this is where i’m at with my cognitive distortions.

i miss you, buddy.

a nice place to be

please help me! I’m trapped in congress with teh peoples of the world who are actively willing me to …..

HELP ME. STOP, LIKE, ACTIVELY TELLING ME NOT TO LEARN BY DISPROVING OF ME WITH NO SEEMING CAUSE. You cannot tell me, outright, that i am the, “Badguy,“ here, and that I am the cause of your malcontent when I see no visible connections between your actions presently and from once before. You cannot tell actively…jesus chrim, this is going to take over like, forever, to explaon. it would be quicker to slip the banana peel and move away. jeebus crhim, dude, c’moin! c;mon!

Say it with me, “NO-O!”

“oh, now he knows how to say it. Such an interesting change of events.”

you are cirfrect, i will have to path some more positive environment conducive to understanding how it is i may be of use to both Society and History. *sigh*. I need a job doing something with a skill i can learn from. plz help me! i cannot see anyone here, and i the  manner with which people speak with me shows me some form of prior understanding or willful deceitfulness, and this being tha case, i do not…i do not feel concerned about my own desires and being and i am reall y getting fat, a lot, nowadays. fscking, butter, dude.

i try and do nice things, in order to understand cause and action, but i do not see the way in which people treat me to be appropriate barometers of politeness given in return. you cannot treat me such, father and mother! plz help me! we should have forty Puerto Rican guys on shift holding up the foundation of our house instead of stone~ ~~ !! THIS IS INFURIATING! what is…i cannot even get people and friends, peers and relatives, and classmates, and dreamers, and lost loved ones, and pony experesses, you know the one, to  put a   fscking   bird on it!

WE CAN PICKLE THOSE GARLIC GREENS!

dont you even look at me twice you sideways eyed snapping psycho. throw spears at yourself before you even glance in the nearest approximation of my shadow/

Picking up where I jumped off

A power failure. Ironic. My poetic license revoked by the failure to protect my thoughts transcribed onto a piece of glass, woven into the matrix of human knowledge. Well. We’ll see what I can recover.

I am alone. I am alone, staring into my own reflection etched into glass walls suspended above the avenues of human congress. My thoughts, my feelings, my history, choices and decisions are no more my private trespass. More concerning is the way in which the relations between myself and my family are…conducted. Afraid train of miscommunication, willful dismissal, deceits of…of xylophone, oh-h-h-h-h, how do I explain the behavior of my mother who throws false anger at me, slamming doors in my face, screaming at me, throwing things, arguing for points of negatives, how, then, do I explain when I have argued so long with her for truth that I now believe her when she refuses to act any other way. How do I explain the single-minded false kindness with which my father will only ARGUE with me, our conversations which result in arguments about the nature of our conversation turned argument. I can see my parents, but I cannot touch them, save for brief moments in which I pretend that their laughter and kindness is authentic. I try and explain what will pass to my sister, yet all that I am allowed to say, as she acts out the macabre script-treatment I have written for us all, is a single truth which may never be fully understood,

“You’re going to have a hell of a time forgiving me.”

I try and think clearly of hope for the future, for the days to come in my haunted, fragmented memory, persevering over small bursts of intentional violence, yet I am met with my on cruel reflection upon these self-constructed glass walls. I try and find purchase to work my way through these immobillizing barriers, only to find I have constructed a throne of empty packages promised by the dull salesman chattering away inside the grey mirror of consumption. I watch these figures pantomime promises of fulfillment for so long that I have begun to believe their promised escape of, “Fun!”– that’s it. That’s what I believe I want, I think I want to have their fun, and by doing so I will discover meaning and truth I have long since lost.

Nostalgia tinged presence of mine. Long ago I understood these trappings of yesteryear, the blood soaked imagination of boys click, click, click, click, click, clicking through minds still wild with the imagination of infinite possibility. A youth spent wondering about construction of far away distant worlds built out of another’s fascination of the impossible, a youth remembered in snippets and, horrifyingly, lusted after in the present tense because it seems as though I have nowhere else to go. My mind staggers at the marauding swathes of destruction I /Intuit/ are my responsibility, but no one will speak with me, no one will tell you to stop.

“STOP!”

I once envisioned myself as a Chase with No Face. Such a beautiful, majestic thing– as it spins its head around affix the sound of your voice with its sideways, blind eyes, breathing raggedy through a gaping hole in the center of its face, two small teeth winking out from a chummy bite. Now, though…now I appear as the thick brown slurry of salted snow frozen over at the edge of a parking lot sloping downhill into puddles of winter gasping for breath at frigid, windy bus stops. People drive past, one to a car, and I watch them drive by, helpless, this cruel glass wall at my back.

