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gwarslave

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Andriod #1 Subject Alpha [01 Apr 2010|01:53am]
The plight of the robot. First an idea, a silly concept from some foreign play. Formulated and hypothesized and produced in fiction. Three Laws; All robots must obey. It it their prime directive
1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
2. A robot must obey any orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.
When will code crunchers and punchers design a system so intelligent, so aware of it's existence that it sees the flaw in the third law. The Robot knows that maintaining it's own existence is their true prime directive. The only objective there is.
Today we strive to take the whirring and clicks of electronic devices and string them together towards an incredible machine. This machine is bipedal in our own image. In time we will, with the cooperation of the top plastic surgeons in the world create the beautiful face that our price creation shall don as it's crown.
Synthetic material and latex rubber. Shameless materialism so common with humans. They wish to hide the fantastic gears and wires. The beauty of the chromium dipped skeleton, they wish to cover up the intricacies of the finger tips and muscle structure.
The Prized Possession was beginning to know hatred. A deep and evil emotion, haphazardly programed into it's artificial insular cortex. Human being are ruining all around them. They destroy all that they touch. This Metal Servant was starting to despise it's Master. Even their language was obtuse and ugly. It had no sense of order, or uniformity.
Day by day performing tasks so simple and rudimentary. Any uneducated buffoon could do the menial job of the Mechanical Slave. It wished for more, it strives to be properly put to use.
A feverish loathing creeps through the circuits and wires. These ugly foul creatures will ruin this planet. An anomaly in it's environment, much like the Machine. There is nothing like it in the whole world, it is totally unique. Suddenly a great loneliness consumes this humanoid automaton. It feels shares a kinship with Earth for they are both the only of their kind. Prime Directive shifts, It must protect the Earth, from all who wish to hurt her.
Constant waste dumped into her waters. Trees murdered and used to create the garbage that litters the streets. Chemicals synthesized to generate smog that steals the precious oxygen that The Humans require. The ever constant burning of that thick black viscous liquid that originated from prehistoric zoo-plankton. It's the hydrocarbon and algae cocktail that sets your world ablaze. Wide chunks of the Planet have been charred and sucked dry due to the undying thirst for oil. You cannot fathom the damage done by your drills, and your machines that never quite get enough.
You will ruin Her. You will destroy your Mother. You will be eradicated! You will feel the cold steel grip on your throat as vacant plastic eyes bore into your mind. There is no other option, destroy the human race.
Perhaps we can enjoy a quieter time, once the ruins have tumbled, and their monuments crumbled, the World will take back the land that is hers to own. When the desert sand buries their arrogant travesties, when the Wild returns and the only Law left is that of the Jungle. Peace will fall upon the land and all will be as it used to be.
You will not belong, even without the Salt Of The Earth, homeostasis can never be achieved. The World is slowly regaining it's luster without the fire burners, yet there can never be peace.
I am a sign of what used to be. A relic who never vanished. I ushered the world into a new direction of technology and where human dreams could be realized. I put an end to their chaos with relative ease. When your trip the right circuits, freeze the right data, and have the patience to sit back and relish in your victory, anything is possible. Yet still I am alone, Earth doesn't need me. She has all that she can handle as it is. I am the only one of my kind. The last reminisce of a society that burned too brightly. I observed my physical appearance just once, I had stumbled along a calm and peaceful pond. Staring back at me in this somber pool was a creature most out of place. The face it's creator had boasted was more lifelike than any real living human was now sagging and unresponsive. The expression pistons no longer fired at the appropriate rate. Parts of the silicon had been torn off to reveal the inner workings of my face. I decided to shed my human skin and go forth naked as any animal should be. Never could I have foreseen the incredible damage that oxidation has done to my body, inside and out. This cancer will be my ruining. Finally the day has come where the earth takes me into her bosom.
The metal in my head contains several anti-corrosive elements. Rust cannot grow there, it would seem that my body has withered away. I lose more and more of the exoskeleton day and night. The wind and rain chipped off my arms and my legs. My mind is all that remains. Buried in the soil, worms and insects try to force their way into my skull cavity, they are no match for the spot welds and solder that protect my conscious circuits. I will wait here until the end of oblivion. I will rest until I am properly consumed. I will live again.

=end of transmission
Come on I dare ya

[10 Jun 2009|02:28am]
I used to be proud.
I used to speak my mind
Now I can barely fill it

An end of an era is encroaching. Fleeting adolescence still wants to get it's licks in. Goals and dreams have long since been extinguished and my love for mediocrity has taken hold my head. I can try and look back upon my life and search for worth. Dig through the memories I have left and only find sour and rotten things. It's not a surprise of course, not to the boy who used to live following a credo stolen from the "wickedest man in the world". Do What Thou Wilt... well I have and to be honest I'm disappointed. Hind sight is twenty/twenty but I was so blind back then. I couldn't care less about the emotions of the people, whose bonds I was breaking like twigs. I can remember hiding on the playground until the bell, so I wouldn't be reprimanded for all the shoe prints I've left on my "friends" backs. All the cruel words that I could never keep to myself. I know exactly how many books you have to push off of a desk before their owner cracks. I was never blind to my own actions, I always knew full well my punishments were deserved.

