Hey You

Yes you. Don't look away I want your words here, even if you don't like me just tell me that, tell me something.

You see I'm going, I don't know when I'll be back, and whether you like me or not I will still miss every single one of you.

So tell me about today, come back every day and tell me about today, your day and I'll know, although I wont see it, somehow I'll know.

Have a good Christmas, and a safe and prosperous new year. I wish you all the very best.

Thank you

Mike's Request

I could have done them better if I had the originals, but this will do

Sleep

Had the perfect sleep this morning, got just under eight hours, and before I went to sleep I was chatting with friends. I must pack today, pay a bill and pick up a few things. Should be okay :)

Compressed Sorrow

Sometimes you just have to cry that is what they say
Sometimes you have to relax and let the tears just flow
The pain will grow inside you and inside you it will stay
You have to let that sadness out in order for you to grow

Is it really that hard to show what you truly feel?
Anguish misery suffering churning up inside
We are all humbled occasionally it’s your turn to kneel
Your feelings make you human, there’s no reason to hide

Cast off the weight of burden let in the light of day
Say farewell to woe and agony there’s no need to reel
Release that fear and doubt it is hard I know
You will feel much better with the people you confide

You’re only fooling yourself by not letting anything out
And when it hits it will hit you hard nothing left but doubt

Five simple pleasures

I don't know if I was tagged for this, but I don't want to offend anyone by not doing it so here we are ;p

1. The rain on my face after a hot summers day
2. Clean sheets on the bed
3. The smell of the sea
4. thinking on philosophy
5. Painting or writing

There is only one thing worse than fear...

Paranoia brought on by fear.

Stuff

New stuff is happening good stuff. I don't want to go away and leave it.

Can't talk about it yet, I may jinx it.

But oh my LOOKIN GOOD :D

Reflections

Tess loved mirrors, anything with a reflection could capture her attention for hours. She liked her reflection in the water the most, perhaps it was the way the water made her reflection look alive, Tess didn't know what it was, but there was something there in her reflection that captivated her. Her parents put it down to vanity, but Tess knew better. It was not that she liked the way she looked, there was just something in her reflection that looked so familiar, more familiar than an image should. When she was a child she would spend countless hours talking to the mirror, playing childish games. At school the children would pick on her, even the teachers thought she was odd.

Tess grew up with no friends, not a one. She didn't mind, she had her reflection to keep her company and they did most things together. Tess grew up, she got a job as a window cleaner, all day it was just her, the wind, and her reflection. Her parents died in a car crash when she was twenty four, it devastated her. She had no one. Then one day there was a knock on her door, she opened it to reveal her reflection. Her exact double stood in front of her. Tess was a twin, she never knew she was adopted, her parents had never told her. Her sister Jess, who was also adopted out had tracked her down.

That's why Tess craved her reflection so much. Even though she couldn't remember her sister, her subconscious missed her. Tess was never alone again, she had Jess.

Dancing Shadows

When Donny was asked what he remembered of his parents he would always say they loved to dance. Every night after they'd put him to bed he would sneak out and watch them. He couldn't actually see them, they were blocked by a partition, but he could see their shadows dancing on the wall. There was never any music playing, well he never heard any, but in his head Donny always had them dancing to a song, whatever song fit their rhythm at the time. If they had looked over the partition they would have seen a six-year-old boy crawled up on the floor watching the light cast shadows on the wall. Donny loved watching the shadows dance, he couldn't tell who was who but they were always so passionate in their movements.

On the night before his seventh birthday he snuck out to watch the shadows dance as he did every night. The shadows danced beautifully that night, in the background Donny could make out a shadow of what must be his birthday present but his eyes were always drawn back to his parents, so beautiful that he fell asleep watching them. He didn't see one of the shadows fall down. When Donny awoke there were policemen everywhere and he knew his parents had discovered him sneaking out. He was bustled quickly from his home and he thought they didn't love him anymore. The police tried to talk to him, but he never heard a word, how could he, Donny was born deaf.

He saw his parents dance every night, he never heard his mothers screams, he couldn't know what was happening, how could the police tell him that his father had never danced a day in his life? There was a birthday present on the table near where his mother's body was found. The police never told him that his father had murdered his mother. They never told him that the argument that night was about Donny's birthday present. How could they possibly tell him that what he saw every night was his father beating his mother? They decided that it was better for him to remember how his parents loved to dance, and how he would watch the dancing shadows.

The Bell tolls once more

*dong*
I hear the bell toll, does it sound for me this time, Will I soon take the dreaded walk down that infernal corridor? Who knows?

She calls for me, all she ever does is call for me, I have become a slave. And still all that I do is never enough. Christmas draws nearer and every day I feel the noose tighten around my scrawny little neck. I'm caught up in a world I can't control and it scares me to death. Redemption for sins left forgotten seems impossible, how can you ask forgiveness for something you can't remember. Happiness; all I ever asked for, all I ever wanted, but never got. Perhaps I did, maybe that lies forgotten as well. Why must I know so much, why must I know that I have already failed, It stops me from trying. I miss Bucky. Why do I here voices? I don't want to be here...

*dong*

Axe's Challenge

None of these are my best works, so I apologize if they are not that good or accurate.

This one I have not yet finished. I felt to do it any justice it would need to be longer, so here you will find the first half, I will have completed the yarn when I get back from my holidays, sadly I wont get back until next year, so if you wish to read a story complete, skip this one and read only the other two. However, if you like to be left in suspense waiting for an end, read on.

Take me to the time of the Saxons, invading Briton. Feature a female (Pictish) sex slave of a Saxon warlord, powerful in size and authority, ending up enslaving HIM, ultimately.


Elty screamed as Gareth dragged her from his tent by her hair. "You will learn your place," he said as he flung her to the ground. Gareth's men laughed at her, but Gareth took it as an insult to himself. He was the leader of a great army, how could he command them if he couldn't get a peasant slave girl to obey him. Gareth was a big built warrior, but it didn't lower his looks any. He was ruggardly handsome and women in every village he past would swoon over him. Whether it be his buldging bicepts, his wild untamed long blonde hair or his gilt-worked sword that shone like the sun in his hand. Sooner or later every woman wanted him. He accepted this, in fact, he had come to expect it, anything less was unacceptable. He spat on the ground and withdrew into his tent.

Elty lay disgraced in the mud, her skimply clad outfit muddied and torn barely covered her perfectly shaped slender figure. She was a pale creature, and would have probably been past over by most eyes were it not for her hair. Her long, bright red, fire-like hair. Elty was not Gareth's only slave, but she was the only one who refused him, if he hadn't wanted her so badly he would have thrown her to his men.

They were a burly lot, loyal to the last, but that was their one redeeming quality. There was no atrocity they wouldn't commit. They were fierce warriors solely because there was no low to which they wouldn't sink. The second in command was a vile brute by the name of Groll, his strength was second only to Gareth's, but he was more brute than brain. Known for his cannibalistic ways, in battle he would rip out the eyes of his enemy and eat them while his enemies heart still beat. He believed that by eating their eyes, he captured their souls. He also had quite the skull collection. They all had skulls, the camp was full of them, the warriors displayed them like trophies. Many of them had not been properly cleaned, but with their cleaning technique,that wasn't at all surprising. They would cut off the heads of their victims, mount them on a stick place the stick in the ground downwind of the campsite and let the vultures and crows pick the remains clean.

Fay Hart's Challenge

None of these are my best works, so I apologize if they are not that good or accurate.

Okay. Your Great Aunt Petunia died. She has left you the bulk of her estate. She had immigrated to America
in the 1930's. To, let's say, Savannah, Georgia. You are her only surviving heir. You have to go in person to claim your inheritance. No hiring a proxy to go for you.


My name is Inops, my mother named my after our living conditions, then she rolled over and died. A fitting entry into our world. I've spent my life on the streets with not a penny to my name so you can imagine my surprise when a government official tracked me down and informed me I had inherited an estate in America. You can't begin to imagine what that meant for me, a roof, a bed, someplace I can call home. Then the official broke it to me, "You have to collect it in person."

Now how could I ever afford that, so I stood there by the docks potting a way to sneak on board a ship. The Bottom Dweller was moored in the harbor, not at all pretty, it was a cargo ship, but it was going to America, close enough to Georgia that I'd be there in no time if I could manage to stow away. I waited until it was dark, one drunkard on duty. I could probably walk straight past him without him noticing, but I couldn't risk it. I jumped into the water, it was like ice, but the filthy state of it disgusted me most of all and I'd grown up in the gutters. I pulled my saturated weight over the side, I had to hide, I opened the crates to discover that sadly, the only thing this ship was transporting was manure. I had no choice, I climbed in amongst the manure and made myself comfortable for the journey.

For two weeks we sailed across the seas, luckily I had enough food with me for the trip. It wasn't until the crate was opened that I realized I had reached my destination. When they lifted that lid, boy were they surprised, they were speechless and I can't blame them. I must have looked a sight, not to mention the stench. I spared no time, I went straight to Georgia to claim my inheritance, I tried hitching, but in my condition lifts were more than scarce so I walked the entire distance. I walked up to the claims office two days later and I walked out of there a rich man. Filthy Rich.

Eliza's Challenge

None of these are my best works, so I apologize if they are not that good or accurate.


Challenge:HMS Victory after Nelson's death From an ordinary seamans P.O.V



Lord Nelson was shot just after one, I was busy fighting at the time, we were in a battle you see. I wasn't worried, the admiral had been injured so many times and always pulled through. No landlubber from the Redoubtable was going to get the better of such a fine man. So it was with great sadness and even greater shock that they told us of his death at four thirty. There was not a sailor among us that did not have a look of dismay across his brow. My eyes welled up at the news. We lost fifty seven men, but no death was mourned greater than Lord Nelson's.

