Sunday, September 28, 2014

Apathetic? Good for you.

"Good for you" It seems like it would be a compliment or encouraging statement right? You landed the Johnson account! Good for you! You scored 30 points before halftime, good for you! Or, in my instance, I’ll try my girlfriend again when her jerk of a sister doesn’t have the phone anymore, good for you. I don’t ask for a lot out of relationships, I don’t think. It’s not like I demand sex on the daily or even weekly basis. Maybe I’m not demanding enough and that’s why I feel like I’m being disrespected like I am right now. However, I am aware I am not some bread winning, big cheese, shiny shoe wearing mister 401k, but I feel like I’ve earned a little bit more consideration than what I am currently getting. Here I am, bitching about my relationship again; what’s new, right? And shame on me for not just breaking myself away from this and just walking away. Clearly I’m not happy, clearly she doesn’t give a fuck about me, and clearly blood is and will always be thicker than water. Her disabled sister, who is soon to be relocating to France, is in town for a month before she takes her family with her out of the States. Naturally this means my girlfriend has to spend every naturalized minute with her and her family until she leaves which leaves me to my own devices while she’s absent, and when I say absent, I mean going whole days/weeks without more than "Hey, I’m busy, how are you, oh ok talk to you later" which is about all I get lately. And that’s fine. I see where I stand. I know where I fall on the totem pole. You have your priorities and your must-haves, and then you have me over here. It’s gotten to the point where I am so mad, with her, with her sister, with myself, with the situation, that I just don’t know what to do anymore. I already feel incredibly lonely so what does it matter if I break it off? Good for me, right? I should go fuck myself, since she already has me doing that on the reg. and without any end in sight. Part of me is loyal to what we’ve built and maintained over the past year and a quarter; part of me is desperate to, for once, be in a happy, positive relationship where I’m thinking more about what I can do for the other person instead of what I can be doing for myself. Right now I feel so selfish: selfish for wanting her time and attention, selfish for trying to pull her away from her sister and her quality time with her family before they leave for the foreseeable future, selfish for wanting to feel wanted and loved. How dare I crave someone else’s touch and affection. How dare I question their love for me when I don’t hear from them anymore other than when they need a trip to the dispensary. How dare I build up the nerve to contact her and express my feelings of solitude and loneliness when obviously stated she doesn’t have the time for me. Well, I am defeated. She wins. Her sister wins. They don’t give a fuck and I now acknowledge that. If she were to contact my sister telling my sister she was feeling lonely and forgotten, I don’t think my sister’s response to her would be, "Good for you" I think it would be more along the lines of oh what’s wrong, what is going on? Different families, different life styles, different decision making. My girlfriend has made a conscious decision to not include me in this part of her life and I’ve made a conscious decision to be upset about it. To be fair, it’s hard to "talk it out" when apparently I have to communicate through some sort of medium or connector in order to get through to her; it’s only after someone else has read and filtered my message that she’s able to receive their contents. Well fuck it then, here’s me communicating to the world so we all see it at the same time, no misinterpretations, no lost in translation: I fucking miss you and I hate how you make me feel for missing you. You told me I was your boyfriend, you told me you had feelings for me and loved me, and now, I guess those feelings have been marginalized for other bigger more important feelings like family bonding time. Instead of saying something or allowing something to be said to comfort me and assure me, we have gone the route of indifference. You’re upset? Be a fucking man about it. Miss me? Too fucking bad. Didn’t get what you want? Welcome to life. I get it. The reality is it’s a cold harsh world, and I’m more likely to fall asleep frigid and alone than I am to wake up to some warmth and company. Instead of understanding and compassion, you show me apathy and sarcasm. Well fuck you. Fuck your sarcastic tone, fuck your family time, and fuck you for making me feel so raw about all this when all you had to was offer one sweet sentiment. You didn’t even have to fucking mean it. "Miss you" but I guess we might both see through the bullshit on that huh. I guess now, even more than envying time with you that other’s are getting while I get static, I envy your ability to just not care. I care about everything. I care that your sister thinks I’m some pathetic loser and that my first interaction with her was something she intercepted that was meant to be a personal communication to you. I care that now I fucking hate her guts and this whole thing is turning negative and sour. I care about you so much that it fucking hurts how little you care about me.

Guess it’s time to stop caring and start working. I have to give her this, before that little quip I didn’t think I was going to write anything today, but that little serpent has my blood so heated right now I feel if I don’t type something I’ll end up spontaneously combusting, which I wouldn’t mind so much once it was over but it would be a shame to burn my parents’ house down because you and your sister don’t care. Good for you… No, fuck you. And fuck me for caring.

Monday, July 28, 2014

The Knight and the Princess

She hadn’t run off in the night. He was sure she was going to, especially after his mark revealed itself. There wasn’t much a man could do with a mark as pronounced and obvious, although many folks he had met through his encounters had commented it might be possible to hide it with some hair or a helmet, but he liked it short, and helmets got in the way of his vision, thus impeding his movement, and moving freely was the highest priority for a man of his nature. The armor he wore was light and sleek, designed to stop cheap shots and low-blows, but not really have much of an impact against a heavier attack. Short brown hair was cropped against his skull so that it did not sway within his vision or allow for an enemy to grab hold of and wrestle him to the ground, which he had seen occur to a knight with beautiful locks of hair that adorned his head like a flowing crown. Unfortunately, this knight was shortly thereafter beheaded for being an enemy of the state, but people in remote villages still spoke of his coiffure. Not many had heard of this knight, as he was more of a ronin than a samurai: wandering around looking for purpose and work in a world that was eager to give him neither. So, instead, he took his time getting to know people, sorting the shady from the stalwart, the needy from the needless, and made sure to never stick around too long in one spot for fear of discovery.

The tavern he had been at was attacked by no coincidence; there had been a pack of men dispatched to capture and conceal him so the public need not fear the man with the mark. Really, the only mystery to the knight as he sat there pondering the nights’ events, was why the townsfolk had encircled the man and his lady accomplice when there was no such group of armed men nearby? A hulking mammoth of a man with arms like tree trunks bulging through his underwhelming cloth tunic, swords strapped to his sides like a modern day gunslinger holsters his weapons, only this swordsman did more damage to the shop around him than he did to his intended targets, the knight and the princess. He started to feel frustrated in his situation, in the complete despair of feeling lost and purposeless, but she had come along at just the right time, giving him a reason to stand up and fight when a group of alcohol soaked locals started surrounding her and berating her. Admittedly, she did stand out at a seedy joint like this one, but that gave them no right to badger her and assault her while she tried to enjoy a beverage she paid for, the same as anyone else in that tavern. First it started with wandering eyes, whispers, and people pointing who thought they were being more discreet than they actually were. Next, people started sizing her up, nodding their heads as they agreed that she did in fact look familiar, a sure sign that she was somebody. A good sized, mild mannered young lad was the first to approach her, asking her if he could sit down and join her for a drink or two, his treat, when she cut him off mid speech and asked him nicely if it was ok if she was left alone. Narrowing his eyes as his mug full of ale rested at his side, he tilted his head and slowly brought the drink to his lips, sipping at it while he formulated a response. Not trying to offend anyone, the young lady kept her eyes focused on her own drink in front of her, while a larger man came barreling down the aisle way to push the first bachelor out of the way.