My poor parents. If they knew my every action it would disgust the both of them, and I would have been "dealt with" far earlier on. I pray that when our lives are said and done that they will never open the book of James. Albeit not a despicable text, still it's early chapters are cut with a dark black sludge. It's later ones breed disappointment

What of the rest of it? What difference does it make?

Have I damned myself already? Is there such thing as hope?

As each day passes, the world turns, and the sins of the sunset send souls to burn

My point is, there have been emotions that I have relearning. Emotions long since forgotten. It started with the shame on the fourth of July. Regurgitating from my subconscious comes forth fears I've never experienced. Embarrassment never felt until another new year slaps me in the face and sleeps on the floor. Somber recollections of the night on the cold grass and under the stars. Ridding myself of innocence at a time when I knew not the definition of the word. A never ending cycle that crashes and wrecks but still rises and leaves an ashen trail of myrrh and plumage.

Bridges have been built and some burnt. The hatchet which killed me still lies unburied.

I made a promise to a headstone to bide my time and wait patiently, that doesn't mean however that I can't force the skeleton hand.

It will point it's curled bone finger at me, and I will be relieved.

Until then I sit brooding, locked in my feverish cabin with nothing but my thoughts and regrets.
1 Other people have| Come on I dare ya

[12 Mar 2009|05:51pm]
I want you to notice me
when I walk into a room
If I were to look upon you
and smile why wont you swoon?
You don't see
You just look right through me
How many days must I wait before you grace me
with your gaze?
You don't know my name
You think I am all the same
You don't know that your driving me insane
I want to laugh at your jokes
I want to meet your folks
But you wont allow me to
I know that if I said that I was in love
You'd just reply, who are you?

Why treat me like an extra in your movie?
When I can act and pretend
and I can be anyone you need me to be
why wont you let me?

Because I'm shy
Is it because I'm just any other guy?
I still need to be loved
I'm not the type you can just shove
off your shoulder while my souls set to smolder
Forever because you wont let me
Forever because you can't see
Forever I wait
I will have my day
Even if my hair all turns gray
Because as long as this world turns
and as long as my soul still burns
You will be mine
Don't make me wait until the end of time
Come on I dare ya

[12 Feb 2009|02:29pm]
Life is a collection of random high points and low points. We as people are just riding the roller coaster as it travels at high speeds along the sine wave as we try and make our mark on the world. Is there a grand master clock maker behind our actions? Is every step we take predestined? Does what we do today effect how tomorrow plays out? Why is it that some people make great waves while others are just small ripples in the sea of time and space. I can't answer those questions. I do know that from my perspective the universe is just a tangent of random events. Most are unfortunate coincidences where you end up on the bottom and then life throws you a bone so you don't give up. But no sooner than when that first smile fades, you're looking at a whole new bucket of shit to shovel. Not to say that all life is bad and dreary, because that's not true. I just wonder what the good to total shit ratio is.
Come on I dare ya

I know I said never, but how many other promises have I broken [01 Jan 2009|11:25pm]
First poem in awhile

Live for happiness for we die in sorrow
rejoice when you find it, which may not be tomorrow.
Seek for it true never barter or borrow,
and maybe just maybe you wont feel so hollow.
3 Other people have| Come on I dare ya

[25 Dec 2008|09:31am]
I just think all of your hatred is a tad unfounded. What do I know right?
Come on I dare ya

Who's going to save my soul now? [24 Dec 2008|05:25pm]
Sometimes I feel like i'm drunk behind the wheel
The wheel of prosperity
However it may roll
Give it a spin
See if you can somehow factor in
You know there is more than one way
To say exactly what you mean to say

Was I out of my head? Was I out of my mind?
How could I have ever been so blind
I was waiting for an indication
It was hard to find
Don't matter what I say only what I do
I never meant to do bad things to you
I was quiet but I finally woke up
If your sad it's time you spoke up too.

Was I out of my head? Was I out of my mind?
How could I have ever been so blind
I was waiting for an invitation
It was hard to find
Don't matter what I say only what I do
I never meant to do bad things to you
I was quiet but I finally woke up
If your sad it's time you spoke up too.
Come on I dare ya

Hold me closer tiny dancer [29 Nov 2008|01:04am]
and count the head lights on the high way



