a stepping stone to greatness - plus some more writing
April 25th 2008 15:33
Well as none of you know.
2 days ago. over 20 people looked at my page.
Not sure what the reason for this surge of interest was, but im flattered.
THAT many people would like to read about my nonsense.
for that.
ill post some more of my story.
for school it is
----------------------------- ----------------------------- -----------
Be Zen.
Just be cool. Don't worry. I'm here.
Tabi says these things to me but I can't believe her. Up to now, she's done nothing but lie to me. But she's still my best friend. and my closest companion.
But I don't think she exists. I had 36 months to live, and she's wasted my life. It doesn't matter now, I thinking to myself. She can't hurt me here.
Like a Hindu Cow, she says.
It's hot.
Damn hot.
Hotter than a snake's ass in a wagon rut. Somebody said that to me once. I liked the sound of it.
But it is hot. I'm sweating, everything's rubbing against everything else in an uncomfortable, sweaty way. The massive gloves make it hard to scratch any itch. So I take them off. The air hisses into the suit and everything becomes less sticky.
The helmet goes next. Then the pants. Then the torso.
I'm standing on the molten rock in shorts and a t-shirt gazing up into the sky and the oncoming sun.
I sit on the deck chair next to me and sip my cool cocktail.
This is a Cthonian planet. Spiraling into a sun. The only place I can be alone. I read something about these once. How they could exist but none had ever been found. I liked the sound of it. Somewhere completely dedicated to me. Sitting on the edge of destruction. Toeing the line.
Planets like this, they don't have any atmosphere. Yet I'm completely at home. Like a shrimp bred to live at the bottom of the world. I'm the product of millions of years of evolution and this is the only place suited to me. More than a little ironic I thought.
Back at the front lines though. People talk to me, opinions are voiced. It's like a garden party of people come to see my brain. All sitting, chatting, drinking champagne in my head. I can't get any thinking done.
So I leave. I get a few hours before the planet completely plummets into it's sun. Which is enough for me. I get my thoughts in order.
Then it's back to the world. Only 6 seconds left
I sit and listen to people complain in group therapy sessions. That's all they do. All they ever do.
People are programmed to do it. They pull up chairs. Making the squeaking sound that everybody hates. Up come the chairs. Make a circle everybody.
Now tell me what's bothering you.
And people talk for hours. I find people can do this. Talk for hours about themselves. But say nothing. Anybody can sit for hours and talk about their problems and how tough their life is compared to yours. But really, they don't want to be helped. Deep down they really don't want the miracle drug solution, because they enjoy the attention. But when it becomes someone else's turn. They tune out.
Much as I'm doing.
Waiting, for the last 20 months to pass me by
Living in a place like this, a mental institution, has its perks. Sometimes the other inmates make it tough or make you feel a little crazy yourself.
Other times It's like a silver platter service to your door.
Drugs, for example, are given to you here.
Yeah.
You heard me. Given to you.
Though they might not be your drug of choice. I take it over the alternatives, which amount to chewing on bed linen or letting stray spiders bite you (don't get me started on that, creeps me out).
So we have the patients who wander the halls never saying anything. They're not my favourite.
My favourite are the ones that dance. We only have about three, and they do all different styles.
They're not allowed to dance, but they do. When they think nobody's looking.
The doctors and nurses say they shouldn't because it reinforces their delusion.
If you'd actually watched them and seen there eyes light up, you know it was what they were born to do.
Man in here, Wally his name night be, can't feed himself, can't even get to the crapper himself and has trouble with doorknobs is one of the best tango dancer I've ever seen.
He could dance the pants off any sane person here.
Shocking really that they refuse to let him dance.
Things like that, they really get you down. Then they give your morning or evening drugs and dancing is like a possibility of a faint dream.
Like the possibility of 10 more months
I'm sitting in therapy, talking about my feelings and how they are helping me come to terms with my illness and die peacefully.
My head drops back and I cast my best insane look around the room. All the seats are filled today. All seems to be in order except the woman sitting across the room from me.
