Xentales

Talk about stuff, and if you must, about Xenimus
It is currently 26 Jun 2017 01:23

All times are UTC - 5 hours [ DST ]




Post new topic Reply to topic  [ 193 posts ]  Go to page Previous  1, 2, 3, 4, 5  Next
Author Message
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 07 Jan 2006 02:00 
argh, yet again no continuation tonight. ive got to get to bed nice and early so im not a f- drone when school starts backup on monday. 12-7:30 tomorrow, yuck. i told them nothing above 6hrs. they wrote it on the schedule with the rest of my availability but they seem to have quit keeping track. Well, i won a $10 giftcard anyway. kinda handy for breaks and stuff. they had a draw if you supported the children's charity. they wanted everyone to give a buck a week. i agreed to it but i think (intentionally?) i screwed up a form. ive never been deducted anything. owned.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 08 Jan 2006 04:11 
5 Hours, tick tick. After he droped me he bent down next to me, intentionally cutting his own wrist. Drawing his hand to my mouth the electric red slowly slid down my throat. Reviving me and killing me at the same time. He left me there that night. I was forced to find my own way in the world. Many events have transpired since then, but now is not the time.

I love the feeling of my loft. Warm and cozy. I have never killed here. I would never dream of killing here. This place is holy to me. Ive poured alot of money into this place, but money is no issue to me. Ive collected millions over the years. Its never hard for a vampire to acquire what he/she wants. Our skills are always superior. We know what your thinking. We watch your movements. All our features are enhanced, you can't resist us. You can't resist me.

4 Hours, tick tick. Time to head out of here. Time to indulge my needs. Ah , embrace. I want thee. We need to find a special breed. The bus should pass the perfect place. Boarding the bus is slightly annoying for someone like me. flourescent lights accentuate every feature. It scares people quickly. Before we go I shall add a slight touch to my current outfit. Sunglasses.

I shall skip the minor details. While waiting for the bus the typical scum and losers passed by. One guy tried to sell me cocaine, what a shock. Another fellow threatened to mug me. I made a simple gesture to follow me. We backed into the alley. I simply said "well, come mug me". I just stood there. He drew a knife and lunged at me. I simply moved. He tried again. Before the knife would have entered my throat I grabbed his hand. Slowly applying pressure he dropped the knife. I quickly let go of his hand, spun my right leg around and kicked right in the crook of the knee. He dropped to his knees like a ton of bricks. Looking up at me I still seen the fire in his eyes. I opened my palm infront of his face, whipped my hand around to the side of his head and stuck him in the temple with all the force I could muster. He fell to the stone cold concrete, twitching and moving about. He was gone. I have no use to feed from these scumbags, its time to move on. The bus should be waiting.

3 Hours, tick tick


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 10 Jan 2006 02:12 
3 Hours, tick tick. This bus feels oddly different. The lights are dim. Not many people on it. This is definatly more my style. Our destination? Uptown. To the land of the wealthy. The land of the snow sniffers, crack dealers and pimps of suburbia. The land of the ice and snow, drag queens come and drag queens go. Time to find a victim worthy, a tasty morsel. This is right about where we want to get off, the red light district. Red lights mean sex dontcha know. These streets are lined with children during the day and desperate prostitutes at night. This is the midpoint for many people. This street seperates the suburbs from the ghetto. This is the crossroads. Many sinners walk these streets at night. I walked the street for a little while. Reading the various people that passed. No one was worthy. Then he came walking down the street. Gigantic, dark and evil. I quickly picked up some of his deeds. Drugs, murder, rape. You name it, this was your man. I swung behind him, just following. I made my presence known. Turning at every turn. He knew I was following him. He sharply turned around and lunged and swung at my face. I decided to let him connect. I did not move. I stood still as a brick. He just looked at me, unsure of what just transpired. I grabbed his wrist and pulled his neck close to my mouth, choping down on the right side of his neck. It was quick and satisfying. Clearing scum of the earth. Before I was finished with him, I stole his jacket and threw the body in the back of an alley.

2 Hours, tick tick. Ah, the night is getting close to being over. I have one last trip to make. This place is a ways uptown. Back on the bus we go. My body feels full. The need still tugs but I am satisfied for the moment being. We are going to visit a place. Thats all I shall say. I love how intruging everyone finds me, including yourself. I feed off that slightly questioning. It makes my existance more thought dangerous. Always living on the edge. Reckless Life. The bus trip will take a good hour, but we still have some time once we get there. Hold on.

1 Hour, tick tick. This is our stop. Just follow and listen. This is the place I wanted to come to. An old italian church. No, the rumors are not true. I can set foot in a church. Crosses and garlic do nothing to me. Although garlic smells quite rank when thrown at you, but thats another story. I love coming to these sanctuaries at this time of night. To try and acknowledge a god. I have never been sure what to believe, how to understand my existance. I wonder if this existance is the form of a test. Purgatory if you will. When the apocalypse comes, all vampiric life will come to heaven to be judged by the deeds we did with out time. To be judged if we are to be embraced by the lord for our strength fighting sin. Vampires are not an evil form of life. We strive to be our own saviors and saints. We live our lives looking for answers just as any human would. We ask why me every single day. There is no peace, no answer for us. All ive ever wanted was to embrace what I am, but that can never happen. I entered the church and started strolling up to the alter. With the sun slowly rising slight rays were pouring through the stained glass window. Glass saints. Set in glass to protect all those who gaze upon them. The light reflects off the overly waxed benches. Every church has the same benches. Overly waxed and uncomfortable. The light gives off a magnificent glow hitting the finish in just the right way. The stairs are located around the back of the alter. I need to make the short climb up the next 2 floors. The rooms up here are always lacking. Never having the effervescent feeling of the main room. Rank green carpet, tacky brown walls with scribbled "jesus loves me posters". I remove a large stand with a water pot on the top. This instrument would be carried out during christenings so the newly anointed could be blessed. I take this large object up with me to the top of the church. flinging the windows open I peer out over the vast city. Taking in the sights, smells and sounds. I hoist the instrument out onto the small platform, smack dab in the middle is a large cross. I take off the leather jacket I swiped earlier. Using my preternatural strength i quickly rip off the sleeves. I drop the shreds into the holy water in the basin. After a few seconds of soaking I remove the shreds and place the basin infront of the cross. Taking the one arm I tie it around my hand and loop it over the one arm of the cross. I do the other hand aswell. Hoisting myself up I am now in the typical image of jesus during his last days. Nailed to a cross. This too is my end. Jesus and I don't have much in common but we both died for the wrong reasons at the right time. Thanks for accompanying me on my last night.

0 hours, tick tick. The sun rises over the horizon. Casting the light of a new and improved day over the dark world. Sending the creatures of the darkness back to cover for the night. The sunlight vaporised him instantly. His ashes falling into the holy water. Nothing remains next to his clothes and some ashes. He won't be remembered by many, simply forgotton. We will all be simply forgotton one day. Thats the way of life. A select few will be remembered, many more forgotton. Its the way of the world. We binge, we purge. We don't care about whats been purged, we care about the next binge. Next time you walk by a church on any given day of the week, look up. If you get something in your eye, you now have a piece of me. Its all that remains. Im always here, forgotton.

-fin

so, my first character has sprung forth and killed in the same breath. Im happy with the way it turned out and i figured i would explain somethings. The main character is my interpretation of what a 21st century jesus would be. What he would have to do. I wanted to explore some of the darkness behind those of power. Unwanted power at that. This jesus wasn't a healer in the typical sense. He didn't change the world. He was a tortured being. Wanting to attone anyway he could yet still being vampiric at heart no matter what he did. The only way out was to glance at the sun. I wasn't too descriptive with the final image. I wanted to let it speak for itself however i want to share what i envision. A platform with a large stone cross, typical of any church. There being two bindings at his hands. Head slouched forward as you would expect. Before him is an ornate holder with a glass bowl in it, containing the holy water. He still being dressed in head to toe black. As the sun comes up, he is turned to ashes instantly. spilling into the water and down on the street. He affects everyone that happened to walk by, even if its negative he did have an impact in the end.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 14 Jan 2006 01:02 
rabid scene
i like that im in the fortress
better pull the god damn from you
i sleep when im holding to a reason
im trying to pull the words out of you

got that
take that
turn it around again
stop that
drop that
cause ill be fine
you will find me at room 169

maken' the time, takin' the time to use it
wastin' the time is something i had to do
ill take it as far as i can until i can't stand it
trying to get some reason out of you

got that
take that
turn it around again
stop that
drop that
cause ill be fine
you will fine me at room 169
169
169
yeah


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 14 Jan 2006 23:37 
any of you read the latest rolling stone?
i was on the phone for a long time last night and a friend of mine was telling me how.. shut the f- up. Oh, cool, metal, dood. rock n roll, party do cocaine, yeah. I ain't here for that. Anyway, it was a friend of mine who was telling me how some of the members of my family and some of friends of my family have taken a great offense at what i said in this magazine. its a shame, look what he has mother, his mother can't even go out of the house now. Its amazing my mother could even go out of the house before hand, knowing the shit she knew. Why is he talking about this? it might not have happened to you, but it might have happened to the two or three people standing next to you. who have some f- up family life when they hit about the age of 25. Then you have to find your way, trying to climb your way out of what you thought was your life. It looks more like a f- car wreck that no one told you about. because, the family doesn't want to be embarrased about the things coming out. We don't want to deal with this publically. But if we don't deal with it publically, then we are not going to deal with the bullshit at all. I bet they would like it that way.