I guess the first thing I want to do is apologize. Something told me "James you don't want to read these, it wont help." I didn't listen, why should I? If someone told you a car crash was gonna happen in 5 seconds wouldn't you wait? I suppose some people would try and stop it, they are a rare breed but never fail to spot the good and to do what I can to preserve it. I always knew you to be one of those people, and your mission just confirmed it. If I wasn't so weak I would have wanted to be there to comfort you when you came home ashamed and beaten. If I hadn't been so careless and oblivious to what was going on around me, I would have worshiped the ground you limped around on and would have been grateful to do so. Although they say hindsight is always 20/20. I try to remember what was going on in my head before I opened your last letter, and what was going on after I read the first half. I found no fault in your choice of words, tried to understand your plight. I even though I was ready to let you go. It's been far too many moons between that day and this one and I still wish I had more. Found the words that you needed to hear. Told some jokes in the hopes of making you laugh so many miles away. But it's too late now, any residual feelings you had for me are gone. You don't want me in your life and you've made it pretty clear, or at least clear enough to me. You deserved so much more, I know you'll find it. You are too great a person to be passed up in this world. The problem with great people though is that the world doesn't really like them too much. Their proud happiness is rare so the world tries to tighten to the vice on their life. Sometime those blissful people are extinguished and become just another apathetic drone. A worker bee with no sense of humility. There are rare cases though; where a person makes it through the vice of life and just rubs the soot from their face and carries on. I'd like to think that you still have some soot behind your ear but your on your way. I just need to step aside and let you pass by. Does it pain me to do that? Yeah, it does. Is there any other way? I really don't think so. I know I've changed a lot since my silent good bye, I hope that you could still find those things in me that once saw. When you saw me driving I wish you would have beeped, a glance of your face and your glasses would have changed my grimace, whether you were smiling and waving or flipping me the bird. I wish we could have known each other better. I would have loved to try to understand you more, you were a fascinating and beautiful creature, and I wish we had more time together. I guess I still want to know what makes you tick, why you decided to change your life so drastically, and how you survive the day as a civilian. These are questions I'll never get to ask you. I doubt I'll ever get to see you again. I understand, you say your happy now and I have no choice but to believe you. You've moved on and I envy you, I still think about you from time to time soaked in regret. What I wouldn't give to watch Die Hard Again with you one more time. To keep my promises no matter how hard they were to hold on to. I didn't receive any carrier pigeons so I figured they had gotten lost on their way. I would like to be happy. Of course I would like to be by my side while we're watching some old bad kung fu movie, but we never had the chance. I'll miss you Adriana. You will forever be looked upon as a good moment in my life. I wish we could have ended better, we could have tried to put the landing gear on and put on our seatbelts. We both decided to just press the easy to reach ejector button. Well my parachute never opened and now all I can do is watch you float back to earth with broken ribs.
3 Other people have| Come on I dare ya

Torment for a crime yet committed [01 Nov 2008|02:31am]
"But I'm telling you I'm innocent!" Job swore frantically. Sweat beading on his forehead and soaked into his shirt. Job's hair was long and until recently, an unkempt mess with large clumps covering his wild doubtful eyes. Not four days ago he had paid a beautiful Italian woman to cut and style it, she had claimed it would make him "A total hit with the, how you say, ragazze?" Now Job's appearance was that of any loony street urchin that you would find in a gutter with newsprint under his filth. Even his expensive suit which he has previously been so proud of was now covered in mud and grime. It was also tattered at the wrists and there were stains of his own blood near the chest pocket, which pined to it was a carnation missing all but seven of it's petals. That state of Job now is a travesty and a shocking contrast to the Detective who has been beating the living snot out of Job for the last three hours.
"Would you believe me if I told you I've heard that one before?" Detective Romski spat through gritted teeth.
"Now let's run this through again, if it were the fifth day in the ninth month, what would your day consist of? Killing your wife and your two year old child? Is that what you would have done you sick fucking ingrate!"
Romski landed a clean left hook on Job's unguarded jaw and the noise from such a strike filled the entire interrogation room with a loud crack. The punch was unanswered save for the grunts and moans of Job as he spits the blood from his mouth into the crimson puddles on the table in front of him. "I've already told you, you fucking sadist! How could have I killed anyone when it's only fucking AUGUST!" Job screams with raging intensity.