With a rope tied tight around her neck.
Now there is a story behind that.
This woman, follows me around everywhere. Doesn't seem to have anything better to do. One day I might talk to her. She's very beautiful but looks slightly dead, so I'm going to take it slow.
Not too slow though, only 5 months left
One day, I was lying in bed. Pretending to pretend to sleep and I blink,
suddenly in not in my bed anymore,
I'm sitting in a doctor's office. He's asking me if I take drugs.
How could somebody honestly not notice? Or maybe he realises already. His bald head is dully reflecting the light in the room. And what a small room. The way I remember it, his office was like a sardine tin without fish. So small the door hits the desk when it opens all the way. My eye starts to twitch and I try to concentrate on the doctor. Not that he commands respect. He seems like a sad little man. I could imagine him working for decades to get to this point. And he's sitting behind his massive desk in a shoe box office thinking to himself,
I want to paint.
But by then it's too late.
My eye feels strange. Like I'm sitting on a nerve and it's uncontrollably
One of my eyes starts to twirl in it's socket, like in a circle and I struggle to keep my cool. I squeak out a no, never, to the doctor and amazingly he seems to believe me. Or he wants me outside quickly because I make him uneasy.
How could he not notice?
I can't think about anything else. I can feel the pressure building behind my eye. It must be bulging out past my nose now.
He asks me a question about my family history, or some ridiculous question like that.
I can't hold it any longer.
My eye lid peels back and my eye rockets out into the room with a loud schloop sound. Blood sprays across the room and covers the doctor. I yelp and sink into the chair.
The pain should be immense, my fucking eye, is gone.
How could he have not noticed?
Not even wiping his face, he waffles on about severe this and genetic that.
I'm not it as much pain as you'd think. I think it might be over, fuck, he can have my eye if i can just leave.
But, no, it's never that easy.
I spot my eye. Crawling up the doctor's leg.
I catch my breath and stifle a yelp. It's making slow but steady progress.
It's reached his knee.
I can see the malice in it's eye and it gazes up at the doctor's face.
Do I warn him? Don't want to look crazy.
The doctor looks at me gravely and asks if I have anybody to take care of me.
Fuck that, I think, at least I don't have killer eye balls eye balling me.
The dripping, rippling mass slides onward towards his shirt.
How does it even climb?
No time for that! This could be a matter of life or death.
I'm squirming in my seat, making childish noise and gesturing towards his shirt. He looks at me sternly, as if waiting for an answer.
The eyeball reaches his collar.
And stops. I shoot to the edge of my seat and stare at the eye. I can almost feel the eye contemplating it's next move.
The doctor is staring at me with his eyebrows up. I say yes. It seems to be the answer he wanted because he's started citing textbooks and training manuals again.
I look back to his collar and the eye is gone.
I quickly scream and go back to looking interested. The doctor shoots into the air and backs his chair up against a pot plant.
Spinning around in my chair, I still can't see the eye. Shit like that just doesn't go away that easily. The doctor still looks like he's about to cry but he soldiers on.
I'm sliding out of the chair and trying to remain inconspicuous as I glide across the room. I hope the doctor doesn't notice but he's stopped talking.
He leans forward so he can look in my eyes as I hide under his desk.
Sir, he says, you really need to listen to me.
I'm clambering around the outside of his room.
Sir, he says rather more sternly, you have a terrible sickness which I think you, for emotion reasons, need to acknowledge. I twitch at him and say, what?
Im working my way under his desk when I see it, the eye. It's unsteadily dripping down the light fixture. How did it get on the roof?
The doctor tells me I only have 36 months left to live.
36 months?
No time to think about that. The eye is dangling just above the doctor.
I'm staring at the doctor. I'm starting to feel sick.
My head goes light and my remaining eyeball twitches and rolls.
The doctor says he's sorry. Do I have anybody to talk to?
Just as the eye falls from the light everything slows down. The eye floats through the air towards the doctor and I sit there watching it glisten.
I know this feeling, usually preceeds a....
Flash.
