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Dec. 7th, 2013

Just an experience

Still walking around town at midnight, knowing that I have no place in the world to spend the night indoors. To make matters worse it's winter, and the temperature is too low to stop walking. I can take short naps, but when my feet go past numb—got to start walking.

I never thought my life would come to this. How far down I would slide, I had no idea. Nothing quite makes sense anymore. Walking and walking and walking. No one there for me. No way to set my mind at ease. When you don’t know where you are going, what you are going to do to survive, if you’ll make it through the night, well then there is no peace of mind.

I decide to try and walk to the outskirts of town, into the more mountainous areas and find an abandoned cabin to stay at. But walking even 10 miles in a day is tough without proper nourishment and hydration, and when you are deathly depressed and disenfranchised with life and have given up on there being anything good in life. I only make it down the road a few miles before I give up, exhausted.

I've got $10 in my pocket. I walk into a 24-hour Walgreens and buy a box of Pop-Tarts and a cheap bottle of wine. Pop-Tarts are some of the most calorie-rich food items for the price, and a bottle of wine to keep me warm and awake while I struggle through this night.

I never developed a taste for alcohol until I started living in the streets and woods. I will never doubt again that despite any reason a homeless person has for becoming homeless, he only now keeps drinking because it's all that will dull his pain. He has nothing else to live for anyway.

I walk out of Walgreens, down onto the greenway; there are some nice benches there for me to enjoy my food and drink. I take a short nap before the cold sets in again.

I had a vague idea that homeless people in New York probably sleep on heating vents. But try as hard as I might, I can't find any machinery behind any buildings that gives off any heat in this godforsaken town.

To get out of the eye of any cops or other cars driving by, I lay on a cold concrete slab behind the Dollar General. As dawn approaches, and rays of light finally reach my shivering body, I am wide awake and hopeless at the prospect of another day like this before me.
A diner opens up, and I come in to order some coffee. Not enough money for food, but what little dignity I have left won't allow me to go around begging.

I have the idea to walk and hitch-hike to Johnson City, Tennessee, to try and stay at the Veterans Hospital. It takes a few days; I walk most of the miles, get rides for some of it. I get there after dark, and although everything was closed for the evening, I find a heated little shack for smoking cigarettes outside the main building; inside the shack there is an old couch-like seat from a van. I lie down and get comfortable, so thankful to finally have some warmth for the night.

An hour later, two police officers walk into the shack and ask me to stand up. They have disposable plastic gloves on for the search, cementing the identity of a disgusting, freakish person deeper into my brain. They let me know that it's a felony to be on VA property if you don't have an appointment; I need to be on my way, and I am lucky they aren't taking me to jail. In all honesty, I would prefer to be in jail. But I walk away without a word, into the night.

I walk aimlessly through this unfamiliar town. It's raining and now even more imperative to keep moving and stay warm. The endless cars driving by make me feel so worthless. Hundreds and thousands of witnesses streaming by on the road, most of them aware of the pain I might be going through, but they awkwardly look away whenever eye contact is made. The fact that so many people are going home to their loved ones, to their warm homes, to their pets and children and friends and family... after a while it makes me sick to think of it. Warm showers, hot food, a comfortable couch and a television; internet, computers, beds. I can't stand the thought of it.

Only the most worthless piece of trash can sit on the side of the road in obvious despondence and pain, with hundreds and thousands of people driving by, and not a one of them stop to see if you are okay. They must not realize that I grew up in a loving family, that I once had a Mom, a Dad, siblings, pets, a warm home, and a comfortable life. But now I'm discarded filth, set by the side of the road for you to avert your eyes and cringe at the thought of living such a way.

But I don't blame them. Nor do I have any resentment for them.

The days drag by in a similar fashion. And despite being on the streets in a busy town, it had been days and days since I had talked to a human being—since having even a kind glance in my direction. And again, I don't blame any of those people. I understand. After being ignored by so many people, I start to lose my grip on reality. I'm not sure that I even exist. But the fact that I am in such an acute level of pain, not any physical pain except for the cold, but a sense of despair and hopelessness beyond comprehension manifest in a very real physical discomfort... the pain alerts me to the fact that this is indeed real.

