I want to explode and bash your fucking head in. Instead, I sit there and just nod my head, act as if I give a fuck about anything you have to say. I want nothing more than for you to leave my life the way you came into it, abruptly and quick. But you won’t leave and I can’t leave and here we sit, in perpetual cold war. 

The itch

Listening to the Black Keys is creating a creative itch. There's something there I can't tap into yet. It's driving me crazy. Just wanted to tell somebody.

The Deal.

I haven't wrote a goddamn word since February. I've sat down a few times and tried but to no avail. Blank. Fucking blank. Idea. Blank. Free writing didn't work. Long walks attempting to come up with something, anything that lit a creative fire. Drugs. Alcohol. Debauchery. Still nothing. So there you have it. Why there has been no updates, stories, rants, or what the fuck ever. I'm at a creative dead end right now. Shit.

Hey.

Hey. How's it been going? Right. Same. The more things change the more they stay the same right? Alright then, see you later.

How Zack and Miri got the Clap.

I just finished watching a movie I like made by a guy I idolize and I got the “bug” I’m feeling creative and somewhat feisty. I need direction so I free write, to find my center and rip that sumbitch to shreds with words. It is time. Short stories don’t write themselves damn it. Unfinished zombie attack stories don’t end themselves. Alien invaders and the light spectrum don’t mix to create hell on earth on their own. I do these things for the story. I. Such a shitty letter. Best story I ever wrote (in my honest opinion) is New World, because I was able to make it work for over 3500 words without ever having the guy use possessive nouns for himself. Love a good 80% of the story, the other 20 percent however, I am luke warm on. The story was intended for an anthology I was ultimately unable to submit to due to personal reasons (the first draft was complete well before the deadline, but there was no chance of edits and rewrites in the time frame in-between first draft and submission deadline.) The original (as in not sure it even still exists) rough draft I wrote came in short on word count for minimum required, and talk was that “maybe” I could have it used as filler in case other submissions were also low on words, offsetting page count. That is never an option. Not because I have integrity because in all honesty I don’t, at least not enough to pass on getting something published for the first time. What made me bulk at this and not submit the shorter version you might be asking, pride.

I have fantasized about being a writer for decades now, if my math is correct this year or next will be twenty years since I latched onto this writing thing. Ill be goddamned if my first published work gets in on a technicality. So I did what a writer should never do, I added filler. The stuff about the family, well the wife. Filler. The dreams. Filler. Its awkward as shit too. Deep down I think it slightly ruined my intent, which was complete and total isolation, which is where I was mentally at the time. Adding the filler hurt that aspect and just made the guy another loony tune asshole. I finished the filler version and the next day or so is when my desktop was murdered in cold blood. The details of this are none of your fucking business but yeah. This began a series of complications as far as ability to access a pc of any kind to edit a word file, which kept going until the deadline passed. The anthologies are out and I’m proud of each and every person who made the cut but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that there’s a slight ting of jealousy when I see stuff pertaining to the books. “That coulda been me….”

I’m ten thousand words in on a zombie story I actually lost interest in two years ago. Yeah buddy. I am the KING of wasted effort when it comes to story. Especially when it pertains to stories I begin on the computer opposed to in a notebook. I lose interest the longer I have to scroll through the file or something. When I start a story on paper, I’m not anymore likely to ever finish it but if I do, I am more likely to do a rewrite. Out of the stories I have wrote out on paper originally, Over Yonder and Those Innocent Eyes spring instantly to mind, The “digital” version is nowhere near the same as the original. How can you not rewrite/rework a story as you type it out?

Current List

Stories:

Current stories: full length:

Winter
The Advent: Underground
Death

Complete or edits needed short stories:

Over yonder
A strangers tale
Those innocent eyes
A new world in my view
War Wounds
Wicked Splendor

Edits and rewrites needed:

Spring: a love story
Wicked splendor/ the dark man series
A strangers tale

Life

Life has a way of confining you. By this I mean that events in life, whether by your own hand or external forces, pushes everything into a place. It’s hard to explain sometimes. To be honest I’ve been unable to figure out how it all works. Halfway through existence and I still haven’t caught a clue. Obviously, I’m not on the correct path in life. I’m wasting away here becoming everything I swore I’d never become. I don’t want to give up, and by that, I refer to all aspects of what consists of my life. I think I’m a shitty dad, I’m not sue how much of my relationships with my kids is because of this never ending hell of a rut I’m imprisoned in and how much is just because I’m horrible with kids. It’s probably a mixture of both. I feel bad about Kyndall, dude I have no idea why she just instantly irritates me. I yell too much. Way too much, like my mom and her side on that one. Goddamn it. I feel that my relationship with Connor can and probably will be better. I dunno maybe I need to figure out how to enjoy the kids more. Kyndall is getting older and smarter. Connor is another story. I can’t stand babies. And to be honest I can’t stand toddlers either. It evens out cause he’s so damn cheerful. It’s easier to play with the boy. Cold fact. I fuck with this computer way too much. I know that shit. I think I was actually happier without the computer but fuck did I miss music. Without music, I felt like I was going insane.

