Just Breathe

 As a child I was alone - a lot. Even while sitting in a room of people I was still all by myself. Growing up being screamed at and beaten and told you are all these impossibly horrible things really takes it’s toll on a person. Especially when you were the only person being treated this way. It caused distrust and fear. It left no place to hide from that unwavering spotlight of relentless hate and furious anger. 

As an adult, finally, I see that I’m still that child; that little human that had no power to change the world they struggled to survive in. There was no one to help us escape it. No superhero to save the day, week, or year. This was life and the only way to survive it was to hide and stay small and quiet until the giants fell asleep. 

So here I am, at my wits end, again, and I push everyone out. I close off and distrust the most genuinely kind gestures. I am mentally running through dimly lit steel corridors with no doors and stifled screams sliding down the walls. This mode sneaks in so naturally like a venomous snake in a warm sleeping bag at night. I am alone again. 

I am in the safest hell I can create. 

The lights are out. 

We hold our breath. 

We close our eyes. 

We fill our lungs and we pray for light. 

We fill our lungs and we pray for light. 

I once wrestled a giraffe to the ground with my bare hands.

Though it is well past time that I should be thinking, much less typing or constructing sentences, my brain is awake. One better, my brain is always awake, only this time that dusty dark hallway that has been closed for construction is now open. At least that is what that posted sign has said for the last, goddamn, forever ago now. UNDER CONSTRUCTION. Signed by The Management.

Until today. True, that is me in there shutting down hallways and reconstructing entire wings of my mind. My subconscious does it without permit or permission. Until today I have had no access to that hallway. You know, the one listed as The-Complicated-And-Creative-Thought-Processes-That-You-Have-No-Business-Knowing-About. That mile long title is now barely visible through the glossy black, spray painted word "DANGEROUS". Some of the newer folks might not have even known that this hallway existed. I started asking around after finding too many leaks in the basement. Didn't you assume that there was a place dedicated to this type of thing somewhere? Those leaks never happened when the hallway was open, no need, plenty of places for the juices to go. That was the only clue to my remembering this place at all.

A few years ago the leaks stopped but before that this place was completely submerged in fluids. Sticky too. So anyway, I checked the log book down there and sure enough, leaks stopped a few years back and hadn't returned until lately. I signed it myself when the place used to be Seaworld and signed it again when I found the newest wet spots. Whoever signed it when it dried out is beyond me. The signature is complete bullshit. Nothing but sprawling vine looking stuff, all wiggly and colorful. I can't focus on it for more than a moment without getting a dark thundercloud of a headache. And that is all I know.

Since then, I have walked the hallway for, I don't know, 100 feet or so and I get all creeped out and walk back out a little faster than it took me to get down there. It is not about being scared, but I am definitely not comfortable in there. It is hard to explain. And I haven't slept since the last time I was in there. I remember thinking to myself "this is as far as I have ever been" and then I start seeing the most random things from my childhood in my minds eye, as if I were dreaming. Things that make me happy and sad and some things I don't remember at all, but they are really fucked up.

So This Happened.

This is something I wrote a long time ago. I am cheating like a motherfucker and I feel the hard stares. I don't care this time. I am reposting this today not because I am lazy, but because I am looking for some kindling that might stoke my fire. As a writer I have found (mad/insane)inspiration from reading others work that influenced me and I am greatly inspired to write when my life is at its worst points. As silly as it sounds, I am a firm believer in synchronicity and a common consciousness. So I am throwing it out into the collective winds as it was thrown to me originally, in hopes to have it return to my dreams sooner than later. It is a selfish thing but a positive thing too.

C'est la vie.





Somewhere South of Real


by Joe Keller's organic being


Setting: A sometimes jarring yet mostly comfortable train ride. The cabin is pitch black except for the warm golden lights that blur by the windows at random intervals. There are random images of past lives' visions playing on a small television screen that plays more static than the actual television show. These images are all fond memories connected to no particular person.


CHARACTERS

Little Boy
Mommy
Train Conductor
God
The Devil




LITTLE BOY
Mommy, I think I am sick and might need some medical attention.

The train loudspeaker crackles to life, blaring in perfect 8-bit quality, "Elf needs food badly"

MOMMY
I can't afford to take you anywhere. Get a job and make sure it has some good benefits---

TRAIN CONDUCTOR
(Voice Over through train speaker)
Please hide your cell phone and lock your doors. All sharp objects and cooking devices need to be detached from this ride as this train only makes one stop.

Sounds of breaking glass surround the interior car as large household items are tossed out the train's breaking windows. Knives, cords and cleaning supplies are being swept into the air from an unknown shadowy location and are thrust out into the night sky.

MOMMY
The stop you are making is not at the hospital or local jail. Get your life together young man and stop being such a wimp! I raised you to be better than that.

LITTLE BOY
O.K. I think I am doing better anyways. Besides, I have to go to the bathroom and will forget about being sick as soon as I stop staring at this purple screen in front of me.

TRAIN CONDUCTOR
(Voice Over through train speaker)
Next stop Hell. No reboarding passes will be accepted. Please remove all personal baggage from your compartment.
Viewing out the window of the speeding train, little boy looks up and sees Hell; demons are all red-skinned porn stars and the devil is George Lucas. They are all lounging on frothing orange clouds and discussing the war in Iraq over warm martinis. Everyone is beautiful and lavishly, if not scantily, clothed. Someone starts vomiting in the background and the Devil quickly turns off the lights of Hell with a snap of his finger. All is dark again save the few stars in the sky. 


MOMMY
Told you you'd end up there if you kept up your evil and blasphemous ways! Now be a man and face the consequences of your sinful life. I will be looking down from heaven praying for mercy on your charred and ruinous soul. She picks up a leash that is connected to gleaming silver cord pinched in-between the closed train doors.

Little boy looks out from a broken passenger window and sees Heaven below him. It is upside down as if looking into a puddle. God, a chrome-plated robot, blindly fires a large machine gun into the picturesque sky of blue and gold. The angels are Every Underprivileged Person In The World and their undersized dirty t-shirts say so. The angels are each leashed to a single bullet strung through Gods never-ending ammunition supply. When he fires a round, the angel attached violently explodes against an unseen wall somewhere in the distance. Their bloody remains congeal into shiny new bullets after sliding down the invisible wall to heavens ground. Through a speaker hanging askew from Gods mirror-shine mouth you hear broken laughter. The Angels shout praises to God while simultaneously securing their leashes.

LITTLE BOY
I am not even grown yet! I don't even know of a hell. How can I be responsible for my actions when I am just now figuring out what they can cause? I am already damned. Have I no choice in life? If I can do anything I put my mind to, why is my mind limited to only doing so much?

GOD
(Voice Over through train speaker)
Social order buddy, ha ha buzzzzzzzz.


TRAIN CONDUCTOR
The Train Conductor now stands beside open door at the rear of the train car. His speaking voice sounds as if it is still coming from the overhead speaker. Life isn't fair unless you are someone else and someone else you will never be. Now please, tuck and roll.

Little Boy is tossed out into the rushing winds and is carried like a feather into some unknown, invisible path. Lights fade to black while Nine Inch Nails: Head Like A Hole plays its entirety.




Based on SK's reaction to reading this, I felt there was a need to clarify the post. Upon rereading it, I realize I am unable to touch it. It's loosely written in the form of a playscript and it involves a mother and son on a train that travels through the cosmos, to Hell presumably. I was the Personal Home Stenographer on this one so I can't unravel it's mysteries either.

So much for a clarification huh?

Serial Killer

The endorphin rush gets me home with just enough energy to clumsily lock the door behind me and collapse in a heap onto the hard and unforgiving living room floor. The cold tiles are a welcomed contrast to the heat pouring out of my over-worked body. Who is next? I can only wait for an answer. He will eventually crawl out from the darkest corners of my mind, dance on the tip of my tongue and molest my eyelids until I am forced to open them again. Until that time comes I will think of nothing that he is so desperately concerned with. The destruction. The blood. The tears. The laughter. Fuck! I am thinking of the darkest things after all. Or is he? I can never tell these days. He is so good at tricking me into this mindset. This irrevocable pattern. 

I used to like it when I could escape from them all. I would be the one crawling into his darkest hiding places to find that precious, priceless sleep. I didn't want to change the world! Sleep was the hidden treasure I was after and, I suppose, I found it too. That is where we met, him and I. In the world between sleep and those darkest places. I remember the long talks we would have. I thought he was the smartest person I had ever met. Funny too! He was so clever. That was how he eventually made a cozy little home inside my life. We simply spent too much time together. I let him search through the deepest places in my mind, places I had never even traveled to before. 