“That ale’s for tulips and daisies! You look more like a rose, amiright!?” he exclaimed as he pushed the first suitor and a hostess out of the way to grab a seat next to the women. She darted up, bringing her cup with her as the men crashed down so hard on the bench, a couple at the end of the table leapt upwards as the bench see-sawed them into the air. Seeing this happen, the pig like man snorted with laughter and took a big gulp of his drink. While backing up, away from the table, the woman bumped into a man leaning against a pillar. “Oh, I’m so sorry about that, will you please forgive me?” She asked the man she bumped into, turning into him to meet his eyes. “Fuck, lass. You went and made me spill my beer all over meself!” He rung his hands in the air and attempted to brush himself off. A bright redness rushed to the woman’s cheeks as she attempted to grab a discarded shirt from the table to clean off the beer soaked man’s shirt. “I’m so sorry about that, here let me,” she reached for the man’s vest, but he slapped her hands away, with an audible swatting noise. “Fuck you, you already gone and mucked it up! Leave me alone or next time it’s your face!” He raised his hand high above his head as if to demonstrate how far he could bring his hand down. A hand reached out and grabbed his wrist. The man covered in beer looked up to see what just grabbed him, when the sudden impact of a fist to his stomach made him lurch forward and sink into the man’s arms who just incapacitated him. The knight slowly lowered the man into a chair as no one really seemed to notice what just happened, the knight telling his friends at the table that he really needed to watch where he was going because of all the low hanging animal’s heads and chandeliers. All three men at the table nodded, looking concerned for their friend, and thought nothing else of it as the knight turned to look at the woman clinging to her mug. He shrugged at her and she flashed a smile, which quickly turned into a look of horror as a clay mug came crashing down over the knight’s head. He grunted and brought a hand instinctively up to his head, but it wasn’t very strong clay and the hazard would be from broken shards piercing his skin, but there didn’t seem to be any. Now the angry beer soaked man exclaimed, “You! You hit me!” The knight backed up, touching shoulders with the woman. “Well, now, to be fair, it was 95% ale and 4% gravity. My fist was just the 1% that put it all in motion and look, you’re fine! No damage done, and now you know never to raise your hand to a lady,” The knight put his hands up in front of him, bracing for a punch or a swing. Instead, the tavern got suspiciously quiet as the main attraction had become this confrontation unfolding before everyone’s eyes. A circle had formed around the table, and people were starting to put down their beverages and cross their arms. Something caught the knight’s attention out of the corner of his eye, and now he was starring at one of the largest men he had ever seen. This man was so impossibly large, the knight questioned how he was even able to fit inside his room as his head seemed to drag against the ceiling. People seemed to get out of his way until it was this giant at the edge of the ring and the knight starring up at him. “How the hell did you get in here, I would have remembered seeing you?” The giant grinned back, “I’m sneaky for my size,” and then he reached down for his weapon with his left hand while his right hand unsheathed a scimitar like sword and brought it down in front of him, slamming into the table. Pushing back with his feet, the knight bounced backwards, dislodging himself and carrying the lady with him so he would back into the crowd of people and shield her from the impact and the crowd itself. Now the giant came rushing forward, swinging the sword in his left hand down in front of him. The knight reacted quickly, shoving the lady to the left and pushing himself off her to the right. This gave the giant a chance to raise both weapons in the air, giving the knight the rush of an impending death blow falling upon him. He instead thrust his arms up, catching the giant’s forearms, and pushing his arms even higher, so the blades stuck in the ceiling. Confused, the giant looked down at the knight, who in turn head-butted the confused enormous monster of a man square on the bridge of the nose. Responding to the blow, the giant brought his hands up to his face, and the knight lunged for the woman, grabbing her by the wrist and leading her outside of the tavern.

They had been riding until they could no longer make out the lights of the city, finding a nice quiet patch of trees off the beaten path to setup camp and get some sleep. In the morning, the knight told himself, I’ll figure out her story and move from there, but tonight, we both need our rest. He looked over at her, with her back turned to him, her obvious curves revealing a formidable backside even through the thickness of the bedroll. Internally, he sighed, knowing nice things like this don’t last. Fully expecting to wake up and find her gone, he decided he was going to keep an eye on her as long as possible. Inside his imaginative mind, he considered her origins, trying to put together what an attractive, intelligent woman was doing sleeping outside in the frigid cold with him, and nothing seemed to be a convenient or observable scenario. Chasing itself in circles, it was only a matter of a few minutes before the knight had worn himself out and the stillness of sleep took him over.

Friday, May 9, 2014

Anxiously Waiting

After having acquiesced to the notion that I will never be anything that I want to be, or do anything that I truly want to do, that I am a victim of my environment, my times, and my genetics, I found quite some peace in being able to just be free, be myself, and let go of all these silly feelings and thoughts that were holding me back. I have longed to be a writer. Dreamt of it, day and night, talked about it, wrote about it, and for some reason, it just doesn’t seem to stick. It seems like a destiny or a journey a planet’s length away, and my chances of launching some kind of rudimentary device to get there intact is slim-to-fucking-zero. But knowing it’s out there, and I’ve had some successful launches to areas nearby, to complete the analogy, I realized, “Who really cares if I fail or succeed?” Honest. No one. If I fail, my friends and family and environment around me will encourage me to continue writing and sharing my warped thoughts. If I succeed, well, holy fuck, why are we reading this dreadful, sob-story? Let’s get to that good sci-fi or fantasy writing that got you all hooked on my style in the first place…