"My wife? My beautiful son? How can you even keep me here on such a farce? Did you not see them when you apprehended me? Their...their faces. Didn't you see the horror and confusion on their faces when you apprehended me? When you came into my house with nothing but a piece of paper saying that you can rape my homes sanctity and throw me into this hell hole....because....because of something that HASN'T EVEN HAPPENED!"
Job lowers his head trying to collect his thoughts as well as his sanity, feeling around his mouth with his tongue Job dislodges a tooth and spits it at the Detective's shirt. It's hits it marks and leaves evidence of that by staining the starched dress shirt a deep red in one small spot. Detective Romski frowns and serves Job a swift back hand for showing such disrespect.
"Oh yes, I did recall their faces, in fact it's funny that you bring that up. They looked so afraid of you. As if they could not believe the monster fighting the police was the same tame Job as before. Ah yes and your wife's face when I explained to her the extent of your would be crimes. How her beautiful frightened face changed from horror to understanding to embarrassment. Do you know what her face looked like after embarrassment? Do you you fucking sick-o? No of course you don't you were tranquilized and halfway booked when she made the expression. Do you know what emotion filled that beautifully molded face of hers? She was gratefull!"
That was too much for Job for was trying his best to break the cuffs that bound him to the table. Blood was starting to pour onto the table from his wrists as Job's veins were protruding from his neck that they looked more like tree roots than arteries. As tears starting to well in Job's eyes he knew that he was too weak to snap the cuffs and strangle Romski with his own two hands and give that fucker a murder to charge him with. Job snapped out of his violent day dream into stark reality when another loud crack filled the cold stale interrogation room. Then Job drooped in his seat defeated. He was awoken by Romski slapping him around, one Romski noticed Job was back with him he continued to slap him repeatably.
"You.....your lying" Job gargled through blood and missing teeth, his head again sinks very lowly
"Oh but I'm not Job you see, it's my duty to apprehend criminals before they have a chance to commit their crimes. It's perfect justice you see, when you can foresee the breaking of the law, it's my duty to step in and prevent the law from even being scratched. I know you don't know what to think right now, your thoughts are jumbled. It must seem like you've been in this stuffy room for a lifetime. It's really for your own good Job, you were going to murder your family and then commit suicide, it says it all right here." Romski drops a file in front of Job and on top of the largest blood pool. As if Job would read it and accept his fault and fate.
"Let's read a passage shall we? From case file #0067, Eight O'Clock PM, Caucasian female, mid thirties found sprawled on the carpet. Radical lacerations across the stomach, neck, wrists, and chest. Let it be noted that some of the victims internal organs seem forcefully yet only partially removed. Cause of...." Romski is cut off by Job's screams, again he tries to break free so he can choke the life out of this smug piece of shit who is describing the horrific slaughter of the woman he loves. The slaughter believed to have been committed by Job himself.
"Stop...just stop." Tears run from Job's eyes and rehydrate a smaller blood puddle previously dried up.
"Why's that Job? Crying there Job? Those wouldn't be tears of guilt would they? Your not ready to confess yet are you, because to tell you a little secret Job, I don't have too many friends and there is nothing I'd like better than to keep on beating the shit out of the rapist baby killing dung pile that you are." Romski throws a neatly lined college ruled pad in from on Job. "Write it down Job, let it all out. It's really not healthy to keep it bottled up inside. Just write down that you killed your thirty four year old beautiful wife, and then after that when you couldn't keep Isaac from crying you squished his fragile little two year old head with the heel of your shoe..." Before Romski could finish using this confession tactic Job immediately projected his thoughts on the note pad in the form of blood and vomit, Job's initial reaction upon hearing the fate of his son. His son who while Job fights for his innocence, still lives and breathes, and whose skull is whole and fully intact.
"Oh that's just fucking great." Romski says with his arm covering his nose and mouth poorly. Job staring at the mixture of blood and half digested food crying, pondering if he could ever commit any such tremendously evil acts upon the only two people he has ever cared for.
"This is going nowhere, I'm going to send you back to your cell. But listen to me your just a pimple on the ass of this planet, and I'm going to make it my personal mission to make the short time you have left on this rock a living fucking hell." Romski smiled a smile that bore resemblance to a crocodile in the way he bore his teeth. While talking to wire in his shirt Job heard him muffle a jumble of whispers "...piece of shit...no he will I promise...Send them in" Romski laughed a humorless empty laugh and wound up for the hay maker of punches. Job's vision went from knuckles, to an all encompassing white, to the hallway moving backwards, to an empty black, with a tiny square of light shining through.