There’s the perpetual state of unemployment. God is just dicking with me now. I’m still floored about the general die casters shit. Not motivated enough? You didn’t even have enough busy work for everybody in the fucking plant but I was unmotivated? What about the fucking Puerto Rican? SAME FUCKING PACE. Whatever. Take food out of my kid’s mouths if it makes you feel better about yourself but damn dude. I walked right past you. Coulda said something then, saved me some embarrassment. Not motivated. Really? I was motivated to not get shitcanned the first day. Didn't matter. I can honestly say that’s never happened before. Well I think that one time at that one place with Shawn. I was like eighteen. I think that was the second day actually. So now, I am unemployed. Again. And fuck all if I even know what to do from here. I have a bad background check now over stupid shit. Haven’t had a solid job since fuck knows. College drop out. No driver’s license. No vehicle. No motherfucking prospects.

I smoke weed. I smoke weed because I have fucking issues and I don’t trust shit thrown together in a lab. Not anymore at least. It’s for the better of mankind that I medicate myself or I swear to fucking god I’d get off the couch and do something with my life. Maybe. Or not. I might just snap at Target one day. Get blocked off by some soccer mom or some skinny jean wearing ambercrombie transgender fuck high school kid and just snap their fucking neck, it could happen. You have been warned. So, get the fuck off my back.

When I go to jail. Which I most assuredly will sometime before the end of 2012. I wonder for how long. Two weeks or six months. Life has a way of confining you I said before. In every choice I have before me, there’s nothing but confinement. For a long time now, I’ve been completely reactive to my perceived and real confinement. I feel that a switch to being more proactive would be helpful. Then I’m lost on where to start? Do I go do the jail thing now and get that over with for however long at a time when things at home are at a breaking point? Or do I soldier on and fall further down the rabbit hole? Much like other things in life, I know what the answer is but I can’t do it. There’s something deep in the core of my being that says this entire ordeal is bullshit and they can eat a dick. But that’s just how I was raised. You don’t incriminate yourself or turn yourself in. They don’t play fair, why should we?

Everyday I ponder what purpose I serve. I procreated. But other than that. Why me? What purpose was there to me being the offspring of my parents unholy union? It’s actually something I’ve pondered since I was a kid. Around the same time, I realized how much life hurt. Pain is both a motivator and demotivates. As we all know there’s unlimited and infinite sources of pain in the world. I learned that young. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to disconnect from it but it’s there. It’s always there. Fear and anxiety. Knowing damn well that no matter what happens I’m going to fall short. But will I? Because I did then? Is that really how it would be? No fucking clue.

Writing. Yes writing. When I talk about me, I have to talk about writing. Somewhat ironic considering how much I avoid doing it. I don’t know how much is avoidance and how much is disinterest right now. It goes in spurts. I get creative as fuck. Then I’m not. Sometimes I want to work on something but I’ve changed my mind before word even opens. I feel like such a loser as I close it and move on to something else. I got some longer form stuff I’ve stalled in. I load them up; start reading to brush up on names, scenes, and other important details. I read enough o know it sucks. I’m not happy with it. Makes it hard to move forward. When I start rewriting it I can’t focus. Hopefully this passes soon. We’ll see. I guess I wrote this though so that’s something.

I don’t know how it feels to get this crap out. The world is fucked. I’m clueless as to my place in it. I know what life I’d like. I’m scared as fuck that I can’t deliver if I give it my all. Writing for example. I think I could be good. I don’t think I am good mind you. But I honestly think I could be good if I could find the will to dedicate myself to it like a craft. Instead of a jerk off hobby I half ass around with but pray can deliver me from shit. Other shit percolates in my head. Other dreams. Can I pick one and follow through? Can I make the changes in my life I need to make to finally find my lane? Can I dedicate myself completely to something on faith? There’s a reason I’m not Christian. And it’s not all just because I think men in robes are perverts. Faith is a lot to ask. There has to be trust to have faith. If I don’t trust anything, how can I have faith in anything? Or anyone for that matter.

Christmas is tomorrow. At least it is as of me typing these words. Christmas eve actually. I’ll probably post this from my sisters. So merry Christmas. My present to you. My soul. So yeah. Christmas. Last years was a total disgrace. Couldn’t afford presents for my kids so somebody I don’t care for did. And there was fishy shit with the wife Christmas night. This year is a bit better. Presents for the kids even though the wife bought them. At least I got to pick them out. Christmas day should be fun. Dinner with the wife’s family. Half dislike me immensely; the other half I’m not entirely sure about. I’m nervous as fuck to be honest. First time I’ve seen any of them since forever. Going to be on my best behavior. I just want to get through it and have a decent time. To be honest I’m not sure how the relationship with the wife is doing. It appears ok but appearances can be deceiving. Lots of stress around, on both sides.