Im not be a qualified therapist, i dont know alot of shit about this. But i do know we are in the 90s. I do know if we are going to make it for another 50 years on this planet we need to f- change our shit now. there are alot of f- who do not want that shit to be changed as that will dick up their crap. there are alot of parents who have done f- up their kids through their whole f- lives. They are 40 or 50 and think its f- cool. f- that shit. Im the last f- person they expected would be climbing up their ass to tell them about it. See for me now, its not about doing f- cocaine. Its not about how much vodka i can drink Its not about drinking someone else under the table. Its not about how much of a f- rock n roller i can be. thats great for little kid rock n roll f- bullshit, but that don't work in the real world for my ass. i cant come up here and go "im bad, im rock n roll. we are doing this rock n roll thing" when my life is falling apart. i cant fake it no more. just because my family or my record company or someone else says to do it so we can be happy and make money, suck my dick. anyway, there are those in my family who plan now that now ive written these things they are going to get revenge. well ya, try it. Well if a scrony 90lb jrhigh weakling can get his ass up here and finally take this stuff on then any of you can any one of you who have the same f- bullshit problems in your life. they dont have to get away with it.

i tried being nice, i tried being cool about it. i tried like being friends and offering forgiveness and love and that sort of shit. i got well we love you but lets keep the screws on and keep you down like we always have. well, guess what. ive changed my point of view. for me its like, live and let die f-.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 16 Jan 2006 00:02 
This is more of a tribute post. Ive realized a few things that i can't exactly say but i want to put the energy out there. ive always had a greatest intrest in energy and the mind. i believe both are extremely powerful if developed. ive been able to do things ive never been able to explain by simply putting energy out there or using a few mind tricks. one example is on christmas day my nana had bought 7 scratch tickets and placed them all on the christmas tree. she asked me to go and get them. i spread all 7 out on the pooltable downstairs and i cleared my mind. i had no thoughts and i wasn't thinking about anything. i waved my hand over the tickets 2 times. i got a weird sense from 2. one was stronger then the others so i stuck it in my pocket. i gave the other card to my one uncle. i won $3 on my card, he won $2 on his. no one else won anything what so ever. i had a stronger feeling from my card to begin with.

mom im not 100% sure whats going on. im quite confuzed why we stopped speaking last night. i can't decide what exactly i did. i know i went and bought some stuff after we talked about our situation at the end of this month, but i figured out ive got alot to spare. if this is the issue then talk to me tomorrow night. if its the fact i spent most of last night on the computer when it was your birthday there is a simple explanation. when i got home i felt your distance like you wanted to be alone. if this is the issue come talk to me tomorrow night. i know im not perfect. i need you to understand right now. im in a transition right now. i am really onto something. i am close to figuring out what exactly i am. everyone has to have this experience at some point. my head swims day and night. i have really bad depression out of no where and its gone within 5 minutes. some days sparks fly off my fingers when i snap, some days i just drag along. i don't know up from down, left from right. im trying to figure it all out. i know there is something here and im working to figure it out. i need your support. i need you to be there. i dont want to see us divide but it has to be about me for now. i will be more sensitive to you. we need to spend more time togeather. anymore i am always off persuing something. i get impulses like crazy now. last week a friend mentioned about going to the gym and ive realized that getting in better shape is the next step i need to take. ive been jogging and lifting weights nightly. i know its something ive got to do. PLEASE talk to me tomorrow night. its all i want. i will stop taking you for granted. just be patient with me. in the end you will see my light too.

(explanation): my mom stopped talking to me last night for no apparent reason besides a few smaller things. she wouldn't acknowledge me besides about 5 words today. i asked her if she was alright and i said i would vaccum. i came home from work and she was in bed, it was frigging 8:30. energy, come through for me. do me a favor if you read this, put the positive energy out there. i want this to resolve tomorrow or for me to know more.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 16 Jan 2006 23:57 
well its still the same. i decided to make a post a day until this is over. its got me kinda depressed as at this point we lead seperate lives. she stays in her room all night, comes out to make herself supper and thats it. im not sure what exactly to think. she could be trying to teach me something by making me realize how much i do appriciate her. ive been a bit of a cock for the past 4 months but its not exactly something i can control. im trying to find my place right now that im free of certain ties. she could also be thinking of the best ploy to kick me out. its hard to say. i doubt she would go that far (i think she would give me a month). Im not sure what to do if it does come down to that. ive got about $1700 or so. i could live out of a cheap motel for a little while. optimally what i want to happen is live with a friend of mine (if im forced out, i want to stay here). im not sure what he would think of that. ive been dropping slight hints about the problems to get him thinking. it would definatly be good for me to be exposed to a different way of living for a period of time. lots of things would change. ive always felt i am quite different from your average person. in most things i always seem a step or two ahead. im trying to develop that sense i feel. the only way is to gather various experiences and form something. if none of this goes through then ill be forced to A) see if the student loan council will give me the emergency $3000 fund B) drop out and get a fulltime job at a local cellphone activation company (i cant EVER see me doing that, gawd it kills me to think of it)


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 22 Jan 2006 01:44 
well she speaks again. took a complete week, but i wanted to give her time. it boiled down to the fact we never spend time together anymore as im always busy with friends, computers and life in general. we are going to make an effort to spend a couple hours a week together so we don't disconnect and go our seperate ways.

ive been a busy fellow. i started going to the gym once or twice a week. im going to slowly build into it and try to go 4-6 times a week. im not doing much weights besides my legs. im mainly doing cardio (i love the elliptical with tension cranked). i do lift weights with my legs to help get some defination. ill start abs shortly and ive been doing dumbells nightly. im going for more conditioning rather then weights. ill do a small amount of weight many times to get the muscle used to it. that way i build higher quality muscle. lifting weights that are too heavy just damages the muscle, which regrows quickly.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 22 Jan 2006 21:50 
the following very graphic. some of you may not wish to read it due to the nature of the content. you have been warned

<b><center>"Without You"</center></b>

Although he wanted to share the dance, Mayne could not bring himself to interrupt such beauty. Her well-toned body swayed childlike, peacefully, slowly moving to the rhythm. Her innocence was enchanting, her beauty breathtaking. Mayne knew she’d be angry at him for sneaking about, watching without letting her know, but the teenage voyeur inside his adult body encouraged him and didn’t care about the consequences. Besides, this was for his eyes only. Her eyes sparkled, reminding him of the ocean, vast with beauty and mystery. A slight breeze danced through her lion’s mane. A full-length see-through dress covered her shapely body and a light glaze of sweat made her glisten. She seemed too beautiful to be real. During this split second of visual euphoria, Mayne conceded that she was the only woman he ever truly loved. Her eyes flickered. She must have heard me, he thought as she turned toward him. He didn’t want to ruin the beauty, only to enjoy it. Her thick lips smiled sympathetically. Then the song started growing in volume.

A sharp twinge of panic shot through him when he realized which of his songs it was. Cold sweat seeped out of his pores and dread consumed him. His vision spiraled as reality distorted. Breathing became difficult, complicated. Desperation attacked and twisted every muscle in his thin body. Much worse than the pain was his fear. Unsuppressable anxiety swept through him as he started toward the stereo. Everything lost its natural texture; the walls, the floor, the air became surreal. The louder the music, the more difficult he found it to move. He had to remove the compact disc but his feet felt like large concrete blocks. He couldn’t move fast enough. She already had the pistol’s barrel against her temple.

BLAMM!

Mayne awoke covered in sweat, a mute shriek still lodged in his throat. The past six hours had been spent in a drug-and-alcohol-induced coma that he put over as sleep. Sleep was a rare commodity and was impossible to achieve without some assistance. It didn’t matter whether he slept six hours or six minutes, the nightmare always managed to creep in. No sleeping pill or antidepressant could spare him. He had written the song and was forever damned by it. With unsteady hands, he wiped sweat from his brow and rubbed his fingers against the satin sheets. His silver and gold bracelets clinked together. Rolling onto his side, he stared at the digital alarm clock on top of the black night table that had a built -in refrigerator as its base. On top of the clock was a half-empty pack of Marlboros. He stared at the green digital numbers but they made no sense. It really didn’t matter what time it was anyway, his time was other people’s money. Next to the clock was something more important than cash or time. Slowly he sat up. Tortured eyes scanned the black marble tabletop, searching for any leftover precious brown powder. There were burned matches, bent cigarettes, and empty bindles, but no dope. It didn’t matter. He could always have more delivered. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Mayne reached down and opened the night table’s refrigerator door. Inside were several Budweiser’s, baking soda, and a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon. He grabbed a cold can, killing half of it in one sip. He did this every morning. Instantly, his aching head began to feel better. Although he didn’t want to admit it, the time had arrived to rejoin the living. He knew he had to be at the studio soon but didn’t feel up to it. Besides, the recording of his latest album, Alone, had been finished over a month ago. The album was now in the final mixing stages. If Mayne liked what he heard, he’d approve it and the record would be released on schedule. If not, it would have to be remixed until he did approve. So then, what the f- did they need him for? He procrastinated for as long as he possibly could before finally standing up.

Much like his bedroom, the bathroom was a disaster area. Discarded clothes, creams, trash, cassettes, and towels dominated the view. Using radar to locate the bowl, he found the porcelain, fought off the urge to puke, and relieved himself. He reentered the bedroom, not really feeling human, more like a robot dressed in rented flesh. There was a dull pain in his abdomen that he’d grown accustomed to. It, like many other flaws in his health, could be attributed to his excessive life-style. Besides hi jewelry, Mayne only wore Jockey briefs. He stumbled over to his dresser, removed a pair of custom-tailored black leather pants, and changed. He found a dark purple silk kimono hanging in a walk in closet and put it on. In a dresser drawer was a gram vial of cocaine. Scooping with the long fingernail on his right pinkie, the tattered musician snorted eight blasts of rock ‘n’ roll aspirin. The kimono felt cool against his warm flesh. He wondered if he was feverish and concluded he probably was. He was always run down, as if with a perpetual fever. That is, of course, until he got his chip. He finished his beer, tossing the empty can in the general direction of a wastebasket that was already crammed with empties. Staring into a full-length mirror, the run-down recluse didn’t recognize the reflection. Sure, the long blond hair and tattoos gave him away, but he looked so frail. Mayne looked like someone who was ready for hospital pajamas. His once attractive face was blue, taut, and expressionless. A scraggly beard covered his chin and his emerald eyes were no longer authentic gems, but rather costume jewelry. He needed a drink.

For the past fourteen of his twenty-eight years, he’d spent the majority of his time inside a bottle. Teenage beer and wine parties turned to vodka and rum at nightclubs, which in turn evolved into straight whiskey. Exiting the bedroom, he said a silent prayer to his patron saint, Jim Beam, asking that there be some in the liquor cabinet. An illuminating golden glow surrounded the thick blackout curtains. A small war had gone down in the living room the previous evening. Full ashtrays, assorted liquor bottles, empty and half-empty packs of cigarettes, and beer cans were strewn everywhere. Several CD covers were caked in cocaine residue. Mayne tried remembering who had been partying there and couldn’t. An empty pack of Kool cigarettes meant that one of his many dealers, Jamie Jazz had delivered something. It didn’t take very long before he made the connection between the empty bindles in the bedroom and Jamie. Jamie (pronounced Jay-mee) was typical Hollywood trash who hand delivered coke, toke, crack, or smack to troubled celebrities, exploiting their vulnerabilities. Mayne searched for more clues as to who else had been over partying but came up blank. He slid behind the bar that was adjacent to the kitchen and opened a cabinet. There were several unopened bottles of assorted white liquors. A nervous surge shot through his small stomach. What if there was no whiskey? He shuffled the bottles around until he found the proper one. A sigh of relief escaped him as he twisted the cap off and made a mental note that he needed to restock. The whiskey’s aroma was his equivalent of fresh brewed coffee. "Here’s looking at you, love," Mayne said aloud, raising the bottle to his lips.