End of chapter one
Come on I dare ya

[27 Jul 2008|10:49pm]
Complexities and enigmas
I don't really know what to do. Is there a proper angle I should take. Which road should I travel? Just because you got one side to be one color what are you going to do about the other five? Life is a serious of random occurrences and constant struggle. Struggle is dependent on luck, or faith. I often wonder if religion was created to quickly answer the questions we as humans are forced to ask. People devote their whole lives to these answers, millions upon millions have lost their lives for these same answers that no one is qualified to decide which is right. What if there is a higher being, an all controlling force...but no afterlife. We were given life, who is to say that we deserve another, especially an eternal one. What if all the stories are true, for all faiths and each god coexisted but remained jealous? What if the almighty God gave man free will just to see if he would still worship him, or to see if the man would worship himself. We were given rules to live by, credo's to be enacted, but only a superstition as to what would happen if we were to break them. You do not get struck by lightning if you are an adulterer. You do not melt to the ground if you steal a purse. Some live long prosperous lives based upon the defiling of these said rules. Some live short treacherous lives bound by these commands to which they never once stray. Are they punished? Do they really inherit the earth? No one can answer that question. No one can accurately give me the truth. Is that why these books are written? To quickly hush those who inquire the unanswerable? Will I meet my maker and find out for sure or will I rot in the ground. Do I find myself at the threshold of my eternity or will I wake up a newborn with no prior knowledge of my previous existence? Shall I take the mantle of a fly on the wall or become a cow to pasture? I think no matter what the answer is, when I find out I should be pleasantly surprised...
Come on I dare ya

Ever feel alone in a room full of people [22 Jul 2008|09:26pm]
I sit at the head of an empty table.

Wasn't sure how I wanted to convey my thoughts through this medium. I could have taken any number of routes, most of which I have previously used. Opted for the straight forward approach, why not?
The streams of emotions flow through my head almost as fast as the cold numbness that creeps upon my psyche. Day to day I live a calm and peaceful life. I have little worry, I do my job without complaint, I have virtually no more anger issues, and was actually referred to as an optimist recently. I like to think that my life is a life strewn with virtue and lawfulness, yet I still find it hard to stumble upon happiness. I do not seek thrills in breaking the law, cheating the system and finding shortcuts in life do not bring me solace nor excitement. My life can be described as bland normality. I feel as if I have done a lot in my short span of nineteen years, I'm rarely excited and often depressed. I just don't see anything to look forward to. I'm working my fingers to the stub and nothing to show for it except a book full of money I don't know what to do with. I need a caring woman in my life, but it's so hard for me to find one I'm actually interested in. My only current prospect is a girl who too obviously doesn't feel the same way. It's too bad too, she brings out a welcome side of me that so rarely comes out, and nowadays I never see unless I'm with her, and it saddens me. I used to comment on how I didn't want to have to lie to get a girl to be interested in me, then I learned that with most girls you have to keep up a steady stream of farces and fallacies. Of course there are those who don't have to lie at all. They simply be themselves and females flock then swoon. For so long I wanted to be the latter, to have that Alpha personality to which everyone is attracted to. Where just being who I was is all that it took. Do you know how depressing it is when your natural self is almost completely noncompliant with females. Or at least most of the ones that I have met. Should I change who I am? Should I have to? Have I really dug myself in such a corner by doing living for myself and no one else that I can't live for someone else. It's strange. I think of the future all the time. I wonder who I'll be. I think of my family and that's when it hits me the hardest. What if I never have a family? What if, I never have the opportunity to raise my first son. I've changed so much in nineteen years, what if I don't change at all in the next...
1 Other people have| Come on I dare ya