So why am I writing? That’s a fair question, and one I’ve asked myself a lot lately, or actually, why am I NOT writing? Because for the longest time, I didn’t feel like I had anything to share. And anything that I could share would be dismissed as boring or pedantic (I don’t think I’ve ever used that word in a natural sentence. See, maybe I am destined for this) so I’ve naturally kept every thought and inkling to myself out of some irrational fear that this one thing that I might be good at, I’m really not good at. I wasn’t great at most of my other jobs: Jamba Juice, GameStop out of high school, gift wrapper at Shane Co., guy who trained disabled veterans to use computers, bouncer/bar-back, and my last job, the guy who recommended you which strain of weed to get. Technically, I have something published, although since the website it was published for was taken down, I doubt it exists anywhere on the internet anymore. Shame. So the work I did have published is unsearchable, and the website I interned for has moved on to another domain name, basically making it seem like I have no experience writing. But, the honest truth is I have been writing my whole life. I would get bored in physics class, and write a short story about some character I had in a Vampire the Masquerade role-playing game, which I will explain later, if given the chance. Even before that, I was writing stories in my head every day. Stories about how I was dying, or drowning, or suffocating because of anthrax (during a more pronounced panic attack, I was almost certain I had been exposed to anthrax, all thanks to a university class I was taking on toxicology and poisons. Sigh.), and they were all fiction, because none of that happened as evidenced by my still being here. As I’m writing this, I realize how gullible I must be: to believe the same fictitious detailing of my imminent demise over, and over, and over, every day, by the same narrator, in the same panicked tone, and to believe it with certainty. To know that I am dying, and this is the thing that is going to be the thing to kill me, whatever it happens to be that day, yesterday it was probably a combination of not eating, being out and about in waiting rooms all day or on the road waiting in traffic, and then coming home and smoking a copious amount of weed (my medicine) before slamming an entire Chipotle burrito, the only thing I had and did eat all day. When my body is introduced to that foreign energy, it always reacts in a precarious manner, like if you fueled your car and when you tapped the gas, it reacted as if you slammed it down to the floor and goes flying forward; it feels like, over the course of the seventeen years that I’ve been dealing with this, that whenever I introduce food, or caffeine, or a super racy Sativa like Trainwreck, my body is overloaded with energy and my nervous system acts out by overreacting: sweaty palms, accelerated breathing, increased heart rate, I feel nervous, my thoughts begin to turn inwards and I begin to analyze every part of my being and consciousness until I find something wrong and lock onto it. Could be a dry mouth, a sore throat, an aching arm or back, or worst, my chest. Maybe I haven’t drank enough water and I’m dehydrated, so I begin to have a headache. My mind immediately associates the headache with something awful: brain an heurism, stroke, migraine, but really it’s just a mild headache more often than not and it passes with time or some Advil/Ibuprofen. I’ve had to train myself, every day, to recognize these feelings of doom, process that they’re actually incorrect interpretations of what’s going on with my body and what I’m feeling, and finally convince myself, I’m not dying, I’m just having my 10,578th panic attack. Part of me likes to believe there are others out there just like me, with similar problems and similar feelings that they are struggling with every day, just like me. Part of me wants to be that beacon of light, that guide to help those that are lost to the surface, so they can enjoy this beautiful thing called life and not be so reliant on where or how a panic attack is going to hit them, because that’s all I used to worry about. I would panic about getting a panic attack. I still do, who am I kidding, because for me, that is the worst outcome, and I would rather die. It would be less painful, and it would be over, no more panic attacks, no more anticipating the unanticipateable (I know it’s not a word. Deal with it.), just peace, or nothing, which is the opposite of what I have now, which is chaos. There is a war raging within and every day is a control to make sure it doesn’t break through to the surface and make me lock up or freeze up. And the only reason I am writing this is to give a sense to others who may have friends or family who have panic attacks, but have no idea what the hell to do or how to act around them while that’s occurring. I am writing this in the hopes it sheds some light to the plight of our people, and that just because there isn’t an open, visible wound that you can see, touch, smell, taste (please don’t taste wounds), does NOT mean that the person isn’t hurting and needing help (I know, the double negative makes it confusing). On the outside, I am a perfectly healthy twenty-nine year old male; on the inside, I am a scared child who has been running from the shadow of a monster so long he’s forgotten what he’s actually running from and now starting to ask questions and size this beast up. And it hurts when that pain isn’t recognized. Before I got laid off from my last job due to budgetary concerns, we had an open meeting where team members are allowed to suggest things. At this dispensary, they have all these wonderful programs: cancer compassion, AIDS/Chron’s compassion, food closet for the hungry, and I just saw today free cannabis oil for children who suffer from seizures. Lots of good stuff. But I wanted to ask what we were doing as a facility for people with mental health disorders, so I raised my hand, waited my turn, and did, and it offended me so badly that we were willing to discuss the pros and cons of truly trivial protocol procedures, but the topic of mental health wasn’t worthy of more than a “That would be too complicated to verify”. So there you have it. You can’t see it, you can’t touch it or sense it with your worldly perceptions, the person must be faking it or have such a terrible problem, you’re not even sure you’re equipped to deal with it yourself. And that’s where we are in America. We know we have this problem, we know veterans killing themselves back here at home and on the battlefield is a problem, we know “crazy” young people armed with firearms who are going into public places and killing innocent people is a problem, we know those who are so indoctrinated into religious zealotry that they would wish harm and death upon others simply because of their lifestyle is a problem, but more than anything, we want to associate the cause with the symptoms: yeah, he was acting out in class, he wasn’t showing up, he stayed up all night playing video games and not focusing on school, but yeah, if it weren’t for those goddamned easily accessible guns, maybe we would have avoided this problem. Do I have the answer? Fuck no. I have no idea how to treat or deal with every single psychological or mental disorder in the DSM, but I do know exclusion is not the way to go. “Oh, I don’t know anything about this topic and it makes me uncomfortable, so I will just ignore it and discuss something I do know, like guns.” Well, welcome to my world, where I am uncomfortable every day, and in my own skin. Just because I am uncomfortable, should I not be allowed to live? Is my existence of discomfort not worthy? And when I am dealing with this discomfort, is it wrong that I should choose to go about in my own way, given that no one has ever experienced it like I have or ever will? Would it not make sense that I would be ultimate gate keeper to who or what happens in my body since ultimately I am the only one that feels it? People with other mental disorders act out; they hear voices, they see things, they process the world in a different way than you or I, and some instances, they can be dangerous, to themselves or others. I have an incredibly brave friend who was courageous enough to come forward to me and my friends during a nightly role-playing session and tell us he had been diagnosed with schizophrenia, had been committed to a psych ward, and at one point, had tried to kill himself.

It still shocks me to this day because of the type of person I have always perceived him to be. But him telling me that changed everything, because before that, his outlandish behavior and his quirks were just some funny thing for me and the boys to laugh about because of how uncomfortable they made us feel. Needless to say we don’t laugh or mock him anymore, and never would have since he was just our goofy DnD friend who happened to like to hum to himself on occasion, or when he had one soda, he had to have six. What fascinates me even more is last week he ran his first story where he was the story teller and we were the characters in his story/world, and I thought he did a fantastic job, let alone for a first time. Before this revelation, these were just little games we played, a way to pass some time with some friends and have some mutual, non-destructive fun doing it. But now, it is so much more. It’s a chance for this friend to come out of his shell, for me to come out of my shell, and to experience things together that we would never have a chance to experience otherwise. It’s beautiful and I wouldn’t trade our role-playing sessions for anything, as I know how powerful they are in self-discovery for me and my friend. Love you, Drew.

-SJD

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Trapped

I used to have these visions of being free, doing what I wanted to do. In these visions, I would be in interesting places, talking to interesting people about relevant and fascinating subjects. I wasn’t the center of attention, but I wasn’t so marginalized that my thoughts and feelings were negligent. These dreams would keep me going, keep me writing, keep me on “my grind” but lately, there’s nothing to grind. Any edge I had has been worn down to a dull point, so that instead of piercing through things like I used to, I’m finding myself having to bludgeon my way through obstacles. And I’m tired. I’m worn down. I’m close to giving up and throwing my hands skyward.

I know I don’t do anything all day, at least by your standards. I’m not sitting on a fat account. There are no houses or properties that I will be closing ESCROW on any time soon. Just student-loan debt, cell phone bills, and the daily need to feed myself. I’d rather go without food, to be honest, with my stomach as messed up as it is, and all the stress tearing at my insides making me feel like food falls right through me. But I go through the motions anyways. I think the realization has hit me that I won’t ever be anything. You’ll never read my words and gain inspiration, I’ll never feel that life fulfillment that comes with being good at something. Doubt and anxiety are my companions through it all, and as needy as I may be, I can’t think of two sensations I’ve felt a need for less than those two. I know the seriousness of my situation. I know that if I don’t land a serious job/career here in a little bit, my life will be perma-fucked, and I’ll be lucky to one day have a house to call my own. It’s frustrating to know how wonderful this world could be, how many opportunities could be waiting for me, but with how far away everything seems, I can’t help but admit I’m drowning and there’s no way out but to drown.

Maybe I can swim to safety. Maybe someone will throw me a life preserver. I hate this feeling. I hate this hopeless sensation that is overwhelming me and taking me over. I hate how weak you make me feel and how eagerly you remind me how fucked I am. Everyday I awake to this burning deep in the core of me. This thing that tells me hurry, move, get your ass up and move or these flames will take you over and reduce you to a pile of ash. I’ve been burning for I don’t know how long so maybe a dive into the deep end will do me good. That’s what I keep telling myself through all of this. This is good for you, you need to be reminded how things can be, how things are. And for awhile, it was enough to keep me motivated and positive, keep me pushing and wading through the daily mountain of bullshit you have to wade through just to keep your sanity. But lately, day by day, incidence by incidence, it’s like there is nothing sacred anymore. There is no sure thing, there is no clear path as to what you’re supposed to do or who you’re supposed to become. I used to so clearly know exactly who I wanted to be and how I wanted to be that person, but now, I just feel like I don’t have the tools to do anything that I really want to do.

Let’s say I really did want to write as a profession; where would I even start? Just write, they say. Don’t stop writing. Live, eat, and breathe writing. Don’t put the pen down. But I don’t even know what to write. Does this count? Is this inane rambling good enough to qualify as writing? I honestly don’t think it is. I don’t think anyone cares, honestly, what I have to say or how I say it. I don’t think anyone but me wants to me to succeed at this. Call me selfish. Call me a loser who can’t acknowledge the people supporting him and holding him up. But you know what you won’t do? You won’t tell me how much you enjoyed my writing and how disappointed you are that I don’t write anymore. You won’t tell me that you can’t WAIT for me to end this story I’m writing, or how you need to know how it ends. People tell me I write brilliantly, but, what exactly am I writing? To me, this feels like some pre-pubescent’s high school diary, complaining about how this isn’t working or that person isn’t feeling them. I want to tell myself to get the fuck over it. Who the fuck cares what people do to support or not support your writing. You didn’t start writing because people like it. You didn’t start writing because you wanted people to read what you wrote. You started writing because YOU enjoyed it, and it was a release for you to explain what was going on in that chaotic little head of yours. So why does the need for a plot or story change that? Why can’t I just do this and enjoy it? Why do I have to become successful or known from this? Is it because I fear working a dead end job for the rest of my life? Am i afraid that I’m destined to be a blue collar worker for the rest of my life, surviving in between odd jobs and favors?  I know next saturday I’ll be bouncing just because I need income. I know that the degree I earned, that I EARNED, won’t be used during that 8+ hour shift of yelling at co-eds to keep their drinks off arcade games or cleaning puke out of a bathroom stall. All that degree does is remind me of what I should be doing with my life, how much money I should be earning, and how much I gambled with on those to assumptions.