 The last year. Man fuck the last year. I swear I’m cool on a repeat. On all kinds of levels. I want to be proactive right, there’s a place to start. Make sure 2012 doesn’t resemble 2011. In every way possible. The relationship took some damage for the first part. The second half evened out. I don’t really know what to expect long term. There are no assurances in life right? I try to not think about the past too much. It seems to pop up in these little annoyances that I’m supposed to laugh about when I want nothing more than to lash out. Wreck shit. Make a big fucking scene and wreck on my own shit. I have issues. Honestly though, it’s not paranoia when they really are out to get you. That’s all I’m saying man. That’s all. But I laugh a weak laugh. And hope the conversation moves the fuck on. Like now.

I dropped out of school in the ninth grade. I stopped going in the eighth. I didn’t do homework after grade one. When I was twenty-five I took fifty bucks from my income tax return and reserved a spot to take the GED test. The night before a friend and I got high on fentanyl. It’s a narcotic. An opiate to be exact. Gets you fucked up good. I was high when I took the test the next day. I wasn’t high the second day I took the test. I passed. I did jack shit with the GED. Didn’t even get a “better” job. When I was twenty-eight I went to the University of Akron. I attended there for two years. I maintained a 3.2 GPA until I let personal shit get in the way and distract me. I feel good even though it went down in flames. I would like to go back but I of course owe them money so who knows when or if that shit will happen. The highest point of my academic career? Winning a debate over whether prostitution should be legal in the USA. With a conservative teacher. I felt like the shit that day. I did a shit ton of writing in school. I miss that too. I miss a lot of stuff though and none of that is ever coming back either.

It’s after midnight. I’m feeling tired. I’m up past my bedtime. Fuck you I have kids. After ten is for single people and the smart ones who didn’t procreate. Have a merry Christmas you bastards.

I'm debating on whether to post something rather large. Novella large.

Those Innocent Eyes

         Rain and blood pooled together at his feet as Ray reminisced over his evening with the beautiful girl and her innocent eyes. He had found her almost by accident as she traveled through the restaurant parking lot asking for a ride. She had a scared look in her eyes as she approached him, a look that begged a white knight to come and save her from whatever she was trying to escape. Ray was perfectly happy to play that white knight. At least for as long as it would take. She meekly asked him if he could let her tag along to wherever he was going, her face arched down barely making any eye contact. He slowly reached out his hand and offered it to her as he agreed to take her away from there. Tears built up in the corners of her eyes as he motioned to his black Chevrolet Blazer. As they both entered the vehicle Ray glanced over at the young woman in time to see her eyes shift, from a worried sorrowful look to bright and hope filled. As he started the vehicle, the girl slid comfortably into her seat.

            “What’s your name sweetheart?” Ray asked the girl as the Blazer pulled out onto the highway.

 “Annie.” The girl replied as she stared out the window at the dark and vacant highway. Ray hoped to entice Annie into some form of conversation in an attempt to keep her calm and comfortable.

“What about family? You got any?” He asked, and all she said in return was “Assholes. All of them.”

Ray figured that Annie was a runaway, probably sixteen or so. Ray moved on to a new subject. “Well then, how about school Annie? You go to one?”

Annie perked up a bit “Yeah. I want to be a nurse so I have to go to school.”

“A nurse huh?” he asked.  “Yeah I want to help sick people, but who wants to go to school for like ten years to be a doctor? I can be a nurse with just a few years of college.” Annie says as she stares blankly out of the passenger side window.

“I can’t argue with that except to point out the larger paycheck a doc gets.” Ray said as he reached into the vehicles center console fishing for a pack of cigarettes.

“That’s after years of paying off massive amounts of student loan money though. Not for me.” The girl said.

“Right.” He agreed as he lit a cigarette. “You smoke?” he asked her. “Only sometimes.” She said as she motioned him to pass the cigarette.

            A half hour into the trip Ray began daydreaming about his plans for Annie. He was so excited about it that he had to resist the urge to tell her. He wanted to share his happiness with Annie, to see if she would agree. However, he knew instinctively that she would not so he sat there with fantasies filling his mind. A few minutes later, he noticed that Annie was talking but Ray was so wrapped up in his own little world, his dream that he had actually drowned her out with his own thoughts.  Snapping back to the real world just in time to realize she was still rambling about being a nurse Ray chose to ignore her further. It would not be too much longer before Ray’s dreams would all come true.