Vice Admiral Collingwood took control after Lord Nelson fell. Lord Nelson's orders were cast aside, we raised anchor and pulled back. I was duty cook that night, the food was cold, the maggots were awful but no one could taste them anyway. Collingwood informed us that we would return Lord Nelson's body to England. There was no singing that night, no talking, the ship sat almost silent on the sea, only the waves crashing against the hull broke the silence. The rum at breakfast couldn't lift the sorrow that had befallen my shipmates, but it didn't matter the work was waiting and I was needed. The voyage home was the worst voyage I had ever undertaken. Nothing went wrong, how could it? Had anything occurred it would have had only a minor effect after loosing the admiral. He was a great leader and attacked the enemy hard. With Lord Nelson gone, who would stop old boney now? He was England's only hope. I was at the funeral, everyone was, it was so extravagant you'd think we'd lost a king, but to many of us we had lost more than that, we had lost a god. It was January 6th, 1806, I've never seen St. Paul's so crowded and I doubt I ever will again. I cried that day, I never cried at me own wife's funeral, but I cried for Lord Nelson. I continued to sail with the Victory, but it was never the same ship again, how could it ever be anything great without Lord Nelson at the helm.

My Canvas

The world is moving again. For the longest time I've been watching the world and things stopped moving along time ago, but as I watched the ground today, I saw it moving before me. I don't mean regular movement; that has never been of any concern to me. I mean magical movement, the kind of movement people take drugs just to witness. I used to see that movement all the time, then one day it just stopped. It's back with me today. I look up and the sky is melting. I look down and my feet have become part of the river of rocks that is running under my legs. The buildings are swaying to the music, a tree is attacking a car and I have to get out of the rocks because a 767 Quantas jet is floating downstream. Cars are flying around like mosquitoes and buses are humping trains. The people remain normal, well as normal as humanly possible. Now I know not everyone can see these things, but just because I can doesn't mean there's anything wrong with me. It does explain why I'm so scared of everything. I keep seeing a giant cockroach chasing me around with a thong. Strange I know, but you take some drugs and you'll see it too, and I guarantee you, you'll run. Some of my best artworks were based on the absurd world I see before me. I don't knock it. I find it amazing that I can see this world without any drug use. I just wonder why is went away. And why it returned today.

Swiped from livejournal

If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, even if we don't speak often (or at all), please post a comment with a memory of you and me. It can be anything you want, either good or bad, real or made up. I promise not to come after you with a SPOON either way. Actually, i may do so, because it's blunt, it'll hurt more.

When you're finished, you could post this little paragraph on your Live Journal Weblog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people remember about you.

The power of words

It's amazing how two people who normally wouldn't speak to each other can be brought together by a simple word. The word was CTHULHU, Rob mentioned it, I spotted the reference and instantly we had each others attention. We were both H P Lovecraft fans, it's not a big deal in itself, well not to me, but Rob seemed ecstatic at the discovery. We talked for quite a while after that, it turns out we both have some of the same books, not all the same books, but one interest is enough to spark a conversation.

occasions like this make me wonder, what interests may I share with people I don't talk to much? Will these closed doors ever open up and a friendship blossom forth? How many things do I not know about my associates? I'm not one to remember who likes what unless I can see some advantage to that information, I am more known for my accumulation of knowledge of facts. I can find purpose in that, if only to inflate my ego. Should I be paying attention to the people instead? Will they fill that void knowledge can't? But what will we talk about if not knowledge of something?

People are fascinating but infinitely confusing, still, it's amazing what you can achieve with the power of words.

Fight the Plague

Parasites, antibodies, bacteria, germs; how I hate them. These infectious little monsters are everywhere the eye can see and many other places we do not dare to look. I cannot see them, but I know they are there, invading every orifice known to man, for those that do not know me; I spend almost every waking moment sick as hell. I can’t stand to be touched, especially by strangers, yet they come up and take my hand each day, how I long to yank it back, but I resist the urge, for they may get the wrong impression, how can I possibly tell them that I am repulsed by their very existence, who knows what vile germs are being transferred from their hands to mine, do I dare contemplate where their hands have been, I see them sneeze, and cough, and splutter all over themselves, then absentmindedly stroll up to me and hand me their cash, oblivious to all the diseases I will contract because of them. I've seen food sellers trying to combat the dreaded germ, the workers forced to wear gloves, but whilst wearing the gloves, their hands still wander to the nether regions containing bacteria, then back to the food. (How tasty) I had the miss privilege to work for a fast food franchise, wherein one of the bosses demanded that I serve the meat raw, because they were too cheap to fix their appliances and too stubborn to admit there was a problem, consequently, I left that job. Scientists work endlessly in labs, creating new viruses and plagues so that they may discover cures for them, I find it very similar to setting fire to someone, before knowing whether the fire can be contained, or even put out, sheer stupidity. I have managed to avoid the major diseases, opting for the everlasting, incurable bronchial phenomena, I will probably die from the common cold knowing my luck, and I was always hoping for consumption, oh well. I would like, just for once, that all the carriers (the bastards that don't actually catch the disease, they just carry it and give it to the poor unsuspecting bystander) to feel the pain I've faced all my life, lets see how they like it, lets follow Gilbert and Sullivan's example, let the punishment fit the crime and return all the diseases in the world to the carrier.

Pork Chop

Children, I never used to understand the beauty of children, not until I held my niece in my hand the first time. Children have always loved me, I think we're on the same mental level and they can just tell. I love the whole unconditional love thing, it will be a shame when she out grows that.
Now Pork Chop, that's what I call her, her parents are not to fond of the name, but if they had given her a better name, she wouldn't need a nickname, and she answers to it. Pork Chop loves me and she looks just like me, which is great. Her parents look nothing like her, they hate it when I am complimented for their beautiful daughter. Being three months early she is still a little short, but she is a cute kid. She was ugly when she was born and I felt the need to share this with her mother, I was told that mothers can't tell, I couldn't let her be biased, it was up to me to tell her, lets face it, no one else would. Pork Chop cries when I leave, I can't blame her, without me all she has is... Her parents. Her birthday is on boxing day, I hate buying two presents, but I couldn't just give her one. I buy her books; classics and fairy tales, but this year she is getting my old guitar as well. Her mother requested it, it's bigger than she is, but I hope it survives for her to be old enough to play it. I love her and I hope that she will keep loving me. I'll probably never have any of my own children so she does mean the world to me.

Behind the Name

KELLY
Gender: Masculine & Feminine
Usage: Irish, English
Pronounced: KEL-ee [key]
Extra Info: Popularity, Related Names, Comments
Options: Contribute Information, Add to List
It could be related to the first name CEALLACH or the surname derived from it Ó Ceallaigh. Alternatively, it might be related to a Pictish word meaning "wood" or "holly". As a surname, this name has belonged to actor and dancer Gene Kelly and actress Grace Kelly.
behind the name

The Waters Angel

Floating motionless on the surface of the water, just like life she will only ever touch the surface. She hears things in the water, she hears everything, but as is the beauty of sound, only the vibrations reach her. The screams of her neighbors reach her as a gentle hum, a beautiful song which she alone can hear. She is weightless, she is not keeping herself afloat, the water has complete control she is a puppet in its hands. Her eyes are open, they are underwater, but they are open. The wonders she sees I cannot begin to describe. She feels everything, the slightest motion in the water stimulates the very core of her senses and yet she does not move a muscle. She can taste the water on her lips, the chlorine smell so strong that she smells nothing else. The wind ripples the water as it blows, she feels it all and still does not move. Her skin so pale and white you'd think she was an angel. Her breath. Her breath is absent, as absent as her blood flow.

Perhaps she is an angel now, an angel floating in heaven.

The remake

The remake, how I hate the remake, very rarely does it actually improve the song, thank god the original singers are dead, yet even now, I'm sure they are rolling in their graves. Why is it these poncy little upstarts think the only way they'll achieve success is to completely slaughter someone else's songs. There is only one thing worse than the remake and that's the remix, what's the fascination with dissecting a song, ripping it apart and adding some shit computer sounds. What upsets me the most, I believe is that kids today are so mentally backward that they actually enjoy it, and not only do they enjoy it, they have the gall to call it music. You can't dance to it and NO, jumping up and down making a complete ass of yourself is not dancing, it's having a fit. I wasn't forced into ballroom dancing for five years so I could stand on a dance floor and be groped by some de-sexed lowlife whose only intent is a five-minute root and to forget my name in the morning, that's if it has bothered to find out my name in the first place, but I'm getting off the topic. I haven't always hated the remake, musicians used to try and make a bit of an effort, but now they don't even bother. Take for example, The Fugees "killing me softly" I don't think I've ever heard a song killed so painfully, with the exception of Flacco's take on Roy Orbison's "Sandman" but that pain was intentional. I would add the words "no offence" but I am offended and you should be too. Is the music world that daft that they don't think we'll recognize a remake when we hear one? If you're not deaf, you'll wish you were, and if you listen to this shit long enough, I'm sure you'll go deaf. Whatever happened to the days when songs were copyrighted and copying them came with a hefty fine? I'm not saying that older music is better, some of the performers from the eighties should be strung up and shot. I'm sure you've all heard your parents say, "it's not music, it's just noise" and I'm saying they're right, the toilets been flushed and the real music has gone down the drain.