Oh theres more,
already written.
anybody want to hear it?
2 days ago. over 20 people looked at my page.
Not sure what the reason for this surge of interest was, but im flattered.
THAT many people would like to read about my nonsense.
for that.
ill post some more of my story.
for school it is
----------------------------- ----------------------------- -----------
Be Zen.
Just be cool. Don't worry. I'm here.
Tabi says these things to me but I can't believe her. Up to now, she's done nothing but lie to me. But she's still my best friend. and my closest companion.
But I don't think she exists. I had 36 months to live, and she's wasted my life. It doesn't matter now, I thinking to myself. She can't hurt me here.
Like a Hindu Cow, she says.
It's hot.
Damn hot.
Hotter than a snake's ass in a wagon rut. Somebody said that to me once. I liked the sound of it.
But it is hot. I'm sweating, everything's rubbing against everything else in an uncomfortable, sweaty way. The massive gloves make it hard to scratch any itch. So I take them off. The air hisses into the suit and everything becomes less sticky.
The helmet goes next. Then the pants. Then the torso.
I'm standing on the molten rock in shorts and a t-shirt gazing up into the sky and the oncoming sun.
I sit on the deck chair next to me and sip my cool cocktail.
This is a Cthonian planet. Spiraling into a sun. The only place I can be alone. I read something about these once. How they could exist but none had ever been found. I liked the sound of it. Somewhere completely dedicated to me. Sitting on the edge of destruction. Toeing the line.
Planets like this, they don't have any atmosphere. Yet I'm completely at home. Like a shrimp bred to live at the bottom of the world. I'm the product of millions of years of evolution and this is the only place suited to me. More than a little ironic I thought.
Back at the front lines though. People talk to me, opinions are voiced. It's like a garden party of people come to see my brain. All sitting, chatting, drinking champagne in my head. I can't get any thinking done.
So I leave. I get a few hours before the planet completely plummets into it's sun. Which is enough for me. I get my thoughts in order.
Then it's back to the world. Only 6 seconds left
I sit and listen to people complain in group therapy sessions. That's all they do. All they ever do.
People are programmed to do it. They pull up chairs. Making the squeaking sound that everybody hates. Up come the chairs. Make a circle everybody.
Now tell me what's bothering you.
And people talk for hours. I find people can do this. Talk for hours about themselves. But say nothing. Anybody can sit for hours and talk about their problems and how tough their life is compared to yours. But really, they don't want to be helped. Deep down they really don't want the miracle drug solution, because they enjoy the attention. But when it becomes someone else's turn. They tune out.
Much as I'm doing.
Waiting, for the last 20 months to pass me by
Living in a place like this, a mental institution, has its perks. Sometimes the other inmates make it tough or make you feel a little crazy yourself.
Other times It's like a silver platter service to your door.
Drugs, for example, are given to you here.
Yeah.
You heard me. Given to you.
Though they might not be your drug of choice. I take it over the alternatives, which amount to chewing on bed linen or letting stray spiders bite you (don't get me started on that, creeps me out).
So we have the patients who wander the halls never saying anything. They're not my favourite.
My favourite are the ones that dance. We only have about three, and they do all different styles.
They're not allowed to dance, but they do. When they think nobody's looking.
The doctors and nurses say they shouldn't because it reinforces their delusion.
If you'd actually watched them and seen there eyes light up, you know it was what they were born to do.
Man in here, Wally his name night be, can't feed himself, can't even get to the crapper himself and has trouble with doorknobs is one of the best tango dancer I've ever seen.
He could dance the pants off any sane person here.
Shocking really that they refuse to let him dance.
Things like that, they really get you down. Then they give your morning or evening drugs and dancing is like a possibility of a faint dream.
Like the possibility of 10 more months
I'm sitting in therapy, talking about my feelings and how they are helping me come to terms with my illness and die peacefully.
My head drops back and I cast my best insane look around the room. All the seats are filled today. All seems to be in order except the woman sitting across the room from me.
With a rope tied tight around her neck.