So fuck. My girlfriend wants to tell me about her boss and how they know each other so well that he can finish a story of hers two words in, how they can hang out at a lake where she can grab a dip in the water while he presumably watches and perhaps even joins her. I don’t think she’s cheating on me, I hope she isn’t, but for fuck’s sake, how often do I have to be reminded of how much I don’t know you or how I’m not someone else in her life. I swear to god I feel like I know her ex better than I know myself sometimes. But she’s a sweet girl, and she’s young. She treats me right and she doesn’t have that superficial vibe that I can’t cater to at the moment. Yeah babe I’d love to buy you a house and car to go with that diamond ring but my loan payment is too high and I need enough money to feed myself so, how about some subway instead? 

Feelin’ some hopeless
Tryin’ to smoke the dope less
But without the smoke, I feel a mess
An angry monster in distress

It don’t matter, no one cares
From the bottom, its a long flight of stares
Full of self doubting and despair
Like you want to sit down but life’s already pulled that chair

So whatever, who’s got time to sit?
Never enough time to deal with all this shit
And this drama, like a tight shirt that don’t fit
Chokin’ on the stale air feelin like a misfit

Cause freedom tastes so fresh and sweet
Serfdom done ruined my feet,
Blistered broken and ready to bleed
Sometimes I wish you’d just end me

Stop making me suffer through this endless charade
No relief in sight, all night and day
Just pain, which you pay to play
Can’t stand it? That’s okay.

This too shall pass, they say
But then comes the next day, with the same fate
The same problems just a different date
Yet all you want is a little escape

A little relief from the disappointment, the shame
Knowing you’re fucked but what’s to blame?
You, and your lack of fame?
Your inability to conquer and lay claim?

What you want isn’t coming to you
Instead of rolling in green, you drown in the blue
Depression, anxiety, misunderstandings to name a few
Searching for answers, all you need is a clue

A reason, a path, an adventure to start
These cloudy skies will one day part
And the light will you hit you so bright it’s blinding
Embrace the warmth til it’s binding

These days won’t last
Your pain will be your past
So, before you denounce man and become an outcast
Look up to the sky kid, life can be a blast

-SJD

Saturday, November 3, 2012

11-3-2012

He woke up confused and disoriented. It was still dark out, so he knew there was no way he’d gotten more than a couple hours of sleep. A soft snoring sound was coming from his travel companion, the Princess on the Run, as he had heard her been called. While looking over her angelic features, he couldn’t help but notice how soft and vulnerable she looked. The expensive fabric of her gown clung to her curves accenting all the features that made his blood rush and his mind race, feeling the mark on his head slightly pulsate, as a red deep, red glow dimly lit the immediate area around him. Quickly, he brought his hand up to his head, covering the mark from illuminating their campsite. Then, he felt a gentle but firm grip overtake his wrist, and slowly his hand drifted away from the mark.

“It’s beautiful.”

She sounded a little tired still, but enchanted by the mark on his head. To this day he still felt self-conscious and embarrassed, and turned away from her, bringing his hand back up to his forehead, until the mark changed color to a royal purple, so dark that it dampened what little light shown in from the canopy above them, making it harder for anyone or anything to see the knight and the princess.

“I don’t think so. It gets me into more trouble than it’s worth,” He absent-mindedly rolled his eyes down to his feet, feeling his thoughts go way back. Back to a room with jars, bottles, candlesticks, and cobwebs as far as the eye could see. The sharp cold stuck with him, and a shiver ran up his spine.

“What is it?” She looked concerned.

Now the mark on his head was glowing a sickly green.

“Nothing, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about me. We should go back to bed.”

Her hand reached forward and then she pulled it back, placing it neatly in her lap.

“It’s okay to tell me things, you know that right?” Now he looked confused, and the mark switched to a swirling grey.

“Tell you things? Like what kind of things?”

She bit her lip a little, trying to phrase her words delicately.

“Like, who you are, or why you’re helping me. We’ve been travelling for several days together and I know nothing about you, other than you’re a decent man who has saved my life on multiple occasions. But you ask for not money, or power, or recognition, or…” Her fingers ran up her legs,
“Favors. You simply do as I command and never ask for anything in return. What sort of man has no wants or needs?”

He’d never thought about himself that way. Survival had been more important than earthly pleasures like fine silk or costly women, but that didn’t mean he was indifferent towards it all. Sure he wanted nice things and to feel the warm touch of a good woman, but he decided that wasn’t for him to choose the time and place. You don’t simply go to the market and pick up the love of your life, especially when you had as much going on as he did, but he had to admit, he often times dreamed of living a normal existence in which he was a married man with a loving, loyal wife and an armful of children to make his hair gray. But, after some time, and reflection, he realized that life wasn’t for him. His path lead him down to a different journey: a journey that had brought him here, to this forest, with this princess.

“The sort of man who has no need for needs. As a young man, sure, I lusted, and chased after women, if only in my mind, but I realized soon thereafter the more I wanted something, the more impossible it became to achieve or have whatever it is my heart cherished. So, I decide to live without wants or desires. If the world puts someone or something in my way that needs help, I will help it, or die trying. I don’t live for myself, and sometimes wonder if I’d rather not live at all.”

She gasped. “Don’t ever say that. I have not ever met a man like you.”

The knight smiled. “Lucky you. Go back to bed, Princess.” His mark shifted back from purple into a soft, scarlet, as he covered the princess with a roll from his pack.

“You have my thanks, sir.”

The knight nodded. “Aye. And you have mine. Now close your eyes.”

She wondered what he possibly could thank her for as her mind drifted back to sleep.

#sjd 

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Reoccurring dream

9.18.2012

The dream had been the same as many nights as he could remember. He was looking for someone, a girl, possibly, maybe a friend, maybe a lover. All he knew was that she was missing and that he had to find her. Everything depended on it. He pushed his way through a crowded cobblestone street, eyes sweeping the streets back and forth. Nothing, no sign of her anywhere. For an instant, he thought he had her scent, and he was following it inside some kind of apparel store. There were women populated throughout the store, all of them different looking, with different hair styles, and different mannerisms, but he could tell none of them was the one he was looking for. Still, he searched the rest of the store, checking every corner, and coming up empty, decided to wander back out to the streets, which were now empty. He looked back inside the apparel store; it was closed. The seemingly bright and beautiful day was now dark and cold; his eyes spied many different alley ways and avenues. Deciding it was best to go back to the hotel, he jogged back, seeing shadows form along the walls around him before he burst through the hotel’s double doors and into the hotel lobby. There was a gaunt man standing behind the lobby desk with a rim-less cap and a tightly fighting uniform that looked impeccable. Clearly the man was too busy or important to be bothered, so he continued from the lobby into the elevator and hit a button. The elevator began to rise, quickly, and all around him, the world rushed past him. He could see out onto the hotel’s roof where a single pool was. It was overcast out, which made it hard to determine what time of day it was exactly, but he could tell there were more than a few people surrounding the water. They were all in various stages of lounging around or lazily swimming in the pool, barely causing so much as a ripple in the water. While the elevator was shooting up to the 95th floor, he could see that whoever he was looking for was also not by the pool. He sighed, frustrated, by his lack of progress. Ding. The doors opened behind him and he saw a giant hallway going left and right. He went left, following it all the way to room 9519, where he tried the handle, pushed in his keycard, and then pushed the door open. An empty, sterile, clean hotel room lay before him. No one was in it, and he approached the window looking over the city directly in front of him. He started unbuttoning his shirt, feeling it fall to the floor. The cool air from the aid conditioning unit felt nice against his warm skin. Again, he sighed.
“Hey, you.” The voice was definitely female, and definitely belonged to the woman he was looking for. He turned around, in time to see her dark hair and her dark eyes before he snapped awake from his dream, covered in sweat and gasping for air. He was so close to seeing her face and knowing who she was. But it wasn’t time yet. He rolled over and went back to sleep knowing that time was swiftly approaching.