I'm sure all of you have at least one song that you liked and has been remade into crap. Tell us the songs.

Essence of Wet Dog

Wet dog. I know what the smell is in my room; it is essence of wet dog. I don't know where it came from, it just showed up one day and now I cant seem to get rid of it. I may have even grown accustomed. I barely notice it now, but late at night when the world has gone to bed and all I can hear are the crickets singing to each other, I get to thinking about that smell. I open the window, stare up at the stars and let the wind blow in my hair while I dream of the possibilities acquainted with that smell. I used to own a dog, several actually. They all died, I have had many a friend die over the years, but I don't miss them quite as much as I do my dogs. Is that bad? The last dog I had was a pup when I got her, the runt of the litter, she ran over to me and cocked her head to the side, such a beautiful little thing. We grew up together her and I, heck, I even named her. Now and then I go out to my backyard. There is no dog waiting to chew my heels, no one to forgive me all the mistakes I make, no one to love me unconditionally forever. Babies love you unconditionally, but they grow up, whereas a dogs love and loyalty is forever, even when you don't deserve it. She never once crossed me, but it was I who trained her, we never could master fetch though, her mouth was too small to pick up anything. I wasn't there when she died. She was alone. My best friend in the world died alone. She forgave me everything, and I wonder if she forgave me that as well. I hate myself for not being there, I know you're saying its just a dog, get over it, and don't take me for one of those people that treats pets like humans cause Im not. I want to get another dog, but I know it wont be the same, I'm well and truly an adult and I have little time to spare these days, but I miss those days floating around in the pool, me on one float, the dog on the other. Have the dog eat the food fresh off the Barbie then jump in the pool because the food was too bloody hot. Sitting down on a hot Sunday afternoon talking having the dog listen contently, talking to myself just isn't the same. I don't go out the back much anymore, its just too empty. When I think of these things I also think of all the horrible things I did growing up, I did not deserve her for a pet. She never got the love and loyalty she gave to me. Oh to be young again. Perhaps that is why I dont mind the smell, it brings back memories of my youth, memories I thought I had lost. I remember my other two dogs as well, they died young, one got hit by a car, I never saw it, but I'm told it was not a pretty sight, my other dog, which I'd also named died on Christmas day. I was with her. I held her paw and I said good-bye. Somehow I managed to forgive my father for poisoning her.
Now as I lay in the darkness, not a sound of civilisation can be heard, just the crickets and the wind gently blowing that breeze around my room. I close my eyes and I can see them, all three of my pups, back in their prime running and playing on my bedroom floor and looking at me with complete devotion. Perhaps thats where the smell comes from; a dream made up of a memory of innocence and youth.

Meaningless Unmitigated Bleat.

I hate wasted days, but they have befallen me.
I am not acquiring any knowledge and I feel I am letting myself down. Traces of the sickness still remain reminding me to take it easy or pay the consequences. I don't feel like reading any casefiles, I've even avoided my serial killer novels, if I'm not in the mood I wont remember it and will no doubt have to reread it later. I find myself painting and watching worn out DVD's.

I hate being unproductive and yet I can't bring myself to do something about it. Idleness tires me, I want to be achieving some purpose, but alas there are other things to consider.

I have resorted to letting my imagination run wild with thoughts of adventure, I may be stuck here but my mind can be free.

I find myself outside, it's warm, night but still warm. I just stare at the water. What thoughts are going through my head? I'm not sure, they are part of the subconscious now.

The water is of the most beautiful blue. If I let myself I could easily fall deep into it's receding depths and be free. To float down into oblivion, I wonder what it would be like.

The longer I watch the more intoxicated I become, drunk on the beauty of nature. The colors of the water change, it rises up out of the pool like a tidal wave and it holds that position above my head as I look on in awe and amazement. Colors shoot through it, so many that half of them have not even been named yet and the whole sky is glowing from their radiance.

I step back, it's all in my head, I have a great imagination and it's trying to inspire me, nothing more. The water goes back down into the pool, the sky returns to it's original hue and it is as it was, as if nothing had ever happened. I sit back down by the water and stare. Not long after the water begins to turn red, the red of blood, then I see him. So faint at first that I swear it is surely my imagination, but he comes into focus and there he is drowning in my pool beckoning for me to help him. I want to reach out, to save him, but I know he isn't really there, he can't be. The one soul I could ever love is drowning before me and I can't tell if it's real. Do I save him and risk the chance of drowning or do I let him die and risk the possibility of loosing my one chance of happiness.

The dichotomy, like many in life there remains no easy out. They say drowning is a painless death, but for some reason I fear drowning the most, I've always feared it, I've nearly drowned so many times that it terrifies me, I know it will get me in the end. A bullet to the head would be better, would be painless. So looking at this from a logical perspective to get the one soul I desire more than life itself I would have to be willing to give up everything and face my greatest fear. I am willing, but if I gave up my life I wouldn't get him.

I guess it wouldn't matter as long as I got to save him, the one who holds the other half of my soul.

See where idleness gets me, writing meaningless unmitigated bleat.

Erotic Thriller

You've made your own rules in life - and sometimes that catches up with you. Winding a web of deceit comes naturally, and no one really knows the true you. Your best movie matches: Swimming Pool, Unfaithful, The Crush

If Your Life Was a Movie, What Genre Would It Be?

I always figured I was a lighthearted comedy, oh well.

You are Milk Chocolate

A total dreamer, you spend most of your time with your head in the clouds. You often think of the future, and you are always working toward your ideal life. Also nostelgic, you rarely forget a meaningful moment... even those from long ago.

What Kind of Chocolate Are You?

mmm chocolate. Now I'm hungry damn it.

They Don't Make Them Like That Anymore

Today was a tragic day, as far as any day goes. For today I said goodbye to my refrigerator, they don't make them like that anymore, it has been with me for years, practically my whole life and today I had to tell it I was leaving it for a younger model. You may think me foolish, but I loved my fridge, it held for me the essentials of life, food, and I value that. I didn't want to replace it, I'm sure it would be good for another 20 years, but those who share this spacious dwelling with me insisted. I didn't go with them when they bought it, I could not betray my old faithful fridge, I could not let it see that I was conspiring against it, and housemates brought back a giant. The new fridge towered above my old little companion, it was huge, one of the cupboards had to be removed so we could fit it in the kitchen, I'll bet my old fridge felt so small and insignificant, a tiny David compared to this new Goliath. Now my old little fridge is almost bare, only my chocolate supply remains to give him purpose. The light no longer works, but I can feel my way, it was always a surprise, taking something out, you'd never know what you'd get for dinner, the seal had slightly broken, but any bugs that crawled in soon died from the cold. The tray underneath had never been emptied, I only found out about its existence yesterday. There were mice corpses stuck to back of it, most of them a little singed, but hey that was a warning for other mice. It was originally white, but over the years I'd drawn on it, spilt food and beverages on it, heck I'd even painted a frieze on it at one point. And now I stand before it, I can feel its pain; we both know what fate is waiting for it. It was with heavy head I bent and grasped my chocolate bar, making the fridge obsolete, it was clean, cleaner than it had been it a long time, or maybe just the fact that it was empty gave it that effect. I closed the door and looked at the brand of the fridge, it was a Leonard, for as long as I live I will never forget that name, the name of my fridge, although I'd always called him Leo, I'd not forget.
The new fridge is big and holds so much more, but where is the familiar, where is the comfort, I've found a good home for Leo, one where he can run for another twenty years in peace, without fear of rejection, And I'm pretty sure that long after this new fridge is busted and sent to the tip, my Leo will still be going strong, that is my comfort. No, they don't make them quite as good as Leo anymore.

Name that tune

The stillness of your eyes
convinces me that I,
I don't know a thing


I don't know what it is about this song, but it sticks in my head and haunts my dreams.

Went out and got drunk last night.

My mate Brian showed up on my doorstep at 11pm last night (must invest in a blood-craving pitbull). He dragged me to his local club. Helped me finish off the last of my smokes and money.
I'm still sick from last week, throat kills, and it's hard to breath whilst choking to death. Alcohol fixed problem. Ciggerettes brought problem back... Lot of pain.

Is it too much to ask to just be healthy. You know it's bad when you crave a never ending box of tissues.

Your Christmas Costume Should Be

Sexy Elf

What Should You Be for Christmas?

My brother is on his way over...



Wish me sanity.

The Challenges

Just a note to say I am working on them, but I like to research things that are based on actual events so gimme a little time please.


Now for something different

I wrote this a long time ago, it probably wont make much sense, it revolves around Australia's comedians. It was a challenge issued to me by a magazine, whether they used it or not I have no idea.