Like every day, one sip led to another. After several sips, he started feeling right. He put the bottle on the counter and made it to the refrigerator. If he was lucky, he’d be drunk before the day started. He removed another Budweiser and went back into the messy living room. There was a dull hum inside his cranium. He couldn’t differentiate whether it was cocaine-induced or the central air-conditioning. If only he could remember what day today was, then he’d know if a maid was scheduled to come by. She could bring booze. The musician sat on the couch, picked up the phone, and dialed 411.

"Operator. What city, please?"

"L.A."

"Yes?"

"What day is it? Mayne asked sincerely, lighting a Marlboro.

"What?"

"What day is it?"

"Sir, I’m an operator."

"Ma’am, you’re Information and I asked you a question," Mayne corrected her. A snide laugh escaped him. After a silent moment, she answered his question.

"It’s Wednesday, sir."

"Thanks," he said, and hung up. There would be no maid service today. This was not the way he wanted to start the day. He polished off the beer, finished his cigarette, and snorted more cocaine. After several confusing seconds, he remembered where he kept the large green garbage bags and began straightening up the mess. Moving around the large one-bedroom condominium, he picked up anything that wasn’t bolted down and threw it out. Bottles and empty food containers stretched the garbage bag to a point where it threatened to rip open. After ten minutes of straightening up, the apartment began taking shape. Besides this condominium, he also owned one in Manhattan and another in Houston. He rarely frequented his Hollywood Hills mansion, or for that matter, his house in Maui. Both brought back too many memories of her. It was in the Hollywood Hills house where he and Elizabeth Aston had spent most of their quality time. As his thoughts began betraying him, thinking more about her, Mayne instinctively went to the bar and retrieved the whiskey bottle. He could think of her as long as he had a safety net. With all the money, fame, and success he had attained, it was the simple things like friendship and love that were the hardest to keep. He never meant to hurt anyone, especially those closest to him, but for some reason that’s who he usually hurt the worst. He never set out to be malicious, but by living under a microscope with the world scrutinizing him, any wrongdoing, public or private, tended to blow up in his face and often wound up as Nightly News. Personal flaws and f- are not allowed of the elite. He often suffered silently, trapped by his own fame, until he needed out of his cage. But the cage was as wide as his eyes could perceive. All Mayne had ever tried to be, right or wrong, was himself. With all the doctors, specialists, therapists, fans, and everyone in his organization trying to help him, he just sank further into his cocoon, alienating himself even more. He often wondered who he really was. Was he another regenerated social security number automatically inherited at birth or a genuine reflection of society? Was he a phenomenon or just a facade? Was he a product of his own imagination or just another brick? Would he ever understand his own destiny?

Inside his mind, he analyzed why his relationship with Elizabeth had failed more times than were countable. Like the scholar he wasn’t, he dissected situations, pondered things he should’ve said and shouldn’t have been caught doing. When it came to sex, why couldn’t Elizabeth understand that just because he occasionally strayed from their bedroom didn’t mean he didn’t love her? Sex was like role-playing. He never forced her to be monogamous but deep down he knew that if he found out she was f- someone else it would have hurt. A lot! Even with that knowledge, he couldn’t confine himself to only one woman. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too. He tried being open with her but concluded that certain things should’ve remained secret. Sex was an ego addiction similar to the one felt onstage. Different audiences, like different partners, were more challenging and made him work harder for the applause. Like drugs, he was addicted to the rush. Even with an empire at his disposal, money couldn’t buy him love, nor happiness, nor peace of mind. Nor Elizabeth. Looking around the large living room, a very disenchanted artist absorbed the modern decor. None of these possessions except a few token items had ever meant anything to Mayne. None of this shit was real. He was surrounded by trophies of a game that had no meaning. And he was tired of playing games.

A sharp pain in his left ear sent him back to the dark corridor that led from stage to dressing room. Inside his ringing head, speakers feeding back ignited and exploded. He was experiencing another rock ‘n’ roll side effect, ear damage. The dull hum lasted only seconds but the memories of his final show with his former band, Suicide Shift, would never fade. For reasons he couldn’t remember, Elizabeth had been unable to attend the tour’s final show. The band had been on the road for the better part of fourteen months, over 285 concerts. Every few weeks Mayne had flown her to whatever city he was performing in and she’d stay for a few nights. The final concert of any tour is an important night. It was Suicide Shift’s first headlining tour and Mayne wanted to share the experience with her. It was the culmination of many miles traveled, many hours worked, and the celebration that went on afterward was well deserved. He called her several times to offer her plane tickets, trying to persuade her, but she couldn’t make it.

The gig was well over two hours of electric ferocity. Of course Mayne consumed plenty of drugs and alcohol before and during the show (he did every gig), but it was the Florida crowd’s enthusiasm and knowing that he’d be able to sleep for a month that gave him extra spark. Every time he took a solo, he tried to best any previous soloing effort. Every time he approached his microphone to sing backups, his voice surged with whiskey vigor. For him, this was rock ‘n’ roll at its best. The 4,000-plus crowd acknowledged this with deafening applause.

After the final encore, it was time to celebrate. Mayne wound up with two eager females in his hotel room. In the privacy of his bathroom he injected a little heroin. Not enough to make him nod out but enough to get him good and high. The two nubile females would only make him feel better. After struggling to get his wet brown suede pants off, he joined the nude women, and thus the revelry began. The dope clouded his not-so-good memory but Mayne remembered a very drunk Peter Terrance walking into the room. The band’s drummer had mistaken Mayne’s room for his own. In the spirit of celebration, Mayne offered him a girl. Terrance declined saying he’d find his own and left. The menage-a-trois continued. Shortly afterward there was a knock on the door. Thinking it was Terrance taking up the offer, Mayne called out, telling whoever was at the door to enter. Standing at the door with an overnight bag was Elizabeth. On the spur of the moment she’d flown from L.A. to Miami to be with him. A very bad scene played itself out. Elizabeth left broken and hysterical. That was the beginning of the end for their relationship.

Mayne snapped out of the past. His left knee popped loudly as he straightened his legs and headed for the phone. He pushed a button. Elizabeth’s number was still programmed and every now and then he pushed it just to hear her phone ring. Also in the phone’s memory was his record label, his manager, the three members of his current band, the Mayne Mann Group, and several drug dealers. After receiving no answer at Elizabeth’s, he pushed another button. His many bracelets clinked together and a few seconds later there was a reply.

"Yeah?" spat an unenthusiastic voice from a car phone.

"It’s me," Mayne said, swallowing, cocaine dripping down his throat.

"My main man," Jamie’s voice declared like a cash register ringing. "What can I do ya for?"

"Uptown and downtown." Cocaine and heroin.

"No problem. You remember what I did for ya last night, right?"

"Yeah." He didn’t.

"You owe me three bills from that shit, brother man," the dealer explained just in case memory failed. I’m sure I got some change floatin’ around. If I can’t find some I’ll five ya my Versateller card and you can get what I owe."

"Bet. I’ll be right up," Jamie said as if he was doing Mayne a favor and hung up.

"f-’ prick," Mayne mumbled to himself.

He lit up a cigarette and got himself another beer. The lid popped loudly and foam rose to the mouth hole. He watched, amused, then walked over to the black-out curtains and pulled the lever, letting bright sunlight invade his living room. "f- you very much," he loudly announced, squinting, and raising his middle finger to the sky. The view from his balcony was vast, displaying the City of Angels below, yet more often than not Mayne kept the curtains shut, preferring not to be a part of the world outside. It was safe inside his apartment. Against a far wall, tucked in the corner so that the ivory keys faced out toward the living room, was a vintage Steinway. He spent many pleasure-filled hours on the instrument, and even when he wasn’t playing, the piano gave him visual stimulation. It was an instrument of precision and grace. Next to the piano, resting comfortably on stands were half a dozen vintage guitars: Les Pauls, Stratocasters, and Telecasters. The guitars he kept in the apartment were the ones that meant the most to him.

The buzzer sounded, waking Mayne from his drifting thoughts. He went to the intercom and pressed the button that unlocked the front door. A few minutes later, Jamie Jazz was inside his apartment. Dozens of platinum and gold records adorned the walls. Hours upon years of planning, writing, recording, and struggling had reaped these round rewards. His songwriting stemmed from inner pains and his slower, more blues-influenced songs often dealt with personal hardships. Those were the songs he was most proud of and believed might stand the test of time. The faster, more hard-rock-oriented songs often had little significance or wore their meanings on their sleeve. Unfortunately, the awards were no longer awards without Elizabeth. Mayne excused himself and went into the bedroom. Hidden behind yet another platinum disc was a safe. He removed the disc from the wall, twisted the combination, and opened the safe. Inside were jewelry, documents, over four thousand dollars cash, a freebase pipe, and a loaded .357 Magnum. He grabbed a few C-notes and went back into the living room, leaving the safe shut but unlocked. Jamie was seated on the black leather couch, feet up on the marble coffee table, looking casual in Suicide Shift sweatpants (that he’d gotten from Mayne) and a matching sweatshirt. He’d helped himself to a beer.

"What’s the total?"

"Including last night? Six," Jamie replied, fidgeting with the beeper on his waist.

Mayne handed him six bills and put the rest in his pants pocket. Judging by the look on his face, the dealer understood he wanted to be alone and took the hint.

"Call me if you need anything else," Jamie offered, exiting the apartment.

The moment the front door clicked shut, Mayne’s mind rushed into overdrive but his body refused to move. He had drugs in hand, but instead of finding a syringe, he went back into the bedroom. Something in the wall safe more powerful than his addiction had caught his eye. He walked to the safe and pulled the door open. Inside was a photo album containing precious Kodachrome memories. Placing the drugs on top of the messy night table, he fell on the bed, and began flipping through the leather-bound book. Captured in photos were images and feelings so intense that it made him warm as well as suicidal. Elizabeth had challenged him intellectually while stimulating him sexually. She’d mothered him when he was sick, which was quite often. She’d set free inner feelings that he’d often tried avoiding. Her beauty, both inner and physical, was something he wanted; yet when she was his, he did everything conceivable to lose her.

