Well I had a great time at the party last night. Mel convinced me to stay, as I've known her for almost 6 year and havent actually spent a day with her. So I did. And I'm glad. I met a beautiful comic nerd, a mr/s who is just as obsessed with horror movies as I am, and just had a good time all around.

Such a good time, that I'm requesting to be moved off Graveyards. I cant do it anymore.

I miss being able to go out. Its like working graveyards has sucked the life out of me. Graveyard shift IS the vampire.

Huh. That's a good idea for a short story..

Anyway.

Yes. I feel like switching shifts would change so much for me. And all for the better.

So, here's hoping that doctors orders go through and I get on either first or 2nd shift.

More SOC writing

I used to be as smooth as my leather jacket. I was thinking about it last night. I used to be the bee's knees. Not anymore though. The world has taken a psychic hammer to me, molding me into the confused cretin before you.

I don't know what the influence was. I think it might have been my ex. Got going too fast, didn't have enough time to stop, and I crashed.

Yes, that was more than a few years ago, but my surroundings haven't helped. And my attitude is just one of survival so I haven't helped either. I've tried though. I lay awake at night thinking about it.

What did I lose? I know the feeling that's missing inside, its what propels my dreams, but I swore, at one time I had it. Its a feeling that Perdition City first gave me.

Like the night my godfather came down and had his limo company pick us up and cruise around Scottsdale on his dime. I was too young to do anything, of course, but I was at the age where I looked like a big kid that matured slowly. So even though I was only 15 I passed for 19.

The limo driver took my parents and godfather to a piano bar, and I got to ride around in the limo with a driver who resembled Marky Mark. He was a nice guy. We drove around the industrial area for a bit, and found a run down house next to two big buildings that was having an art showing. And the had Corona! I didn't take one though. I remember all the paintings having something to do with rabbits..

 I was lighter then. I feel bogged down now. Chains wrapped around my midsection. I need to get these off. Starting with the barbs around my skull. They pull and I don't bleed, I just wither. Dreams and mojo just dissipating, the harder it squeezes. I don't know where theyre goin. Probably falling to the floor around me. But I'm not looking down here, I'm not looking anywhere, really. I'm looking through. I don't know at what.

Concentrating.

Meditation. Too much white noise. I cant stop thinking.

Fast.

This is what a seizure starts like. My mind cant, comprehend, I guess, the changes in speed. To repetitively think at accelerated speed, then slow down for a minute second, then start again. I often get reeled into neural patterns and puzzles. I once stayed awake all night trying to think of the neural/subconscious split that would be needed in order to cause schizophrenia. The mind is a terrible and powerful thing, so I spent an hour thinking about how to break a and mold a personality into 2 separate beings. Then the rest of the night so afraid of what I might have started trying to undo the thinking that had already happened.

I need to step back, again, somehow. Or step forward. I cant tell if I'm behind the curtain, in front of it or 1,000 feet away anymore. I see the old me and doing things and thinking things that I don't think now. That's the bastard pain of it, knowing that I would think something previously, that by all means should still be the same, but I dont.

I blame this job. It was fine at first. But its the only constant unhappiness I have in my life. I was OK with doing support for people who were too dumb to breathe. Serves them right. Then, just like the depressive stage in high school, the bitterness got to me. They started dragging me down, creating panic attacks and anxiety. The job isn't bad. But there these ridiculous goat fucking inbreds that call, and make excuses as to why they cant do simple human functions like breathe through their noise, read something that you are entering your credit card information for, that kinda thing.

I used to not care. Then I fell into the oubliette. Helping hands gripping my self destruction and helping me down down down. But I'm upside down so It feels like I'm  going up.

But, the job is so easy. I sit around and do emails. Take a few calls. Watch some movies. Get free grub. I would enjoy it more if it was VPN. That would be nice. I could get a lot more work done if I was playing X-Com.. but I digress.

Those shit-kicking mouth-breathers stole my light. Threw grime and dirt on me, rubbed it in with their blue-collar boots. I haven't read a book in a long time. I think theyre stealing that too, or Im just not in season for litearture, which is more likely. They cant take my escapes from me.

But why did I let them do this? This is very unlike me. I was raised on cowboys and samurai, my honor is not easily stained. At this point, its all but lost. I never let anything take me down. So, it had to be a combination of things. Sure, there was the girl. And then there were the friends. And the money mistakes. I was never addicted to drugs, sure, i've tried most of them but I never became a strung out junky. I learned from reading. From watching.

Sure, Ive been in a lot of illegal activities.  I made it a point to. Had to live. Kerouac would have done it. Moriarty would have without even thinking. I'm missing that skip in my beat. Maybe that's what all this trouble with my heart is. I'm completely out of sync. With the world. Before I was in a harmony with everything. My chemistry was top of its game. I feel like it still is now, i can pretty much get along with anyone that isn't swinging a bat, but before it was just, I don't know. It certainly wasn't innocence that was lost.

I'm like an abused dog. The guy I sit next to at my job takes call on speaker phone [which he fucking abhors if the customers do] and I find myself leaning in as close to the computer speakers as possible. Trying to filter it all out. It makes me very uncomfortable. Like someone playing with their cell phone will driving. I can't take it. The atmosphere here is so nasty. Miasmic.

I guess thats why I'm looking for another job. I have the experiance. i want to get out. I want to be near family and friends, where I'm loved. I'd like to live near my friends and family in Austin, and my best friends will be there.

I feel like I'll be able to grow again. The mountains have stunted my growth.

I will keep on, though, modal soul through and through.

Yes, I believe in alternate realities. Seperate consciousnesses. Or perhaps theyre on levels and I'm far to close to see it that way. I don't know. I know the feelings they leave are real. The residue of dreams. I feel it when I wake up. It sticks through me through the entire day, like something is deeply wrong.

I don't know what it is. Sometimes when I'm listening to music, I'll hear a song or a note and they will literally pluck at my heartstrings. I feel the reverberations going through my body into phantom pathways. Neurological nets that could have been, should have been.

How many people am I?

Have I been?

Why do I see windows?

And so much white. It could almost drown me its so overwhelming. Maybe not white, no. Light, though. A religious experience? I don't know, I'm hardly religious. Its never a certain thing. Sometimes when I go places with certain people, or being at a certain place at a certain time, musical notes, smells, the breeze; what are they triggering? I cant do anything about it, is reality forcing me to stop and smell the roses or rubbing my face in the shit of other worlds?

Stained. Whatever it is, its fucking exasperating. I'm not opening anything, I'm not even looking anymore. Is something else trying to open for me, something inside me or beside me, even? What is this love that I carry for something that isn't even real. Not even a material thought. She has black hair, thats all I know.

Sometimes when I'm laying in bed, teetering on the wall of sleep, I can see her outline. In a house, no less. She is in her underwear, but its not sexual. Craving a purely human experience, relationship. Existence and emotion in its purest form of understanding. I get a chance to experiance it every night, turning myself inside out. Upon waking it fades miles faster than it came. Into the grey? the red? the white? Id?

What is in that lockbox.

I feel like I used to know. Did I leave something in there? I don't remember how to get there.

When you are standing up, you know that you are rightside up. Your body knows, your mind knows. This is like that. I'm standing up but it feels like I'm upside down. Every time I try to get up I get blinded by an enourmous light, and missing time. Then I'm stuck again like Roland at the tower. I'm not righting my wrongs, making small changes though. Am I? Are we all? Could this be one of the very minute stationary existences between the events?

I'm not falling. I'm... spinning. Stationary. Out of rotation, psychological orbit has been released? To tight?