One Friday night after work I was depressed and thinking of the life I have lived, or not lived, and I wanted to chat with him to clear things in my head. He was the best listener I had ever talked to. It was as if he could read my mind. Every topic of discussion was laid out exactly as I would have wanted it. So I went searching for him. Desperately. I searched for what felt like days. I looked in any place we had hung out. He was no where to be found and the others, well, they were never keen on having conversations with me. I traveled through the that world for days and checked every corner. It was as if he had disappeared completely. I was frustrated and beyond tired. I lost my temper and struck one of the others. They spoke to me then, in fear of what I would do if the silence continued. They explained that he made them promise to never speak to me. He told them that he was leaving their world and I was to take his place. He was the creator and they could only obey his orders. They quietly agreed that I reminded them of him. They told me that I was very similar to the boy they remember in the past. He was young once too. He was a kindhearted person back then they mentioned as they shook their heads in unison. He didn't creep through the shadows talking to himself back in those days. No, he was much like me then. I couldn't take it any longer. The way they would look at me with such hope and admiration. They were only trying to distract me. Just like him! I told them that I would not stay in their world. I had a real life elsewhere that I had to be in. I had a daughter and a family that cared about me. They didn't care about these things. These once quiet and peaceful strangers became enraged and grew to become monstrous and frightening phantoms. They said I could never leave. I would never leave! It was his plan and nothing could stop it. I surprised every one there and myself. Instead of running or fighting them all, I simply slept. 

I slept for so long that he eventually came back to me. He was a changed man. He told me that he was sorry to have tricked me so deftly. He was selfish and naive. He didn't know then what he understood so clearly now; he needed me. He craved the long talks. He was literally dying without me. I felt so relieved to see him. I had slept for so long that my dreams became a reality that was hellishly repetitive. I agreed to his offer wholeheartedly: we simply had to see each other to survive. I would live in my world half the time and then in his world the other half. We would never discuss what happened while we were in each others realms. I was happy again. The others were not happy at all. They tried to plead with me though he would not hear of it. They retreated back to their homes and were silent once again...

This child would one day grow up to fear everything and everyone. Almost. He likes to think in extremes so don't get offended. So not everything and everyone but at least a lot of stuff. It's a problem no one could have foreseen. They assumed the best. How could they have not?

Senru How Dare You!

Sagawa

How could you praise this
Killer and cannibal star
Oh you Japanese


Keanu Part II

Oh you are gorgeous
and so well tanned, Paul Walker
your acting is shit


Oh so Valiant!

You came from Venus
met our President at once
and then disappeared


Oopsie!

Miss Laura Welch (Bush)
first killer then First Lady
stop signs don't apply

Haiku How Dare You

Shades of pale dead flesh
With blood encrusted jewels
Scare me to no end

Even in daylight
I think Those That Must Be Kept
Wake to my nightmares

Dogs can find their homes
From hundreds of miles away.
Werewolves don't need maps

the dog days of summer

Can you conjure up the image of a puppy being taken on a leashed walk for the first time in it's life? A design so foreign to a mind so free. The puppy roots itself into the sidewalk and doesn't budge. Even fifteen pounds of dead weight feels like a hundred when you are the opposing force.

This is my writing. Here is the leash. See it trailing along as I attempt to walk along? Well this puppy is thirty two years old now and he is fucking heavy. This sly dog even plays games with his master; pretending to walk along for a distance before breaking leash and disappearing for months on end. He comes back somber and skinny but leaves nothing to explanation as to where he was or how he feels.

I've never gotten very far with him on these walks except for the few times we were lost in the woods. Those times we were lost and desperate, he ran so far ahead of me that I could barely keep up. This old dog doesn't learn new tricks but he surely learns from his mistakes. These days we cant even get in sight of the woods before he breaks away from me, bites my hand or just plays dead.

If you have any tips on how to get the old stubborn mutt to take walks and eventually run free like he did when he was a pup, feel free to let me know. I am desperate.

this is a rant. or I am so stupid. or I hate everything.

It is very difficult to find a roommate that you get along with. It is even more difficult to find a roommate that you are friends with and can live with harmoniously without the friendship taking advantage of certain situations. Well she is an awesome roommate. The best ever. I couldn't ask for a better person to live with. Consider this the only positive flow of information to be in this particular blog. Consider that a warning.

Fucking neighbors. I am an extremely introverted person as it is and you are only pushing me to upgrading to sociopath status. I have found a growing interest in large quantities of lye, bulk orders of twenty by twenty sheets of waterproof plastics and how to start my very own pig farm. No joke. Simply writing these things online makes me feel uneasy as I truly contemplate their deaths. Those last couple words made me smile.

I feel that over the years my karma has balanced out well enough. I am a good person and feel that my bad times have been paid out in full by me at some point in the past. Obviously this is not true. It is a false statement. It is the exact opposite of truth. In my past lives I can only assume I was Stalin, Genghis Khan, Attila the Hun and the Spice Girls.

Where to start?

Myownbaby

Do I have a style? I have been told that my writing is very "unique" and isn't like other writers. That may possibly be the equivalent of saying a persons newborn baby is "breathtaking". I am glad that I can be somewhat identified as a writer. God knows my art/hand side lacks a name or distinguishable face. I can't honestly tell you what my 3 words would be. I have failed this assignment. My mission is to write without fear or blocks or pride. I don't need to create over the top scenes or white knuckle suspense if it is real to me. I want to grab the reader by the heart (...hand, or hair) and give them the same sense I have felt from reading books all my life. It is so much more than a movie! This is a very personal experience that can't be compared to watching a film and because of that I feel that my writing must reach a person on some sub level, some sort of subconsciousness, that can only be found by leaving my pride at the door. I have always considered my writing to be a part of therapy, for myself and anyone else that can see through the bullshit. Identifiable as a style? I have no clue.

excellent lesson in human behavior

Hello. It's me. It is Sunday, no, actually Monday morning now, and I can't sleep. I am afraid I have gone off the deep end this time. This time... Why does it always happen this way? It is a pattern; something that follows a series of events that always lead to the same place. Predictable. I am looping again again again again. Not sleeping. Living with complete guilt and self hatred for doing the things I didn't think I could live without doing. It's all so necessary for me to experience time and time again. Without the good there is no bad and vice versa. What a precarious balance I live in or die to live outside of. Contradictory you whisper? Yes of course. I've announced my faults. Faults to you, that is. I personally see it as natural human complexity. I'm no ant. You've heard it all before. Redundant much? Yes I am that too. I sometimes find myself saying the same thing three times in a row before I realize I am doing it. People don't seem to notice. They do actually notice but don't act like they do. Thanks for protecting me with dishonesty as I know you meant well. I need to be heard. No. I need to be understood. I need to be understood in the way I comprehend it. If the tone is wrong or I get the wrong reaction then it didnt happen like I wanted so, rinse repeat and refuckingcycle. Insight to a delusional mind. Thank you television of the eighties and nineties. You watched over me well as you could.

Remember when you would see (on a tv show) a person prepare themselves for company? Say the person is alone in their apartment washing dishes and talking themselves through a conversation they need to have later in the day. The door bell rings unexpectedly. The person bolts to the living room and turns on the radio, picking up a paintbrush and setting the scene for the guest. "Come in" Guest walks in never the wiser. "Oh Hi, I was just painting a little. How are you?" And so on and so on. Why the fuck do people do that? I used to do it all the time when I was younger. I can't say I do that now exactly, but it is all about intention and connection. It's all about facades and falsehoods. I did it so people would see the real me; or the intentional me. What a mind fuck.

I find it very important to be understood. I need a person to see the complete scene I have set up for them. It is crucial in my happiness regarding relationships... sometimes even random stranger conversation. When I see a person not 'getting me' enough times I back away. I don't enjoy explaining my words (however excited or empassioned I may act otherwise). I need to be understood for who I am and what my intentions are. Few get it. Few get me. As a disclaimer I will tell you I am okay with that. I do ask for a lot in my good friends. I ask for even more in my lovers. Everyone finds these needs of mine tiring. Everyone needs a break from me. Some times it's temporary and other times it is permanant. Cest La Vie and all that cliche nonsense.

I am trying something new this time. I am going to try and keep my friends without bribery or self destructive habits or negative compromise. I am going to try this new self-sustaining approach and see how many friends I really have when the chips settle. It will be an excellent lesson in human behavior and sociology, or futility. Either way, it won't cost me a liver or lung or paycheck or day in bed. I miss you. I miss being understood. I am going to try and sleep again.