He turned to the second page. He had no idea how many times he’d masturbated to this photo. Every other day perhaps. It was just a snapshot he’d taken of her while on vacation in Las Vegas. In photo form, the wind blew her long hair away from her face and she was smiling. Behind her was the Caesar’s Palace hotel where they’d spent the better part of two weeks in the penthouse suite. It was a typical tourist photo but it was her smile that turned him on. It was so free from pain. Mayne would do anything to have her smile for him like she had in the photograph. He’d do anything to have her lips, her body again.

He unbuttoned his leather pants. Before beginning his self-stimulation, he pulled himself over to the night-table refrigerator and removed an unopened bottle of Dom Perignon champagne. The bottle opened with a loud pop and smoke billowed from the top, but no liquid spilled.

Sipping deeply from the bottle, he flipped through the photo album that was all too short, carefully avoiding the final page. He rarely looked at the last page. As always, he wound up back on page two. With the bottle two-thirds empty, he pulled his pants and briefs down to his knees and poured the remaining champagne onto his palms. This was part of the ritual. Fine champagne was something he and Elizabeth enjoyed sharing. He could still share it with her. As he took hold of his wet erection, his thoughts began to slip. It was during one of their final dinner dates that she had said something that inspired him to write the most beautiful song of his career. "I can’t live with you and I can’t live without you," he could hear her saying as if it were just yesterday. Words flowed from pen to paper faster than he could write. Mayne concluded that this was his private way of explaining all that had happened between them. The song "Without You," was not an apology, it was his side of the story. It was rock ‘n’ roll sincerity that sold over three million copies in the U.S., topping the record sales charts and putting the Mayne Mann Group on top of the rock world. He offered Elizabeth half of the royalties from the song because without her there would be no song. She politely declined. A sold-out Mayne Mann Group tour ensued. When the tour arrived in Los Angeles, Mayne desperately wanted to see her. No matter how many women he had, no matter how over her he told everyone he was, he’d do anything for her except let her permanently slip out of his life.

He’d called her a dozen times over the course of two days, leaving message after message on her answering machine. Even though she never responded, he’d left her ten All-Access passes at Will Call. She never showed.

After the show, Mayne vowed he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He quickly showered, changed into dry clothing, and left, avoiding all the backstage hoopla. He and his driver headed for Elizabeth’s apartment. Using the phone in the limousine, he dialed her from the street below her apartment. Again he was greeted by a recorded message.

"Elizabeth, I know–I hope you’re there. I’m downstairs and even if I have to break down the door to see you, I’m willing. If you’re gonna call the cops, well, call ‘em now. . . I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t deserve anything . . . f-, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say other than I still care about you. Words can’t heal what I’ve done but, f-, the past is done . . . I really need to see your face again," Mayne softly explained after the beep. The words still echoed in his mind as he wondered if he could’ve possibly phrased things differently. It was too late now, he thought, already inside the building. This was one of the rare occasions after a gig that Mayne was sober. As he arrived by way of elevator at her floor, he heard familiar music. The closer he got to her door the louder the volume grew. Then his world began to spin uncontrollably as a loud gunshot echoed through the hallway. He ran toward her apartment, lowered his shoulder, and with reckless abandon crashed through the wooden door. He’d found Elizabeth on the couch, bleeding profusely, most of her head splattered on the wall behind her. On the blood-sprayed coffee table in front of her was the answering machine, a ballpoint pen, and several crumpled balls of writing paper. He stood destroyed before her corpse. How could this have happened? All he had ever done was lover her. Devastated, he slowly walked over to the blaring stereo. A CD single of "Without You" was programmed to repeat. He wondered how many times she’d listened to the same song and shut the power off. Then he noticed that next to the answering machine was a note.

Number one with a bullet, the red-speckled note read.

Shaking and convulsing, his tears falling freely, Mayne began screaming at the top of his lungs. It sounded like someone had unleashed a wild animal. His shrieks threatened to break the windows. A migraine pierced his throbbing temples and his entire head was overloaded with pressure. Did she kill herself because they had failed or because he wouldn’t leave her be? Was it the song, one of the few things he’d ever done autonomously, that had driven her to this? Was this really happening? Then another thought came out mind. He removed the pistol from her hand and put it against his temple.

He was going to join her.

CLICK.

It was empty. Elizabeth had known she would only need one bullet.

Mayne snapped out of that nightmare and was thrust into another memory. He recognized the familiar room as the honeymoon suite in Las Vegas and almost felt at ease. The bed was in disarray and Elizabeth was smiling mischievously.

"What do you want to do?"

"Wha’?" Mayne responded, confused.

They’d already drunk several bottles of champagne and made love twice.

"What do you want to do?" she replied softly, daring Mayne to answer.

Mayne caught wind of her game and decided to play along. If she was giving him an option as to what they’d do next, he was definitely going to take advantage of her generosity.

"You can either come up here and tell me that you love me or go down on me."

Elizabeth’s face registered joy. Words like love were the hardest to get out of Mayne’s mouth. Once again she smiled as she began her descent toward his waistline. It didn’t take her very long to bring him back to life. Several minutes later, when she sensed that he was as excited as he was going to get, Elizabeth looked up at her man and with the sexiest expression she would conjure, softy said, "I love you."

Mayne came with a slight grunt. The powerful surge had given him something to work at but there was no pleasure in the orgasm. There never was anymore. He tossed the photo album aside and lay on the bed feeling dead, staring at the ceiling. For a split second, he thought he heard musical strands of "Without You" but it was only his imagination. His tired body lay there for what felt like a year before he sat up. At least the drugs on the night table were real. Everything he needed was on the table. Hidden beneath the clock radio was a syringe and a blackened spoon. There was a half-empty glass of water and a lighter next to it. In the spoon he mixed the proper amounts of heroin and water, and then, using the lighter, heated the bottom of the spoon until the mixture cleared up before placing a tiny piece of cotton into the spoon. With unsteady hands, he added some cocaine and his speedball was complete. Being a high-profile celebrity, he couldn’t afford to have his withered arms tracked up too badly. He usually shot into the back of his forearms or his feet. He also injected into his neck but the way he felt right now, he had no time to dillydally. Like an expert acupuncturist, he fixed into a bulging vein in his forearm.

"Cool," he mumbled, carefully examining his arm, as he felt the speedball coming on.

He fell back down on the bed. Between the drugs and his emotions, he was exhausted. It was a good thing drugs numbed away most of the pressures. He was rushing out as the drug hit him in powerful waves. It took several moments before he realized his left arm was touching something. He slowly rolled over. The photo album was opened to the last page. The last page contained Elizabeth’s obituary and a sympathy card. Tears he’d held in since that day began to flow down his cheeks. His pale face flushed as he felt his strength evaporating. He was drowning in sorrow but didn’t believe in self-pity and that made him feel even worse. He sat up hyperventilating with a question echoing inside his head. Why did she have to die? He had no answer and stood up too quickly. Why was everything so f-? He went back into the living room. He needed whiskey.

Why?

He loved her so much.

Why?

He’d offered her half the royalties. Half. That was a financial empire, but she’d refused.

Why?

He’d tried to make amends. He’d tried being good according to society’s standards. He wanted to understand everything that had happened to them. He wanted her to love him but no matter how hard he tried, he f- it up.

Why?

He wanted to be normal again but that wasn’t possible.

Why?

He wanted to feel closer to Elizabeth but she was dead. That tormented his fragile soul but for a split second of insane logic, Mayne concluded that his body should not be spared either.

"Arrrrrrggghh!" he growled, attacking his living room like a pissed-off brawler. Fists and feet attacked defenseless walls and furniture. He cocked his right fist back and a large hole went through plaster. He snatched an Oriental lamp off an end table and hurled it across the room. He violently threw a marble ashtray into a plaque, ruining both. Breathing heavily and drenched in alcoholic sweat, he grabbed a platinum record and smashed it, spraying glass shards everywhere. The shattered glass on the floor twinkled like sun-reflected sand. No matter how many hotel rooms he trashed during his career, Mayne had never harmed a guitar. That was strictly taboo until today. He walked over to the row of guitars, grabbed a ‘68 Stratocaster by its stringed neck and swung, smashing the mahogany body until it was little more than firewood. With each self-destructive act, he felt slightly better. He walked over to another platinum disc, readied himself and put his right fist through the glass. Blood spurted from the hand that was heavily insured by Lloyds of London.

For the first time that day he smiled.

Mayne grabbed the Jim Beam bottle off the bar and guzzled. The liquid painkiller warmed his heaving chest and eased his bleeding hand, which looked like it needed stitches. He walked over to his Fischer stereo, and, using his good hand, turned on the receiver. The digital readout was locked on a classic rock station. It was the only safe station on the dial, since it never played any of his songs. Mayne Mann was too new, too current. The station only played material from the 60s and 70s. He instantly recognized the song playing; it was Humble Pie’s "I Don’t Need No Doctor." It was raw rock like this that had inspired him to become a musician. Following the Pie were the Allman Brothers. Mayne could relate to what it felt like being tied to a whipping post.

During the commercials, he went into the kitchen to grab another beer. Out of his stereo speakers a record store chain announced its prices as the lowest in Los Angeles. The background music accompanying the record store commercial was "Without You."

His eyes stung but no tears fell as he realized that no matter where he was, he couldn’t hide from himself. Like a man on a mission, he walked over to the stereo, grabbed the receiver, and yanked with both hands. It took several strong tugs before the digital lights went off. With the receiver in hand, he stumbled backward, ripping wires and knocking over one of the large Bose speakers. Distraught and panting, he mad his way to the giant sliding safety glass door that led to the balcony. He casually dropped the high-tech receiver and undid the latch that kept the heavy door locked. Fresh air attacked his senses. The cool breeze felt invigorating as he stepped out onto the balcony and looked over the edge. His jet-black Bentley sat gleaming in the parking lot directly below. He picked the receiver up, held it over the balcony, and aimed it at the car. After several seconds of wondering if his aim was accurate, he let go. Glass spidered wildly when the receiver hit the car’s windshield and broke through. He went to fetch the beer he’d been distracted from and ripped the refrigerator door open as hard as he could. It crashed open, spilling several items onto the floor. The door dangled by a hinge. Mayne grabbed a beer, chugged half, and like a strong-armed baseball pitcher threw it at his guitar collection, barely missing his favorite: a vintage ‘57 Sunburst Les Paul. He grabbed another can from the crippled refrigerator as his eyes returned to the guitars.