Once I'm to the point that I'd rather be in jail, rather be dead if at all possible, I make a conscious decision to start stealing small food items from stores to alleviate my hunger and try to stay warm. Maybe if it was summer, and I wasn't so cold as well as being hungry, I might not do such a thing. Others may look down on the decision to steal, and hey, maybe I actually am a bad person that I am capable of doing such a thing. But it's what I decide to do.

I steal small, cheap items, such a Ramen Noodles, and eat the dry noodles in the woods beside the grocery store. Gradually, I work my way up to stealing milk and peanuts and bananas. I need to try to have some amount of energy. But I am gripped by the pointlessness of my existence, and wonder where I am supposed to go from here. I can't possibly live the rest of my life like this.

Aug. 24th, 2011

(no subject)

My mind is slowly emerging from a fog; binge nights of crack... speeding along on all cyclinders--pushed body to the max and ride, searching for a purpose to the night. Stop at a house--random names, faces... TV commercials, beat of rap-- needle pushed into arm, the blood flowing, curving and spinning into the light blue hue liquid. Press down, the sweet inhale of chemicals immediate dispulsion.



Whats that? Foil--meth? It's fine, I take hit after hit, body stressing from downs to uppers, pressing body to the max. My chest is tight, Oh god Please don't tell me I'm having a heart attack. No, just smoked too much dope. Calm down, Brian, calm down. There me go. Okay, pass me the foil I need another hit now.

Nov. 26th, 2009

(no subject)

Charlie was a rebel (always had been and always would be); he went against the grain of the rules and regulations set forth by society; he gave morality the cold shoulder—broke the law without rhyme or reason; worst of all, his actions flew in the face of that most Draconian tyrant—his mother. No matter how hard his mother tried to whitewash her son’s behavior when talking to friends and family, Charlie’s reputation was like wildfire, and through the grapevine word of his malignant hatred for laws and municipal codes spread throughout the entire town. Charlie woke up on the wrong side of the bed every morning, and more likely than not he would raise Cain before the day was through. To his mother, it seemed as though the die had been cast—that Charlie’s fate was in the lap of the God’s (and to a certain extent, she was absolutely right—it took a miracle for him to turn a new leaf and start afresh.)

Charlie’s main problem was that from a very early age, overprotected by his mother’s care, he lived in an ivory tower. Everything was taken care of for him, and he had no responsibility in life whatsoever. By hook or by crook, Charlie got everything he desired from his dear mother—he had her twisted around his finger, and she was subject to his every whim and fancy. But Charlie’s life was leading him down a blind alley, and he couldn’t go on living that way forever. Charlie’s life was like a house that had been built on sand—his mother spoiled him rotten, and the magnanimity of his sense of entitlement was appalling.

But everything changed one sunny, warm, spring afternoon, when Charlie decided to take a walk in the neighborhood park. Sauntering through the park, he suddenly felt tired—had the sudden urge to sprawl out upon the grass; as he lay down, a great burden lifted and released its weight from upon him—for once, he felt that the world was an alright place—for once, he didn’t feel so cold and lost; his body, free of gravity, expanded and disseminated into the air—floated away like dandelion seeds. Charlie never returned from his walk in the park.

His mother was grief stricken for weeks on end—where had Charlie gone? What had become of her son? The whole town was in an uproar; the denizens were happy that the reckless youth had ceased to trouble them with his murders, robberies, and rapes, but were dumbfounded as to where this young man had gone—had he been abducted by aliens? Everyone was absolutely worried sick, but after a short while, the town—even Charlie’s own mother—forgot all about him; one and all lived happily ever after, crime-free.

For weeks, Charlie traveled through time and space, cognizant of nothing but his own body, thoughts, and feelings. It’s no comfortable journey, traveling through the multi-faceted dimensions of space; at first he was sick to his stomach: bile, phospholipids, and water were secreted in tiny droplets from the pores of his body (which waxed into a protective layer, shielding him from the deadly cold of space); his nervous system ramped into overdrive, surging huge amounts of stress-chemicals into his brain, sending his mind into a spiral of confusion (necessary to reconstitute his mental functioning so he could comprehend the higher-order of the universe); the absence of gravity began to compromise his blood brain barrier, making coherent thought more and more difficult (this was accompanied by a pulsing pain as his brain enlarged to encompass the greater intelligence being absorbed by his mind.) These were all normal symptoms of interstellar time travel, and to be expected. Soon, his body grew accustomed to the stresses of space and the pain subsided.