I really thought diorama

this is as pure it comes, or goes depending on what viewpoint you have in this sordid business that is blogs. i hate that word. blog. it is so very unattractive to me. brain > fingers > keyboard > monitor > eyes > brain. i have no idea what i am wanting to say today and that excites me to no end. the fruit is rusting on the vine, the fruit is calling from the trees. i bought a pack of assorted rainbow fine point sharpies today and i cant help but keep them in roygbiv order. i tried in vain to toss them aside but i have returned them to the proper order 5 or 6 times now today. > my coworker knows something is up too but i am surely not talking. not yet. if you want to know just ask. don’t try your schoolyard psychology tactics with me buddy, it won’t work. at best i will take the time to make it even more intriguing and less understanding... if i have the time. at worst i will just ignore you and play the i-dont-speak-english-or-hear-well-or-see-well-game. < so i have all the rainbow and a white and a black paint market(-t+r) too, so where the fuck do they go? i placed black underneath the row of colors and the white on top. it seems to make sense but something about the little set up is wrong. i can feel it in me bones i tell ya. now please keep in mind, this is unfiltered me so step back from the lights please. there can be no judging here. the markers, yes! when i wrote "set up is all wrong" I really thought diorama, which is kind of misplaced with a set of sharpies right? a diorama is essentially a three-dimensional model usually enclosed in a glass showcase of some sort. so why do i place persona’s with my markers? little cute faces? i have 13 ghosts on my desk, all with different faces, all white, all dead. my markers want them so badly. and the red whispers "just a little blood, it will look great". but no, it wont really look that good on a white-sheeted ghost. ghosts don’t bleed. come on. black and white and white and black and that is it. but lo and behold i turn to my right and the little ghosts’ once empty eye socket is full of blood and a little drippy too. fucking red. fucking arrogant marker... sooo not using that one for a week at least. i’m keeping the ruined ghost too, cuz you cant just trash a spirit, but the marker is going to learn who’s boss. black over white and white under black. no. that is backwards. what is it about fridays that wind me up to spring? nothing ever actually happens. i wrote most of this like this:

third thought
first thought >then i took a deep breath and thought of someone pleasant.
second thought

reverberation of scattered memories

"Because memory and sensations are so uncertain, so biased, we always rely on a certain reality - call it an alternate reality - to prove the reality of events. To what extent facts we recognize as such really are as they seem, and to what extent these are facts merely because we label them as such, is an impossible distinction to draw. Therefore, in order to pin down reality as reality, we need another reality to relativize the first. Yet that other reality requires a third reality to serve as its grounding. An endless chain is created within our consciousness, and it is the very maintenance of this chain that produces the sensation that we are actually here, that we ourselves exist. But something can happen to sever that chain, and we are at a loss. What is real? Is reality on this side of the break in the chain? Or over there, on the other side? "

Excerpt from South of the Border, West of the Sun, Haruki Murakami

and this broken chain of mine swings haphazardly yet sometimes strongly enough to create a whiplash or snap effect at the end of the line. This action creates a violent reverberation of scattered memories and (alternate)realities to float off into the void most likely to never be relived again unless through some form of deja vu or subconsciousness. The void is the darkest recesses of my mind: the places where all the monsters thrive. Collectors of every single thing that floats into this realm. Dissemination of truths. Cultivation of fears. Laundering of reality chains. The place where my greatest ambitions and purest talents are bound beneath the floor, stilled and quiet for safe keeping. My reality is a broken chain. My reality is a broken chain. My reality is a broken chain. *snap*

societies consumption

Voice A: Stepping out.

Voice B: Again?

Voice A: Outside the myriad shapes of forms.

Voice B: Why must you be so cryptic? You're not a genius you know.

Voice A: Outside the formed opinions of those that must be kept.

Voice B: But you are an asshole.

Voice A: Aware.

Voice B: Well at least you can grasp that concept.

Voice A: Hardly.

Voice B: And the asshole moniker fits like a glove.

Voice A: It's hardly the point given the situation.

Voice B: What is the situation exactly?

Voice A: Do you disagree? Please, if you do, tell me your thoughts.

Voice B: My thoughts are that you should patiently wait for an answer before answering it your fucking self.

Voice A: Any other angle besides my extremely fixed one would be welcome with open arms.

Voice B: Given your childlike abandoment of having a normal converstation I think I am justified by asking what you what exact angle are you talking about?

Voice A: Armed with the knowledge of what can not be seen.

Voice B: The unseen? What kind response can I give? It is all subjective.

Voice A: By me.

Voice B: Most likely. Whats your objective?

Voice A: Or you?

Voice B: Well if it was my question, then yes, of course.

Voice A: Where was I actually headed as I stepped out outside the box?

Voice B: To a location unbeknownst to me. You love that whole inner-turmoil persona don't you?

Voice A: The box.

Voice B: never heard of the place.

Voice A: There are so many names associated with it and, for prosperities sake, I choose the box.

Voice B: So you still won't tell me where you are headed? Asshole.

Voice A: It portrays a certain hopefulness I require when venturing out and into the World Unknown.

Voice B: Are you going to buy some porn or something?

Voice A: The World Uncertain.

Voice B: Well it does come in a black bag but I am certain about that world. Pervert.

Voice A: I never was one for gambling.

Voice B: That's why we've never been to Vegas?

Voice A: I was headed towards a mass of shapes.

Voice B: Ha! She was that gross huh?

Voice A: Something my periphral vision deemed to be the correct path.

Voice B: I am not one to judge you. We've all broke our mirrors.

Voice A: The path of the righteous man is beset upon all sides with the tyranny of evil men.

Voice B: And ugly bitches.

Voice A: The evil man is your own ego.

Voice B: I am not the one finding a mass of shapes at the local spank emporium.

Voice A: The evil man has a heart and soul.

Voice B: I do when it comes to what you may or may not be bringing home.

Voice A: He had a mother.

Voice B: So you are bringing home a guy?

Voice A: He was a baby at one point in the past.

Voice B: You don't say? I assumed he was born old and worked his way young.

Voice A: You might have loved him.

Voice B: Maybe in my gay past life.

Voice A: He is not an insect in human form.

Voice B: Did I say anthing about gay bugs? Not once.

Voice A: This man is a living breathing human.

Voice B: A gay one maybe.

Voice A: He has been processed and bottled and labeled for societies consumption.

Voice B: Not my consumption. That's your disfunction junction.

Voice A: I guess his brand has expired.

Voice B: I am just going to agree with you. Will that make this easier?

Voice A: No person seems to enjoy his taste these days.

Voice B: That is so disgusting.

Voice A: We serve him to the Gods.

Voice B: He is a rainbow slurpee.

Voice A: They will drink anything.

Voice B: And by anything you mean sperm.

Voice A: And they have been drinking anything since the first knee fell into the earths rich soil.

Voice B: There was open homosexuality in the biblical days.

Voice A: This is the big trade off.

Voice B: One mans butthole is another mans vagina.

Voice A: Sacrifice is no longer required.

Voice B: No it's not required... as long as you don't live in the south.

Voice A: Our Gods are no longer hungry Gods and the celestial plate is full.

Voice B: Big Gay Gods. It all makes sense now!

Voice A: Amusing how the box loses all edges once a person is at an adequate distance.

Voice B: No matter how far from it I get, a box is always a box.

Voice A: The box is now a bubble; a soap bubble if you will.

Voice B: I won't.

Voice A: Full of color and shapes, ever-changing, always manipulating one color into another.

Voice B: So you are going interracial too? A real go-getter you are.

Voice A: It is a complicated yet inane process.

Voice B: Besides all my jokes, I really am interested in this process.

Voice A: It is the boxes technique for survival.

Voice B: Okay. Survival of the fittest?

Voice A: Who is to question that?

Voice B: I am. Specifically when faced with such an obscure question.

Voice A: I accept this truth for whatever it is and move on.

Voice B: Your Truth may be different than mine.

Voice A: My arms swinging in harmonic opposition of my legs.

Voice B: And your brain sits precariously neutral some place inbetween.

Voice A: What a well thought out process of give and take.

Voice B: I see an error in the system.

Voice A: Ebb and flow.

Voice B: Bull and shit.

Voice A: This and that.

Voice B: Completely and retarded.

Voice A: I let my machine wiggle me to the corner street beside the Church that Hitler built.

Voice B: Today I heard some one say that Hitler was a good man.

Voice A: Oppression saves lives.

Voice B: It didn't save his own.

Voice A: Control promotes well being.

Voice B: My being well denotes a certain lack of it.

Voice A: It is all perspective.

Voice B: It's definitely all in the way you look at it.





~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was an accidental experiment created to try and find a true source of original dialogue. Something purely ethereal and not premeditated. It's in the roughest form but I think I already like the basic formula. Scanner Darklys emphasis on the left and right hemisphere of the brain working seperate of each other is why (in complete and amused retrospect) I wrote this out the way I did. I started as I normally would start writing: no topics in mind. Nothing exiting ahead of the next letter being typed. Real Time Writing is what I call it, or RTW.

Voice A's portion of the dialogue was the first bit I wrote out entirely. I didnt know at the time that I would be including another voice to the recipe. When I ran out of Voice A monolouge I instantly started answering with Voice B, keeping a careful reminder not to read ahead of the present dialogue presented to that character. I didn't edit a single word either. I thought this was fairly important needing a constant as well as variable (no matter how one sided it still came across). For Voice B and myself it was the first time we had ever had this conversation. I know it comes across as strained and confusing mostly. I also had this feeling while talking with Voice A. I plan to perfect this exercise of mine and hopefully gain a better knowledge of where I am heading. Next time I might step it up and include actions with my dialogue.

If you have actually gotten this far then I must say Thanks for reading. It was hard enough for me to not quit half way through. Please don't hate me for the consistant inconsistancies but there is no filter in my head. I is me is Jbee. Now I feel bad about putting you through this. I am going to give you a little something I told myself I wouldn't. It might ruin it for you but hey, it's not like you will ever (ever ever) read this again. Love ya bitches.