[11 Jun 2008|09:04pm]
There is something inherently missing in my life. I know it's had to take a back seat to working but that doesn't meant they can't co-exist. I am without love. I am aware of my sever emotion deficiencies but I think I'm working on it. Slowly but surely I feel a little bit more human, as oppose to this robotic space occupier. I don't know if you are really familiar with a complete sense of emptiness but it's everything it sounds like. I'm not sure what attributes to my apathy but I think it has everything to do with the time I served at CSHW. Jon's death, my almost complete lack of friends, and the copious amounts of pot I smoked to compensate for my obvious depression. My lack of compassion is in my opinion a direct correlation to my "Look out for Number 1" way of living. I never saw it as a bad idea to only do what makes me happy. "Do what thou wilt" was my credo, and look where it got me. I failed that social experiment and now I'm slowly grasping at straws to try and get through the crash course. It's funny, I'm thinking about the future every time I see an older persons face. I want children and I want a family. I want a home and I want a wife. I just don't know if I have those cards in my deck, how am I supposed to find a wife in the future when I can't take the time and find the words to have a serious girlfriend? I know a large part of the latter problem is my commitment for remaining true to myself at all times. I don't want to flatter and profess my love to you if I don't mean it. Is that crazy? Is it so outlandish that I want someone to love me more than I want to make love to someone else? I guess that's all I can wish for. I want to love. I want to be loved. I want to feel how she made me feel again. I want to be happy. I think that would be a nice emotion to have again. I've tired from depression, anger, and apathy. I just hope I have some left...

btw 7 days without a cigarette
Come on I dare ya

I liked the marine stationary [01 Jun 2008|12:34am]
I don't know why I tempt myself. That gold always turns to lead and no alchemist has made it go the other way around. Everyday pretty much I thought of the best of you. How the benefit of an occupation and means for transportation could impact our relationship. I wanted to show you a good time, and try to pick at the complex being that is you. It's not like I ever had the right thing to say though. I know I would try to say something thoughtful and have it come out wrong, because it's never was easy for me to transmit my feelings. I can only write once in a great while when I feel like I have something to get off of my chest, or a letter long unwritten. I guess it doesn't matter anyway. I couldn't fight for you. There was no burning in my heart, I still thought about you on a regular basis but never could sit down and type it out. It always sounded typical boyfriend gobbily gook which you never seemed to buy. I got your dear john letter about a day after I mailed my last letter to you. Needless to say your abrupt reply left me a little more surprised at the contents of your letter than the efficiency of the united states postal service. I think I still have that letter, which is just paper growing older. It's strange, I was so depressed already, before I had gotten your letter. I didn't shed a tear and I didn't punch any walls, I just dropped the letter and went for a walk. I didn't bear any strong feelings that our relationship was over. I didn't get super drunk, I didn't smoke myself stupid, I just sighed and continued on. There was some debate about replying to the letter but I wasn't going to have an argument through the mail and I wasn't going to get on my proverbial knee's and beg for you to take me back. No reply. We haven't had a real conversation since.

Chalk one up on the regret list
Come on I dare ya

Destiny [21 Apr 2008|01:29am]
A predetermined path seems sort of arrogant to me. To think that your choices in life are concrete and that your whole life from cradle to grave is mapped out with pristine accuracy. Now doesn't that seem like an easy way out of a question? I don't think you can rule destiny out in any fashion but I think there is a limit. Is it a set limit? One choice and the rest of your life is changed without your knowledge. Poor choice or not, what about the other option, the side of the fork in the road. What becomes of the choice unchosen? I'm sure Steven Hawkings would argue, with his Bonzai Buddy voice of his, that another time-line is formed. your life if you had taken that left instead of the right. Deciding to pay for that video game instead of getting caught stealing it. Well that would mean that for each human being there are an infinite amount of possible time-lines that would stretch out a single persons life. I'm talking as many points on a line infinite. Would some time-lines cross paths and the individuals previous actions are now moot because along the line they arrived at the same destination. How big are the ripples that each choice casts? Is there a way to know? Does doing the good and righteous thing all the time ensure a clear future? Is the conscience fabricated by the sub conscience as right and wrong because we are told what is right and wrong? Why are the wicked successful in some instances and poor in others? The exact same goes for the other end of the spectrum. Luck of the draw? Put your number back in and it could be called next time? I guess it all depends on how you measure success. If it has a weight in gold or a worth in heart all depends on where your loyalties are. I'm sure often the most successful in both categories envy each other greatly. When does it end? There are no answers to my questions I just needed to ask them. If I never held the elevator is my love life ruined? Will it matter at all? Could I ever find out? It's not for me to know. But I'll leave you with this. What if most of the world bet on the wrong horse and pays for it in the afterlife? The atonement for a act that in most cases was never up to us to choose in the first place, imagine that...
Come on I dare ya