The guitars were like adopted children and he loved each one in a different manner.

Certain guitars held certain memories but each guitar had the ability to create magic. It was that potential he respected and admired most about these guitars until this afternoon. Now, no matter how much he loved a certain guitar, or how valuable it might be, all he wanted to do was feel pain. Pain brought him closer to reality. It brought him closer to Elizabeth. He gave the world music, very good music, and asked for little in return. A little space to create, some kicks thrown in, and how about peace of mind? Instead, he had more material goods than he could ever use, more money than he could count, and nothing worth fighting for. There was a time not too long ago when he’d fought like hell for all of this. Now that he owned a piece of the rock he wished he could give it back. The view from the top wasn’t as picturesque as he’d imagined. What he did as his artistic expression, the record company sold for capital. He’d quickly grown disillusioned with the system but what else could he do? Without the industry he couldn’t share his music. No matter how hard anyone tried explaining it to him, musical notes would never equal dollar signs. He made music because since his early childhood, he truly loved rock ‘n’ roll. It was the people, his people, he wrote music for after he finished writing for himself. So then, why couldn’t he sleep at night?

He stared at the answer.

He was going to kill his guitars. If it wasn’t for these guitars, he wouldn’t have the problems he did. And he’s save the goddamn ‘57 Sunburst for last. He guzzled the beer, raising it away from his greedy mouth. Budweiser rained down the side of his face. When the can was almost empty, he crushed and spiked it like a football. Enraged, he grabbed a Les Paul Black Beauty and dealt it a quick but savage death against a wall. He raised a rare Telecaster over his head and clubbed the coffee table, breaking both. Then he picked up another Les Paul and, swinging it like a baseball bat, clobbered a lamp and several other objects before the guitar’s neck snapped off.

"f-’ cheap shit," he grumbled.

He heard something that had a bit of rhythm to it. Was there a drummer playing in his head? It took several seconds for him to realize that one of the neighbors was pounding on the wall.

"WHAT, A LITTLE TOO LOUD FOR YA?" Mayne shouted at the direction the noise was coming from.

It didn’t stop.

"YER PISSING ME OFF, ASSHOLE!"

Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock.

"f-, I'm giving ya fair f- warning," he said.

Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock.

Mayne walked into the bedroom and over to the night table. He grabbed his cocaine and poured a decent-sized mound on the back of his hand that wasn’t bleeding and snorted. Afterward he licked residue off his fist, numbing his teeth and gums. There was a pack of Marlboros on the table. He grabbed one and lit it. He took a deep drag and listened to his surroundings.

The neighbor was still pounding. The ashtray was an overflowing mountain of dead butts so Mayne placed the cigarette on the edge of the night table. He had tried to avoid a confrontation, but the shithead next door wouldn’t let it lie. He went to his wall safe, grabbed the Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum, and charged out of the bedroom. "OKAY, f-, WANNA PLAY GAMES?"

Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock.

KABAMMM, KABAMMM, KABAMMM.

He unloaded three shots toward the already hole-ridden wall. The pounding stopped instantly. Again he smiled. He aimed the pistol at one of his platinum discs on another wall and blasted the shiny sphere. He aimed at his TV and blew it to kingdom come. One bullet left. He held the silver-plated pistol in awe. He could easily join Elizabeth; all it would take was one quick squeeze of the trigger. The idea appealed to him. Maybe he’d get it right in his next life. Slowly, eyes closed, he raised the pistol. The trigger teased his scarlet index finger. The barrel felt good against his temple. Readying himself, he reopened his eyes. In front of him, mocking him, were two more Les Paul guitars. There once was a point in his life when these musical embodiments were holy. The dedication and years of practicing were a labor of love. Guitars were his passion, his expression, and his ticket out of obscurity. But all of that changed with one song. Now these guitars were reminders that Mayne could never regain his innocence.

"Can’t I f-’ die with some dignity?" he wondered as rage consumed him.

He couldn’t even commit suicide without music somehow interfering. His shaking arm lowered and took aim at one of the guitars. There was heavy recoil as wooden fragments flew everywhere. He put a massive hole in the guitar, and then walked over to examine his accuracy. It was definitely dead, but that wasn’t enough. He picked up the remains and threw them against the safety-glass door.

He walked over to the balcony’s edge. Below, a small crowd had gathered around his ruined luxury car.

"Anybody want an autograph?" he asked, tossing out the fragmented guitar.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute. I got another present!" he yelled, and ran into the bedroom.

His heavy footsteps jarred the cigarette he’d forgotten off the night table. It smoldered on the thick rug. Mayne dug inside the wall safe, grabbed a handful of hundred-dollar bills, and ran back to the balcony before his audience could scurry away.

"Don’t say I never gave you anything," he announced, letting the money fly.

Several wary spectators stepped backward but as soon as it was obvious that the confetti was currency, they rushed forward. Mayne waved to the small crowd and went back inside.

One guitar remained.

He stared at the ‘57, marveling at the beautiful colors. It was appropriately called a Sunburst. Reds, oranges, and yellows swirled in the wooden body. This one had gold trim as well as golden pickups. The Sunburst was his preference of all guitars. He had another two dozen in storage but this guitar was the first thing he bought after Suicide Shift was signed to a recording contract. It was how he’d rewarded himself for having "made it." This was also the guitar he’d written the music to "Without You" on. He approached it with caution and respect and gently picked it up. He sat down on the floor Indian style. Deep down, he was glad he hadn’t destroyed this ax. His picking hand hurt badly, but he wanted to play. Blood dripped off his hand and dripped down the guitar’s body. Enthralled, Mayne watched it run. No matter how intoxicated he was, his fingers never betrayed him, and this particular guitar always responded to his call. He began picking something that sounded like Hendrix. He paused abruptly. Something about that last guitar run shook him up and he couldn’t continue. In a vague way, it reminded him of a part in "Without You." After taking a deep breath, Mayne partially regained his composure. Multimillionaires like Mayne Mann aren’t supposed to cry. They’re beyond tears or at least that’s what society wants to believe. Mayne Mann was just Stephen Maynard Mandraich, a talented kid who could run his nimble fingers along a piece of stringed wood. He began to strum one of his favorite riffs, Thin Lizzy’s "Don’t Believe a Word." Even though the guitar wasn’t amplified, he could hear it as if it was. He let the last note ring out as he stopped and reflected. He used to love the feel of this instrument in his hands. He used to love making the strings come to life. He used to love just holding this guitar. Then his mind viciously reminded him that he’d also loved the way Elizabeth felt. He quickly rose off the floor and tossed the guitar aside. It landed with a loud DWWWAANNNGGGG.

He stared blankly at the guitar and thought of her. Both had given him so much pleasure, but he’d never been able to properly express his gratitude. He never told her the truth about how she made him feel, about how much he loved her, and when he did, the song reaffirmed that he should’ve kept his mouth shut. At least she’d still be alive. But the song was pure and he wanted to play it for her. Even if her physical body wasn’t present, he could still sing to her in heaven. He wanted to jam but was afraid to touch the guitar.

Then Mayne saw an alternative. He scooped up the almost-dead whiskey bottle and finished what little was left. It slipped silently from his hand. Very drunk, very drugged out, he staggered over to the piano. The smoldering cigarette on the bedroom rug had burned its way over to the goose-down comforter. The cover caught and flames quickly spread throughout the bedroom. Discarded clothing acted as kindling and soon the bedroom was on fire.

Until several hazy hours ago, Mayne’s life, no matter how miserable, had been something most people could only dream about. It was all an illusion, and he was one of rock ‘n’ roll’s elite, a hero. Now, he’d been reduced to his basic self and nothing really mattered. He felt the thorns wrapped around his heart and for the first time in far too long, felt human again. He’d smothered his spirituality in drug abuse. He’d stunted his health and personal growth with vice. He’d blinded himself because he was afraid to see that his purpose, his gift in life, was to be true to himself. And the only time he was able to find that inner truth was when he played his music. He softly tapped the ivory keys, making melodies come to life through his fingers. No matter how badly his hand hurt, he persisted in making music. He was determined to play for Elizabeth and all the other angels. With every fluid run, every harmony, every musical accent, his inner pain subsided a little. With each passing musical note, he became one with the music.

Sweating profusely, Mayne felt something stirring behind him. He tried ignoring it for as long as possible. Finally, he turned and saw large flames billowing out of his bedroom. At first he thought it was a hallucination but the fire was scorchingly real and heading his way. His favorite guitar was already engulfed and dying. He wanted to save it but couldn’t. He refused to let his jamming be interrupted. Elizabeth was listening. Every time his fingers pressed the Steinway’s keys, crimson stained the ivory and smeared. He ignored the small red spots, sliding his long fingers through them. Scarred-up veins bulged from his forearms a sweat ran down his face. All he’d ever wanted to do with his life was play his music and now he was. For the moment, he felt free from his demons. He built up the courage and began singing "Without You" in his natural gruff voice. The thick carpeting quickly became a wall-to-wall inferno as a giant wave of fire rose up and spread around the piano. He couldn’t have cared less. As flames swallowed the apartment, Mayne never screamed and never missed a note.

The End


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 24 Jan 2006 01:28 
Gonna call the President
Gonna call the Private Eye
Gonna get the IRS
Gonna need the FBI

Theres not anymore that I can do
All the legions said to me, I follow you
When you plead the fifth, that'll be the end of time plus two

Wouldnt be the first time I've been gone
Wouldnt be the last I'm sure I'm on
All the rumours I can tell, Somethings didn't work so well

When you first told me you were gone
So long ago, but I've been here long
To all the luck gettin out of the wreck (debt)
A fact that you've got to hear worst yet
When I need another favorite I take
It means you might have been caught anyway
Can’t believe that I was out there at all
Couldn’t see it coming all along

well its true...ooh...I am, But dont forget ooh ooh
Gonna call the President
Gonna call into my Private EYe
Gonna need the IRS
Gonna get the FBI

Gonna make this a federal case
Theres no way that I'll get out of your face
repeat it with you're mortgage gone
with the police, hangover
and a head like you now

Oh Oh..