Stepping out. Outside the myriad shapes of forms. Outside the formed opinions of those that must be kept. Aware. Hardly. It's hardly the point given the situation. Do you disagree? Please, if you do, tell me your thoughts. Any other angle besides my extremely fixed one would be welcome with open arms. Armed with the knowledge of what can not be seen. By me. Or you? Where was I actually headed as I stepped out outside the box? The box. There are so many names associated with it and, for prosperities sake, I choose the box. It portrays a certain hopefulness I require when venturing out and into the World Unknown. The World Uncertain. I never was one for gambling. I was headed towards a mass of shapes. Something my periphral vision deemed to be the correct path. The path of the righteous man is beset upon all sides with the tyranny of evil men. The evil man is your own ego. The evil man has a heart and soul. He had a mother. He was a baby at one point in the past. You might have loved him. He is not an insect in human form. This man is a living breathing human. He has been processed and bottled and labeled for societies consumption. I guess his brand has expired. No person seems to enjoy his taste these days. We serve him to the Gods. They will drink anything. And they have been drinking anything since the first knee fell into the earths rich soil. This is the big trade off. Sacrifice is no longer required. Our Gods are no longer hungry Gods and the celestial plate is full. Amusing how the box loses all edges once a person is at an adequate distance. The box is now a bubble; a soap bubble if you will. Full of color and shapes, ever-changing, always manipulating one color into another. It is a complicated yet inane process. It is the boxes technique for survival. Who is to question that? I accept this truth for whatever it is and move on. My arms swinging in harmonic opposition of my legs. What a well thought out process of give and take. Ebb and flow. This and that. I let my machine wiggle me to the corner street beside the Church that Hitler built. Oppression saves lives. Control promotes well being. It is all perspective.

Rest of My Life

A luscious smile accompanies intelligent and magnificent eyes. When I say she has a perfect smile, I really mean her smile is perfect for me. This smile urges me to touch her lips and listen to her mouth, tongue and teeth form seamless words that I will listen to for the Rest of My Life. I want to be swallowed whole by this feeling. I am enraptured and on the edge of running away. I watch her talk to someone from a distance. She has absolutely no clue that she is the Most Beautiful Woman in the World. She listens when I speak. She is interested. She comes and goes when she pleases and, for me, it is like waiting for the wind to return to my sails. We barely know each other but all I want to do is talk to her until the sun sets and rises and sets and rises again. I am never going to forget this moment, though I may forget every other surrounding detail with time. She has infected me with conscious understanding of what I truly want in life. This knowledge is as priceless as she is to me.

Forever Changed

No more dreams.

The river only flows when stress of dam is near breaking. Confucious say...

Not really. Dont quote me on that one please.

The river I am referring to is my creative thought process. Without extreme stress happening in my life, I dont find the desire to draw, write or create. The stories and images are in my head still but they are on pause indefinitely. I dont know how to tap into my creative side without high stress levels at times like these and it makes me very frustrated. I find myself sitting on my couch wishing for a flood. Hoping for something to turn it all on again. It doesnt work that way though. This paradox is maddening. I dont want a stressful life but I dont want to lose my creativeness either. What to do?


P.S. I miss Sesse.

being on the drip

just cause you mean it just cause you feel it

does not mean its true doesnt mean its there

my heartstrings trip over a stunning and crafty rock resulting in a dozen stitches or so. i don't mind the temporary pains. you have to feel life to truly live it right? well, i'm living it alright. alone never felt like this before. it was actually something i could enjoy in the past. now, being alone can only remind me of where i would like to be and who i would like to be with. tripping over that rock has blossomed a blistering fever inside of me that only more crashings can cure. just a light taste of the Good Stuff and i am left in such a state of crap. i tell people i am ok with being alone and i believe the lie when i am saying it to them. why can't i believe it now? i've dealth with time all my life so please don't even think of saying time is the best medicine. fuck you. sorry. time is my methadone and i am done being on the drip; it only makes me want to get back to morphine that much sooner. if you have already thought of time being the best medicine, then i forgive you. its natural to speak comforting words that have no meaning behind them when you have nothing else to say. you know, i am such a fatalistic bastard too (thanks Em, my self realization classes only took ten years to pass). i see something i want and expect to get it within a reasonable time. time again. my reasonable time is rightfuckingnow. i'm not really that impatient but i can be quiet contradicting. call me what you like just don't leave me alone right now. where are my post-its? do you know how good i was doing in my post-it period? really fucking good. i was working, surviving severe heartache, taking care of Bella, and writing instead of sleeping. i was alone then, literally then, figuratively now. life was ok. i was healing at a normal speed. post-its are another vessel of mine obviously. i'm writing now with no real success, the words don't help anyone else. not dealing with reality is a hobby. writing is just another drug of escape. i need more than a minor occurence this time. i need a rock to trip over and never rise from again. the romance has died. it is too short-lived to even want to write about any longer. i cast it aside but will return as I always do. what would i do with it? i am an addict.

what makes you ok with being alone?
what makes having good friends enough?
how do you do it by yourself so well; is it real?
you make me sick.

feelings of sadness

Last night I dreamt that I died. I didn't go to heaven or hell. I dreamt that I was a spirit here on earth and, with great effort, I could communicate with people. It was very frustrating and tiring to get a persons attention too. I would connect with a person mentally easier than I could physically. I tried to speak with my family and friends but they only got spooked out mostly. I spoke with my cousin and he was receptive but eventually became impatient and turned me off. I can't really give the feeling of my being dead justice in words. It was lonely and completely amazing. The world was covered in what looked like glowing Downy fabric softener but where I would focus my eye, the blue haze would clear and my sight was microscopically detailed. My interest also changed the detail of an object. If I concentrated on something very intently it would show me its life force or aura. Other things or living beings would not focus no matter how hard I studied them. There was a constant desperate feeling creeping into my mind reminding me of my time being already spent on earth and reminding me that I was not supposed to be here. I was sad for the people living around me, not knowing what happened to me or where I went. I was sad for my daughter who lost a father. My feelings of sadness eventually overtook my subconscious and woke me from my dream. I did return to sleep and continue my death dream but it was only a sped up version of the first one, more panicked and frustrated.

time to say goodbye

arcade fire and

doused desires

impressions of earth

(s) countdown rebirth

power in numbers

but not number One

killing off millions

denying the fun


If you had the chance to make it all right

would you take it?

I know that I would,

but haven't.

If you were that face on the big screen

would you fake it?

I know that I could,

but didn't.


If time was cut short for you today

would you smile and just drift away?

Maybe you'd laugh,

or possibly cry?

Would you take the time to say goodbye?

cause I know that I would,

but hey,

please don't test me okay?