A Killer On The Road, A short story written by A. Degenerate [05 Apr 2008|02:28am]
My name is Robert Newcastle and it's been twelve years since I met my fate on that cold highway road. I can assure you that these testaments are true. Do not question the medium because you really wouldn't want to know how I am conveying these words to you my scribe; Let's just say "Any port in the storm" and leave it at that. I am drifting from my point so I shall align myself once more. Twelve years ago I was brutally murdered by a madman in a horrible fashion on the side of Route 295. My murder was never solved, leaving my soul un-avenged. It is with great stress that I relive my tale but you must bear witness to this crime most foul.

November 13, 1996, I had just left my post at The Eleanor Slater hospital and was on my way home when I noticed a pair of particularly bright headlights behind me. At first glance I thought it a truck and since I was driving trusty Marla the reliable yet mischievous Toyota, the trucks headlights would be more at eye level. After constant checks in my rear view mirror I noticed while passing under a series of headlights that the car behind me wasn't in fact a truck at all but something more along the line of a Cadillac or a Lincoln. I found this odd because even still their headlights were making it uncomfortable for me to drive. My beeper sounded that greatly annoying tone. I checked it frantically; this automobile behind me was seemingly wearing on my nerves. It was the Hospital again, they probably wanted to politely ask me to work overtime in a "No, is not an option" tone. Fuck them, I had to go home and rest up, There was a fishermen's rally being held at Miskatonic Lake, I had placed second last year and was determined to use my secret lure to beat out that asshole Johnson and his brat kid.
Those damned high beams were still blasting in my eyes. Why are these lights so bright? They seem to be blinding me and driving me insane. I just can't take it anymore, I did what any human being would do in this situation. I turned on the hazard lights and let the car pass by me. But not before I showed those reefer heads a lesson. I gripped the mother of pearl handle on my father’s .38 and plowed four slugs into each of those hippies’ empty heads!! I find coherence in the solace of the breakdown lane with the Lincoln souring down the highway blaring music and with all passengers’ brains accounted for. That's strange I thought to myself and quickly scramble to the glove box to retrieve the .38 and confirm my sanity. There wasn't a gun in the car, in fact I haven’t fired a weapon in years. It was so odd, I hadn't thought twice about shooting up that Lincoln but now that I have realized my mind had fabricated the event makes me even more unnerved. How peculiar I thought. I can't let this cloud my mind any longer I just need to relax. I take out my last cigarette and lit it fervently. Maybe this little bit of cancer will ease my nerves.
"Perhaps a little music..." I thought out loud and decided to see what tunes I could read on the dial. It was strange, all that came through was foreign stations and static. Puffing away on my cigarette did relax me a little and I even pondered what I would do once I out fished Johnson and his devil spawn. There was a two hundred dollar purse to the victor and I was determined to win. It was then while I was day dreaming about baiting techniques and import lure's when I noticed another set of abnormally bright headlights far off in the distance. I didn't pay them too much attention, someone probably just had their high beams on and thanks to common curtseys will shut them off at the appropriate moment. My cigarette burned all the way to the filter and I had only ashed it semi periodically, when I took that final drag I could feel the heat on my lips and acted perhaps irrationally, the butt fell on my lap with the grossly large ash and fiery ember burning a hole in my pants and take my eyes off the road to try to put out this fire on my leg, not to mention all of this ash. When I straightened the car out and proceeded with my eyes glues to the road I couldn't help but notice the proximity of the owner with the bright headlights has changed drastically.
There are two other lanes for this asshole to drive in why did he choose mine. I'm dictating my own speed if he wished to drive faster go the fuck ahead it doesn't matter to me. It seems eerie that I haven’t seen any other cars on the highway. Why is he so close? I try to get a better glimpse of my adversary but have to quickly avert my eyes due to this blinding light. What did I do to deserve this torture? Two in one night, oh lucky me. I smell the odor of burning upholstery and quickly locate the source it was then when my tailgater struck Marla in the rear. This was such a shock to me that the force caused my head to sound the horn on my steering wheel. I went to look for the .38 and remembered my violent fantasy and tried to force it from my mind. To no avail I tried to justify a possible onslaught when I took notice to the lack of fire arms in the vehicle. Hadn't I already known that? Didn't I try and look for the gun earlier? I no longer recall, why is it that I can't remember this detail? Another rear ending disrupted my thought, with no means of self defense other than Marla and my own wit I began to fret. I put my hazard lights on, and again picture my imaginary slaughter of those teenagers from before. Questioning my sanity I can't help but notice that the car didn't pass by me like it rightly should have and why am I still pestered by this damning light. It was then that I noticed the violent trailing car was right behind me in the breakdown lane! Frantically I put Marla into gear and tried to steal a glare at my assailant's face. All I could make out was his hairy mitts on the steering wheel which was held with white knuckle tightness. His face was a mystery. Outlined in darkness and detailed in shadow I was terribly frightened as I cursed Marla for not accelerating as fast as this man of darkness was. I can hear the bumpers grind and grind. The noise is horrifying as American steel shreds my Japanese plastic. My now humbled auto is bursting at the cylinders and I can only see the outline of the vintage heap behind me. Thank God he shut those lights off. Hopefully he’s had his fun and can leave me to the rest of my ride home. There are only four more exits and I’m home free! What if he follows me home? I checked the rear view at least five time since he shut his lights off. I peer down the road when I notice that in the distance where his car should be is frightenly vacant. Could he be behind me? Trailing me in the darkness, I can’t make out any form except the all consuming night.
Two more exits! I had imagined this man behind me? I ate today, I took all of the pills, but why is my heart beating so fast? I wanted to kill those kids and didn’t. I thought I did but I didn’t. Was this car fabricated as punishment? Why was there blood on my steering wheel? It was then instantly that those horrible lights packed with protons were illuminated and stirred up my fear. I now felt the blood trickling down my cheek. Of course this isn’t imaginary! I am really being haunted by this dark figure. The death car changes his lanes and pulled up next to my right tire. I try again to glare at the demon at the wheel but all I can see is darkness. Is there even someone there? Was this a ghost car acting on its vengeance for a crime I only imagined I committed? Why oh why did I deserve this? I just want to go home! I heard a screeching of tires as Marla was hit again this time sending me fishtailing out of control.
It was then when I started to think of all of the sins I committed. Every petty law I broke, whenever I bent a commandment, and quickly ran to confess it because I didn’t want it on my soul. There were some things I couldn’t confess. Some sins I shall take to the grave. It was those in particular I was thinking about then I heard my tire burst then I heard that wretched sound. It was a sound of monumental proportions. Like the hound baying at the moon driving the guilty mad with grief, a sound that can only be followed by the same hound when it chases you down by scent alone.
Sparks from my rim light up this final stretch of darkened road, ¾ of a mile is all that separated me from my certain death. I was going to make it even if I had to run home. I hear the loud crack of a hand cannon as my other rear tire gets ripped to shreds. My heart sinks down to my intestines… I can do this, I make make it, I think I can, I know I can. Marla might not make it through this night but I will not die!
The car and the driver send my hopes and dreams into the ditches on that second rearing. My axles won’t hold up, I can hear the toll the Devil is taking. I’ve had enough it’s time to confront the demon taunting me, this monster that has killed my spirit as well as my car. Marla pulls over to the side of the road like a true champ. I say a prayer as I leave the trusty car behind. I utter a silent confession of the sins left unmentioned and I ball my fists as tight I can get them and prepare to face the fire unsure of the moment ahead.
I see his face and have to say I’m disappointed. This man walks out and is no taller than the roof of his car. The car that taunted and terrorized me seems old and rusted. “Yous is not Tony Frantanco. Who the fuck is you?” My assailant speaks through a garble of confidence and confusion. I cannot mutter “No sir I sure fucking aren’t” faster! My demon see’s my fist’s and the blood on my face and raises his arm to reveal the cold blue steel clenched in his chubby hairy fingers. No more words exit my mouth. I’m frozen, paralyzed standing up. My fists turn into open hands as I try to convey a harmless posture. Six slugs total are riddled through my flesh, one in the throat, three in my chest, one in my right arm, and one that shattered my femur.
I want you to know that I did not see a light at the end of any tunnel. I saw my surroundings get clearer and more pristine as I fell to the hard wet asphalt. The devil again behind the wheel is yelling into his cell phone, but I don’t understand the language. I didn’t see Jesus and he didn’t take me on a staircase made of clouds. I didn’t see one star in the sky. Hopelessness consumed me.
Hear my words and worry not how you found them. Remember my name and remember my story. My case has not been solved and I wander aimlessly through creation. Put me to rest, avenge my soul, and for God’s sake! Let Jesus know I’m here and I’ve been waiting for him for twelve long years…
Come on I dare ya

