No Future for the Undead

And There Goes Tokyo(pop)

2011-04-17T16:53:00.000-07:00

http://www.comicsbeat.com/2011/04/15/end-of-an-era-tokyopop-shutting-down/

I don't know what to think or how to feel, really.

I was introduced to a lot of series and new things, especially when I was really young, due to Tokyopop. They had been my favourite translator-publisher when it came to manga, since it seemed they kept the comics' integrity and foreign appeal (like much less americanisation of terms, none of that page-flipping bullshit). Although, I do realise that in the end, money is what it comes (came?) down to, and that they aren't the same company that they used to be.

I was never really big on their OEL Comics/Manga (Aside from stuff by Christy Lijewski or good ole' Brandon Graham), and it sounds like dealing with them was a hugely convoluted process. I used to dream of entering their "Rising Stars of Manga" competition, working to hone my skills thinking I could hit it big entering. I guess along the way I lost the bit of Japanophile edge I must have had, and learned more about indie comics, kind of broadening horizons, expanding my mind, and what-not.

Oh well. farewell Tokyopop. I just hope I can snatch some of your backlog still! I never got to finish my collection of "BLAME!"!

Pillars, Crystal, and Wires

2010-07-06T19:38:00.000-07:00

Like licking sour honey from your fingertips
each one so elegant and beautiful
but I still miss the taste of your breath
upon my lips, long after we've kissed

Our astral lines are intertwined
with all of our references to in numbers
we try to be wise as serpents
as innocent as doves
because together, we'll be better
together will be better

Walking through hell and back
holding on to our love for tether
there is no way I would let you go
there's nothing I would rather

Our astral lines are intertwined
with all of our references in numbers
we try to be wise as serpents
as innocent as doves
because together, we'll be better
together will be better

The sound is always there
together and even after a fight
our brains trying achieve vibrating harmony
but we can't hear it just yet

Our astral lines are intertwined
with all of our references in numbers
we try to be wise as serpents
as innocent as doves
because together, we'll be better
together will be better

Stellar

2010-07-06T19:27:00.000-07:00

I miss the light from your eyes
and the glow of your eyelids
I'm on an electric binge
I need sounds so cold, sterile
To make me feel more alone

Collecting the dust from collided stars
and shattered moons, to save my money
hoping you are still there
it's all I can do for now
trying to come to you

Your sweet-siren-voice has me setting course to you
but you won't let me crash
I know you won't let me crash

And I know he would jettison
you would be out into the void
but I will be right there
to pick you up, hold you close
I just need to get to you

Your sweet-siren-voice has me setting course to you
but you won't let me crash
I know you won't let me crash

Retaliation

2010-06-20T12:07:00.001-07:00

I think I was afraid to hit back because it felt like if I did, my body would start moving slow, like those dreams I have where I'm trying to walk somewhere or run from something, and suddenly, I've forgotten how to walk properly. My muscle begin to sort of seize up, and I'm moving very slow, as the world continues on at its regular speed. Maybe, if I would have tried to fight back, my body would slow like that, and matters would be worse.
Maybe I would have seemed even weaker.

Sell Cell

2010-03-05T20:40:00.000-08:00

(Originally dispersed once a day as SMS Messages)

I
When I was a little kid, I went to this play, which was put on by the community college where I lived. The play centered around a large dinner party, which these old university classmates were going to reunite after sometime apart doing their own thing. I remember one of the main characters, a woman in her late thirties or early forties, trying to open a wine bottle or something with her teeth. She broke her tooth, popping it out, and decided to blacken another, in an attempt to confuse or distract people from the fact that she lost a tooth.

II
The only other thing I remember is the ending of the play. The aforementioned woman, and a man from the party, (the woman's love interest, who stuck around afterward to talk with her) were lying in bed, watching t.v. with the sound off, discussing what it's like, and guessing what the characters are talking about. The woman turned to the man and began to describe an experience she had. She was pregnant some years ago, in a wonderful relationship, and just bought a nice house. As she walked through her new home, she stopped at a patio on the second story. She leaned on the railing, thinking about how beautiful the clouds are and how wonderful life is, when the rail broke. She described falling through the air and hitting the ground. When she came to, she learned that her face had to be completely reconstructed, she lost her child, and the man she was with.

III
After seeing this around age eight or nine, I could vividly imagine what it's like to fall from heights, and would fantasize about coming to my end in such a way.