my extended fingers - 5th dream

The brakes to this bike seem to be tied to the steering column. We slow down to turn left onto a unmaintentanced dirt road lined thickly with mangrove trees. Sesses shoulders drop and inch or two with the reduction in speed. The bike lowers again and the wheels extend to their full width. We are going about twenty five miles an hour. Sesse looks back for the second time on our ride. "Unless you have thighs of steel, you might want to buckle up real soon." I feel for a safety belt but can't find one. A raised rough surface is found on the left sides of my seat. I press this area with my extended fingers and the textured panel slides back to reveal the seat belt. Another identical belt rises from underneath my crotch and I am reminded of Conan O’Brien’s Cobra skit: When you think you're grabbing your sssseatbelt on the futurissstic motorcccycle you will really be grabbing MEEEEEEEEE! I can't help but chuckle. I pull the first belt over my waist, plugging into a smooth hole on the other side. The cobra belt connects with some sort of magnetism to the center of the waist belt. I am strapped in now and in no way ready for the road ahead of us. I am not surprised that she doesn't put a belt on herself. We resume our normal speeds and catch a rise every three to four seconds lifting the bike through the air like a flying fish. Sesse drives with amazing skill and grace. The high speeds no longer frighten me but the soaring several feet through the air has my stomach in sailors’ knots. I close my eyes and the sensation of height increases so I open them right away. The rush of the wind is loud in my ears but I can faintly hear the sound of Sesses laughter whizzing by my head. She loves every second of this ride. The mangrove trees are so dense that I can't see anything else past them. A few of the times we lifted at least twelve feet in the air allowing my eyes to search the horizon. I saw nothing but the evening sky and mangrove trees. Sesse eventually slows the bike and brings the wheels together completely. We turn onto a narrow, hard-packed paved dirt road that is as straight as an arrow. Sesse's body now lies on top of the bike as she lays down the throttle as far as it will go. I grab her waist and lean behind her small frame as best as possible. Our speed is ridiculous. I could say we were going over two hundred miles an hour but I don't really know. The machines engine has to be laid out to maximum performance though the bumblebee purring sound doesn't increase. Sesses right thumb flips open a red plastic square below her gearshift and the bike lurches forward to even greater speeds. The engines labor is louder now. This must be an overdrive or nitrous gas propelling us to such a limitless velocity. We stay at this breakneck speed for a minute or so before slowly returning to what I thought was the bikes redline. Sesse reduces the speed in quarters and I see a large beach house growing in front of us. She parks the bike underneath the house between two support stilts. The belts release automatically when she touches her gloved index fingers to each palm. I crawl off and slide onto the sandy ground. Sesse only looks down at me. "You know you loved that shit!"
"It was my first time. Give me a couple tries to get used to going two hundred miles an hour and we will talk."
"Our average speed was around two hundred. On the long stretch we hit four eighteen! Even with your kadunkadunk on board that was a record for me." She smiles that huge toothy smile.
"Oh, only four hundred huh?" I exhale. "Next time you should shoot for five."
"I like the way you think JBee. If I can manage living without my bike for a week more, I just might upgrade."
"I was joking. I think you are absolutely nuts driving that fast!"
"You wanted it, I got it."
"Shut up,” I tell her as she walks towards a staircase that slowly descends from the center of the beach house floor.
Entering the house from the floor feels like being beamed up inside the mother ship. The interior design is of this world amazing. The decor is not fashioned with Pier One pelicans and starboard side chandeliers. Very clean lines, strong colors and gorgeous, soft light define the house. Darker hues share space with tones of white and black harmoniously. Expensive yet discreet electronics are tucked in every nook and cranny but do not make the place look like a Radioshack sales floor. Exotic plants are flourishing throughout the main living room area. The actual shape of the house is of a tiered octagon. A first look brings thoughts of a huge sleeping Shoji birthday cake come to life. Each floor of the house is covered by an overhanging circular roof and is smaller than the one below. Also, each floor is more naturally illuminated than the one below it. The center square of the structure is completely open throughout the bottom two levels. The top floor is made of Plexiglas glass providing sunlight to shine down through the large windows that line the walls of the observatory room above. Looking up to the top I feel as if I am on a rainforest floor seeing the sun trying to penetrate through the dense plant life. I love this house.
"Make yourself at home. The TV remote is inside that tiger striped rock beside you. If you are hungry, the kitchen is behind the green door." Sesse steps around an open red door.
"I don't watch much TV." I direct my voice towards the room she disappeared into.
"What?" A muffled voice asks.
"Never mind!" I half-heartedly reply. 
"Sometimes on the weekends, sure why not. It just depends on how drunk I am." Sesse yells from the room. 
I hear her turning on the shower. Laughing at her comment, I walk through the green doorway. The kitchen is mostly covered in brushed stainless steel and copper. Black slate snakes through these metals cutting a dark path through the floors, appliances and counters. The exterior glass wall gives view to the oceanside scenery. I open the refrigerator and find a bottle of something dark. It looks like beer so I twist it open. The flavor of this drink is a mixture of Red Stripe, Newcastle, and something like a mandarin orange. I drink the entire bottle while standing inside the open door. Once finished, I grab another beer, close the door and set the empty bottle on top of the counter next to the steel sink. There are no decorations in the kitchen other than the design itself. After walking around touching the different surfaces I return to the livelier center room. I don't hear the water running anymore.
"Hey, I grabbed a beer, or two” I announce. "Sesse?" No response. I walk to the sectional couch in the center of the room. I finish my second beer while trying out the massage features of the recliner section. Awesome fucking chair man. I lay back, enjoying the vibrating massage, and let my eyelids fall.

I am walking through the ghetto mall by my house in Texas. This isn't the mall I prefer to go to but I end up going to most of the time because of location. Location plus the Greek Goddess that is working at the ice cream stand 90 percent of the time helps my choice in malls. If it is not the Greek Goddess working then it will be the cute freckle-faced red-headed depression-era chick. These women are the only reason I buy four dollar ice cream cones every time I go to the ghetto mall. Whoever owns that shop really knows what they are doing too as I doubt I am the only single guy stunned into a creamy purchase. I walk the same path: through the food court past the ice cream stand to the game store, down the stairs to the game store directly below, right over to the surf shop then back up the escalator to pass by the ice cream stand as I make my way to the alternative clothing/music shop towards the other end of the mall. From there, depending on if I have money in my pocket, I pass the ice cream stand once more as I make my way to the larger department store to check for sales. The ice cream stand happens to be right in the middle of the main walkway- I am not stalking. I told you. The owner knew what he was doing. I don't find any money in my pocket. I guess I will leave. Window shopping holds my interest for about three seconds: just long enough to be pissed that I can't afford the item I am looking at. I head back past the ice cream stand and almost stop to talk to Greek Goddess but don't. She is too beautiful to talk to and I am left a stammering mess. Next time Ice Cream Goddess! You, me, a few cones and some strawberry ice cream. See ya round. I walk by the alternatrendy store and take a left towards the exit doors. As always, I admire the jewelry on the left, and then silently judge the haircuts on the right. Last but never least, I wonder why they took out the pet store and replaced it with a tuxedo rental shop that never has any customers. I walk through the double doors and find that the outside parking lot is gone. Burned cars and bodies litter the place where the parking lot used to be. I walk quickly back towards the mall doors. They won’t open. My shoes are full of sand. The ice cream girl stands on the other side of the doors naked and beckoning me towards her ice cream covered body. I look up at the sky and see a dark cloud swirling above me. A booming voice fills the sky "Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey."
"Wake up." Sesse says to me as I open my eyes. "You realize that you drank a twenty percent by volume beer? No, you drank two of them." She offers me a large glass of water. I groggily wave it away. "They weren't ready for taste testing just yet." Sesse drinks the water in a matter of two seconds. "You were out for two hours. I was about to pour this water on your head."
"Thanks for not pouring it on my head. My dream was already going south."
"What was your dream about? Was it about me? People are always telling me that after meeting me the have the craziest dreams about me."
"Ditto. No, it wasn't about you Miss Thang. It was nothing. Just walking through the mall by my house."
"OK fine. I won't act jealous after being left out of your sex dream. Just don't forget about me." Before I can deny her accusations she flicks the support pole of my pitched tent. I don't feel like explaining my dream to her. My head is still a little foggy.
"The beer was really, really good Sesse. I think you could sell that stuff easy. Do you make a lot of kick-your-ass alcoholic beverages? Is it a hobby or something?"
"I do a little of everything."
"Well, I am impressed."
"Thanks Buzz Lightweight." She hands me some of the birthday cake bread we bought earlier this afternoon and I scarf it down. I feel better with every bite.
"Hey, I just remembered something I wanted to ask you."
"Shoot” She says. I'm still lying back in the lazy boy with my eyes closed.
"Why didn't I understand anyone when I first got here? What was up with the sand?"
"I can assume the sand was brought from your world. It was something that was not supposed to travel with you, unlike the shell and rope. Those two items are keeping you tied to the memory of the world you left. Without them you might be stuck here forever. The sand was acting like static between worlds, keeping you from being here completely. When I first saw you I thought I was only daydreaming. You were as transparent as a ghost."
"So if I lose the rope or shell?"
"I don't know JBee. I am trying to understand why you have two signets in the first place. Most people only bring one. Does the shell or rope mean anything at all to you?"
"Not that I can remember."
"That’s Okay. As long as you keep them, we will figure it all out in due time. You can leave the shell here if you like for safe keeping. I don't want it getting broken. Let me tie the rope around your wrist." She double knots the rope around my right wrist. "I think having one in your possession is good enough."
"Where is your signet Sesse?"
"I am in my world. I don’t actually have one unless I leave it. What you saw everyone wearing at the celebration was a representation of our individual signets."
"So you carry around a pair of eyeballs when you visit other worlds?" I ask, half laughing.
"I haven't been to other worlds yet so I really can't answer that question. My dreams tell me that eyes are my signet. I could be wrong."
"Are you sure you haven't ever been away? Maybe you though it was a dream? I did at first."
"I don't know Mr. Questions. I don't know." Sesse grabs a white jacket lined with wool and fur inside the hood from a closet nearby. The jacket looks thin but warm. She tosses me a larger black coat that reminds me of something L.L. Bean might catalog in The Matrix.
"So I guess we are going somewhere cold?"
"You guessed right my friend. Your prize for giving the right answer is the luxurious opportunity to carry my jacket and this lllllovely box! I hope it is everything you wished it to be." She spanks me on the rear after emptying her hands. "Let’s go."
We make our way down the stairs and back out to the sandy carport. There is a black jaguar parked to the left of us. The bike is now covered in a metallic tarp. It sits in the corner underneath where the kitchen would be.
"Bike or Jag?" I ask. Sesse smiles and purrs in my ear. "Jaguar it is then."
The doors pop open and smoothly rise as we approach the car. Lamborghini doors and everything. This is my dream car. Will I ever get used to this? I sit down into the passenger seat and adjust the seat levers. I don't think it has ever been sat in before now. Everything is in perfect showroom condition.
"Where did you get this car Sesse?"
"It was a gift."
"Helluva gift."
"I agree. Buckle up."
The doors lower and lock on their own. The nearly opaque tint of the windshield lightens to the view of the dunes in front of the house and she throws it in reverse. The Jaguar hits the driveway at a forty degree angle and Sesse corrects the steering as easily as an old Indy driver. We are going pretty fast but nothing out of this world. Ninety six, ninety seven, ninety eight. After going four hundred this feels like a crawling pace. Sesse presses a blue light on the steering wheel and music begins playing from all directions. It sounds like the equivalent of a two hundred thousand dollar system in my world. I assume the usual position in the passenger seat: laid back and staring out my side window.