I've been to sure to offer my help
I set it up again dressed as somebody else
feel like stumbling on the the road
feel like I'll never get ya out of this song
Well I'm just too sad to kill
maybe like I just walked in my shit
They'll be waiting on me I know
like a broken record for so long

What can I do?
Ooh, oh.
I'M Gonna call the President,
I'm gonna call the private eye,
gonna get the IRS,
gonna get myself the FBI.

ooh, what shall I do
if I gave my heart to you
It's such a crime you now it's true oooooooohhh



Gonna call the president
Gonna make myself a private eye
ooh, Gonna need the IRS
Gonna get the FBI

Gonna make it a federal case
Gonna wave it right there out in your face
rearrange it when your morning is noon?
and the police hang together,and their headlines true

There's not anymore that I can do


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 24 Jan 2006 23:09 
Today was a magnificent day, I have to speak about it. After internet security class i realized i didn't have a lunch. I forgot to make anything this morning. I was shocked when a good friend of mine offered to buy me what ever i wanted. I ended up getting a juice and a bagel. After that he then gave me a decent sized bowl of tomato soup (damn good too). It doesn't take much to make my day. That simple gesture spoke volumes to me. When I have a friend I hardly ever buy them anything, again it depends on the person. I know lots of people take advantage of others, especially when you are willing. It also says he doesn't think I am a dickhead. I sometimes wonder what people think of me when we have negative conversations about how much of a dumbass someone is.

Pouring rain
100 degrees
for all who wish
you dont sell your needs
from them sitting just now
we never met a man
we could not tare down

tare it down
tare it down

never meet the rolling shores
you disapear now no one knows
i wanna fill what ive grown
to the many thousands
who show their love

ive got your back
ive got your back

don't you ever, ever question
don't you never ever question


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 26 Jan 2006 00:37 
Concepts concepts concepts. ive got so many flying through my head its not funny. im going to start writing more on here. i need to sit down and write everything in one session so it flows more seamlessly. the vampire story was quite good except its a bit fragmented as i change direction after thinking about it for awhile.

one concept ive got flowing is running dry. it sounds weird but ive got some plans. something to do with cycles of power and failure. I must say im in love with the without you story, fantastic piece of work. its probably to graphic for these boards but i don't give a f-.

now about today. it was yet another excellent day, made by something small. a friend bought a $10 box of floppy disks and gave me a couple. We need them for a class coming up. its sad how these small gestures mean so much to me but it reaffirms that they dont think im some jackass that hangs around them too much.

look back tomorrow night. ill be making a longerish post talking about some videogames that are coming up. i know people look me to talk about them as it is my field after all. some of the new games coming up are making me wet already Embarassed


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 27 Jan 2006 23:15 
The fight is back on again. This is getting a little tiresome. I need to recognize some of my faults and try to work around them by simply using a bit more of my mentality. I am quick to snap when I am tired. She has talked about the same thing the entire week and I do understand. It makes me sad when I realize what a cock I am. Tomorrow I am going to get up and make her breakfast. There needs to be a nice gesture made. She might resist but I hope I can bring her around.

School is going well. Friend treated me to lunch today, which rocked my socks. I got a new pair of shorts and bought a decent headset with a boom mic. Still don't have a new job but I am always looking. Since I started going to the gym I have found its not anywhere near as physical as it was a month ago. Its nice not having so much pain.

I can't wait til Oblivion comes out. It sounds amazing. The A.I system is pretty savage. For those of that don't know i'll talk a bit about it. Each NPC basically lives out their day. They open their shops, close their shops, have conversations with each other and interact with their environment. In one video a chick tries to practice archery but can't hit the target. She then finds a potion that helps her skill. She isn't scripted to do this, but "thinks" and seeks out if there is any solution. when her dogs starts going nuts she stuns in, then later on throws a fireball at it to shut it up. I liked morrowind back in the day, but ever NPC felt the same. They all said the same things and looked similar. Oblivion sounds more like what I had expected. every NPC is different. killing it has a consequence.

Do me a favor, I need well wishes again. I hope i can get her to come back around.

EDIT: cycle is 60% broken. still needs work but words now flow.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 31 Jan 2006 13:48 
Wanted to start this entry off with a simple dedication, to the one who knows.

http://home.datacomm.ch/xenatlas/!host/Something%20About%20Your%20Love.mp3

I don't feel like weaving a complicated tale at the moment, my brain is fried. Ill leave it upto metaphors and intrepretation.

"Wonder what happened to hate"

Set out cold with a whisper
End up with sweat and a scream
Your soul is bound for south and not rising
Far less important than it seems

wonder what happend to hate
So sorry I cannot stay
Yeah wonder what happened to hate
Grab on real tight to today

Convince yourself that solo is happy
Convince yourself you'll be just fine
Your bag of lies is revealing
Revealing like flies in the wine

Yeah wonder what happened to hate
So sorry I cannot stay
Yeah wonder what happened to hate
Grab on real tight to today

You think your thick
You're so wrong


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 04 Feb 2006 00:11 
Redid an old work

Grab a seat i'd like you to meet the fortress
baby those walls ain't gonna come down for you
I speak when when not spoken to for a reason
trying to pull the words out of you.
got that , take that turn it around again
stop that drop that cause i'll be fine, you'll find
me at room 169


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 05 Feb 2006 01:55 
Listen mother f- to this song that should be heard
Thrown down in the gutter , it’s more than you deserve
Kneeling f- virgin, you know that’s what you are
Pussy for a maggot,isn’t that a shock

What can I do? With a bitch like you
You know that it’s true
All I have ask of you
I’ll be dammed
If it’s not true
A bitch like you

Get your head down in the sky
f- little schemer got yourself a broken heart
Syphilitic preachers baby I know who you are
Parasitis demons sucking acid through your heart

What can I do? With a bitch like you
You know that it’s true
All I have ask of you
I’ll be dammed
If it’s not true
A bitch like you

What can I do? With a bitch like you
You know that it’s true
All I have ask of you
I’ll be dammed
If it’s not true
A bitch like you


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 07 Feb 2006 17:49 
Time for an update. I miss writing in here. I really enjoyed the days I was doing little stories in here. I miss being creative. Back last semester I had a huge group assignment, basically to do what we want. I got 3 friends togeather and we developed a concept for a videogame. We worked out every minor detail. I then went nuts doing the presentation material. We had 7 minutes of video, a 25 page slideshow etc. Hell, I even did a custom jewel case insert for the DVD case I handed in with the project. Afterwards I found I just wanted to design something. I knew then that indeed, I will be a game designer. I have that want to create the final product, but getting there is what I love. The presentation went great. Afterwards I was disapointed it was over. It went great but what was their to jump to next? Thats all I really want right now, is that feeling again. Its my own type of high. Standing there with an amazing final product. I hope to go down that path again soon.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 08 Feb 2006 23:06 
Tell everybody that I am sorry, truly sorry
For all the wrong I've done
I never meant to hurt nobody, no no
Lord I never want to do no wrong

And I have lied, and I have begged and I have cheated
And I know my ship, it won't be coming in
And as I lay me down to take my rest
I can see that it's just dust in the wind

Take hold my hand, and hold it tighter, ever tighter
You must believe that I love you still
But my strength, it grows weaker, and weaker
And my body has lost its will

'Cause I have lied, and I have begged and I have cheated
And I know my ship, it won't be coming in
And as I lay me down to take my rest
I can see that it's just dust in the wind

Oh Lord, I have lost once again
And there's no one to help me find my way home
Lord and I, Lord I never want to hurt nobody
And I, Lord I never want to do no wrong

'Cause I have lied, and I have begged and I have cheated
And I know my ship, it won't be coming in
And as I lay me down to take my rest
I can see that it's just dust in the wind


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 12 Feb 2006 02:22 
Most of you are wondering wtf i was talking about with my thread i started about looking for someone who has done cocaine and or heroin. many probably took it as i wanted to do the stuff, HELL NO. what im doing is all about developing concepts i have, concepts for videogames. ive always said what i will do will be art. i want to capture the essence/pinnacle of addiction. I want to be able to capture that in a storyline and through character design. im not sure of the storyline or main character yet but i can feel the themes and power behind the topic but i need to do my research. if im to evoke grand visions i need to live through someone who has done it. i dont want to guess and put my own thoughts and bias on the feeling that exists there. if anyone can hook me up with the knowledge i seek or help me find a source then pm me.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 14 Feb 2006 01:33 
ah, it looks like its going to happen. i witnessed something quite interesting tonight and its got my hungry and intrigued. something new for me to seek my teeth into. im afraid of the path but hungry for it, starving for it. you probably know what im talkin' bout. if you don't, let your mind wander a bit. its got nothing to do with sex either. i might take another route by subtle hints but its hard to say. that could cause a delay or even for it to not happen at all. needless to say tomorrow shall be tricky.

people embrace me now, i find it tantilizing and strange. people never used to be drawn to me but now i find everyone seems to want to be around me. hell, i got offers for the above out of no where. i hinted slightly but still. im wondering if i am quite possibly the master manipulator. my motives are so cloudy that no one can really discearn what i say or what i mean. i bait you with intentions and motives that are entirely false, im just pushing your buttons. remember the guy that died in iraq? i was out there on that one, i had no belief in it nor did i care either way. i dont care if my opinion is heard as it makes no difference in the end. im here to go round the merry go round and see what happens along the way. i dont care on the outcome, im testing the waters.

i love it so much no one on here knows what to make of me. some of you do get the chance to talk with brian, but most of you never have. most of you are dancin' with mr.brownstone, kickin' back in the shadows. you love your little dance of addiciton. one you get the blood you never get enuff'. then ive got you. my krystal queen.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 15 Feb 2006 08:15 
last night was insane. i was working on this big marketing project and i thought of the alcohol in the cupboard. i had never thought much of it but i went and grabbed it with a shot glass. it was around 25% stuff so it wasn't lite, especially not for a first timer. i downed about 8-10 of them and i was f- smashed. i was knocking into things and really dizzy. next thing you know i feel a little queezy, i barf. where do you ask? all over my keyboard. i laugh, stood up and fell into bed. got up 6 hours later and started marketing again. frigging keyboard is ruined.

it didn't happen yesterday but it will happen today. horray for self destruction..well sort of. im not going to get into anything beyond a few times. Wink


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 18 Feb 2006 20:09 
Broken glass and cigarettes
Writing on the wall
It was a bargain for the summer
And I thought I had it all
I was the one who gave you everything
The one who took the fall
You were the one who would do anything
One who can’t recall
Where she was while she was sleeping
In another’s women’s bed
Or the doctors or the lawyers or the stranger that she met
If there’s nothing that I can gain from this
Or anything at all
It'd be the knowledge that you gave me when I thought I'd heard it all

It was a long time for you
It was a long time for me
It’d be a long time for everyone but looks like its meant to be

Social class and registers
Cocaine in the hall
All the way from California
On the way beyond that stall
To those malnegotiations, to simulate a call
While the battle of medieval, and your ways around the laws
That'd keep you up and sitting pretty
On a pedestal of fear
And now you're sleeping like an angel
Near than man who reaped It
If there's something I can make of this
Or anything at all
It'd be the devil hates a loser and you thought you had it all

It was the wrong time for you
It was the wrong time for me
It was the wrong time for everyone
But it looks like I'm 'bout to see for myself

If I could go back in time to the place in my soul
They’re all alone, lonely teardrops
Ooh, oh calling you
But I don't want to know it now
Cuz knowing you it won't change a damn thing

But there was a time



There was a time
Didn't want to know it all
Didn't want to know it all
And I don't wanna know it now
Don't want to know it now

Yeah, There was a time
Didn't want to know it all
Didn't want to know it all
And I don't wanna know it now
Don't want to know it now

I would do anything for you
There was a time

I would do anything for you
There was a time

I would do anything for you
There was a time


There was a time
I would do anything for you

There was a time
Didn't want to know it all
Didn't want to know it all
And I don't wanna know it now
Don't want to know it now

There was a time
Didn't want to know it all
Didn't want to know it all
And I don't wanna know it now
Don't want to know it now

There was a time
Didn't want to know it all
Didn't want to know it all


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 22 Feb 2006 03:19 
Well its now the day. Tomorrow will be my first experament with illegal substances, what i won't say. i both hate and love the fact i am going to do it. there is no question. why, you ask? Its quite complicated. Ill start from the begining.