THE DRIPS THAT MIME FORGOT

He lay on the sandy bank, the waves washing gently upon his feet; the sun shone heavily on his half naked body. He rose to his feet, his pants, though ripped and worn, were still in tact, his shirt had been ruptured from his chest during the storm. He was of average height, nonetheless still considered short by his shipmates; his hair was of a black charcoal colour (I am aware that both black and charcoal are not colours) with brown roots starting to break through. Paul rose to his feet and took in the surroundings. He appeared to be on an island somewhere in the south pacific, the remnants of his ship were scattered all along the shoreline, but the crew were nowhere in sight. His head was throbbing from a protuberance upon his brow; a painful reminder of the previous night and slowly the memory of last night came flooding back…

Their ship, The Thesba, floated patiently upon the blanket of ocean that was the south pacific, a storm could be seen on the horizon, but could be easily avoided. The crew were a motley bunch of sailors that knew fuck all about sailing, but the temptation of buried treasure, significantly outweighed their sailing ability. The Captain, Cap'n Robins, a jolly man of vast proportions, had assembled them. The first mate was a cocky, mischievous devil by the name of Ferguson; he loved alcohol, women, and practical jokes. The navigator was a man by the name of Fidler, which might explain why they were hopelessly lost; he was a nice caring soul with an addiction for expensive comic books. The sailors consisted of six men, Flacco, Sandy, Mark (bob for fun), Psycho Bob, Wil, and Rove. Paul was the cabin boy.
Flacco was asleep in the crows-nest, Paul was busy scrubbing the deck, while most of the crew hung below, sleeping off a hangover of rum and tequila. The Captain sat in the cabin having a heated argument with First Mate Ferguson, snippets of the conversation wafted into Paul's inquisitive ears. "What do you mean we're lost, you're the captain, find us!" the captain, slightly quieter replied, "…Not that simple mate…Fidler's fault…cant go on…have to…kill him" "About bloody time." Paul listened on in horror, they were plotting to kill Fidler, Paul continued scrubbing, but planned to warn Fidler of the terrible scheme the Cap'n and First Mate were concocting. Paul snuck into the navigator's quarters, Fidler lay on the floor, next to his bed (no he's not dead, just drunk), Paul shook him till he woke, "Rich, wake up, wake up… WAKE UP YOU DUM FUCK, THEIR GONNA KILL YA" Rich woke with a start, "what, what the fuck have you been smoking?" Paul dragged Rich to the bed, "the Cap'n and first mate are planning to kill you, you've got us lost you wanker" "calm down, Paulie, you must have heard wrong" "Flacco was there, in the crows-nest, go ask him" Rich rose from his bed and walked to the door, before turning to Paul "are you coming or not?" Paul stood and followed Rich to the deck, Slowly they climbed the netting that led to the crows-nest, Paul was the first to reach the top, he'd always been good at climbing, the crew had taken to calling him monkey boy, Paul climbed into the crows-nest to find a sleeping Flacco, "oh, for fucks sake" then down to Rich "the fuckwit's asleep, he wouldn't have heard shit" Paul slid down the mizzen mast to join Rich, who had returned to the deck. Unseen by Paul and Rich, the Cap'n and Tim had silently emerged from the captain's cabin and Tim was quietly aiming a knife at Richard's back. KER-THWACK, Paul and Rich froze as a knife soared past them and planted itself in the mizzen mast, after the initial shock they turned around to face their adversaries. Cap'n Robins and Tim glared evilly at Paul and Rich, Tim walked closer to Paul "it's not too late to change sides little buddy, you know you belong behind me… I mean beside me," Tim said with a seductive smile. Paul thought for a minute, it had been nice snuggling up to Tim on those cold nights, no, this was murder, although he would miss it dearly, he had to do what was right, "Get fucked Ferguson" and then Paul spat in Tim's face. Up above, Flacco had come to and had been watching the events fold out below with trepidation. He stood up, grabbed the anvil that was sitting beside him (I don't know why there was an anvil sitting beside him, so don't ask) and dropped it off the side of the crows-nest. A sound could be heard overhead, but no one dared take their eyes off their opponents, they stood their ground trying to anticipate the others next move; it wasn't what they expected. SPLAT, an anvil landed smack dab on Richard's head killing him instantly, the Cap'n let out a sinister laugh, "hahahaaaaaaa" Tim stared blankly at Rich for a second before replying "its just what he would of wanted, straight out of the comic books." Paul, although quite mad, turned tail and ran below to get help. Flacco stood above laughing his head off "Now that's comedy" BIFF-CRACK, a lightning bolt hit Flacco, electrocuting him where he stood (I'll bet that hurt), the storm was upon them. Paul ran into the cabins, tripped on something and fell hard against the floor, Psycho Bob retracted his leg from the path Paul had just taken and positioned himself on the floor beside Paul, "Stay down soldier, the enemy is everywhere, listen…" Paul looked at him with uncertainty, "I hear nothing." Bob hit Paul across the back of the head, "Shut up soldier, your talking could have killed us both, Charlie is out there" he produced a knife and held it to Paul's throat whilst saying "he'll come up behind you, pretend to be your friend, and then, when you least expect it, RIP, he's disembowelled you via the throat" Paul momentarily shocked by the knife, regained himself and kicked bob in the groin (ouch), bob naturally released his grip on Paul, Paul seized the moment and ran to the next cabin. Up on deck the Captain had forgotten his blood lust and was at the helm, trying desperately to regain control of his ship, the storm was tossing the little ship around the sea, as if it were a feather. Tim had followed Paul to the cabins, stopping only to look in the mirror (half an hour later), Tim entered the crews cabin only to be knocked to his knees by a man wearing camouflage, "get down soldier, the enemy is out there" Tim, slightly stunned replied, "enemy?" "That's right soldier, the enemy is ruthless, cunning, nauseating and short" Tim suddenly realized whom Bob was referring to, "Paul…Where did he go" "not so fast soldier, we're in the middle of a war" Bob pointed the gun at Tim and fired. Paul ran to Wil, "mate you gotta help me, it's the Cap'n and Tim, they're trying to kill me" Wil thought for a moment, "I'd love to help ya Paulie, but you chose Tim for a bed buddy and not me, I'm still a little offended by that, sorry" Paul couldn't believe it, he was on a ship full of mental patients, he hit Wil on the head with his musket and left the cabin. Bob glanced down at his gun, it had backfired leaving an empty hole in Bobs stomach, Bob lifted his head, stared at Tim and said "I'm Bob, Do you want fries with that?" then fell down dead (what, you were expecting "I'll be back"). Tim stepped over Bob's corpse and exited the cabin. TRA-CRACK, a lightning bolt hit the mast, the sail burst into flames, the Captain saw this and yelled "Shit" the Thesba was on fire and it was going down. The Captain manned the life raft and left the ship faster than…rats abandoning a sinking ship. Paul opened the next door to find the ships clown, Sandy, it looked like he had retrieved Flacco"s body, ripped his legs off and was now stirring Flacco's body in a giant frying pan. "What the fuck are you doing" Sandy, only just noticing Paul, glanced up and smiled, "making scrambled eggs, do you want some?" "I don't think so" Paul said severely freaked, and left the cabin. Tim opened the next door, to discover what looked like a TV studio, with some little guy sitting at a table covered in toys, Rove looked up and saw Tim, Tim, who was quite pissed off by this point said "who the hell are you?" Rove stood up and responded "I'm Rove McManus, Say hi to your mum for me" "Fuck this" Tim said and threw his knife at rove, it hit rove just below the ribcage, Rove looked down mortified and said "What the…" and dropped to the floor dead. MI-CRASH, the fire on deck had taken its toll on the little ship and it had snapped into pieces. What was left of the crew washed into the briny blue. Paul was flung against the hull, normally this would kill a man, but not our little battler, Paul grasped some of the rigging and soared to the safety of the sea. Paul grabbed a piece of ship floating nearby and sprawled himself on top of it, then he heard it, "pixie, pixie" he looked up, Tim was baring down on him, knife already in attack position, Paul sighed "I give up" then from the depths of the ocean Mark rose up, took hold of Tim and dragged him down into the deep blue sea. Paul, too tired to be surprised, curled up and went to sleep.

Paul could not believe he'd lost everything and everyone in one night, though it still didn't explain the massive abrasion on his head. Abruptly, a coconut fell from the tree above, knocking Paul on the head and killing him instantly, then landing on the sand among other coconuts.

THE END

The Idea

The Idea is what we all seek, something to set us apart, to make us better than the common euro trash. The Idea will make us great, will provide lots of money and lets not forget fame, but how do we get the Idea? Every idea has to be different, new, creative, and even innovative. It must call out to the common, petty masses "I am a God," and most importantly, it must come from you. The last part is the hardest part of all, how can you aim to get something you already have, but don't realize? Strange. You would have to have some intellect, or else you wouldn't comprehend a thought. Have you ever tried to think of something great to say to someone, but fucked it up? You always seem to think of it afterwards, when it no longer matters. (This is relevant to all people except me, I say anything cause nothing ever matters). The Idea will always come when you're doing something else, hence, so many ideas slip by un-noticed, but that is when it will happen.
Why can't we steal someone else's idea? Well, for starters it's not very nice and I'm known for my amiability, and you shouldn't do it because there is a lot more anger in the world today then there used to be. Chances are if you strike it rich on someone else's idea, they'll track you down and kill ya! I know I would.
The Idea is not a parable people, it's real and it's out there if you want it.
'The Idea' is very similar to 'The Dream,' or 'The Unanswered Question,' they keep us going, life is a journey and it's with the thought of these, that we face our lives, it is the faith that we take with us. If we succeed or fail, it doesn't matter, no one is worthy to judge us, no one has the right. What matters is that we were there! Did we make a difference? Yes. No I did not stop the little girl from falling down the stairs, but I was there to laugh at her as she fell. She has learnt embarrassment; I made a difference. No I did not stop an assassination, but I distracted someone else that could have stopped it. The possibilities are endless!
People I have my 'Idea' one of the many, but this one has promise, and I will complete this, if only to fail after it is accomplished, but then at least I will know, know that it doesn't matter how great my idea was, or how much money it will make me. What's important is The Idea and that I am capable of it.
Nothing else matters

First day of summer, no wonder it's so fucking hot.

Your turn - think of it as a christmas present.