Im still writing my ass off, dont worry. I write at home, then transfer the floppy to the public library where I connect to the internet. The computers here now want to format my precious disc and wont read the files. Damn it. One day this will be remedied. Until then, dream on.

the oh-shit-bars - 4th dream

After eating a few more pieces of quasi-fruit and a thick slice of birthdaycake bread, Sesse finds some bottled water and we stroll towards the top of the hill. Along our walk Sesse constantly stops to chat with a shop owner or friend. It seems that she is friends with almost everyone in this town. She doesn't introduce me to anyone we encounter and it doesn't bother me. I don't really want to meet anyone else here now that I have found her. I don't mind waiting for her many interactions either. I love to watch her talk, hug and innocently flirt with men and women who can't take their eyes off of her.
"What do you do for a living Sesse?" I ask in between a friendly greeting.
"What do I do for a living?" She ponders this question. "I live!"
"No. What is your job? How do you make money?"
"Oh. That. I don't 'work'. No one here works for money because it doesn't exist here. There is a sort of credit system but no real monetary value associated with it."
"So how do the shop owners make an earning?"
"They don't earn anything but a sense of accomplishment at the end of a hard day. They work in the shops because that is what they are supposed to do. Most of them are ok with their station in life. There are a few that hate the fact they will be working in the shops for the rest of their days. It is a good thing they don't know you are the one responsible for putting them there huh?" She looks over at a young punk clothing store worker who is flipping the open sign around to close. He smiles and waves at her through the glass. Sesse smiles back and flips him the bird. The store owner only shakes his head and watches her walk up the hill.
"And you don't work at all?"
"Would you want to work if you had the choice?"
"No I wouldn’t."
"Thanks again JBee. I enjoy doing whatever I like whenever I like. Thanks to you, I don't have to work. I travel all the time, go on crazy adventures, meet amazing people and live every day to its fullest."
"That sounds like what I would love to do alright." 

I notice an alabaster building on our left and I'm instantly drawn to it. Elaborately carved dragons and flowers cover the white walls. There are places where spray paint has been covered by another white primer coat, almost obscuring the bright acrylic beneath. We walk inside of the small church-like building and it smells of magnolias and honeysuckles. The walls are a very dark lacquered wood. There is no furniture other than one squatty black table in the back of the room. On top of the table, flowers and red candles surround a large glass sculpture of a dragon. The dragon looks like the one we saw last night. On top of the dragon sits a smaller figure. I look closely and notice the carving is very detailed. It looks like a little toy me.

"What is this place?" I say while inspecting the craftsmanship of the glass.
"This is a shrine to the Seasons Dragon whose name is Booudelwan. There are many followers of Boo, but you will find many other religions here too."
"I despise religion! Why would I be involved in anything religious? This is total bullshit."
"Obviously you don't despise religion as much as you think you do. At least people aren't spilling the blood of each others babies over it. There is a difference in opinion and belief but nothing gets out of hand."
"I want to get out of here. Do you mind?" She walks towards the entrance. I find myself alone in the shrine. Sesse is already in the street talking to another friend. I rejoin her and we continue our path, finally reaching the top of the hill. The suns reflection is now setting the lake on fire behind me. 
Over the hill I see a huge circle of barren land charred by fire and mass destruction outline by a narrow road. The bottom half of a fire scarred dragon body lies curled around a tree stump. The top half is no where to be seen. It looks like a bomb was dropped here less than a few moments ago. I choke on a wind of sulphur and ash. Sesse looks at this scene without any expression at all.
"This is where the next season is decided. The four representing dragons meet here during our Celebration of the Seasons festival. The next year’s season will depend on the victor of this bloody fight. Sometimes we have three summers in a row or falling leaves for five years straight."
"I guess this was the end of another fall?" I think of the white leaves that carpeted the ground around the lake. "Who won this year? What is the new season going to be?"
"We won't know until the victor presents itself. That should happen within the week or so. Don't worry, if you are still here, you will not miss it. I promise that. I didn't bring you up here to talk about the new seasons coming however. I wanted to take you to see some one that might be able to help you get home."
"OK, take me away." I don't see where we could possibly go from here other than around this giant arena and that could take hours to walk around. I look to Sesse for answers. Her back is turned to me but I see all I need to know. Her right hand is set on her hip while her left hand is held up to her ear. I step closer so I can hear her conversation.
"No, I am not willing to take a cab." Sesse turns to me and mouths "I hate cabs!" I start to say I wouldn't mind but she redirects her attention to the person on the other end of the phone. "Bring it to me now or I am going to change shops open of business tomorrow morning. No Bullshit." Pause in conversation. She is tapping her foot and pacing back and forth in a small oval in the dusty road. "It doesn't matter that you are willing to pay for it. No. There is nothing that will change my mind. I am at the Four Seasons right now. I am waiting Forsette."
When Sesse closes the clamshell phone she is holding, the device continues to fold itself in half until it is no more than an inch squared. It looks like a jewel that fell out of an expensive necklace sitting there in the palm of her hand. She places the phone on her wrist and two silver strings pop out of both sides, reconnecting on the other side, creating a bracelet. I am impressed. I wonder if my mind has created this technology or if this is one of the few things I didn't have a hand in. I decide not to ask her right now since she seems to be pissed off at the person on the other end of that call.
A few minutes pass while Sesse continues to stalk back and forth. Two slim vehicles approach from the right side of the road. They look very much like motorcycles but have four wheels instead of two. The tires are paired side by side, two smaller in the front and two larger wheels in the back. The back wheel base is a bit higher than the seat while the front is a bit lower, giving the bike a "jacked up" look. The body itself it actually level though. When the drivers slow to stop the machine the paired wheels extend from each other to about a distance of 6 feet and the body drops down another foot. Now it resembles an ATV. Whatever this thing is, it looks sexy, fast and fun as hell. With one motion the driver swings his right leg behind the seat and is standing beside the bike holding a pair of gloves out for Sesse to take. She picks the gloves from his open hand one at a time, being very meticulous with their fitting. Once the driver is left empty handed he smiles at her and says something in a language I don't recognize or understand. He climbs onto the rear of the second bike and taps the shoulder of the driver. Soon they are swallowed by smoke and haze on the distant road. Sesse opens and closes her hands back and forth then interlaces her finger trying to get the very best fit her gloves will allow. She seems content with them after several practiced 'fitting exercises' and tells me to "Hop On."
I straddle the bike and realize that the backseat is very comfortable. It looked like it was nonexistent before I jumped on but now it is cradling my pelvis perfectly. My legs rest comfortably around the driver’s seat. Sesse watches me adjust myself on the bike and when I look satisfied she places her left foot on the front foot peg and swings her right leg over my head slowly until it rest on the opposing front peg. The whole thing reminds me of a graceful kata I had seen someone perform in a martial art class years before. She places her hands on the steering column which is the shape of an oversized doggie biscuit and the vehicle comes to life. Its engine makes purring sounds that are distinctly low and high at the same time. The overall sound coming from the bike is very quiet; you could talk at a normal level and be clearly heard. She shifts into first with her right thumb much like a 10 speed bicycle. The throttle and clutch are at her feet but I can't see brakes anywhere. Without climbing half way out of the seat I can't see past her ass or flowing hair to check out the instrument panel. I feel the bike rising as the wheels come back together with more speed. The wheels do not contact but come about a foot apart before stopping, giving the rider more stability. I am glad she is taking precautions at least. She extends her neck backwards until she is looking at my upside down face and asks me "Are you read to die?" I bite my bottom lip.
We are literally blurring down the road. I try to look at the scenery but only get the sensation that I am slowly but surely slipping off the bike. I have a feeling that if I grab her waist out of fear the ride will quickly become much scarier so instead I cling tightly to the oh-shit-bars located on both sides of my ass. I end up admiring Sesses backside for most of the white-knuckle ride. We arrive at an intersection and she downshifts while leaning the bike to the right, turning out on to a four lane highway. There are no other vehicles to be seen on the road. I look at the sky above while we are still going at a slower speed and see highways in the sky. The roads are lined with spaced apart white lights that seem to float in the air. At intersections there are red lights and what looks to be off and on ramps the lights are yellow and green. I can't see a pattern to the blue ones. There are a few flying vessels speeding across the sky but not one of them looks like an aircraft I am used to seeing. We are swiftly reaching top speeds again so I resume a close inspection of Sesses exposed panty line, defined lower back muscles and tattoos. Her tattoos are a thousand times better than I imagined mine being but still hold the same blueprint I created. I check out her other tattoos and wonder if I would have thought of them in the future. They fit her feminine shape nicely, not making her look butch or too inked up.