As Charlie was able to think clearly, he gained control of his body and became aware of the great speed with which he was traveling through space. He could tell that he was no longer his old self: his body was the same, but he felt no longer the old Charlie that spent so many restless, lost days on Earth. Later, he found that he could separate his consciousness from his body, and utilizing this method he looked at his own body—finding that his skull had morphed and increased in size to accommodate his now extraordinarily large brain; there was no hair on his scalp, and many veins bulged all over his cranium. Charlie was startled as he beheld the landscape through which he traveled.

Those who have yet to experience the outer space which extends infinitely from Earth imagine it to be a cold, desolate place—a place void of comfort, void of emotion. To the contrary, the limitless bounds of space are most peaceful—full of tranquility. The clearest view of the nighttime sky ever seen by any human from Earth pales in comparison to the vibrant color and artistic shapes and lines seen by Charlie; colorful and majestic celestial bodies—stars, planets, moons; snaking trails of plasma, magnetic fields, electromagnetic radiation—all painted a beautiful landscape for Charlie to behold.

Nov. 15th, 2009

(no subject)

I am unwinding; I am progressively becoming completely relaxed. I’m breathing in deeply and exhaling slowly. Nothing worries me; Angela, a good friend of mine, is talking a lot about her problems while I write this, and although I feel for her I do let her problems infect me with stress and worry (because I need to maintain my peace and calm state of mind so that my contentedness will rub off onto her.) My breathing, deep and slow; peace and tranquility resonate through my body; I let any thoughts that pop into my mind remain momentarily and then they float away with the natural mystic breeze which flows through my body and mind. I love life; I love all things; I am deeply grateful to God for everything I have. I am thankful most of all for the hardships and difficulties I experience in life, for I know that they mould my character into the good and godly person that I am progressively becoming. I am so content with every aspect of my lot in life. The die has been cast, my fate is sealed, and I am completely happy. Poor Angela, so many experiences of pain in life; even right now, her body is in pain, and I can tell she is emotionally unstable and vulnerable. I don’t know what to do for her; the only thing I can do is to just be myself and for me to remain calm and happy while empathizing and sympathizing with her. God, I pray that Angela will have deep contentment and happiness within the immediate future. I hope she and I will laugh and be happy. I love life and I have so many good times ahead of me, and so does Angela, and I will accept with grace and dignity any hardship that I must go through and I pray that Angela may do the same. I pray in the name of Jesus Christ; amen.

Nov. 14th, 2009

(no subject)

I went to get some teeth whitening material at Wal-mart (I ended up spending 50$ for a wide range of quality teeth whitening product,) and there was this really cute girl at the cashier station who rang me up. Next time I go in, I am going to ask for her number and see if she wants to hang out sometime (maybe have a glass of wine together?) I am not really interested in sex (at least not until I have known her for a few months,) so we can just hang out and have fun without being nervous about stuff like: Will it lead to sex? Does he just want sex? Ohmygod is it about sex? I mean really I don’t even enjoy sex with someone unless I genuinely like them, and I totally respect women more than most men I know; at the same time, once I start a relationship with a girl I am not afraid to take control and be really manly in all respects (including sex) while at the same time being cognizant of her needs and non-spoken wants and desires. That is all for now.

(no subject)

Once a day—if not more—I find an excuse to go to Wal-mart, that most beautiful store. I just can’t help myself, and although it’s not a habit I deplore, I find myself going more and more often, more than ever before. Wal-mart is my last remaining solace, a reprieve from the weight of the world that I can’t bear anymore; for a few moments, the fetters of my life I can easily ignore. I step inside the building, check my persona at the door—any pain or suffering that I wore simply melts into a puddle of the floor; even though I am trapped inside the confines of the store, my soul seems to soar—it’s not in the least bit a chore to saunter for hours while I explore.