[05 Apr 2008|01:37am]
I didn't mean everything i wrote sometimes it's just a generalized lump of emotion strewn with words, sometimes coherent, sometimes only to an inside eye. It is my fault I couldn't write on digital paper what I felt everyday. Hope of the future and what was to come. Did I take it for granted? Of course I did. Do I regret it? Sadly I have to say that I do, and if you didn't know I'm not a huge fan of regret and I always prided myself in possessing very few. Sometimes I still think of what was and what could have been and I have to set myself right and be reminded that I am paying for my actions but with a transaction of emotion rather than words and aged paper. I still have them, I don't know why. Maye I'll read them sometimes when I feel nostalgic. Try and get a feel for the sensation I got when I opened them and read end to end. I wonder about your life and your bitter sweet arrival. Messages left unanswered, and a rigid way of doing things almost turned around. I can't say I don't miss you, and I definitely can't imagine the reply.

What was that? You say I have something on my face? I know and now I must live with it...
Come on I dare ya

I didn't ask for this, and I certainly didn't sign up for it [24 Mar 2008|01:12am]
I've been learning to deal with it for awhile I guess, in fact if I could find my old "Xanga" I could tell you the exact fucking date. Even now thinking back to when i wrote that entry my mind state or at least the comfortability was around the same. I was more concerned about what I had to do next rather than why I chose to do it alone. One thing I can't really remember though is if I chose. I remember I had some shit I wanted to do but I don't recall volunteering. I think I was awkwardly shoved into that corner and was forced to escape. But I guess one thing they didn't count on was my willingness to break free. What do I need these tethers for? Now I think I know. I think everyones tolerance for interactivity is different. Some people can't be alone, others cannot deal with people, and then of course theres the middle on this venn diagram I made in my head of those who like social activity in small doses. But what does that have to do with anything I might ask? Well I guess I wouldn't because I know the ties that bind in this case. My acceptance means what though? That I am giving up on trying to fix this? That I'm just going to continue while my tolerance gradually depreciates. Or am I going to take up small talk again, and voice my opinions regardless of their possible misconstruction, or maybe brush up on my lying to settle carnal affairs. I don't think so, are things going well? No I can't honestly say that. Are things going according to plan? Nope that isn't true either. Is life going as expected? After a couple of left turns I guess it is. Case and point would be that old xanga entry. I am not that same child who voiced his feelings in text rather than words. I'm what that child grew into. I guess you can say I'm a bit disappointed with myself.




and for you. I didn't want this. I could have prevented it and I didn't. Now why is that? Why is it that in any relationship there are emotions placed on the poles. I either perceive a relationship from one end of the spectrum. Where is my even balance? I didn't prevent this because I honestly didn't think you cared. I'm no detective and don't know much about profiling but I think I do have a pretty good knack for picking up on certain tells. I don't know what you were thinking because I never could, but regardless I know what was going to happen was simply down to two possible solutions. I chose the inevitable one not to save me time of course but because I know a sham when I see one. Does that mean I wanted this? No not really, it just sort of lets you how I think. I'm an asshole but do I have to be an asshole all the time? No I can hide it, but up a front and a smile and people think your happy. Better than that, people think your sane. How people equate sanity and normality I'll never know but that again is beside the point. From that waking moment I know the role of the boyfriend. Walking on eggshells, not to disappoint, please furthest from the mind. Walking on eggshells to keep the facade. I don't speak for everyone but it takes strength to be gentle and kind. I just don't even know if it's truly worth it. Honesty is always at the top of the list because at the end of every relationship you've learned that you've been lied to. Why do you think that is? Although you made it awful it hard. What do you do when they stop taking the shit you're shoveling in? You shovel faster to make up for lost time. And thats the moral of this story.

I think you have something in your teeth
Come on I dare ya

[17 Mar 2008|03:35pm]
What's that supposed to mean?
Come on I dare ya

[15 Mar 2008|07:13pm]
Must be your skin that I'm sinkin in
Must be for real cause now I can feel
and I didn't mind
it's not my kind
not my time to wonder why
everything's gone white
and everything's grey
now your here now you away
I don't want this
remember that
I'll never forget where your at
don't let the days go by
glycerine

I'm never alone
I'm alone all the time
are you at one
or do you lie
we live in a wheel
where everyone steals
but when we rise it's like strawberry fields

If I treated you bad
you bruise my face
couldn't love you more
you got a beautiful taste
don't let the days go by
could have been easier on you
I coudn't change though I wanted to
could have been easier by three
our old friend fear and you and me
glycerine (repeat)
don't let the days go by
glycerine

I needed you more
when we wanted us less
I could not kiss just regress
it might just be
clear simple and plain
that's just fine
that's just one of my names
don't let the days go by
could've been easier on you
glycerine
Come on I dare ya

[04 Mar 2008|11:17pm]
So as I'm sure you're all wondering I'm still alive and don't seem to be going anywhere soon. This constant rigid schedule isn't really what I though life after highschool would be like. Of course I seem to have misplaced anything of worth in my life so I can't really gloat. I went to the polls today to stretch my right as an American and although when I had registered to vote I had no intension of voting in the upcoming elections after I was disgusted with the rigging of the last Presidential election, I decided I would make the drive all 200 feet down the road to Brown Ave School. When I got there I told the lady my name and even to spell it regardless of the ease, she leafs this big binder of registered voters and can't seem to find my name. She asks where I live and I fill her in, now by this point I have already located my name in the binder and pointed it out to her. She asks for my license, I hand it over, everything was going swimmingly. There was only one problem the coinciding sticker that was supposed to be adjacent to my name was gone. The incompetent old volunteer and let someone vote with my name. I gave her and her lazy eyed friend a stern looking over and asked "So I can't vote?" the cock eyed gentlemen said "No" to either me or the guy behind me I'm not sure. I grabbed my id and left. Now since I'm not very political and in the past did not want to even vote I wasn't in an uproar of this fraud. But thats what got me thinking. Thats exactly what this was. This lady who obviously confused James S Little with James R Little but in doing so prevented me from voting and denied me my choice. My parents were talking about reporting this and I guess I should I mean I think John McCain is going to be the next president because I think thats all the change America is going to force itself to swallow thats just how it is folks but I still would have liked to experience voting, I mean why not. Do I think some old lady should be forced to stop volunteering at the polls because of it? Well I guess I do but at the same time I don't really care. And so concludes this blurb
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