Since i was little ive always been raised to be perfect. Intelligent, strong and resistful. I was always told how bad substances and alcohol were. They told me, look at your uncles. You don't want to be like them. Avoid those people at all costs, they are nothing but trouble. I heard this from the time i was 5 until i was around 12. I grew to hate people who had abused any substance. They were the scum of the earth, i was so much better. I wasn't tainted. All though highschool i had very few friends, none of them i would really call friends. They had a need and i filled it. Why? Because my highschool was full of people experamenting with sex and drugs. I was programmed to hate. Around 16-17 my mom seen the error of her ways. She offered to buy me booze and go through her connections to obtain a substance i may want to try. I then spoke my mind and talked about my hatred saying i would never do such things. She still has it in her heard how against it i was. She has no real idea to the degree ive changed since starting college.

I decided early on i had to fight myself to survive. To be the strongest i had to bury that part of myself. I entered not being inhibited by my want to hate and it worked. Ive got tones of friends and i am on speaking terms with pretty much everyone in my course. Then it happened. My one close friend made some drug reference and i went right back. I wanted to hate his guts. I wanted to know everything. How often, still doing?, what did you do?, why were you so stupid?. It took me awhile to get over myself, but i did. I grew so i didn't care what so ever. He made his choice. Its still there though. Still wanting to hate. He made some comment about bongs and it set off again. I had the same reaction to drinking aswell. I decided to kill that f- part of myself, it wasn't working. One night i grabbed a bottle and i drank all i could stand. I puked all over my desk and ruined a keyboard in the process. That night killed my inhibition. I could relate, i understood things i never could have understood without experience. I felt normal. I wanted to do it again, most people do. Since then ive continued drinking here and there, never crossing my threshold again. Ive noticed i can relate to people better now. I still have the drug hater whispering in the back of my head. Thinking of doing it makes me nervous as f- hell and want to throw up. Ive barely eaten in a week. Im nervous about doing it around other people. I was supposed to do it today but it didn't happen, then my friend says how bout you come over tonight and we will do it. I just said f- ya and he said well, we have a 4 hour break tomorrow. lets head over to graham's place afterwards. This brought it back as doing it with my friend im not worried about looking stupid. Although i will admit the process leading upto it has done me a world of good. Ive checkd my baggage at the door and i am ready to kick some ass.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 23 Feb 2006 02:46 
Things went according to plan. i ended up doing pot today for the first time. A friend had been trying to get me to come over for a bit and hang out with them but i hadn't had the time. Today i was free and clear so i went over. ill explain my feelings in detail so some of you people on the fence can make your own decision. I know alot of you havn't done anything. Im not going to encourage it but i don't demonize it either.

I got inside and my friends started explaining some things to me. Prices etc. My first hit i coughed like a mother f-. Took me about 3 minutes to stop. Water definatly helps. they figured i wouldn't get high my first time. to their suprise i got f- stoned (according to them). After i first stopped coughing i noticed i was unable to concentrate on all my senses. i could look at something but not process it. I was laughing at colors and debating how cool grey and white are. My 2nd hit my body slowed way down. my speach was pretty much gone. I would have responses but they were greatly delayed. Its strange how random things are funny. We sat around and played xbox for awhile. I lost track of time quite easily. i ended up playing a 20 minute snowboarding match, seemed like 4 minutes. the taste was quite weird and nasty. really pungent and potent. ill respond to this tomorrow. i got drinking yet again. : / down and out


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 23 Feb 2006 17:37 
Well i feel mostly back to normal now. It took me agood while to write that post as i still hadn't come down yet. I was shocked how long it lasted. I did my last hit at 1:30 and i was still not 100% at 1:00am. Around then i made a couple drinks and it pretty much all came back. It wasn't the same but it was close.

$1,000,000 question, will i do it again?
It made me feel things. Things i hadn't felt in a long time. sitting there i felt happy. i dont know how its been since ive felt happy. early on i got quite paranoid for a short time. i had my laptop with me in my backpack and i was afraid of it being taken. I had almost no reflexes. My reflexes have always been quick and sharp. Good for defending myself. I lost that quite quickly. We hung around playing videogames for about 2 hours then went to the computer lab. At that point i fell asleep. I swear it was the greatest sleep i had ever had. i felt at peace and relaxed. I then got quite hungry so i got some chips. Anything crunchy seemed really good to me. I then went to accounting and sat in the back row of course. After he talked a bit my one friend was going to give me a ride home. So i stood up and one guy made a comment "whoa, someone has interesting eyes. we will have to have a discussion about that at some point". I know he is pretty big into it. shall be interesting. So, will i do it again? probably. Would i reccomend it? f- no.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 24 Feb 2006 01:34 
ever feel like your going insane? its 12:20 at night and here i sit. not sure what to feel or do. ive got a bottle behind me i want to drink but im using my willpower to avoid it. this has been one wild ride the past week. ups and downs. some of you know me as the most critical person against alcohol and drugs on these boards, how the tides turn. ill recount a bit of what happened the past week.

last monday i was talking to a friend. he mentioned he was high. i made a comment about having never done it before. he then offered for me to hang out the next day, with obvious intentions. i said sure. i ended up going out for lunch and didn't get back in time. he said lets do it the next day after marketing. i began to drink that night. i did around 9 shots of fermented banana licquor. needless to say i puked all over my keyboard. my friend skipped out half way through marketing so it didn't happen. i pestered him to show how willing i was. then he said after marketing we will go hang out for a bit. after marketing he waited around. i shook in my boots. then it happened. it shocks me for how much of a recreational drug it is, the effects it had. NO WAY could i have driven high. I know it was my first time and the effect wont be as sharp the next time but still. I would have killed someone.

Just like vampires, once you get a taste of the blood you never stop. It made me feel things. Things i wished i could feel right now. Infact this afternoon i wanted to do it again. Despite how sick i felt. I wanted to throw up due to the taste and how much i coughed. I can still smell it even though its not on or around me. If your tempted to do such things, don't. going down and out in this style isn't good. its my path and ill do as i please. I did kill the side of me that had hatred for people. I can relate to the poison now so there won't be any akward moments. My one friend is more schooled at this then i am and came out the other side. Doesn't bother with anything anymore. Im expecting him to go "wtf are you doing?" within the next couple days. I hope he does. He probably pegged me as being somewhat against it awhile ago and boink im spiraling downward. I do feel if i had something harder here i would do it. its hard to say. i do feel insane. and im loving every minute

too stupid to live with nothing to lose
in your one track mind wheres that leave you?

those lyrics changed what i am and what ill be. for the good or the bad. i heard that song and i knew the answers to my hatred. touch the voodoo then kick the curse.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 27 Feb 2006 00:57 
Ack, parents suck. I can't really understand my mom anymore. It's to the point where I need to get out of here. She doesn't understand some things and intentions get her mind f- up. It started with she said something about me being up by 11:00. I said no way. I was planning to sleep in until 1-2, mainly cause she is gone to work at that time. She mentioned about wanting to get stuff done over the march break. It turns out its alot of stuff. I said well, whatever. Make a list and ill pick away at it. I then said im probably going out tomorrow and or wednesday. She asked where and i told her my friends place. She mentioned that i don't need to spend the whole day over there. Our plan was to get stoned and play Resident Evil for most of the day. I can't go home high now can I? She then went off on some tangent about how im always my #1 priority and how I get on the computer a fair bit. Chatting with friends, play some wow etc. Whats so wrong with that? She thinks because i don't spend every waking moment with her that she isn't important. I think she is just reflecting what she feels. She doesn't think she is important and I don't make her feel any different. I don't need these problems! Leave me notes! Leave me a list! Ive got things to do!


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 27 Feb 2006 23:27 
Well I ended up going over to my friends. I got pretty high but it was definatly better then the first time. It wasn't anywhere near as strong. The stuff from the first time was strong enough to knock me back on my ass. It burned quite a bit and really did a number on me. This time I didn't cough anywhere near as much. It took longer to feel anything, but that was good. It was more gradual. It wasn't like going into a brickwall at 100 mph. We played resident evil outbreak for quite awhile. Watched some cartoons then I left. Went and bought some visine and got a hot choclate. I put the drops in and let them work their magic. I must say it is quite a good tactic. No one really suspects anything but i do notice my eyes are supernaturally white. Even now, i still feel pretty f-. Really tired, drowsy. Colors are definatly cool. Grey and white gives me orgasms. It doesn't seem anywhere near as big of a deal as the first time. It just seems cool to do it and play videogames for a couple hours. No big deal.