-SJD

Saturday, September 8, 2012

The Man and the Princess (pt 2)

9.8.2012

They were a safe distance away from their pursuers when the Man decided to slow down His steed, and set up camp for the night. However, the Princess wasted no time jumping off the animal’s back and onto the ground, landing softly and gracefully as one might expect of a Princess. She also looked quite angry with Her brow furrowed and Her tiny little fists clenched at Her side. Seeing this as He was tying His horse to a nearby tree, He asked Her, “Something a matter, Your Highness?”

“The nerve on You, Sir, I’ll have You know I had that situation handled until you came swooping in and damn near destroyed the place!”

The Man finished tying a not, securing His steed from fleeing while they slept, and turned to face the Princess directly. “I apologize for nothing; we were both in danger, and I got us out of it.”

The Princess scoffed, “A few men with pitchforks? And a lone giant with a couple blades? How weak do you take me? I could have handled them, just fine! But nooo, the big strong man has to come in and save me from myself! Well I don’t need any saving!”

Seeing She was upset, but for more than obvious reasons, He approached Her slowly, extending His hand no more than a foot away from Her. “No one is saying you couldn’t have dealt with that on your own, Your Highness, but when I walked out front to get our horses, there was a group of ten to fifteen armed soldiers bearing the mark of the Blue scanning all around for you and me. It was only a matter of time before the Giant went outside and alerted them. Fleeing out the back was our only option. You could have disarmed and disabled every man in that tavern, true, but what of the fifteen armed, trained soldiers outside? What of them, Princess?”

She looked down at His hand and backed away, bringing Her hands up to Her chest, clutching them closely. “But, the mark of the Blue, that’s only for…”

Now the Man stepped closer, finishing Her sentence, “For fugitives they tend to capture and execute ON SITE! If they would have found us, we would have both been slaughtered on the street, like rabid animals!”

“Impossible!” She exclaimed. “My father would NEVER allow harm to come to me,”

Hearing this, the Man winced. He had heard something terrible and tragic had befallen Her father, but now was clearly not the time to tell Her.

“What is it?” She sensed something was wrong; the mark on his forehead flashed a solemn grey.
“Your body reveals You, Sir.” Her finger pointed at the scar on His forehead.

Now, he turned away, and went back to his horse, unloading the gear that was on it. “I couldn’t get to most of our equipment, but these sleeping rolls and rations should suffice, for now. Good night Princess.”

The Man unrolled his mat by his steed, petted her twice, then laid down and closed His eyes. The Princess watched, sighed, grabbed Her mat, unrolled it on the other side of the steed, and laid down. They both slept angry that night.

-SJD

Thursday, September 6, 2012

The Man and the Princess

9.6.2012

“You have no right to speak to us in that manner!” She exclaimed as the Man that accompanied Her nervously glanced around the room, eyeing all the large men with diminished glasses of liquor and beer in front of them. “Erm, Your Highness, maybe we should,”
“Non sense!” She brushed His hand off Her shoulder. “If you have any mind about you at all, you’ll steer clear and let us out.”
“Not so fast,” A booming voice came from behind the crowding group of men, loud enough to make the chandeliers quake and the tables’ contents rattle in their various bowls and containers.
“She’s wanted, although I could care less about the likes of you,” the larger man said, pointing his knife’s tip at the Man standing next to the Princess, who was now nervously looking around the room and behind Him.
“That’s fine, sir, because in all honesty I could care less to make your acquaintance as well,” the Man said, and started to slink away from the Princess’ side.
“Hey, wait a second, where do you think You’re going!” She yelled at the Man, as the crowd didn’t budge one way or another once He got to the line of drunken, heavy breathing men.
“Let him through, he’s one of those weird whatchamacallsits. You can tell by the mark on his head and how it’s starting ta glow…”
Sure enough there was a light scar on the Man’s forehead, almost smack dead in the center, that was starting to warm up and illuminate a dark purple color. It was as subtle as a light on the middle of one’s forehead can be, but as soon as the men saw it darkening, they stepped aside, and let Him through. Immediately the Man walked straight out the door, and was gone.
The crowd turned back, to look at the Princess, who was standing tall and proud, but a little bit more vulnerable and naked without the Man at Her side.

“So is it going to be the easy way, Princess?” The large man said, stepping forward, only feet from Her, extending his hand outwards.
“Or the hard way?”
The Princess looked up at him and half snarled before spitting in the overgrown man’s face.
“I will NOT cower to bully’s tactics, SIR!”
He half laughed as he brought his claw like hand to his face, wiping the spittle from his cheek.
“That’s fine. If we’re going to start telling truths, then I wanted to do it the hard way, anyways” His laughter sounded a little more evil and full of pleasure while his hand made its way to his sheath.
A dull, purple tendril snuck in through the window directly behind and overhead the Princess. Shooting across the room like a whip it snatched the man’s wrist and yanked it upwards, causing the swing of the blade to send the men on either side of him backwards for fear of losing an eye, or a nose, or even worse, their heads, while also crashing into the rafters above him. A large snapping sound gave way as the structural support collapsed, somewhere, causing parts of the second story to come crashing down around the large man and the Princess. Behind the princess, a section of the wall cut away, and in the pale light of the exposed moon She was able to spot Him, Her Man, atop the horse that had accompanied them to town. “Come on, Princess, let’s go!” He extended His hand and helped Her up onto the steed. They raced off away from the town as men came piling out of the tavern coughing, groaning, and cursing the Man and the Princess as they disappeared into the night.

-SJD 

Monday, September 3, 2012

Labor Day

9.3.2012

I don’t know what I am doing anymore. I used to have this vision, where if I did A and B, then C was going to be coming my way, but that’s not the way the world works, and there are so many unknown unknowns that it makes it virtually impossible for me to follow one game plan all the way through, so what I have done, is become better at being versatile: not great at anything, but decent at almost everything. When I was younger, I already felt so different from everyone, I never felt the need to stand out anymore by striving to be the number one student. I don’t exactly remember what triggered the change, but there was a moment where I decided I was going to give everything I had to being the best student I could be, and then, the next day at class, after I spent pretty much my whole night reading and studying, I was more than prepared for the teacher’s line of questioning. Only, when she asked, I was the only student that raised their hand. I don’t remember the answers, or the questions, other than it was material related to U.S. history, I think, and I remember the feeling of every single student’s eye on me as I correctly answered question after question. Towards the beginning, there were other students to be called upon, students raising their arms and waving them eagerly as if to show that the answer was loaded and painfully ready to come out. However, as the questioning went on, and it became apparent that I was prepared for the day and others weren’t, I felt something greater than the thrill of success and accomplishment: I felt the sting of jealousy and envy. My classmates didn’t like that I was the only one answering questions, and that the teacher seemed to like that, engaging me with a warm smile and complimenting me on my effort for the day. I remember thinking if I ever wanted to succeed, I was going to have to do my damndest not to stand out, but why? Were other people’s negative feelings and thoughts to me so palpable that I could literally feel them without a single spoken word or gesture?  Maybe I am more susceptible to negativity than I am positivity, which is a frightening prospect. For the life of me, I don’t understand or can’t admit why I am so fond of escaping success. Do I plan to live my life as a loser forever? Living with mom and dad uncomfortably until they kick me out or move away or some other disastrous series of events happen forcing me away from heart and home?