IV
I ride the city bus down Blackstone, kind of the main street in Fresno. The sky is incredibly grey and overcast, although it's pretty warm outside, making everything feel out of place and uncomfortable. The massive duffel bag I have with me almost looks as tall as I am, as it sits in the seat beside me. The objects it contains force it to be rigid and uncompromising in form. A real pain to drag around, especially on the public transit.

V
The ride feels incredibly long, especially without an mp3 player, book, or something to pass the time. The public transit is pretty awkward in Fresno, compared to so may other places. Some consider it only fit for the poor, mentally ill, and the worthless. As much as I ride it, I wonder where I stand in society. Gazing outside doesn't provide much relief, and I'm filled with dread knowing I still have an hour more to go.

VI
I step off of the bus, lugging the duffel bag with me. I slowly walk from the stop towards a motel complex. Behind it lies a tiny strip mall of four or so stores, including a small Korean market, which is where I'm supposed to meet the client. I manage my way and stand in front of the place for a moment. Looking at my cellphone lets me know that I'm twenty minutes early. I start shuffling across a backstreet, to another small, somewhat hidden shopping center, next to the motel, and decide that I'll have a drink at a small Italian place there. Being drunk for this will be much better.

VII
Walking just at the right speed to be there at just the right time (something I'm a bit obsessed with, but I have some pride in my extreme punctuality), I lug myself and my bag back to the Korean market, feeling the load of alcohol I dumped into myself set in. In front of the place stands two younger men. Well, one of them can't be more than seventeen, while the other looks to be in his very late twenties. The boyish one clad in a black leather jacket, ripped drain-pipe trousers, torn up high-tops, and short, messy hair. The other, a t-shirt, an Italian-cut blazer and slacks, grey converse oxfords, and well-kept hair. The younger one is against a wall holding a bottle of what looks to be booze, the other standing arms crossed, both watching me closely.

VIII
Divorces can be sick ordeals. Often, bewildered children are volleyed back and forth between two damaged, mixed up, often selfish people. Passed back and forth like an unwanted object or a crippled dog, arriving at one side, knowing they're not wanted, but having someone lie and act as if they are wanted. Constantly, I'd thought about how much easier if I had no father, or, if he had been struck down and killed. I also would wish I didn't have so much empathy. As much as I hate my father, I would imagine how he would feel knowing he lost me forever, and feel bad for him. He would say he loved me, and maybe believe it himself, but actions tell the truth.

IX
"So, to clarify, you want to borrow some of my equipment, and keep me on stand-by, in case you need me?" For the last six or seven years, I've been working as an unlicensed surgeon and doctor. After leaving med school, I spent most of my time in the L.A. area. I've traveled a bit, got called to some weird places, and came to Fresno around two years ago. I suppose I've built up a bit of a reputation. Most of my patients have been illegal immigrants. Next would probably be gangs and mafia members, followed by regular folks without health-care, and then the occasional crazy fuck who wants me to do something extreme, or at the least, tell them how to.

X
"You've got it".
"Hmmm..." I mull it over a bit more. This seems totally fishy. I'm not even sure what their plans are, and already I'm thinking about if there's any way whatever can be linked back to me. My heart is pumping a bit, I can feel adrenaline start to work it's way into my blood. It seems exciting, and I've been bored for a while now. I glance over to the younger one. He hasn't said a word. Since they brought me up to their motel room, he has been sitting in a backward-turned chair, still drinking. The room smells of Jaegermeister and come. I start to wonder about what these two have planned. "I'll have to think about it more, and I'm going to need some details. How about we start with names?"

XI
"My name is Dmitri" he responded. "Mine is Cain", the younger one said. He arose from his chair, woozily walked over, and shook my hand, before sitting down next to Dmitri on one of the beds. "The work you will be doing will really be for me" There was a pause for a second, and he continued, "I hope for everything to go smoothly, and you'll be paid nicely, but I want us to keep in mind that we know what you do as far as 'business' (Cain actually doing air-quotes with his fingers), so how about neither of us end up as tattle-tails and wind up in some sort of trouble, yeah?" Cain's expression changed as he said this. From a sort of blankness, to sincerity or kindness, to a sort of glare and this complete seriousness I never would have expected, despite not knowing him past first impressions. How exciting.

XII
I love those music videos that show a band just playing around and having a good time. I've always wanted be part of a group. A group that did something big. I've also always felt that I need to make some sort of mark in the world. I don't think I can be okay with dying in total obscurity. But, since I'm no musician or anything, it will just have to be some other way.