4/17/2007

the beginning

i am writing these stories, you are reading, mostly at night. i don't edit or look for plot holes or

inconsistancies and should be considered the roughest

draft you will get. the words flows from me as naturally as when I am dreaming. i can't explain it yet but i hope you all enjoy.

this is the beginning of something amazing for me.

Celebration of the Seasons - 3rd dream

I find myself thrust out of a dark doorway and into an even darker alley. I can see light around the corner so I follow it. The city in front of me quickly replaces my uneasiness with feelings of curiousity and mischief. Every time I go out for a night on the town I have this powerful sense of being bad, or wanting to be bad. Though I have this desire I don't end up doing anything notable most of the time I am out. I feel ready to play and pounce on any fun opportunity I find in this unfamiliar city. The streets are masterfully designed cobblestone and I think of historic St. Augustines Old Candy Shoppe. There are no neon lights to be seen but the street is lit well. Varieties of colored lanterns and phospherous fueled lamps add life to the sceneries otherwise dull hues. I can't fix a specific locale to this place I have stumbled into but I know I have seen it all before. The people that fill this quarter mile stretch of nightlife all wear masks. Some of these masks are small accessories to an elaborate ensemble while other masks are huge grotesque entities that mute everything else about the person wearing it. They are made of any number of materials, including precious stones and even human skin. The people aren't interested in chatting with a stranger such as myself. I wouldn't say they are rude so as much as preoccupied. I don't mind. I am enjoying taking it all in while I walk. Having to talk to someone would only force me to be distracted from whatever it is that I am looking for. I am looking for something, this is certain, and I have no clue as to what it could be. I keep on not minding. The shops and store windows are too dark to see into but a sliver of light or reflecting adornment tells me that there must be people inside as well as out here where I am. Is this night a celebration or just one of many other social nights? There is the always the masquerade theme to consider.

I quickly manuever around a gang of children whose whirlwind of conversation and games led them into my direct path and this is when I first notice something strange. I can't understand what the children are saying. It sounds like something I could comprehend but I cant make out a single word. I couldnt say if it was English, Spanish, Japanese or Pig Latin. I just don't know. I stop and take in my surrounding on a more suspect level, now looking for other things to not make sense. Nothing stands out. Everything looks, smells and sounds wonderful. Everything except those kids. I decide to turn back and follow the children hoping to find that I was wrong about their voices. The kids are already half way up the next block and turning into an alley. I won't chase them. I turn again and continue on my original path down the steadily downhill sloping street. I walk by a couple kissing at a table and ask for directions to the nearest ATM. The couple says nothing to me, only glancing in my direction before continuing to suck and kiss on each others faces, so I sit down at the table one down from them and look off in the opposite direction. I am hoping that I will catch a word in between kisses and coos. A few silent minutes pass and I decide to give these lovers more privacy. Looking to my right I see a large group of people making ridiculous gestures. They look friendly enough so I walk in their direction which is about a block away from this lovers patio. Arriving directly in front of the rowdy crowd I am left with a sense of dread. The voices are all mixed together sounding like a river of music formed by a thousand different languages. A short dark skinned girl trips on her own dancing feet and stumbles in to my arms. She lightly springs back and smiles, her lips releasing that flow of delicious gibberish, her eyes connecting with a primal urge to "get down with the get down". Her mask, which is a beautiful replica of her own eyes, covers her freckled cheeks and nose only. I recover from my shock and tell her I can't understand what she is saying. She laughs and points to her mask. I shrug my shoulders. I don't know what I am doing without a mask. She turns back to her friends and says something that looks like a farewell and then returns to me. She takes my hand, turns it palm up and kisses the center. This sends tingles up my arm until reaching my heart where it then dissapates slowly throughout my being. I see her hand raising and so I do the same to her. This must be some sort of greeting. When I kiss her palm my lips go numb and she seems to be embarrassed by my actions. I try my best to seem sure of myself. As soon as I think this uncomfortable situation will last forever it ends. She takes my hand again and starts walking back up the hill. I look down to see she is wearing a sheer material that I can see right through. There is meticulous metallic scrollwork sewn throughout this garment, but it does not try to hide her more delicate features. I try to block her swaying hips out of my mind. She leads me to a large gate made of a dark red wood. The double doors are open to the inside wall and are tied back with vines. We walk through the gate and enter a small open air antiroom. In the back corner there is one table and one chair. I see no doors connected to the wall behind us. She directs me to sit in the chair so I do. She effortlessly jumps onto the table and crosses her legs in one fluid movement. I can only stare into her brown eyes which are now level with my own. The girl asks me a question. I shake my head. She cocks her head to the side and stares at me intently. She then lightly grazes over my hairline, my shoulder, my chest, my arms with her hands. I continue staring into her eyes as this examination proceeds. She gestures for me to stand up so I do. She rummages through my pockets in an almost too playful way pulling out a pink seashell from my left pocket and a short piece of yellow rope from my right. She rises to look directly into my eyes again and repeats the question I didn't understand a moment ago. I shake my head no and her face wrinkles into disappointment. She jumps off the table and gestures for me to remove my shoes so I do. I untie my Adias and place them on the table. The girl picks them up and turns them over simultaneously. White sand pours out from them and on to the ground. "Can you hear me now?" She says in a voice that is deep, sexy and raw. I stand there staring at her unable to respond. At this point she begins to unbuckle my pants and remove my shirt all at the same time and with a great determination.

I yell "Hey what are you doing now?" and she the stops unbuttoning abruptly.

"Why didn't you say something when you could understand me?"

"I don't know why. I was in shock. I am sorry. My name is JBee and I don't know how I got here. I don't know why I don't have a mask or why everyone else does have a mask. I don't know why I have a rope, shell or sand in my shoes either. I need a drink and then I need to go home. Again, I am sorry."

"So, you are sorry and you need to go home. I say you are confused and have no need to apologize. Maybe I should apologize." She looks to the ground in between our feet. "This is all kinda my fault since I brought you here. It is something I will explain to you in as much detail as I can, but not right now. You have to have your signet on to be here so that is most important."

She looks at me and then looks into her hands at the shell and rope. She places the rope on the table behind her and squeezes the shell inside her closed palms. When her hands open again, there are two identical shells in both hands. The rope is traced along the shells exterior and then placed into my own hands. The shells are now connected by yellow rope. It reminds me of a makeshift mermaid bra. "I don't have to wear this like a bra do I?" "No retard" she says with a half smile. " Place the shells where they belong, you know where that is. Do it now." I take both shells and place one on both sides of my face. The rope is connected loosly underneath my chin. Without support of any kind, the "signet" stays on my face when I lower my hands. She approves. Her smile is so big that I can see she has a beautiful set of sparkling white teeth. "What is your name?" I ask her. "My friends call me Artisesse. My lovers call me repeatedly." I laugh. "You can call me Sesse." It sounds like she is saying Say Say. I put my shoes back on and tie them up. She kisses my palm again, takes my hand and leads me back out to the street. "Where are we going now?" I ask. Sesse points towards the sky beyond the bottom of the hill to a lake nestled around thousands of Magnolia trees decorated with red lanterns. The shiny leaves of the tree make the red glow look even brighter. Blooming white flowers cover the ground around the trunks of these ancient guardians. I soak all of this is in and look back at her. She copies the rest of the people lined along the road by sitting down right where we are on the cobblestone. I do the same. No one is speaking any longer. The children I ran into earlier are sitting quietly a dozen feet downhill from us, transfixed by the sky and lake beyond. I patiently watch nothing happen. I notice that fireflies are blinking above the water. There must be thousands of them too to make it glow like it does. The water starts to ripple along the edges and turn counter clockwise like it is emptying into an unseen drain below. The funnel creates a hole in the center of the lake. All of the fireflies are quickly sucked into it. Out of the swirling hole a white dragon leaps into the air, its body long, thin and irridecent. Its eyes glow a gold color that match its long flowing hair and horns. Its mouth is open roaring the same language I heard before I found my signet. The dragon figure-eights above the water and circles into a blurring frenzy. I realize I am squeezing Sesse's hand a little too hard but she doesn't seem to notice. The dragon rises higher into the sky and through the clouds. I can only hear its roar spreading across the sky. Sesse squeezes my hand so tightly that I think I might say something to her. I don't have a chance though. The clouds mirror the water below and the dragon submerges from the sky and is now as black as onyx. Its eyes, hair and horns are still golden. The dragon begins racing up the hill along the street we are sitting on. It is not more than six feet from the ground. Sesse pulls me up and places my left hand in air. She places her right hand in the air next to mine, only a bit lower due to our height differences. The dragon flies above us in a rush of heat and an overpowering smell of magnolia flowers. My hand slides along the slippery black scales that feel cool to the touch. Once the dragon passes, I turn my head to follow its path and it has reached the top, disappearing over the edge of the massive hill. The street is covered in red: the people, the buildings, the trees, everything. I look down to Sesse who is covered in what looks like blood and she says "That was your very first Celebration of the Seasons. I hope you enjoyed it. Please keep your seats in upright position and your lap belts secure until all safety lights have been turned off."