Now that I think about it, there are other sides to this picture. There’s a little boy who wants to please his mother and father. A little boy who is sensitive and scared, and knows that his scarier, meaner, and older brother would not like the little boy being more successful than he was. A little boy who knew that if he stood out too much or grew too fast, his brother would be there to chop him down at the roots, or throw him back down to the ground. (Microsoft is telling me the last two sentences are fragments. That’s how those parts of my life feel so I’m leaving it.) I can admit now that I was terrified of my brother and what he could or would do to my sister and me if he ever became so enraged or jealous that his actions were no longer his own. In a way, I’ve let his jealous and shallow actions force and shape my life in such a way that I am not who I was supposed to be. It’s painful to admit. Extremely painful. As I hear news of him and his wife settling down into their first house and proclaiming they’re thinking about starting a family, I stop and pause.

I am alone. I have no family. My parents watch over me, they feed me, they help me out financially when I absolutely need it, but emotionally we’re worlds apart. My father will come home from work, and I’ll inquire about his day. He’ll either tell me his day was long, or busy. And that’s about it. Then, lately, he’ll do this thing where he asks me how my night at work was, and then, when I start to tell him, he’ll close his eyes, stop moving, stick out his hand like he’s telling me to pause, then suddenly open his eyes, say “Okay!” and then go back to whatever it was he was doing before we were talking. It’s kind of a rude dick move and it drives me crazy, but he thinks he’s a silly jokester, and I’m living underneath his roof, so who am I to say anything. I am content to spend most my time in my room, like a confined prison cell, dreaming of a free world in which I get to do the things that I want to do, and not the things that are placed before me.

Of course it could always be worse, and I don’t mean to sound greedy or spiteful. Is it too much to ask to have someone tell you they’re proud of you every once in awhile? Would it be too much to ask for them to just ask how I am doing and listen to me talk for five minutes once a month, or every other month? They have such disregard for how I am and what I am going through, it’s just so painfully obvious they don’t want to know what I am doing and they don’t care, unless it’s something they can make fun of me for, or something that’s bringing in money. I thought it would be nice, spending this time with my parents in their twilight years where they can still have fun and go out and do stuff like give me advice and wisdom before it escapes their minds, but they’re old enough to let loose and live a little before slipping into walkers and pills and all that other bullshit that comes with aging. But no, they would rather sit home and catch up with Dancing with the Stars because the lives and the struggles of the characters and stars on the screen are that much more interesting than mine, I guess.

So I guess it’s time for me to try to be a little bit more interesting. Do I have YOUR attention yet? No? Well I guess I was a little too good at staying under the radar. I guess it’s time for me to rise.

Batman style.

Alright that rant felt good. Now I feel like I can breathe again. It’s Monday, Labor Day, and I have no plans, really. Finished Breaking Bad with Candace last night but now, I’m not sure what to do. I’d like to finish the Henchman. It’s just a difficult/challenging story for me to write because I know how much I suck at writing formulaic stories; I’m better at this straight from the gut stuff…

My Sister: “What are you writing?”
Me: “Stuff.”
My Sister: “Oh, okay.” *shuts door to room*

Yup. Let’s write some stuff.

Happy Labor Day folks. Be safe, drink responsibly.

-SJD

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

I think i’ll write something sexy…

I’ve always wanted to dabble with erotica but never really had the proverbial balls to do so. Maybe i’ll try my hand at it, again, no pun intended. Hopefully it doesn’t get me fired or put amongst a fine group of people that IS megan’s law.

We shall see. I literally have nothing else to do today; too injured to work out, too poor to go out, there’s smoke in the air so there’s a health advisory warning, so literally everything i know is telling me to stay inside and just do whatever i want today. So long as i stay at home and inside. 

What else IS there to do? I can’t think of any games i want to play. Battlefield 3 doesn’t work… It just keeps saying its updating itself but it never lets me play it. Thanks EA. League of Legends is fun but when i’m playing it by myself i like blackout and then all of a sudden it’s dinner time or midnight. In Day Z me and steve finally got our characters together, in the same spot, both with loaded guns and relatively full health so i dont want to leave lest we decide to play that game again and i have to meet back up with him. So, no Day Z, i beat Deus Ex, no LoL, no BF3… I’ve beaten L4D/2 so many times… I’ve gone back to counter-strike only to discover i’m not the player i used to be.. And its not fun getting mopped over and over and over (i guess thats my come-uppance for all the domination i was laying down as a teenager. what goes around… *sigh*). Never really got into TF2..  Starcraft 2 leaves me feeling shakey and strung out, like coming off an adrenaline rush. I want a game i can sit back and just… build. Like a SimCity, or some such. I remember playing SimCity 2000 as a kid and building like the perfect city. I didn’t have to borrow any money or cheat; i just took my time, developed an even balance of residential, commercial, and industrial areas, tied them together with well-kept roads and highways. Got a nice wharf/marina going, as well as building an artificial waterway to neighboring areas to bring in business. Eventually made enough to establish an airport. At one point, everything was running so perfectly and i had so much money coming in, i was able to turn everything into like a bio-dome, where everyone lived in a perfect habitat and harmony. I had run out of things to do, which was okay because either my mom or my brother’s friend Corey had accidentally deleted my game, and i had to start over. I never got back to that perfect city, but… I think i’m willing to try at something else again.

Couple of things i want to do: start an online group to re-connect existing and curious role-players to an on-going dynamic world that i would have to create and run. Itd take a lot of work, and i can’t get my mind around all the details i would have to flush out. My horoscope says to start with the small things first so, first thing i would need is a system to run everything on: character creation, stats, perks/flaws, rules for combat/dice-rolling, etc… If i’m using a system that is going to be for multiple people that can’t necessarily see one another and is turned base, i don’t need it to be fast moving, i need it to be fair and accurate, as well as expansive because players will have some time to think about what they want to do, and they will get creative in their spare time, as players are want to do. In my head i’m thinking maybe Ars Magicka, but they start as normal people in a modern setting, this way there will be some familiarity in the world, as well as pre-conceived expectations on how other characters/NPCs in the world would react. Only, this world would give way to the possibility of magic, and magical entities, which would allow me, the story teller, quite some freedom as to what elements i introduce to push the story along. But right now, in my head, i’m thinking ars magicka is the way to go.

So i’ll have them all take some time to make characters and tell them they can be whatever they want to be, they just have to explain to me their character background, give me their stats, perks, and flaws, and then tell me which city they want to be in. I think i’ll have five cities to start from: a port city, a country/rural city, a city “south” of the border, a main/capitol city with a vast population, and then maybe a city across the sea on another continent. 

Well, this has helped me tremendously. I could really care less if you enjoyed it or not lol. Just kidding, as always i appreciate your attention span and your continued support, but i have some work to do, and i think i just set myself off in the right path. 

Oh, and the other thing i want to do is write some steamy erotica which is basically literary porn. Stay tuned! :D

-SJD 

And the Frustration begins to Set in…

8.14.2012

I’ll admit it: I’m frustrated. Irritable. Upset. Angry. Impatient. I am all of these things, but why? I have the whole day ahead of me to do whatever I want, and yet there is nothing I really want to do. For one, I know that the empty fuel light has activated in my car. I know I have six dollars in my wallet, and thirty in my checking account. At some point I’ll get hungry, soon, but I know that just about anything I eat will end up making me feel uncomfortable and probably even a little bit of pain, too. I know that the first story I really motivated myself to publish isn’t worth publishing because I didn’t do it the right way and people can’t understand what it’s about. I never meant it to be a serious novel of sorts, but rather a glimpse into the life of five or six twenty something’s as we experienced an alternate reality together. Or maybe I was going to leave us out of it and let the story carry itself, but it would seem the story wasn’t good enough, or I wasn’t good enough at connecting the dots and drawing interest from my audience. Either way, we can chalk that story up as another loss. To date, I’ve written about 66,000 words of unreadable bullshit. 66,000 wasted words that won’t ever reach the audience I was hoping they would, but that’s okay. Maybe I’m not ready to have a large audience yet.