Why do we read? Other than for knowledge I mean. I know why I read, it's the same reason I write and paint. It allows me to enter another world, it lets me experience things I would never be able to experience in real life. So many things we can now achieve in books, it makes you wonder how people ever put them down. I don't put them down easy, I know I'll never go overseas and see all the things I want to see, the only place I'll ever know that excitement is by experiencing it through other people in a book. I'm not bitter that I'll never get there, I'm grateful someone else has put pen to paper to allow me to experience that feeling.

I can be anything in a book, well almost anything, the one thing I can never be is me. I know many others also escape into books, it allows them to live in another age, another world, another species. It allows you to dream that you might actually get there one day.

Now I know where I want a book to take me, none will take me there unless I write the book myself, that's one of the reasons I write, that and I'm really good at it :D. Sometimes though it is good to be led and I wonder where do other people want books to take them?

So lead me my friends, I will write any style, any period, anything at all, put down what you want and I will write it up. Short things only, I don't want to write war and peace just yet :). Just tell me where we are going and I will take us there.
So what do you want me to write people?

I'll answer every single challenge.
Inspire me.

5 faults 10 Facts - Because you asked so nicely.

5 Faults

1. I smoke, though I am contemplating quitting.

2. I remember when people intentionally hurt me and I hold a grudge for all eternity unless they apologies.

3. I don't exercise.

4. I envy other people.

5. I'm not emotional.


10 Facts

1. It's very hard to offend me as I don't take life to seriously.

2. I actually do care a great deal for others, but I'm not an emotional person so you wont see it.

3. I'm scared of life but I do love every moment of it.

4. I have excellent senses, it's wired but I can detect almost any smell, see farther/better than everyone I know, and taste every single little thing.

5. I can make anyone laugh and I'm at my happiest when I'm making people laugh.

6. I've been in four near death experiences, I was hit by a car, in a car that was flattened by a horse, hit buy a bus and been in an armed robbery, scary as they were they make me who I am, it might explain my love of life.

7. I'm in love with someone who I know will never love me.

8. I've been on TV too many times and I played a drug addict extra once in a movie.

9. I get stage fright, I shake all over, but I'm told it isn't noticeable.

10. I want to get my books published more than anything in the world, but the publisher only takes my poetry.

Moral Dilema

All around the world right now, as you read this, people are dying. Now this may seem quite sad, but when I think about it, it makes me feel special, because rather than help those poor suffering people, you have chosen to read this. Now that's either because I'm a brilliant writer and you can't live without my words of wisdom, or it's because you're one lazy fuck that can't be bothered to go out and do something, you'd much rather sit on your ass and cruise the web searching for porn...
So which one are you?

Your Seduction Style: Fantasy Lover

You know that ideal love that each of us dreams of from childhood? That's you! Not because you posess all of the ideal characteristics, but because you are a savvy shape shifter. You have the uncanny ability to detect someone's particular fantasy... and make it you. You inspire each person to be an idealist and passionate, and you make each moment memorable Even a simple coffee date with you can be the most romantic moment of someone's life By giving your date exactly what he or she desires, you quickly become the ideal lover. Your abilities to make dreams come true is so strong, that you are often the love of many people's lives. Your ex's (and even people you have simply met or been friends with) long to be yours. No doubt you are the one others have dreamed of... your biggest challenge is finding *your* dream lover.

What Kind of Seducer Are You?

Your Observation Skills Get An A+

You have perfect observation skills... Or perfect skils for Googling quiz answers!

How Observant Are You?

A thought on the Irony of Life

She sits on the small brick wall, waiting patiently, a look of hope in her eyes as the minutes slowly tick by. At least a hundred people walk by, ascending the steps to the train, she sits unnoticed, a stranger in the crowd, and then he appears, over the crossing and up the lane. He approaches her with a grin of expectation upon his face; she rises and runs to him. They embrace in the centre of the road, oblivious to all around them, they are young and the world is theirs. I was unfortunate enough to bare witness to this disgusting display of affection, and all I could think was; wouldn't it be funny if a truck came along and hit them in this moment of passion. Them, in their own little world, feeling like they were on top of it, only to be killed by a truck and cast out of the world for good. Perhaps I am cynical, but I find it amusing when fate takes a hand by showing us the satire that is life. I wonder who would miss them; will anyone even notice their absence? The one person that would never forget them, that would have their faces embedded in his memory for life, would be that of the truck driver, and he'd never even met them. Why is it that we are at our most careless, at moments of pure bliss? Perchance it is life's way of showing us that infinite happiness can never be achieved, and the second we let our guard down, we will be attacked by every bad occurrence that life has to offer… I slowly come back to reality; the couple have gone moved on with their lives to never know the fate I wanted to befall them. I question their happiness and their future, are they really happy or is it just put on for public amusement, when they go home does he beat her, is she in actual fact, only happy due to her addiction to Prozac, is she secretly mixing thallium with his coffee (thallium is an active chemical used in most rat poisons) or is it something simple, like an affair. I'd like to think that they are truly happy, that their love will last forever, but as I've stated earlier, this is reality and although my thoughts don't amount to much, one of them is bound to end up right. So I ask myself this, would it be better to progress past the love, to the abuse, the addictions, the affair, the murder… or end the romance as it began, at a moment of pure bliss, and get hit by a truck.

Ah life, the bane of my existance, but without it I am under the impression that I may cease to exist. Must everything be so real

Letting Go

Its time to say goodbye, how could I let it end like this, I could have saved you, I could have been more gentle, but it never occurred to me at the time and now I must say goodbye. How could I ever replace you, I could never find another just like you, and yet I must, it just isn't fair. I remember every masterpiece we shared, every touch, how you danced in my arms, the way we moved in time was beautiful, we made music together, a sonata that only we two could share. Others may have glanced the work of art we portrayed, but they could never truly know how I feet inside, I know you did. I remember when I first found you, you were all alone, lost as it were, but I didn't care, I held you in my arms, I took you home and you became part of my elite little family. If only I had the sense to look after you, to care for you as you performed for me, instead I used and abused you, never thinking of tomorrow, never realising that one day I would take it to far. And through it all I've heard no complaints, you always danced so gracefully as if in a timeless waltz with occasional pauses. I know I must let you go, allow you to fall from my hands forever. I can't use you any longer, you no longer dance for me, but if I keep you I don't think I could bare to handle another whilst you're present. I hope you'll forgive me for cutting your life short, you know I didn't mean to do it, it was my stupidity and impatience that drove me to it, looking back now, I know I was a fool. By writing this, I hope you'll know that I care, that in your final resting place I'll be there to say goodbye and to mourn. Now as darkness falls, it seems I'm lost without you, but one day I will move on, and maybe when I die we will meet again and we will dance together once more on that giant canvas in the sky. Good-bye my dear favorite paintbrush.

I had a Sherlock Holmes moment today... I love those.

Don't say a word

This isn't one of my better pieces and it's certainly not one of my long pieces, but I may as well throw it in ;p


"Shh, don't say a word." Footsteps down the hallway, his body bumping into the walls. He is drunk again, I want to hide but there is no point, he will only find me and hurt me more. His hand is on the door knob, I pray he will turn and walk away but I know in my heart that he wont. The door opens, the room fills with light outlining his frame in the doorway and I know there is no escape. He hovers at the door for a moment, I can't see his face but I can imagine his expression, that sly, evil grin and darting brown eyes. He closes the door and locks it, he leaves the light switch off abolishing himself of guilt by closing his eyes to his deeds but I see it clearly. He reaches out his arms for me and those terrifying familiar words come from his mouth once more, "Shh, don't say a word."

Silver in the Moonlight

She lay on the bed. It was as I had always imagined it to be. The night was warm, a cool breeze blew in from the balcony door and the smell of the ocean wafted in from outside. She was small, so small compared to me and I could plainly see the fear in her eyes. I ran my fingers along her soft, white skin in an attempt to comfort her, but the fear remained. I couldn't understand her fear. This was what she had wanted; this was what she had worked so hard for.
I noticed her. I had always noticed her. Watching from the shadows, following at a distance, trying to eavesdrop on my conversations, even going so far as to learn my history. Occasionally we would swap words, but never anything of importance. She thought I paid no attention, but I listened in earnest to her every word, and yes, I listened in on her conversations as well. I could not allow my associates to think I cared for her, they never would have consented to us, but I'm certain they'll never know. I remember how excited she looked when I approached her and invited her in. She came so eager, so enticed, I couldn't be happier if I had dragged her in by her hair. I wasted no time. I led her straight to the bed and told her to lie down. So compliant. So innocent. So mine. She shivered when I tied her down, but did not protest. The anticipation was killing me, I longed to rush, but I knew I had to treasure every moment for it would not come again. I unsheathed my weapon. The sheer size of it alone was enough to terrify her, but I would not let that stop me. The moon shone in through the window and lit up the room. The knife in my hand reflected in its light and I saw her fear heighten as the moon turned her skin a pale ghostly colour. I took my knife and pressed it to her skin, the red liquid poured out onto my hands, turning silver in the moonlight. I penetrated every bit of flesh; there was no skin to be seen. Silver everywhere. I had heard her scream, but she went silent after the sixth or seventh blow. I stripped off and painted myself in the silver. I stood proud in the moonlight, the blood still wet upon my naked flesh.
A living work of art.
That was two years ago, it's been quite calm since then, but lately I've noticed you. You follow me, you watch me and now as I see you in the moonlight. Now it's time for some fun.

What happens at camp stays at camp!

Lets see, where to start...

Two hours after the road trip began I discovered I'd lost my house keys, they are probably sitting on the toilet floor of a McDonald's somewhere. After about 20 pit stops (why they can't eat in the car is beyond me, I managed it whilst driving) we got to the site.