Im not sure what it is but ive adopted 2000 Intentions as my current username. It just sounds cool and it does resemble some of my mindsets lately. I can definatly say ive killed a certain side of myself. I dropped the "i like computers" bullshit and decided to go in a new direction. My occupation will most likely be computers but i don't care that much about them. I used to love the hardware and software stuff but now i don't think i can really be that way anymore. Ive known and seen to much to continue locking myself in that box. That side is my tool to make money. I can explot that knack I have and its not like its hard for me either. It comes naturally. However that nerd shit, isn't me. Ive felt it for a long time. Ive decided to spend the next week contininuing to change. Im changing some specific wardrobe things ive been meaning to kick. No more fleecy sweaters. I feel rock n roll in my veins. A good rock song comes on and i have to sing or just move. i feel it in my soul. ive gotta reflect that air ive got. that confidence that comes with rock.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 02 Mar 2006 02:22 
well, i did it again. 3rd time now. buddy suggested i come over for a bit. had a couple beers (moosehead kicks ass btw). did some weed. it was pretty good. im still quite high now. it definatly is different after a few times. it doesn't make me feel like shit. i feel really good right now. a little groggy but definatly good. played some resident evil outbreak, i must say that game kicks ass doing multiplayer with friends. combining effects is quite cool, albeit a bit more dangerous. its amazing how far ive come in a month. it literally took that long for me to be able to mentally approach what i was going to do. sounds weird but i had to break through or else i would have chickened out. i had to first get drunk the one night. it helped me mentally approach what the feeling would be like. i then had to deal with any buried issues i had with people that use. just so i could accept myself. after doing all this ive absolved any hate i had. i can relate to people alot better. my confidence has gone up. i revamped my wardrobe yesterday, realizing what exactly im going for. bought some kickass new tshirts (my favorite being "Presenting T-Shirt! From the makers of pants"). i must say, randy river is my new favorite store. blew $100 in there quickly but actually bought alot ($170 coat on for $25). Well im pretty sloshed still. thanks for reading anyway. im not that entertaining like ythis.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 02 Mar 2006 15:43 
Money, ah money. i can't decide if my money situation is atrocious or im just depressed today. i figured everything out and im down to about $2,000 saved. Last week i was at $3,000. My excessiveness is catching up with me. Some of you are wondering why im concered when ive got $2,000. well, lets just say im picky. i want to keep $3,000 in the bank. That way i can spend pretty freely. Before i had my epiphany i went out and bought a $500 videocard and a $80 keyboard. I had counted on getting a couple weeks of not paying rent, well i had to pay regardless. Ive struck some deals for this month to put more money in my pocket. Really, thats the trick. you have to be able to work the system and people. im doing really well and i dont work a whole lot. no, im not on assistance either. far from it. Hell, i believe at the moment my networth is higher then my moms. If not its close. She has a fairly high amount of cash collecting dust. I just hope it all works out as my money situation has been amazing. I havn't told my mom but ive been doing REALLY well. considering ive spent probably $300 in the past 2 weeks on clothes and stuff i want and it hasn't affected me at all.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 07 Mar 2006 13:46 
Well all ontario college teachers voted to strike last night. No settlement was made as of 10:30 and they broke away from talking and the midnight strike deadline hit. I sure hope it doesn't last long. If it does I am hoping I can hang out with a friend for an afternoon of braincell killing. It's weird doing pot. It's far from an addiciton like cigarettes. I can't feel anything that make me continiously do it, however mentally I want it. I rather like that feeling. I know when I am being too excessive and need to back off. There is nothing really holding me to it. So far its done me nothing but good. I have killed most of my inhibitions, mentally I am 300% different. My confidence and fire I used to have has come back. I can relate to people alot better now as I am not so different. The only way I am different is the way I can manipulate 95% of them without trying.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 08 Mar 2006 21:13 
Strike isn't so bad after all, ive managed to keep busy. Tonight i am going out to a bar with some friends, should prove to be entertaining. Tomorrow I've gotta work late, but horrah $!. Friday I am going over to a friends place for some drinking and drugs, again horrah! Not sure what the weekend holds. Next week im probably hanging out with a friend i havn't seen in ages, should kickass. We both have changed alot, sparks will probably fly (yes, she is female).


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 09 Mar 2006 02:03 
Shitty, turns out you have to be 19. Im pretty much the youngest person in my class. Has its benefits and setbacks. hurry up july 18th! in other news im getting high and drunk on friday! horrah!


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 09 Mar 2006 14:26 
Well yesterday sucked. I WISH it was july 18th, it would have been awesome to go out last night. Its the type of thing that it was no ifs ands or buts, you need to be 19 to get in. However ill make up for it. Ive got plans to go over to a friends place friday with a 24 and lots of junk food. Needless to say i won't remember much and saturday i may not feel well. Ive got work too Confused . guess ill have to contain myself somewhat... or not.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 13 Mar 2006 00:20 
What a wild ride this has been. Friday I bought some beer and headed over to a friends place. Drank it all and did a shitload of pot. Twas a really fun night. Played videogames until 12:00 and stumbled home. The effects of both booze and pot was quite exhilirating. Definatly complimented each other quite well. Although im searching for something stronger. Im not using weed as a gateway drug, however I want to feel that kick to the face just once. Im thinking possibly hash oil or DXM. Im not sure where I could find hash oil around here so ill probably do DXM. Its basically the potent stuff in cough syrup. Quite hallucinigenic from what i've read. However I will only do it once as if you use it a fair bit you can get some weird holes in the surface of your brain.

I can't believe the changes looking back. Its like night and day. I reflect it into my writing/media I've noticed. There was a bit of fuss over my sig. A month ago I never would have created that. However now I felt compelled to. I get images in my head I can't shake. That was one of them. I pictured what exactly it was going to be before I even created it. Hell, I spent 2 hours looking for the images it contains. I found things similar but it had to fit what I was thinking.

Well the strike is still on. I f- hope I end up going over to my friends place this week for something to do. Ill mention it tomorrow I figure. If not ill play Resident Evil 4 all week. He lent it to me. KICKASS game.

Toodles for now my rotund reader.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 17 Mar 2006 12:00 
note to self: remember to post here instead of in just talk

well its 11am and i am really bored. i just woke up about 30 minutes ago. i can't believe how little i slept, i blame is on the dxm. im never doing that again. the first bit was actually quite good. i played some wow and could still comprehend things. after 4 i went to sleep and got some really bad hallucinations. i couldn't feel anything beyond my chest and head. even those felt really small. i felt about 5 inches big. if i moved i could feel most of my body. if i layed still i would start to hallucinate. i even felt like at one point i had a slight out of body experience, but that was only for a split second. my problem has been that im a little too open. i read that the more open you are the more effects you get. with pot i actually meditated and used breathing techniques before to help clear my inhibitions and crap like that. my friends were amazed how high i got and how long it lasted as even after sleeping i was still buzzing around 7 hours later. same thing with dxm, i was really mentally open and it just took over. i don't like that. i want control all the time. weed doesn't inhibit me at all. everything i had ever worked for was completly gone. i had nothing but my mind.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 19 Mar 2006 03:02 
Well I have to be honest. I still have the bottle of DXM. I hvae yet to dispose of it. I almost want to try it again just go about it differently this time. Going to sleep was a major mistake. I didn't feel delusional until I layed down. I do appologize if my typing is bad, i can feel the alcohol right about now. Dooleys and hot choclate is aboloutly amazing. I add some vanilla extract and some french vanilla coffee cream into the mix and it just rocks. I drink it as hot as I can stand it. Its like liquid sex. Anyway, back to the DXM. I can't decide if its worth it to try once more. It does seem to be really reckless and unsafe. My heart was beating out of my chest the next monring for no reason. I don't like the thought of putting wear and tare on my heart. Again, it probably had to do with me sleeping at that particular time.

You may have noticed I yanked my signature. I had a change of heart on my opinions of certain items that signature discusses. It could mean I did some of those substances or it could be far more complicated then that.

Choose your own adventure

A or B
Left or Right
Up or Down
Black or White

You'll never know when it comes to me. But i know you f- want to.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 20 Mar 2006 17:20 
My sanity has returned now, for once. I don't feel self destructive or f- insane as I have been feeling. I think i figured out what it is. During the strike I have become disconnected from the world as a whole. My world has been sex drugs and rock n roll for the past 3 weeks. Not having these elements in my life at all times causes my mind to wander quite a bit. Wander to the point it drives me slightly insane and I tend to get quite agressive and pissed off. Nothing seems right at that point. The strike is winding down anyway. I had a really good day today. Hung out with a friend for about 8 hours and now I am just relaxing. Tonight I am going to do something I will probably regret, thats if I do it. Hard to say.

What we have here is fear and power that can make will out of knowing.


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 23 Mar 2006 17:47 
This is a nice journal read when you wake up while you watch the birdies and eat your f- wheaties.

Life f- sucks. Strike is still going on. I am teeting on the edge of insanity yet again. I can't stand sitting around doing nothing! I can't work more due to the fact the strike could end tomorrow. Most of my friends have gone out of town to wait. I did hang out with a friend this monday and that was really cool. I hope we do it again this coming week. Most of my passtimes don't hold the usuall energy they once had. My one friend confuzes the f- out of me which isn't helping. I've mentioned about hanging out and he just responds "Yeah", or ignores me. Yet he is gungho to go to a party or something with me. So its obviously not the fact I piss him off or something. Im thinking it's to do with drugs. He is kinda getting out of the scene due to the fact he is moving back home. Me just getting into it is probably a bad influence. I am going to have to tell him I don't give a f- about the drugs. That's a lie but i can respect him enough to not talk about it. I do believe he is a junkie and does need alot of support. He admitted cocaine and ecstacy use to me last week. He also mentioned he wakes up and does pot. Goes to school and does pot. Goes home and does pot. Drinks. Falls asleep. Mind you I don't think someone that does weed is a junkie but he definatly has a problem.

I just want the strike to end! If not ill fly off the tracks unless I start claiming some blood for myself.

Uzi Suicide is the way to be
Cocaine kid dead in a factory
He never had a choice to live his life
The only option was the end of a knife


Top
  
 
 Post subject:
PostPosted: 24 Mar 2006 02:37 
Im currently on a synthetic chemical. What chemical? I won't say. when i said i was done with drugs i lied through my teeth. I had no intention of stopping. This basically is just topping my last post. But horrah for synthetic fuel!

I drink and drive, everything is in sight


Top
  
 
Display posts from previous:  Sort by  
Post new topic Reply to topic  [ 193 posts ]  Go to page Previous  1, 2, 3, 4, 5  Next

All times are UTC - 5 hours [ DST ]


Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest


You cannot post new topics in this forum
You cannot reply to topics in this forum
You cannot edit your posts in this forum
You cannot delete your posts in this forum

Search for:
Jump to:  
cron
Powered by phpBB® Forum Software © phpBB Group