            Ray’s family owned a mill that sat roughly thirty miles from the diner where he had picked Annie up. The mill had been in Ray’s family for close to a hundred years and had employed many of the local families. That was until Ray’s dad decided to close it down in the mid-seventies. The place was still owned by Ray but the building itself was rotted from decades of abuse from the elements and absolutely no maintenance. This allowed Ray to use the place for his nocturnal activities. A large decomposing building that has been completely abandoned except for the occasional woodland creature or flock of birds taking up residence.

            As he slowed down to find the gravel road leading to the rusted gate surrounding the mill property ray asked, “You mind if we stop here? I own this place down the way and there was supposed to be some work done there today but this is the first time I’ve been able to check it out.” Annie moved uncomfortably in her seat then replied “sure. I don’t mind.” The plan was going to work; Ray was going to have this girl. A slight bulge began to stick out of his jeans. The blazer pulled onto the road the crunching sound of tires on gravel filled the vehicle. Ray began smiling a wide Cheshire smile that Annie noticed immediately, causing her to hug the passenger door a little. Ray noticed this and pushed the gas pedal a bit harder, eager to get started.

            The blazer pulled up to the rusted gate. Annie could see parts of the building from here and it became clear very quickly that nobody was doing any work here, other than maybe tearing the decrepit old thing down. It immediately struck Annie that she had gotten herself caught up in a cliché old horror movie set up, a young girl alone with a creepy guy in the middle of nowhere. Less than an hour ago, Annie was so full of hope but now she was full of panic and terror.

            Ray turned off the vehicle and pocketed the keys. He tried to reassure the terrified girl that everything would be okay and everything was fine but the look in her eyes told him all he needed to know. The girl did not believe him and planned to run. This presented a problem because Ray had to exit the vehicle to unlatch the gate and he knew for sure that Annie would try to run away as soon as he did. The choice before Ray was the gate or the girl, so he tried once more to calm her down. As ray attempted to reassure the girl, lightning streaked across the black sky, followed by a massive thunderclap. That is when Annie made her move, quickly exiting the blazer running in the opposite direction from the gate. Ray debated just running the girl over and finding a new friend but decided to deal with Annie. As Ray jumped out of the Blazer to run after the girl the rain began coming down, hard and fast.

            Annie ran down the dark gravel road slipping and sliding in the mud, fighting not to fall down. Ray was less than eight yards behind her thankful that he had worn his boots tonight. “Why run Annie? I swear I have no intentions of hurting you.” He called out, trying one last time to get her to reason with him. “Fuck you creeper!” She yelled and continued running. Less than four feet behind her Ray pushed himself a little harder in an attempt to close the gap. His knees ached from the effort, but he managed to keep going until his fingers were less from her hair. He jumped with his step and grabbed a handful of it. The shock of him reaching her caused the girl to stumble for the briefest of moments. This was all Ray needed. He yanked back on her hair with his right hand while grabbing the collar of her blouse with his left before using a foot to forcefully push on Annie’s ankle. She slipped in the mud and began to descend, Ray stopping her before she dragged him down too. He then dragged her back in the direction of the gate. “Stupid bitch. It didn’t have to be this way.” His voice filled with frustration.

            When they reached the gate, he stopped and looked at the girl. She was weeping and mumbling, hardly coherent. Ray shoved down into the mud with as much force as he had and promptly sat down on her chest. “It really didn’t have to go this way. I had such hopes for us, the fun we should have had. I only wanted to let you feel my love.” He ranted as he placed his hands around her throat. The man squeezed just enough to cut off her airflow without crushing her windpipe. He wanted her unconscious. He knew the rest would come later.

            Ray unlocked the gate when he finished with Annie then threw the unconscious girl into the back of his SUV and drove onto the vacant property. He pulled down the gravel road a half-mile until he reached a clearing surrounded by trees on three opposing sides. He threw the vehicle into park and promptly jumped out, light headed from the exhilaration of what he planned to do. Ray opened the rear hatch, yanked Annie out brutally and dumped her into the mud. He retrieved a small red metal toolbox from a compartment under the interior paneling. He grabbed her arm and dragged her into the clearing. Annie began coming to while she was dragged. It took her a few seconds to remember her ordeal then she let out a blood-curdling scream. Ray dropped her on the spot, kicked her in the face and then set the toolbox on the ground next to them. “Gonna love this part baby. I guarantee it.” He kicked her one more time, in the side of head this time. She was sobbing uncontrollably as he reached into the toolbox and pulled out two items, a ball peen hammer and a hunting knife. The previous hour replayed in Annie’s mind as she cursed herself for being here with him. Ray stopped and stared at Annie for a moment, transfixed by those same eyes that had caught his attention in the first place. They still shone through with innocence, with just the right mix of terror. 

“Such a waste. Oh well, at least I’ll keep the eyes.” He sighed as he walked towards her, the hammer raised up in the air. “Please no.” was all Annie said as her world went black.

The End

My Life

It seems like no matter what I do I can't get my life on track.