It rained on the first night and my new $30 tent couldn't take it, consequently I woke up in a swimming pool. A possum broke into our food storage and ate all our bread, kangaroo excrement everywhere. We drove into town where I charged a small fortune to my credit card in the hope of water proofing my tent. Spent the rest of the day drying out my belongings and writing a few horror stories to tell round the campfire (My friends have never read my writings, I don't really know why they asked me to write anything considering I don't read horror let alone know how to write it).

The next day I got sunburnt, very, very sunburnt and may I just say OUCH. It rained again, only the base of my sleeping bag got wet, which wouldn't have been a problem except that we had to pack up our campsite in the pelting down rain (the slight cold I left home with has now grown into some sort of chest and viral infection, must go to the doctor after I've dried out the tent). On the way to my car to leave a tree branch decided to dig itself into my foot, which is now the size of a football. On the way back someone was most inconsiderate as to crash their vehicle/s causing the police to shut down the road, after waiting half an hour for the road to open, we decided to take the long mountain road. I get carsick as a passenger, not as a driver, but this road was worse than a roller coaster, I didn't throw up but boy did I have a head spin. I have two other wounds bleeding, not quite sure how they came about, my friends melted my picnic set, every single item in the set and they broke my new Jack Daniels chair.

I can't say I had a bad time, it just wasn't that great. I didn't get any painting done, but I can share with you one of the short yarns I wrote while I was down there.



The Creature

Night time was approaching. The creature watched the two young lovers carefully, never lowering its gaze for a second. It crouched hidden in the bushes, its claws digging into the ground in anticipation of what was to come. The couple moved closer to each other. The creatures breathing grew heavy, its tongue salivating with froth as it licked its hideous lips. It wanted to strike right away, the temptation was so great its claws had formed into fists and were clenched so tight that it had torn its own flesh.
The darkness set in as the couple started fondling each other. The creature's eyes grew wider and it started creeping forward, ever watchful of all around itself. The couple must have heard movement, they released each other and looked around. The creature froze, its eyes a piercing blood-red in the moonlight. The couple soon regained their false sense of security and continued their affections.
The creature sprung across the road and stopped directly under the chair the couple were occupying. It was so close now its heart was racing. If the couple were not so engaged with each other they would most certainly have heard the foul breathing of the loathsome creature that hid just below them. Its gruesome, ghastly claws reached forward toward the legs of the female occupant. It paused briefly then the creature lunged at its prey, allowing for no mercy, it ripped, and gouged, and dug in hard and deep.

The couple looked down, the male turning to his girl said, "Look, that filthy possum has eaten our bread."



Hope you liked it.

Sarin's beginning

The mine grew darker the farther the boy entered. The rock under his knees becoming so jagged it tore into his flesh. He did not cry out at his pain, no one would hear him. The walls so dark now began closing in around him, he was not afraid. He had been once but after five years he had grown accustomed. Dirt began to trickle from the makeshift ceiling, he knew the cave-in was imminent yet still he did not retreat. He strained his ears and noticed the sounds of digging. Other children in different tunnels were chipping away at the walls. A voice called out behind him, but he was not listening to that and he heard it as gruff and distorted. He looked up at the ceiling hoping that this would be the one to finish him. He waited and the ceiling gave way. Rocks and dirt fell hard upon him as the rain does upon the land. He did not move allowing the dirt to swallow him up. He felt the air cease to be and just as he opened his mouth to impending death he felt rough hands take hold of his ankles. He was quickly dragged out of the collapsed section. He didn't move, letting them drag him all the way to the shaft. If they thought he was dead they might discard him on the surface. He felt himself being placed on the lift and slowly transported up the shaft. His eyes remained closed. He could not see the sun when he breached the mouth of the shaft, but the warmth upon his flesh told him of the breach. The boy was kicked from the lift like an old shoe no longer useful. "Get up boy," grunted the shaft operator. The boy rose to his feet, there was no point pretending. The operator looked him up and down with distaste. He was covered from head to toe with dirt turned mud from mixing with the sweat and the blood flowing from his open wounds.
"How old are you boy?" the boy didn't respond, he had forgotten his age long ago.
"Why are you so tall? You keep collapsing the tunnels." The boy did nothing.
"Zaspel," the operator called to the half dead creature hovering nearby, Zaspel soon appeared by his side. "Zaspel, clean this boy up and take him to Istor's port to be sold."
Zaspel grabbed the boy by the hair and dragged him over the harsh terrain to a tent not far from the mines. The tent originally white was now a stained brown from years of neglect and it carried with it the stale repugnant smell of urine. The boy stiffened as he entered it.
"What's your name boy?"
"Sarin," the boy whispered.
Zaspel handed Sarin a pail of water and a sponge. "Wash yourself down with that. Make sure you do a good job, we want to get a good price."
Sarin did as he was told and when he was finished Zaspel led him out of the tent to a pair of camels hidden behind it. Sarin had never ridden a camel and after about an hour his body was suffering the pains of inexperience. He did not know how far it was to the port, those before him who had taken the journey had never returned. Perhaps death would come easy with his next master. Istor was a barren, harsh land, if not for the mines and the slave trade it would never have been inhabited. Despite the appalling stench of the camels, Sarin must have fallen asleep for when he awoke darkness had set in and in the distance he could just distinguish the torches of a settlement.
"Oh you awake are you boy," Zaspel said noticing Sarins movement. "I was decent enough to let you sleep so you'd better try extra hard for a good price or I'll sell you to the Subborts and they'll abandon you on the Cor Isles."
Sarin didn't know much of the world but even he had heard stories of the Cor Isles. Once a man goes there he never comes back, whole ships have vanished in the waters surrounding the islands. It was a tale parents told their children to get them to behave. Istor port was a bustling little community full of every type of trade Sarin could imagine and even some he couldn't. The smell of catgut permanently engulfed the town but the locals didn't seem to notice or care. Zaspel led them through the markets to a tavern filled with brutish men and skimpily clad women who would even show Sarin a good time for the right price. Zaspel engorged himself on ale and women. Sarin could easily have made his escape but he had nowhere to go. Even Fiedalwhist, the land of his people no longer existed. When Zaspel was finished they took the camels to a barn and bedded down beside them. That morning Sarin witnessed his first sunrise in five years. The roosters of the barn crowed in the new day and Sarin felt a twinge of excitement flow through his veins. He hadn't known that feeling in so long that he almost didn't recognize it. Zaspel woke with a grunt and looked around for Sarin.
"Boy where are you?" he yelled out.
Sarin instantly aware of his masters' consciousness raced back inside the barn to Zaspel.
"Oh there you are. Well come on, we haven't got all day," Zaspel yawned as he rose and walked outside, Sarin meekly followed. Sarin trailed on after Zaspel and he soon found himself in the dockyards, the air hung think with the stench of rotting sea life. The smell alone almost made Sarin sick. Zaspel took him by the hand and dragged him into the crowd of people that were beginning to gather at the far end. Sarin noticed they were heading to a wide corridor with cages lining one side and chairs lining the other. Above each cage was a number and above each chair a corresponding number. Sarin was thrust into one of the cages whilst Zaspel took his place on the corresponding chair. When a man was interested in a slave he would present his offer to the man in the analogous chair, at the end of the day the slaves were sold to the highest bidders. It was a hot day and Sarin had to stand in the cage all day without faltering, normally he would have dropped, but his fear of a future on the Cor Isles gave him strength to endure the ordeal. Many came and looked at him, some asked him to flex his muscles, some asked to see his teeth. He did as the asked knowing full well that Zaspel could see him and all too aware of what would happen to him if he refused. A rough misshapen character of a man stepped up to Sarin's cage. He wore a dyed leather coat with the shape of a cutlass clearly visible through it, bits of fish gut appeared to be stuck in his beard. His hat sat tilted, motley and stained from the salt air and quite a number of his teeth were missing. He leaned forward to get a better look at Sarin. Sarin could smell the scent of rum that emitted from his mouth and see the evil in the old mans eyes. The old man left Sarins cage and walked down the line, Sarin sighed with relief at his escape only to stiffen when the old man came back and walked up to Zaspel's chair.
"How old is the boy?" His voice crackled out, so loud that even Sarin could hear it over the hustle of the crowd.
"Fifteen sir," Zaspel sensing the buyers disinterest didn't really move.
"Can e' work?" Zaspel sat up straight, there was hope for a sale, "He's been working the mines of Istor for the past five years."
The old man pondered for a moment, "E' ain't got any Zent blood in im' has e'?"
"He was taken from Fiedalwhist when the king of Kavel wiped it off the map, I believe he was born there." The old man looked around. "Ave you got any younger?"
Zaspel slunk in his chair, "He's as young as they come sir. Will it be hard labour you want him for?"
"Not really. On my last voyage I accidentally beat the cabin boy to death, now the captain says I has to replace im'. Are yer sure you aven't got any younger?"
Zaspel smiled an evil smile as he envisioned Sarins future, "No, no younger but being older he'll be able to handle a good pounding now and then."
The old man thought for a moment, "Good point, ere's me bid," and he handed Zaspel a piece of parchment. Sarin saw the gleam in Zaspels eyes as he looked at the parchment and he knew his fate was sealed. Sure enough at the end of the day it was the old man who Released Sarin from the cage. Zaspel was nowhere to be seen.
"You belong to me now boy, you hear," the man waiting for a response but none came.
"Can yer talk boy?" Sarin looked up at the man, he had been forbidden to talk in the mines and didn’t realise it was expected of him.
"Yes sir," he said.
“"Good, I'd hate to ave bought me a dud."
Sarin followed the old man along the warf. Sarin couldn't help slowing down to admire all the tall ships in the port. He had never seen the ocean before and he marvelled with awe at the sight that lay before him.
"Keep up boy," the old man yelled back to him, "Ours is the one on the end."
Sarin scanned the row of ships to the end. The last ship was older than the rest and sat lower in the water. The years had taken its toll on the poor ship and it appeared to be suffering neglect. Sarin didn't notice his head was filled with the thought of going to sea. He was happy with the prospect.