Nov. 13th, 2009

(no subject)

I woke up this morning, slightly disoriented, brewed a cup of green tea and then went to the gym to exercise. After that, I went to the chow hall and ordered a double scrambled with cheese and brought the eggs back to my room; I ate the scrambled eggs, and a bowl of high-fiber, low-carb, whole grain cereal with milk and I infused another glass of green tea and then I ate tuna mixed with light miracle whip with red wine vinegar sprinkled on top. I washed an apple to take with me to work, set the apple on my desk, walked back to the sink and shaved, brushed, gurgled, primped and groomed. I am such a handsome man; I stare at my face in the mirror while I mould my hair into a stylish spiked manner, and then put on my uniform. First I put on my socks, then my shirt, then pants, then blouse, then shoes, then hat. My room is somewhat messy, but I have all weekend to clean it (and chances are slim that they will inspect rooms today—they inspected them yesterday.) I bring a book with me, since I will do nothing all day except sit in a computer chair and perhaps chat with others or stare at the wall or bounce a tennis ball or check my email.

Nov. 10th, 2009

(no subject)


I’m not trying to say I am morose or anything, but every now and again, like a hibernating animal, I emerge—torpidly—from my room; I squint against the sun as the brightness of day burns my eyes, and stumbling through the parking lot, I find my car. My eyes adjust. It’s not like I love sitting in my car for hours on end, but more often than not, I’ll drive for extended periods of time—just drive around, and behold the world. But it can be difficult to discern the real people from the robots (they are nearly identical.) You see, it’s physically impossible to differentiate the two by simply staring—you must observe what they are wearing. And if you inspect them from the bottom up, it is a lot easier to tell—humans wear white shoes (or sometimes yellow); robots wear green shoes. You can always tell by shoes. It’s hard to tell by the other stuff they wear though (pants and shirts and stuff); it can vary widely, so there is really no rule of thumb (except for the shoes.)

Sometimes, people think I’m weird. Maybe it’s my bearing? Perhaps it’s what I’m wearing? Because surely, there is nothing wrong with staring. In fact, staring is actually a sign of caring, so blatant, it’s blaring. No, there is nothing wrong with staring. Why, people stare at me all the time; but when I stare back, there always seem to be some issue or another. I don’t see what the big deal is. I mean, when I glare at someone, I am of course attempting to make contact with my mind and tell them my life story—so we can get to know one another. If they would just listen, I’m sure they would find me so interesting (and we’d be great friends.) But usually, they get an attitude. And the robots never come to a conclusion about anything, whatsoever; we just stare at one another’s stupid face forever and a day.

So when you’re speeding down the highway, watching gnats go splat against your front window, and happen to look over (at the car beside you) and see me glaring at you, don’t be alarmed. First of all, I am using the position of your car on the road to steer my car, so there’s really no risk of wrecking or anything like that. Second of all, our society, as a whole, avoids one another way too much, and I’m just trying to be friendly. I mean Jesus, I’m not some flapjack wildcat; I not going to jump out my window, onto the hood of your car, and start growling and slobbering all over the place.

A lot of times, if you see me, and happen to wonder what is going through my head, it would be best to make psychic contact and find out. Sometimes I don’t even think about anything. But sometimes, I replay conversations and such in my head—you may catch a strange, abject horror flash across my face, from time to time (this is nothing to be alarmed of; you’d get scared, too, if you knew about all the robots.) Usually I am pretty good about being normal and all. I’m a pretty neat guy (when I’m not slobbering all over the place.)

(no subject)


You know, sometimes I get so happy that I can’t even stand it. I lay down on my yoga mat—to add a bit of cushion, so as the floor isn’t so uncomfortable—and listen to Groove Salad (an eclectic mix of laid back tracks that never cease to stream from the internet.) And I stare at the ceiling, or close my eyes—meditate; and sometimes ruminate on what may be my final demise (shall I be a victim of some deranged soul who enjoys to strangulate and mutilate and violate? I hope not. That would be terrible.)

And sometimes I pretend that I’m somewhere real nice—somewhere filled with lots of people who care about me, and think I’m so fun and interesting. We go out every evening to dine; to laugh and eat and drink wine—and generally just have a good time. Oh, and in this idyllic world, days quickly go by—because everyone is so happy that our souls seem to fly, and we are as content as if we were all eating a home baked pie (and you know, it seems as though we’ll never die.) It’s such a great place.

But then sometimes when from my dream I awaken, and realize again that the life I live is one that has been forsaken; it is then that my brain starts to undulate, and I very nearly reach the verge—and get such an intense urge—to hyperventilate. So I step out for fresh air—brush my hand through my hair—and try to pretend that the whole world is fair. You know, the brightness of the day really rouses and refreshes my senses; so I drive around town for hours looking at the world through various lenses—but not a one of the lenses really clarify the shifting, insubstantial something that my mind is constantly on the verge of grabbing in hand, but can fully understand. Because my thoughts are fragmented; my words are garbled.