XIII
Sometime in the very early morning (two, maybe three A.M.?), I walk from the motel room with a whole new sense of self. I feel invigorated and have a new mission ahead. After talking and drinking with them awhile, listening to their stories, about their journey, about their plan, I decided to take a more active role, and help them directly. I left my bag of equipment with them, since it'd be a real bitch to walk with it, and having faith in getting it back. After hours of walking home, since the buses stop ridiculously early in Fresno, I get back home. I have a pretty cushy place, and live comfortably. I have a cover job at a Kinko's, but I don't actually work there. My income is pretty good, and since it's "under the table", taxes are no issue. I quickly pass out in bed.

XIV
Bleeding. A lot of bleeding. I dreamt that some of my teeth, and sections of my jaw, were breaking and falling out. I tried to piece my face back together, as I rushed to figure out what I should do, how I should get medical attention. More and more blood poured out, and I felt woozy and lightheaded, as I panicked.

Baphe Metis

2010-02-21T13:08:00.000-08:00

*Intro*

*Instrumental Chorus*

I was brought into a world
that is sure it's right-side-up
cellphone solve
and keyboard coagula
A screen in my eyes
and another realm above my head
an aether of so much
an incredible potential is here

I can't focus
just can't focus
distraction distraction
too much distraction
Trying to absorb
the information smog
Baphomet can't help
when it causes yr fall

The day is still young
but I'd rather be alone
spirituality and heartbreak
make me too prone
to only know what I will know
and I'll know too soon
that I'm too good at wasting time

I can't focus
just can't focus
distraction distraction
too much distraction
Trying to absorb
the information smog
Baphomet can't help
when it causes yr fall

Panic panic panicking
at what I haven't done
haven't done
haven't done

*Instrumental Break*

---
"Baphe Metis" sample
---

Deadline

2010-01-04T13:18:00.001-08:00

I had this dream a while back.

I was in some sort of school. It was like a combination of my high school and my college. I have no clue what kind of grade I was in, and it didn't seem like I had too much of a connection to that world in my head, before the dream.

A big event was being planned for. A giant festival with the main purpose of showing off what the students had done and achieved so far.
I guess I was fairly well known by my instructors (and it seemed that there were only so many instructors there, too. It seemed all very tight-knit) and since I'm an art major, they decided that I should get my own booth at the event.
I didn't have any clue about it prior to the day in my dream, and the festival was to begin the next day.

I was a total wreck. I wasn't prepared, I had no clue what to do, no confidence in my art abilities.
I began thinking about abandoning it all and not showing up that day.
But I had my own booth, Not only was that an honour, but the school was depending on me.

Then I got an idea. I rushed to the student store and bought a very large piece of poster paper. I decided that I would draw a giant, one-page comic about not being prepared for the event, and trying to get something done for it.

As I was setting up my booth, the next morning, I woke up.

VG History

2009-12-22T11:53:00.000-08:00

Along with the news blog I've started up, I created a devblog for the game I'm currently working called, "eLECTRIC vApOR".

Rembrandt by Satellaview

2009-10-18T15:55:00.000-07:00

Wasteland focused
Pure decay
Straight-and-true gamma ray
Love's gaze hit today

---

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

Bed

2009-08-06T10:24:00.000-07:00

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

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

Waking up with her.

What would we do?

What would we say?

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

Antlers, Maybe?

2009-07-05T20:45:00.001-07:00

"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

2009-07-03T14:41:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-12T13:15:00.000-07:00

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.

Gamma Ray: IV

2009-05-26T21:34:00.001-07:00

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

2009-04-23T17:53:00.000-07:00

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

Clotho

2009-04-20T21:36:00.001-07:00

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

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

Lovely transient son
Lovely transient son

Dissipate your
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

I'm a transient son

---
"Clotho" guitar clip
---

Thoughts on Love

2009-01-12T17:50:00.000-08:00

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.

My History With Music

2009-01-10T23:32:00.000-08:00

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?

2009-01-03T00:32:00.000-08:00

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?

2009-01-03T00:18:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-02T23:48:00.000-08:00

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

2008-07-29T23:43:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-20T23:02:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-19T23:51:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-19T22:11:00.001-07:00

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

2008-04-27T11:56:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-25T14:59:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-18T23:37:00.000-07:00

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.