Enjoy people, I'm going camping, I'll be back in five days.

Excerpt from Sarin of Fidelwhist

I will probably never finish writing this book, but last nights massive storm encouraged me to post this.


You know a storm is going to be big when you can hear it coming, this is how it was for the town of Lascriven. The lightning was so big it lit up the whole night sky in silver. Between the lightning the sky flickered from red to pink to blue and back again. The thunder so loud that your whole body shook with it and left you momentarily deaf. The people of Lascriven lined the streets to witness the great spectacle that was baring down on them, but when the rains hit they quickly raced inside and bolted their doors. It fell so hard and so fast it was amazing it didn't tear the flesh from their backs. Sarin alone remained to watch, while the others ran in fear he was entranced by the storm as if it were calling to him. He walked to the top of the cliff above where the waves crash hard upon the rocks of the cliff's face and there he stood marveling in the power that the gods commanded. One boy alone in the storm.
The lightning and thunder so close together now that it was difficult to tell one from the other. The lightning bolts branched out across the sky like the root of some great tree. Sarin called out to the night sky, 'I do not fear you,' the storm deaf to his cry, raged on. 'Do you hear me? I am not afraid.' At the completion of his sentence a lightning bolt shot forth from the sky and struck Sarin where he stood causing him to collapse on the ground. He was not conscious to witness the lightning set fire to the village, the flames roared through the streets, burning the buildings so quickly as if they were made of straw. Sarin never actually heard the horrific screams of all the people trapped bolted inside there homes, but somehow those screams penetrated his dreams. When he awoke nothing but rubble remained of the town of Lascriven. Sarin alone had survived.

Thanksgiving

I've never had thanksgiving and I've never really had family functions, Having a psychopath, a mentally disabled person and a drama queen, made it hard to pull them off without a hitch and after the knife incident, we decided to cancel any family meeting, even funerals.

So tell me about your thanks givings, is your whole family there, what are their names, which one really iritates you and how? What do you have to eat? is it hot or is it cold? What decorations do you have or don't you have any? What's the weather like? what type of weather would you prefer for the occasion? What was your favorite thanksgiving and why?

Tell me everything.

Train-sporting

Where do you sit on the train? Do those up stairs seem too daunting? So you choose to go down into the deep recesses of the train. Perhaps you are the over eager, getting those stairs over and done with by mounting them from the off. Then there are the undecided, refusing to make that hard decision, choosing instead to hover in the alcove near the door. Last and least are the non-committed, the voyagers. Declining to sit, incessantly pacing the entire train, going through both up and down sections and staring creepily at each person they pass on their travels. Occasionally you will come across the semi-voyager who confines himself to one carriage only, don't think they're special, they're just too lazy to take on the entire train.
If you watch these people long enough you will notice trends developing (full trains don't count, because then you will take what you can get, even the sweat-soaked set beside the vomit covered drunk called Ron.) the drunkards will almost always take the bottom of the carriage unless they feel they are going to be sick, then they will opt for the top section in the hope of coating the entire carriage in the remains of alcohol and the half digested kebab from Eddy Ave, aptly known as vomit. Joining them you will find the shy, the groups, the thieves, the easily aroused and the tired. The respectable people can be found in the upper section of the carriage. Children are also there, along with transit police and older men. Mothers, if not with their children will always be found in the alcove, joining them you will find little old ladies, the hurried masses eagerly awaiting the end of the journey, the disabled and anyone carrying something large and awkward. Forcing anyone wishing to leave the train to compulsorily push their way past. Readers are always scattered everywhere on the train usually being able to fit into another category. The voyagers are just plain creepy, I've never met one I liked and the less said about them the better. Now depending on where you sit, you can spend your whole train life and not be exposed to every type of train-goer. I choose to sit in the lower section of the train and on the odd occasion I hover in the alcove. The undecided alcovers may witness every type of traveler, but without seeing them in their natural habitat you can't fully understand them. Being a lower dweller myself, any description of the upper section is understandably vague. So as you read this, think about where you sit and while you're there think about which title describes you (YES, do not think about which title describes me) and ask yourself are you sitting in the right section?

Sick

I'm sick again, I think it was brought on by stress and lack of important things like sleep and eating. I just get over all that and the disease comes. Figures.

New look

I'm messing around with the template thingy to see what does what, I'm not great with computers so tell me whats good and whats sheite.

Free

I am now free, the weight that had been bearing down on me is gone and I can relax and enjoy the finer things in life.
I'm going camping in a few days. That will be a nice change, I might even go fishing in the lake. I've not yet decided whether to take my paints along. No doubt I will be intoxicated, it might make for some interesting art.

It is so great to not being worrying and wondering, the waters are still now, but for how long?

What was there before there was nothing?

Today.

I decided to take some time out of my busy schedule to go to 'Art by the Sea.' The art varied from 'very, very good', to 'I can't believe they got away with it.' The weather was overcast, unfortunately it was still very crowded, but at least I got a lot of exercise out of it. Afterward I went to see if my beach painting was still visible, some young hoon had graffitied it into oblivion, oh well.

I sat on the grass above the beach and stared at the sea... Beautiful.

I'm contemplating stopping off at Brooklyn on my trip up north, I always promise myself I'll drop in but never do... I'd probably only be disappointed, but I'd like to see what's there.
It's cold again, I can feel my immunities slowly giving way to all the little parasites that attach themselves to me. Religious people find pleasure in telling me I'm going to hell, my response; at least I'll be warm.
It's going to rain tonight, I can feel it. I can smell it in the air, it's crisper, cleaner than normal air and if I couldn't the curls forming on my head are a dead giveaway. I think I'll curl up by the heater with my new serial killer book and a nice cup-o-jo.

Is anything ever perfect?

I always say no one is perfect, and I love the comment, only human, but then I am reminded of the old milk add. You know the one, the slogan was, 'You can't improve on perfect.' Now I believe the saying, but I am also aware of the imperfections of milk. It leads me to wonder, is there anything that is actually perfect?
I know mans beauty is defined by its imperfections and I can truly appreciate that. What about nature?
I suppose you can't say what is and what isn't until you define perfection.
Is it symmetry? A pattern repeating itself?
Is it cooperative? Everything running smoothly together.
Is it uniqueness? The beauty of difference.
Is it beauty? The ability to be prettier than those around you.
Can you even define it?

It is everything and nothing at the same time. How can you understand something that can't clearly be defined? Even a piece of writing can never be perfect. Syntax, grammar, punctuation, they can be fine, but someone will always find fault unless the piece is beyond their imperfection detection ability. Peoples opinion of what is perfect also varies which makes it very hard to please all the people all the time.
If perfection doesn't exist anyone who seeks it is bound to fall short.

Luckily it is the imperfections of everything that I love so much, that allow me to appreciate everything individually while also being aware of the beauty, cooperativeness and symmetry...
Everything is beautiful in my eyes, but nothing is perfect and that's what makes everything so beautiful.

The Zebra Crossing

They’re everywhere, you've all seen them, sitting there motionless, providing a false sense of security and I'm here to tell you that it is a sham. Throughout my whole life I have been told that they are safe havens, that this monstrosity will protect us from the demon that is the automobile, but somebody must have neglected to tell vehicles that, or they weren't listening. This foul-striped path that's only similarity to a zebra is its stripes, provides no protection whatsoever, perhaps it is because zebras are not feared among the animal kingdom, what if we painted the crossings to resemble lions or serpents, why are these animals neglected while the zebra is so highly praised? If it was a lion crossing would cars approach it with a bit more caution? Two of my friends lost their lives on these abominations, and I've had one near miss and two hits. I find buses to be the worst culprits, speeding up when the light turns red, flooring the pedal when they see a child approach the crossing, only thinking about the time they'll save, not of the life they may be taking. Everyday I see children watching, waiting for the little green man to spread his legs, signifying that it's safe to cross, and then they walk, oblivious to the fact that the little red man is waiting patiently for them to reach the centre, and then the red man start flashing. There once was a time when I used to marvel at the red man flashing, when he came on, people would move faster, some people would even stop, I was fascinated that one little machine could have so much power, so much control over people, and to have a man flash in public and get away with it was brilliant. Times change, now, as much as cars ignore crossings, so too do we, they've lost their meaning and half the people on the road don’t even know the laws regarding the crossing. I know the laws, I break them everyday, after all, rules were made to be broken, but at what cost? If a society is based on law, what happens when the law holds no meaning, does society itself begin to fall apart, and once society and law are gone, and we are primitives once more, what then? Does the cycle start anew?

Silver 2 Overview
You approach the world using a balance of logic and intuition. During the course of your everyday activities, you are able to command a great deal of logical reasoning. However, when life gets 'serious', you are able to move beyond logic and utilize your intuition. You've spent a good amount of time introspecting. The more introspection you do, the easier it will be to rely on your intuition.