I’m frustrated because all my life I decided it would be more advantageous to me to stay in the dark and not be noticed then to make a big show of things and be the alpha dog. I don’t know if its because of my anxiety or because I was the middle child, but for some reason attention and the spotlight always made me feel uncomfortable. I never felt like I was worthy of all the attention. There are so many other wonderful things; why would anyone take the time to stop and admire me? There was nothing all that admirable about me. And I guess that’s the way I wanted it but lately…

The loneliness is worse than the discomfort. At night, I find myself questioning why bother writing if I am the only one who is going to read it? Isn’t that just the same as taking a thousand pictures of yourself, in a mirror, and then posting them to a social networking website? AKA narcissism? Only, instead of a snapshot of what I look like and what brand names I’m wearing, or what style I happen to have my hair in at the time, it’s an instance of what I am thinking, what I am feeling, and what I am trying to express. They say fashion is an expression of oneself, don’t they? The point I’m trying to make is it feels incredibly selfish to write these mundane blog postings expressing how things are going on in my world when I can’t even find cause enough to care. Things are the same. I am still broke. I am still single. I am still living at my parents’ home. I still drive the same silver Honda with dings on the side, which causes other drives to inform me that my gas cap is undone, to which I always reply, thanks, I know. I wear the same clothes. Have the same job. Play the same played-out video games. Occasionally I play basketball with some friends. I went out last Tuesday spur of the moment because I was tired of wasting my life away behind the empty glow of a monitor. I felt so disconnected, and I just wanted to feel relevant to something, again.

There was a day, it feels like, where I could set my mind on something, and I was invincible. Didn’t matter what kind of obstacles were in the way, if I decided I was going to be the best at something, I sat down, and worked at it, until I was. Video games, Lego’s, homework assignments, learning how to dance, learning how to drive, etc… I put the time and effort in, and as a result, when it came to things like Counter-Strike and/or Halo, I was pretty untouchable, Counter-Strike moreso than Halo because I was a surgeon with the mouse and keyboard. I would go whole rounds sweeping out the opposing team’s opponents, round after round, with whatever weapons I could get my hands on: TMP, scout rifle, desert eagle, pump shotgun, m4a1, ak-47… I was a virtuoso, and even spent some time with the Metal Elephants Clan which had this guy named No-Quero-Morir, who was just as good as I was, if not moreso, but he used the AWP/M and could one shot a whole team at will, if he wanted to, it felt like. But at some point the thrill and fun from that faded, and it was some other game that captured my attention but…

I’m out of games. I’m out of stories to lose myself in. I’m not sure what to devote my time and energies into. I suppose I should feel lucky that I have as much freedom as I do but I don’t feel very free at the moment. I feel locked down. Like life won’t let me progress until I figure out whatever it is I’m supposed to figure out. I don’t know. I refuse to let myself stop writing though, as frustrated and as down as I get. If it seems selfish, then I apologize, but right now, writing is all I got.

That feels a little better, I suppose.

-SJD

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

No Energy

7.18.2012

Feelin super depleted.

Not necessarily defeated.

Just like ive given all i got
Not that it’s all been for naught

But not is all i got right now
There has to be some way, some how

I’ve crawled to every corner, 
Gettin’ hot but mostly gettin colder,
From the deaf ear to the cold shoulder
Its like a boulder

On my back, but i cant carry
Im too weary
And the end seems so far away
And i know i wont find it today,

But, i keep on tryin anyway
Even if today’s NOT the day.

Because even if i have no energy
If i stop trying it will be the end of me.


-SJD 

Friday, July 13, 2012

Flash Fiction Month: Entry 13 (LUCKY 13 BABY!)

I don’t have a lot of time because wedding things are moving very quickly all around me, so, here’s my prompt, which I was GIDDY upon reading:

               
Flash Fiction Month - July 13, 2012

Challenge #6

Today is another double challenge. In addition to incorporating two theme, like you have for the previous two challenges, you’ll have to incorporate a specific character archetype. If you need help, don’t be afraid to head on over to the official Flash Fiction Month 
Chat Room, where one of our volunteers will help you as best they can.

Write a story that includes the 
themes of failure and conformity, and where one of the characters is a Cloudcuckoolander.

Failure  refers to the state or condition of not meeting a desirable or intended objective, and may be viewed as the opposite of success.

Conformity is the act of matching attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors to group norms.

A Cloudcuckoolander is someone with there head in the clouds. They are strangely oblivious to things that everyone else takes for granted, such as social conventions, like wearing clothing, being polite, or obeying the law. However, cloudcuckoolanders are very rarely malicious.

Shoot for the moon. That was the easy part, I had told myself. All I had to do was dream big, think big, and then boom, magically before my eyes, the world would present to me what I was dreaming. All I had to do was just be completely honest, and so I was. Every time I took a dump, I recorded it and uploaded it. Every time I decided I was feeling a little ornery and wanted to rub one out, I filmed it and hosted it with absolutely no censorship, start to finish. People were going to love this, I kept telling myself. I know I love it.

Gaining some popularity, albeit slowly and not with the crowd you’d necessarily think (think older men between the ages of forty five and sixty five; not the twenty something females we all secretly wish for), I decide it was time to up things a notch, and post the world’s first twenty-four/seven cam access where users and followers were able to interact and view me at all times of the day. It was brilliant. Putting on some flip flops, a tank top with a mustard stain, which was weird because I didn’t even like mustard, to go with a pair of neon green shorts and I was ready to hit the streets. Luckily technology was so advanced that most people couldn’t even tell I was filming myself, even though there was an object attached to my hat, filming the whole thing. I sparked up the joint I was hiding behind my ear and stepped into a particular eating establishment I wanted to try. Immediately, a line of ten people turned to look at me as I stepped into the lobby. Furrowing my brows, and looking concerned, I stepped back outside, wiped my sandals off on the doormat, and then stepped back into the lobby, taking a nice slow drag off the joint resting between my lips.

“There, is that better?” I half-mumbled, half-inquired as the smoke filled the space in front of me, and a few people nearby fanned the air around their faces, and darted past me on their way out the door.

“Geeze, what was their problem,” I asked a couple standing at the back of the line that gave me a somewhat confused, somewhat angry look in response, “And hey, what’s good here?” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see someone behind the counter pointing at me, and then a couple of men in uniforms and boots fast approached me and escorted me out of the building, one of them grabbing the joint out of my mouth, tossing it to the ground, and extinguishing it with his boot heel before the other one through me into the back of their tiny, mall security truck..

What had I done now, I wondered. And how do they both fit in here? This truck is tiny.

The proceedings were pretty nasty. They said I was breaking some strange civil or penal law that I still refuse to acknowledge. And because I refuse to acknowledge what I had done, the state had decided to shut down my site, take all my cameras, and force me to pee in a cup every few days for some odd reason. Maybe they want to make sure there’s nothing wrong with my blood.

Now, I get to work a wonderful job, where I stand around all day, pretending I am making a difference or living out my dream, like the universe once whispered to me while I lay sleeping at nights, dreaming of possibilities and realities where I did everything I wanted to and everyone loved me for being exactly who I was. And then my boss yelled at me for not paying attention. So, I got back to work. I’m sure you know the rest of the story. All I had to do was shoot for the moon. That part was easy.

The falling face first on my way back down to earth was not. Oh well. At least they pay me to stand around and act bored now. I shrugged and told my boss I’d do whatever he wanted, so long as he got his fat gut out of my face. He didn’t like that but, I didn’t really care. I was just another man in a uniform doing a job he wasn’t suited for; failure was a feeling I would soon not forget. But for now, I scrubbed as hard as my back would let me.
_________________

link: http://aabiedoobie.deviantart.com/journal/Flash-Fiction-Month-Entry-Thirteen-Lucky-13-314492101 

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Flash Fiction Month Entry Number Twelve!