Now there is a story behind that.
This woman, follows me around everywhere. Doesn't seem to have anything better to do. One day I might talk to her. She's very beautiful but looks slightly dead, so I'm going to take it slow.
Not too slow though, only 5 months left
One day, I was lying in bed. Pretending to pretend to sleep and I blink,
suddenly in not in my bed anymore,
I'm sitting in a doctor's office. He's asking me if I take drugs.
How could somebody honestly not notice? Or maybe he realises already. His bald head is dully reflecting the light in the room. And what a small room. The way I remember it, his office was like a sardine tin without fish. So small the door hits the desk when it opens all the way. My eye starts to twitch and I try to concentrate on the doctor. Not that he commands respect. He seems like a sad little man. I could imagine him working for decades to get to this point. And he's sitting behind his massive desk in a shoe box office thinking to himself,
I want to paint.
But by then it's too late.
My eye feels strange. Like I'm sitting on a nerve and it's uncontrollably
One of my eyes starts to twirl in it's socket, like in a circle and I struggle to keep my cool. I squeak out a no, never, to the doctor and amazingly he seems to believe me. Or he wants me outside quickly because I make him uneasy.
How could he not notice?
I can't think about anything else. I can feel the pressure building behind my eye. It must be bulging out past my nose now.
He asks me a question about my family history, or some ridiculous question like that.
I can't hold it any longer.
My eye lid peels back and my eye rockets out into the room with a loud schloop sound. Blood sprays across the room and covers the doctor. I yelp and sink into the chair.
The pain should be immense, my fucking eye, is gone.
How could he have not noticed?
Not even wiping his face, he waffles on about severe this and genetic that.
I'm not it as much pain as you'd think. I think it might be over, fuck, he can have my eye if i can just leave.
But, no, it's never that easy.
I spot my eye. Crawling up the doctor's leg.
I catch my breath and stifle a yelp. It's making slow but steady progress.
It's reached his knee.
I can see the malice in it's eye and it gazes up at the doctor's face.
Do I warn him? Don't want to look crazy.
The doctor looks at me gravely and asks if I have anybody to take care of me.
Fuck that, I think, at least I don't have killer eye balls eye balling me.
The dripping, rippling mass slides onward towards his shirt.
How does it even climb?
No time for that! This could be a matter of life or death.
I'm squirming in my seat, making childish noise and gesturing towards his shirt. He looks at me sternly, as if waiting for an answer.
The eyeball reaches his collar.
And stops. I shoot to the edge of my seat and stare at the eye. I can almost feel the eye contemplating it's next move.
The doctor is staring at me with his eyebrows up. I say yes. It seems to be the answer he wanted because he's started citing textbooks and training manuals again.
I look back to his collar and the eye is gone.
I quickly scream and go back to looking interested. The doctor shoots into the air and backs his chair up against a pot plant.
Spinning around in my chair, I still can't see the eye. Shit like that just doesn't go away that easily. The doctor still looks like he's about to cry but he soldiers on.
I'm sliding out of the chair and trying to remain inconspicuous as I glide across the room. I hope the doctor doesn't notice but he's stopped talking.
He leans forward so he can look in my eyes as I hide under his desk.
Sir, he says, you really need to listen to me.
I'm clambering around the outside of his room.
Sir, he says rather more sternly, you have a terrible sickness which I think you, for emotion reasons, need to acknowledge. I twitch at him and say, what?
Im working my way under his desk when I see it, the eye. It's unsteadily dripping down the light fixture. How did it get on the roof?
The doctor tells me I only have 36 months left to live.
36 months?
No time to think about that. The eye is dangling just above the doctor.
I'm staring at the doctor. I'm starting to feel sick.
My head goes light and my remaining eyeball twitches and rolls.
The doctor says he's sorry. Do I have anybody to talk to?
Just as the eye falls from the light everything slows down. The eye floats through the air towards the doctor and I sit there watching it glisten.
I know this feeling, usually preceeds a....
Flash.
Oh theres more,
already written.
anybody want to hear it?
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