Core needs

Once financial independence is reached, you may initially seek a conventional lifestyle- job, career, marriage, home. Meanwhile, there is an indescribable drive lurking just beneath the surface. The drive yearns for something beyond the conventional. This drive may remain dormant until the conventional lifestyle is reached, at which point, the conventional lifestyle may no longer seem completely satisfying and you will be inclined to broaden your search. This search may or may not result in action. The choice is yours. Part of your internal debate is linked to the feeling that none of your possible options feel like your true calling.

Activities

You can be a large consumer of passive pursuits such as watching television, movies, video games, etc. You will gravitate toward infrequent physical activity and non-taxing mental tasks.
Next Step

If you have not jumped into your passion, focus on what's holding you back. If it's fear, try to determine the source of the fear. Perhaps it is fear of the unknown. If this is the case, ask yourself how many times you've experienced similar fears in the past. Then ask yourself what the typical outcome has been. Perhaps it's a fear of failure-or maybe success.
The important thing is that you take the plunge

Some personality thingy

Kelly, your Personality SummaryKey Areas of your Personality
Your personality stands out from the average person's particularly in the areas of:

Your High Curiosity Level
Your Low Emotional Reactivity Level
Your High Need for Variety
Your High Assertiveness Level

One chapter of your 100-page Personality Report is dedicated to how you compare to the average woman and the average man in the 8 main areas of personality, and how this affects the way that people interact with you.
Your personality is made up of a unique pattern of traits. These traits impact the way you think, feel, and behave on an everyday basis. In your report you will read a detailed explanation of each of your core personality traits, including your strengths and challenge points.

Your Interaction Style:
You scored 30 in the area of extroversion/ introversion, which means that your energy is directed primarily inward, rather than outward. Your mixed score in this trait creates an interesting and alluring combination of traits: You are social yet also very reflective and introspective. You like to be around people, but too much interaction drains your energy. You need to retreat every once in a while in order to recharge your batteries. Keep these needs in mind when choosing the ideal work situation for you, otherwise you won't feel happy.

Social patterns: You are left-brained when it comes to recognizing emotions in other people. This is a unique way of viewing the world. You are likely to be sensitive to 'micro-expressions' - the tiny movements of the muscles in the face that occur, for example, when someone is telling a lie. You also may have some left-sided tendencies. For example, if two people were talking behind a closed door and you needed to put your ear on the door in order to hear, you would tend to use your left ear instead of your right.

One chapter of your personality report is dedicated to the type of people who fit you best as friends and coworkers, and the unique features of your social interaction style.

Life Satisfaction:
You are not entirely satisfied with your current life situation.

The Personality Report was created by leading researchers and personality experts who want to make a difference in people's lives. We believe that knowing your personality well is the key to increasing your life satisfaction level. Why? You need to know your personality well in order to choose the people and surroundings that fit you best.

Your Personality Report will help you understand yourself better and make the right choices.

I Curse the Hourglass

I've watched him for the longest time and lately I've noticed a change. His step is a little slower, his smile a little lower, his eyes still light up when he sees me, but the sparkle has faded a bit. It's time that's slowing him down, I vaguely remember him in his prime, he was considered quite the catch once, you can escape many things, but time waits for no man. It's sad to see him getting old, to know he's not long for this world. What will I do without him when he's gone? He is mellowing with age, he's a lot more laid back than he used to be, he jokes around with me more than before and we both enjoy our time together. He seemed to move from one disease to the next nowadays, but it's only a mild sickness and he hides it well. He tires much faster, he thinks I don't notice, but I see it in his eyes and his stride. I try to hide my feelings of sorrow, but I'm sure he knows. We both know what's happening, we both feel it and we both know there's no getting past it. We're running out of time together. It's funny; we've known each other for years, but it's only recently that we've really gotten to know each other, gotten to appreciate each others company. No matter how much I treasure and value our time together, I know it will never be enough. I will still miss him when he's gone. Perhaps if I had never got to like him, I wouldn't notice if he was no longer there, but the fact remains that I do like him and I will miss him. Time has never been my friend, it changes people, all people, whether outside or in, the change is still there. Is it possible to make a deal with time to save the people you care about? For years he didn't know I existed, and now that I've finally got his attention, I'll loose him to time. I curse the unbreakable hourglass, if only I could control the sands of time.

If I Were A... (Borrowed Idea from a friend)

If I were a month I would be: May
If I were a day of the week I would be: Friday, I love Friday's
If I were a time of day I would be: Midnite. It's such a magical time of night.
If I were a planet I would be: Saturn or Jupiter.
If I were a sea animal I would be: A Sea Otter.
If I were a direction I would be: East, where the sun is born.
If I were a piece of furniture I would be: A couch.
If I were a sin I would be: Pride, it's the one I can't hide.
If I were a historical figure I would be: Dead by now.
If I were a liquid I would be: Petrol, definately leaded. (Gas for you Americans)
If I were a stone, I would be: Cement.
If I were a tree, I would be: A strangler, they are beautiful trees.
If I were a bird, I would be: A wren.
If I were a flower/plant: A fruit vine
If I were a kind of weather, I would be: A sun shower.
If I were a musical instrument, I would be: A violin.
If I were an animal, I would be: A platapus
If I were a color, I would be: blue
If I were an emotion, I would be: Sorrow.
If I were a vegetable, I would be: Potatos
If I were a sound, I would be: The rain
If I were an element, I would be: wind.
If I were a car, I would be: ’57 Chevy convertable
If I were a song, I would be: Mute
If I were a book, I would be written by: Sophocles
If I were a food, I would be: A deep fried Mars Bar.
If I were a place, I would be: the Ocean.
If I were a material, I would be: Satin.
If I were a taste, I would be: undescribable.
If I was a scent, I would be: The sea
If I were a word, I would be: Interesting
If I were a body part I would be: the Mind.
If I were a facial expression I would be: smiling
If I were a subject in school I would be: English Literature
If I were a comic book character I would be: Zorro
If I were a shape I would be : triangular dihedron

I've forgotten how to fly

I've forgotten how to fly. It's amazing, how can you forget something that once came so easily? I used to fly, so well and so high above so many others. I'd spread my wings and soar. It was beautiful, I remember it so well, and that makes now feel so much more worse. I've forgotten how to fly, it sounds so strange to one who hasn't flown, but if you're flying, then you may understand my sorrow. I feel like my wings have been clipped, the wind has died and the turbulence is just too overpowering for me to get off the ground. Now I walk on the ground and watch others fly, so entrancing, and majestic. I admire and pity them at the same time. Everyone falls one day, some have flown so high that the fall will surly kill them, but will the young fliers even notice their rapid decent? I think not, but that's the way it is, the old fall to make room for the young. Why did I fall so quickly? Yes I was flying higher, but that's no reason to cut my flight short. Perhaps my wings are broken and given time they'll heal, but I've been grounded so long that it can't be that. I'd give anything to fly again, but what have I to give? The sky's the limit; not anymore, I hear the sky calling me, I cannot respond, we now speak a different language. What happens when the floor falls out from under my feet? Where do I fall from here? I've forgotten how to fly, can you fly? You can't be taught to fly, it's a special gift given to a chosen few, so how do I learn again? I could survive down here, but I can fly, I just can't remember how. I feel like I'm trapped in a world that wasn't meant for me, my sky has fallen and this is what's left. I keep believing I'll fly again, I'll soar high, I'll duck and weave between the clouds, I'll fly so high, I'll never come back down, until then I'll keep believing, keep on dreaming. I'll keep the faith and I'll come back to show them I can fly.

You scored as Peter Pan. Your alter ego is Peter Pan. You are a child at heart. Anything you believe is possible, and you never want to grow up. Peter Pan 100% Goofy 94% The Beast 75% Ariel 50% Sleeping Beauty 44% Cinderella 44% Pinocchio 38% Cruella De Ville 31% Snow White 19% Donald Duck 13% Which Disney Character is your Alter Ego? created with QuizFarm.com

Am I my Brothers Keeper?

I've been thinking about my brother a lot lately, mainly because he keeps calling. He wants me to visit him, for some unknown reason he can't visit me.
I don't like visiting him. He is eight years my senior and is reckless and unaware of the feelings of others. His addiction is to marijuana although I'm sure he's on stronger things as well - his excuse, he can't stand the pain, life is pain damn it, we don't all turn to drugs. He takes no responsibility for his actions, and boasts about abusing children in his past. The rest of my family have more or less given up on him. I know he is beyond help, he says he wants help, but he wont put the effort in. I've given up trying to help him, but I wont give up on him, I can't leave him with no one.
He's gullible, at times almost infantile, I feel sorry for him, I know I shouldn't pity him, it wont help him and he certainly doesn't deserve it. I've forgiven him for all the wrongs he caused me, but to hear him brag to others about it, I don't know whether to hate him or wonder about his mental state. Bragging about cruelty will not get him a girlfriend, sometimes I wonder how his mind functions at all. I understand he went through hardships as a child, but surely it's time to grow up and be a man, time to stop relying on the rest of the world to save you everytime you fuck up.
I am an independent person, I don't like relying on others because they will let you down, my brother, he is dependent on everyone. I don't think I'd mind visiting him so much if he didn't lie through his teeth every time he saw me. I'm good at reading people so naturally I'd notice, but he's so bad at it that everyone notices, how anyone could live with him is beyond me. If you could get past the lies the drugs would get to you, for at least six hours a day he pulls cones. I'm not a fan of narcotics, I've had too many friends die with a needle in the arm.
I love him, if only because I feel morally bound. I know that sounds bad, but I'm the only one that still does that for him, so it's better than nothing.