hands, and pushed her back.

She fell back, landing on her rear, with a look of awe, as Dmitri opened the action, reassuring his hypothesis. He turned the gun upside-down, letting the five spent cartridges drop right at the girl’s feet. He pocketed the gun, and began to walk away with Cain, as if the whole situation didn't happen.

Able
I'm just dying to give death a shot. Haha. Something in me is curious. I want to know what it feels like. There's a pretty big difference between a situation where you think you're going to die, and one where you are dying. Your blood draining out of your body with every heart beat, nothing you can do to stop it, as your body stupidly goes about its routine. The oncoming darkness, as your vision begins to fade. But this is no normal black-out. No, you can feel it. You're aware of it. Even then, though, there is some uncertainty. A part of you that won't quite believe that this is happening, despite having the wound in your chest, and feeling the hot piece of lead overwhelm you.

Gamma Ray: I

Ready
"Oh shit! I haven't heard this song for years!"
I reach my hand out to the stereo and turn up the volume a few levels.

"I usually play along with the song, but I'm not going to whip out my guitar while I'm in the car. Sorry about that. You were saying?"

"I'm telling you, they always blame the mother when it's that kind of shit. Freud, Columbine, Jeffrey Dahmer"

I look down at the clock. 3:45PM. We made it to Fresno about half an hour ago and right now, we're just looking for a place to eat. We pass by a large shopping centre called "Fig Garden Village" as we're caught up in traffic, and our conversation.

"Wait a second, which one's Jeffery Dahmer, again? He wasn't B.T.K. was he?"
"No, he was the one who killed a shit-ton of people. He would do weird stuff. Try to turn people into zombies"

"Wait. Was he the one who had the locks and handles removed from his car?"

"No, he was the one with the freezers."

"Oh."

"One time, a guy ran naked from Dahmer's apartment, speaking broken English, heading towards police. When questioned, Dahmer came out saying, 'He's my boyfriend and we're just having a fight', so the police just escorted the fucker back into Jeffery's apartment. In the end, they caught him during a similar incident, I think. He was murdered in prison, you know. His family could have sued."

"Yeah, but the public would fucking kill them. 'What the hell do you care, your kid offed tons of people', and then their house would probably get burned down."

I put my arm up and take grip of one of those handles, the ones they place on the ceiling of cars, above the door, and rest my arm against the window. The little, red, Kia we're riding in is a bit cramped. It's an awkward little car. The trunk's spacious, but not near enough with all of the supplies, and my White Falcon in its hard-case. At least with Janie gone, we don't have to open the compartment and lower a back seat, making everything all-the-more cramped. It's great 'cos we just toss it in the back passenger area.
That's a little jaded.
Shit happens, though.

Able
So I built this trepanner, just for the occasion. I got the idea for it after seeing one of those apple peeler/core-er/slicer/things in a "Pampered Chef" catalogue. For those of you who are unaware of what it means to Trepan someone, let me explain the procedure. In a typical, sterile, surgical environment, the procedure goes like so: Find a spot on the side of the head, away from the temple. You shave the area and cut the skin, making a flap (so it can be sewn back into place). You then drill (or scrape) a hole into the skull thus exposing the dura matter. Doing this relieves pressure on the skull and returns the brain to a "pulsating state" much like in the womb. They say that trepanation increases "brain-blood volume" and thereby enhances cerebral metabolism in a manner similar to cerebral vasodilators. You're relieved of depression, fatigue, and many other mental ailments. You begin to think on a higher level. It's supposed to be the ultimate high. Or so says all the wackos out there that believe in this crap. Really, there's no known positive effects of trepanning (and if done correctly, really no negative ones either). Trepanning is not done in hospitals and is technically illegal, although, there are some doctors (especially in Mexico) who will do this procedure. Almost forgot! The non-surgical procedure: You take a power drill and you fucking jam it into the side of someone's skull.
Now, this is probably the reason I'm so messed up.