Prompt #12

“He screamed across dimensions.” It had all been going so well, though. It first started when he was at home, doing some homework while he watched his parents cook dinner and read the newspaper, respectively, before there was a sudden disturbance at the door. Three men came piling into the room, wielding guns, and screaming for them all to not move and to get on the ground. He had no idea what was going on. He was scared, at first. One of the men brought the grip of his pistol down on his mother’s head, collapsing her to the ground. His first reaction had been to scream and charge at the men. His father yelled “No!”, and all three men turned, and began firing at the same time. He pushed back, sending out a wave of force that stopped the bullets dead in their tracks, also stunning the men. Suddenly, one of the shotguns was pointing at the ground, floating in the air, before firing and blowing away one of the intruder’s feet. The man, missing a foot, began screaming hysterically and dropped to the ground as the blood started to come rushing out.

The other two looked at one another, and came charging at the teenager, now looking different, with his eyes missing any color besides white, and a strange but powerful current swirling about him. Now, the boy lashed out, with his power, and snatched one of the men by the ankle, forcing him to the ground; he motioned with his other hand, slapping the air in front of him, which in turn caused a current of air/force to slam the other man into the wall in the kitchen, by his mother, so that he collapsed next to his mother’s quivering, sobbing body. Now, the boy dragged the other man to him, looking him dead in the eye.

“No, don’t,” the man pleaded. The boy’s eyes returned a fiery brown, as he pierced through the intruder’s worried gaze.

The rest happened in a flash: the cops came, took all the evidence and criminals, while the man without a foot was carted off in an ambulance. After that, came another series of men in suits, but these men didn’t ask questions, they just took the boy, and whisked him away in the back of a black sedan.

Due to the nature of the “first outbreak of power”, as they called it, where he was going, they decided to sedate the boy for the duration of the journey.

He woke up, alone, in a chair, seated at a lone table in an empty room. Blackness surrounded him. Then, a door, before him, opened, and a man walked in.

“Hello, hi, I’m sure you must have a lot of questions but we don’t have a lot of time here,” the man seemed to be in a hurry.
“You possess magical powers. Its evolution. However, there’s a malicious force out there, and if they know you’re here, they will come for you, and they will take you.”
The boy gulped.
“Are you serious? Is this for real?”
The man in the suit looked grim.
“Afraid so. But no worries. We’ve found somewhere safe for you to hide, although, you will not be able to contact your family until we tell you it is okay to do so. Please enjoy your new life,” and with that, a portal opened below the boy’s chair.
He screamed as he fell across dimensions, before finding himself seated in an open field with a beautiful view of trees, grass, and other wildlife running freely and openly before him. Someone clasped his shoulder, and startled him. He turned around in his seat to see a man, in a full plate of armor, standing behind him with sword in sheath.
“Welcome, my young lord. Right this way. The academy will be thrilled to have another student,”
And with that, the boy stood up, and followed the knight, starting his path towards understanding what new power flowed through him.

-SJD

http://my.deviantart.com/messages/#/d56ya2y  

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

FFM Entry Number 11

Flash Fiction Month Entry Number ELEVEN:

Flash Fiction Month - July 11, 2012

Challenge #5

Write a story that includes the themes of power and gender roles.

Power is the ability to influence the behavior of others with or without resistance.

Gender Roles are the social and behavioural norms that are considered appropriate for either men or women. For example, in the American nuclear family, men were tasked with working, and women were tasked with housekeeping and child care.

Remember, a theme is a topic, subject, or concept the writer is trying to point out to the reader. 

Prompt:{
 When Sarah/Samuel is mortally wounded in a motor vehicle accident, the only way for the surgeons to save her/him is to transfer her/his brain to a robot body. The only problem is, the hospital only has male/female robot bodies in supply.} <— fuck robots though.

___________________________________
"The Accident" by SJD


He had it all: six-figure salary, black book full of ‘dtf’ girls just waiting for his call, more sports cars and motorcycles than a Ferrari and Ducati aficionado could dream of, to go along with his stunning features and chiseled body. His phone rang. It was one of the woman he had hoped to liason with tonight. Hopefully, he could bypass the dinner and the movie, and just get right into the sex. Between working and working out, he had already had a long, full day, and didn’t think he had it in him to put up with all the talking and feelings crap, so, he waited until the last minute, and finally texted her back that he was on his way, and that he was sorry that he was late, but he’d be driving his motorcycle over to get there before she passed out and went to bed. No way was he driving all that way to put it in some dead fish.


Pushing his brown hair out of his eyes, and back behind his ears, he placed his helmet on, stepped onto the motorcycle, revved the engine, and sped off into the night. The vibrating from the vehicle against his crotch was increasing his arousal and he couldn’t wait to see this chick. He gunned it all the way down the highway, off the off-ramp, and stopped at a four way stop light. 

His bike crept forward, egging the light to change. In his right rear view mirror, he could see some idiot on a cell phone. “Fucking people,” he muttered inside his helmet, looking up at the light. It still wasn’t changing even though he was the only one there. Off to his right, he could make out a cop car some fifty feet away. Shit, he didn’t want to get a ticket, especially downtown, in this construction area, where fines are double. He looked in the rearview mirror again, the guy still wasn’t looking up from behind the wheel. Now, he gripped his hands to the accelerator, and he was preparing to gun it. The texter in the truck wasn’t going to look up, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to break in time to avoid hitting his one-of-a-kind motorcycle, so he gunned the accelerator, away from the truck fast approaching him, and straight into the intersection with a multi-ton construction vehicle zooming through. There wasn’t much time to react to the bright lights that filled his helmet just before he blacked out, and everything went numb.

His eyes shot open. There wasn’t any part of his body he could move. He tried to move his head but, it seemed like everything was locked into place. 

"Woah, there, easy, easy," said someone in a doctor’s coat, walking over to place his arms on top of the figure in the full body cast.
"Look, I know you have lots of questions, but right now, you just need to relax. Your body," the doctor cleared his throat, "Your old body, that is, was destroyed in that horrible accident months ago, but thanks to groundbreaking technology and miraculous advancements in medical breakthroughs, we were able to transplant your brain, into a new body," the doctor seemed to have a smile creep across his face. "Now, because this technology is so new, the boys in the lab were only experimenting with female bodies, for their own personal amusement, you know how cooped up men are, so unfortunately, the only bodies we had available were female."
"Mwhat!" Even his tone sounded higher when the muffled word escaped his lips. Oh no. This had to be a nightmare. It was time to wake up, time to wake up, he told himself, shutting his eyes, and squirming as hard as he could. Offset to his, or, her side, a machine started beeping, loudly, and faster.

"Oop! Looks like someone’s getting a little overexcited there. Well, no worries, the meds should automatically kick in, and we’ll be back in a little bit to talk about what changes you should expect moving forward," The doctor started to walk out of the office as the man-in-the-woman’s body passed out once again.

She had lost everything due to the accident: her old job replaced her with some new, fresh-out-of-college hot shot, and, due to the excessive nature of the injuries and medical operations incurred, her bank account had been wiped out completely. She was starting from scratch, and, even though she was unable to get her old job back, and now living in an apartment in the city, paycheck-to-paycheck, she was told she was offered a position as an administrative assistant for the person taking her old job. 

All day long, she practically did her old job, as well as setting up appointments and meetings, as well as dealing with the advances of all the men she was now surrounded by, gawking at her every time she passed through the hall way, some even so bold as to slap her on her pear shaped butt as she walked by. It was disgusting, humiliating, and she had no idea how any woman put up with it. She wanted her old life back, and bad. But for now, she sighed to herself, as the copy machine swept back and forward, printing out copy after copy for her new boss.

-SJD