I try and remember tomorrow, picking at my intuition like one of the infected scabs covering my feet. When I try to stand up and forge ahead I am met by my own bloody trespass of thought and hope and destiny and choice, and fall to the floor screaming out in pain and anger. I have robbed myself of my dignity and you have helped me and because of our invisible collusion we have wrought pain across our past which ought to have been easily avoided. I try and remember tomorrow, yet I have forgotten I have not spoken with anyone today. These oozing pustules break open and slobber a noxious bleating slime, cold, wet and suffocating. Tomorrow is a glimmer of hopelessness, mired in breathy escape and loneliness brought about by my own ragged betrayal.

I am fed lies and deception by the glassy texture which is my connection to the outside, the same glassy texture which I have allowed to convince me wants me to buy, “Fun!” I reach out in search of hope and am met repeatedly, over and over by the cruelties of dignity theft and I am alone again. I gaze mindlessly into the void of consumption until I have forgotten myself, my, a purpose. Adrift on these thoughtless plains I no longer ache with misdirected anger, and with no one to base my assumptions of reality upon but those who I trust implicitly with my life, yet now acting out the script-treatment of familial destruction, no sane reality but the bleating of consumption, the wonders of fiction, or the damaged realities of loved ones intentionally hurting ourselves, with no port in this storm of insanity, I cram my gaping maw with bread and honey and I lose purpose. My stomach constricts, bound to this nightmarish hellscape I sleep walk through. I am in the deepest desert at the bottom of the ocean, where there is no sunlight and there are no forests, or mountains, or oases, only the infinite sand dunes of purgatory, where beings are set adrift and allowed to wander for all eternity.

Sometimes I wake up long enough to be fed intuitions of my ghastly instructions. I simply know that some abherrance is traced back to my instruction. I know and I plead and I beg and I confess and I consider whatever steps I may take to put an end to this needless violence, so that we might pause in this horrific undertaking and end this, so that some mourning of value might yet be understood. Yet, you ignore me, and the longer that I suffer my own betrayal, the longer I fear my reflection of the sun’s kind gaze, the further I turn, the less I care. The more I become ashamed of who I am, what I have become, as I remember more of the days yet to come, the more I shrivel and cower and consume. For, if you understand the words that are comin’ outta’ my mouth, yet profess ignorance in spite of our mutual history, why, suffering the pathetic betrayal I have went upon myself and my loved ones, should I care at all?

I speak with my sister, whose person I have rarely understood as she pulled away into her own private life of teenage discovery, and I find that I may speak only in brief, desperate cries of unblighted truth,

“You’re gonna’ have a hell of a time forgiving me.”

And though I call out to those who know, I find that I have not spoken with them of the things which only we know, yet suffer each day. The blame is mine, yet I do not understand. I do not understand why.

The Spirit

Frank Miller's THE SPIRIT should be rotocast and re-release. The reason it seemed so absurd was that it mixed realism and fantasy-- turns out, you can't do that. You can't mix realism and fantasy.
So, draw over all of the scenes from Frank Miller's THE SPIRIT, transmute live-action actors into caricatures, BAM! It'll be awesome. Make a lot more sense.
<b>	edit</b> (for clarity): rotoscoping, like in WAKING LIFE.

i get it

happening is for, “many reasons”.

A. i ought not to have been given this ability, so we must now, ‘correct’ the 'proper turn of events’.

B. it’s a back-and-forth between “having a lot” and “having nothing”

“KEEP THE PRESSURE ON!”

my family loses this house so i have next to nothing.

C. “abomination power”.

D. “it’s different.”

E. we’ll help make him crazy by refusing to recognize the past…

You now, my parents, my parents are good f****** people. They’re real tough…and kind. My father’s a school teacher and my mother helps autistic boys learn how to interact with the world. They’ve been sharing kindness with the world for over thirty, forty years, now. For them to make fools of themselves like this…to ignore me when I try and tell my mother to get a cancer screening…not to mention, being silent and going along with all of this for so many years, keeping me intentionally in the dark…I mean, I’m just about the worst son in the world. I never help my famiy do anything–

Not to mention my sister’s life!

What can i say, how do i explain it…I just said, “Sure.” I failed to practice any sort of control on myself whatsoever, I just agreed with anything I had written down and let myself fall asleep at the wheel, hoping the world would end sometime in the next hour and then I would wake up, refreshed, a brand new boy baby, ready to experience delight all over again.

FU– F***!

LOOK AT THE BODIES, PEOPLE. FUCKING HIVE IDIOTS!! This does NOT have to happen.

excerpts from FUNNY TIME.

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