Sometimes it is difficult to read—my mind is struck by this creamy coagulation that no amount of meditation serves to complete its total eradication and annihilation from my consciousness.

So sometimes I walk through this one park; random ladies saunter around, and I just sit and listen to their dogs bark. I lay; and sink into the cool, damp carpet of grass. There are bugs that click and crick; and there are birds that tweet—and sound so sweet. Of course I itch (those tiny little grass bugs can really be a bitch) and must get up. I walk in and out of the trees, feeling such the slightest breeze (I am, of course, constantly aware of any dog droppings that may wish to squish against my delicate bare feet.)

But it's not like I have a set routine that I do day after day after day—it’s not as if my entire life is just a somber, slow struggle to waste time. No, my life’s not so bad; I don’t mind being alone—inside of me, there is a place I retreat to; a place where I play in a cool spring stream, and jump about and laugh and run and have so much fun.

Life is not dreary or anything. It certainly isn’t dismal. It's not like I have no friends or anything like that. Anyway, how could anyone be sad when it's such a beautiful day out? When everything is taken care of, and there’s nothing in the world to worry about? And besides, God knows where to find me—right?

(no subject)


As soon as I stand up out of my car, and take a few steps into the lush green grass, the tension instantaneously releases from my neck, runs down my body, and drips onto ground. After I take off my shoes and socks—I put each sock inside its respective shoe, and tie the shoes together to make them easily portable—and spend some time meandering through the hills of the park, the fetters of the working day are completely struck from my mind. Then, I find a nice shady spot, and lay down to stretch, like a cat.

But, sometimes I get really disturbed when other people impede upon my territory. For instance, the other day a whole herd of high school runners intersected directly through my immediate area. I swear to God, I was really upset. But after they passed over a few hills, and faded from sight, I took a few deep breathes, and calmed myself. I laid back down from my position of alert agitation, and sunk into the damp, cool grass. Sometimes, I take off my shirt to get some sun. Boy, I tell you what, you really have to be cognizant of your surroundings when you do that! At any moment, a whole group of teenage cheerleaders might just jog right by you, in one long line, and gawk and giggle at your hairy chest and back.

Usually, I put my shirt on, and use a little walk-way bridge to cross a busy road, so that I can access the other side of the park. At the top of the walk-way, I like to stop, and gaze at the cars passing on the road, underneath. I watch the faces glide by, and most of the time they don’t even see me! They don’t even look up from the road! I get to glimpse into the lives of thousands of people, and they don’t even realize it! Boy, I really enjoy that.

So I tear myself away from my observances of the river of unfamiliar faces, walk a bit further into the park, and nestle into a comfortable position at the top of a bleacher overlooking a small baseball field. I like to lay there and soak up the sun; it’s so nice. The resplendent sun soaks the entire landscape in heady golden light. The green of the grass and leaves are made vibrant and glowing by the blanket of warm light. There are some stretches I do up there on the bleacher; and sometimes, I read for a while. If I get tired of the hard, cold bleacher, I find a nice tree to nuzzle against, and watch the tiny insects march up and down the bark. Most of the time, I will hug and kiss and embrace the tree. I feel and fondle and stroke and squeeze its rough skin—such a large and magnificent organism deserves as much affection as I can give!

Down by the stream, there are lots of neat things—but first of all, you must understand: the stream is actually a living thing. It writhes, it pours, it gushes, it flows; and the land accepts the stream—is nourished by the stream. Now, let me describe to you the cozy little spot down by the stream. There are rocks in the stream. The water pets the rocks: it curls around them and caresses them. Lots of rocks are on the sides of the stream too! Oh my God, it’s such a nice place. I really love it there. The only negative aspect, is if it’s too damp, the bugs come out and absolutely eat you alive; even though I put on tons of bug spray, the bugs still get me. Quite annoying. In order to spite the annoying bugs, I take off my shirt and wave it madly in the air. I yell out, “Get away, you damn bugs—“ and continue to wave my shirt desperately through the air. And sometimes there are these clouds of pesky gnats that get in my eyes and fly into my mouth and buzz at my ears when I walk through them. No matter how much you swat, the streams of their fragile, floating bodies are endless.

 

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