"What the fuck was that Sesse?" I ask in wild bewilderment. "Celebration of the Seasons, your first, my twenty ninth, the only one until next year this time. Will you be my date next year too handsome?" She bats her eyelashes at me dramatically. I slide my hand behind her back and lift her in the air hugging her tightly. I am as scared as I am overjoyed and I think this blood is having an effect on me too. I feel as if I am rolling on a really good ecstacy pill. Sound is tangible, touch is electric. I am full of emotion and love for this place, for this girl, for the dragon. I start to kiss her. She laughs while sliding her tongue around the corners of my own mouth, teasing all the while. I don't know what to do. I am unable to think clearly any longer. I grab her thighs and lift her to my hips. She responds with equal pressure at first then slides her legs into a crossed position atop of my stomach. She takes my chin in her left hand and places her right hand onto my chest, giving me one last hard kiss before pulling away. I stand holding her cradled in my hands. She only stares at me. "Sesse, why did you stop?" I say with much effort. Sesse reaches over to my ear and whispers to me "You are not from here silly. If I was to become pregnant by you that would be cataclysmic in both of our worlds. You won't understand right now but believe me, it just can't happen." I am pained at the fact that we wont be having sex. The emotional wave is still coming in crashing bouts every couple seconds. I want to argue but know she is telling me the truth. I can see it in her eyes. I place my hands under her armpits and she unfolds her legs to a standing position. I gently place her back onto the ground, trying to resist touching her again. She slowly turns from me and starts walking down the hill. I follow. It is hard to keep my eyes off of her. I glance at others I pass and want to touch them too. Everyone is obviously feeling the same as I am. There is kissing and groping going on everywhere I look. I think of the movie Eyes Wide Shut and laugh loudly at my ridiculousness. A pair of feather masked women snap thier heads towards me in unison and stalk up to my side with the longest legs I have ever seen. The two women are identical in every way that I can see. One kisses my palm and the other groans "Too bad" into my ear. I am left with major tingles again. Sesse is gaining speed now and almost runs down the street towards the lake. I blindly follow her, not caring where my shoes land or if I trip and fall into a broken mess. Once we reach the bottom I see the land is flat and the grass is tough. The green is almost too bright, reminding me of Astroturfs color. From around the corner of the first buildings that line the street people emerge carrying an orchestra of instruments. Some are playing them as they walk towards the grassy area in front of the lake, others are setting up the equipment as the reach their destination. Sesse courtsies to me so I bow as best as I think a bow should be done. She takes my hands and we dance for hours. Everyone from up the hill has joined us dancing and laughing, talking about how great the New Year is going to be. A world of flowers, fireflies, blood and music spin around me as we all dance. I have never felt so at home in my life yet I am the farthest from it that I have even been before.

I am awoken the next morning by sprinkles of rain falling onto my closed eyelids. The effects of the blood are lessened but still noticable. Sesse is lying half way on my chest and half way on the grass. She is waking too and looks at me with compassion and care. There are a few people lying in the grass and around the massive trees. "Why did you tell me it was your fault?" I ask her. Sesse squares her jaw and inhales deeply. "This is your parallel universe. It belongs to you and everyone has there very own. Everything you see and feel and touch in your world is represented here. Everything you want in a perfect world is found here." I open my mouth to interject, she only lays a slim finger over my lips. "That doesn't mean that you are a God or something here. You can't change the rules already set in this world and you won't understand everything you experience here either. I can't explain everything to you because I don't know everything. I am smart but I'm not a genius. This world is as complex and deep as your own and similar in many ways. There are some things that are completely different as you have already seen."

"But that doesnt answer my"

She cuts me off "I dont remember you being this impatient in my dreams. Damn it JBee. When you dream you come here. You are visiting some part of this world every time you close your eyes. I am your connection to this world by soul."

"So does that mean I am dreaming?"

"I dont know. I am almost positive you are awake. This is what bothers me"

"Are we soulmates then?"

"I wouldn't label it as that. In the literal definition of soul mates, no, we couldn't be." She removes her mask and places it in a pocket near her silky thighs. "I think that my calling you, my wishing you to be here for the Celebration of the Seasons somehow bent the rules enough to bring you here in the flesh. It takes a great amount of power to accomplish something like that. I know I was pretty down and out when I was thinking of you being here but I never expected this to happen!"

"So we could have sex in our dreams but not now, due to my being real."

"Of course you can have sex in your dreams man, don't you have sex in your dreams?" She tussles my hair around a bit.

"No, never" I respond with as serious a face as I can muster. "So I am here, possibly in the flesh, which is not a good thing, and you don't know how I go home from here."

"Exactly. I already apologized so don't be bringin old shit up."

"So because this is my world, per say, is that why you say a lot of the same phrases I do?"

"Not exactly." She stretches out on the grass revealing her slim waste and ample hips. Her hair is dark auburn with strands of gold. Thick and shiny ringlets crawl past her waste like vines in a tanned rainforest. She has all the tattoos I have ever drawn for myself and then some. I force myself to stay focused. 

"I am the equivelent of an extention of you in this world", she states, "I am the only one here that is connected to you this intimately. There are other languages and other cultures. People here are as unique as in your world. There are saints and serial killers, martyrs and muppets. It is no different in that way from your own world."

"Why haven't I dreamt of you then? If you are dreaming of me all the time shouldn't I be connected in that same way?" Sesse barely blushes. I set myself up for embarrassment again. She rolls onto her side and plays with the overly green grass blades.

"Every time you have dreamt of a woman it was me. I only appeared to look like others. We have been lovers since your first wet dream, big boy." I think back to the very first one. She speaks quiety and at a controlled pace as if seeing it all as she goes. "You were standing in tall swaying grasses. It was night outside and flash lightening covered the sky. The rain drops were fat and cold. I was the female ninja you faced, fought and later had sex with in that dream." A rush of sexual memories come to my mind all at once and I am really blushing now. She only laughs at me and brushes off the flowers and grass that cling to my shirt. "I am your parallel soul. I give you exactly what you want sexually, no matter what your desire, but I gotta tell ya..." She stands and starts to walk away "You are one filthy bastard!" I start laughing and can't stop. I laugh until my sides ache and tears roll down my cheeks. I need sanctuary. I need serendity. I think I've finally gone completely mad.

I remove my signet and tuck the shells and rope into my front jeans pocket. I breath in the smell of the flowers deeply and watch Sesse walk to a shop nearby. The building is dark green with gold trim and has a sign hanging from a post that reads "Fruits and Shit". There is smoke wafting from the chimney above and a heron is bending its long neck deep into the bellowing smoke. A few minutes pass and Sesse returns with a basket full of what looks like fruits. She also brought bread wrapped in cloth napkin. I tell her to look at the bird. She responds hesitantly. "Yeah he's a junkie for the vapors man. Don't go introspective on me but I guess I have to tell you. This is your world right? OK. That means that all of your good intentions are here as well as your bad ones. There are addicts and murderers here. Place your range of possible personas on a scale. Left side is Good, right side is Bad. You have here in this world every combination of that scale -and then some- that can be imagined. It helps not to think of it too much. It will only have you looking for the worst in every person you meet, eventually hating yourself completely. Think of them as your creative psyche versus your bastardly short-comings."

"And the sign? What kind of shop owner would use that as a name?"

"The kind that has a sense of humor like yours. The more important a thing to you, the more you find it in this world. To you, humor is very important in your life so, naturally, here you find your twisted morals splashed on every wall. Don't think I am complaining. I'm your biggest fan." Her smile reminds me my own for split second.

"I see. One more question Sesse."

"I doubt that."

"How do you know so much? I saw people that didn't know me from Adam last night. Did someone teach you all the rules and regulations of JBee land?"

Sesse take a bite of fruit that looks like a cross between a pineapple and cantaloupe. The sticker on it reads: Pinaloupe. I laugh out loud. "Just as you are hearing it come from my lips I hear it for the first time too, for the most part. I don't know how I know these things. I just accept that I do. When I don't know the answer to a question I don't get pissed off, I just accept it as is."

"So you are the patient, laid back side of me. You have no faults or misgivings?" I question with a smile to keep from sounding harsh.

"I am your every desire. I am who you want in bed. I am who you want to be spiritually, mentally, physically -no- not physically. Your desire for delicious sex is stronger than a sense of needing a set of Brad Pitts abs."

"You got that right. If I had to choose only one over the other, I would be a disgusting fatty who got laid all day."

"Who are you talking to meester? I'm the one with the kick ass body. Thanks for the junk in my trunk. This is my meeeeal ticket!" Sesse laughs while doing a quick booty dance. "Do you think I need so much hair though? This mess is a real skank to brush through in the morning."
I almost feel for her, as that is a whole lot of hair. "I will think about it but I can't promise any changes sweetheart."

"Good enough for me. Wanna go somewhere?"

"Sure. Hook me up with some of that pinaloupe and kiwiberry first. I am starving."

4/16/2007