"Where we goin', where we goin? Home again?" or "Here's a story of what I'd like to see. What

So, i'm home... People ended up pissing me off, today. There's this low-lying sense of Dread, running through me, today, for some reason (tomorrow's the Fourth), and one of my roommates is getting on my case about petty shit. I don't Need this, right now... I have family making travel plans, tomorrow, and i'm already a paranoid sumbitch... So i'm a little jittery, and a little annoyed.

i have this odd feeling like i would feel a lot better if i could simply WRITE, you know? Like i could get it all out, and i could have it down, and not worry about it, and there would be this concrete reminder of things, and i would FEEL Better. But i can't get it out... i'm sitting here, and i'm making up excuses, for myself. "It's the wrong atmosphere;" "There's too many people, here;" &c., &c. But it's only excuses. i'm just making shit up, so i don't have to let it go. Because deep down, inside, i enjoy the seething rage. The universe knows this, and it gives me more fuel, all the time. So, here: A Query:

Do you ever have those people you simply want to Kill? People you go through the trouble of considering your friends, and, wanting to talk to them, or,perhaps, email? Someething more than the hum-drum, day to day shite, becvause you, for some FUCKED UP REASON, find them incredibly cool? And they don't? Because thy obviously think you suck? Or so your low self-esteem tells you? So that was several queries. So what? You get the gist. Fucker. So let's try this one: You ever try to talk to people you considered friends-- or, at the very least, good acquaintances-- and you were talking, and talking, and then they were gone? Not so much as a "goodbye," or a "Later." Simply gone. Does that ever add up, with all the other shit that's gone on, in the past few minutes of your life, and make you want to KILL Everyone? Ah well. That's ok. 'Cause, directly after that, someone you haven't seen in months will show up and take an extreme interest in your life. And all of this, while you're watching "MOMENTO"! Fuck. Ass.

I'm really trying to get this shit out... I've got a alot of pent up frustrations,a nd anger, and... stuff.. right now, and it needs out. I need to write, i need to talk, i need to yell, howl, scream, rage against the dying of the light, SOMEthing! ANYTHING! FUCK! There'll be no shelter here, because, all around me, there are people who want my energy, my light, But in no direct rroute do they travel, noo. They cannot simply ask of it. They must poke, and prode and tickle, and trigger. They must annoy and subconsciously suck at the satisfying sludge they help to produce, and This is your product!! This is the waste by product of the vile filth you put into the world as Society, or Civility! Fuck you. You don't know. If you know, you don't care. Fuck you. I love you.

Dream Well, for now.

Happy Inaccurate Patriotism Day :)

I'm in a parking lot, with a bunch of people, and it's night time, and day. Some woman comes up and asks me to have sex with her. I tell her no. Then she asks if I will, if she can have her boyfriend watch her do it. Then Patrick says "No, we all get to watch. All of us or no go." And i think about it, for a while.

I'm in a wrestling ring, and there are these two wrestlers, there, from pro wrestling. They fight, and there's some form of revenge that happens, after the fight's supposed to be over. Someone get's thrown through a table, and Patrick says "they can do that to Mountain Dew bottles, and Semis, with the right set of explosives." I see a semi, on the road, run into some sort of detonator, and then the trailer crumples.

Impressions of a school, and of Horizons. Seeing people i know. Vague recollections of Lucien, and the Library... Eventually, I wake up

Moxy Fruvous - [Bittersweet]--- i wish i could remember more of that, but my body woke me up, and i Got up, so oh well. My bad. We weren't actually made a Sovereign Nation, on this day in, in history. We didn't get our own Nationhood (like a Maidenhead, but different, i guess) until 1785 (Bobgoblin - [Pretty in My Uniform])... Or '86, or '84. I didn't remember which. If it was 84, or 85, then it was a year before Adam Weishaupt was exiled to this country. If it was 86, then it was the same year... Let me go check...

TDOTHT - [Power Up]--- Looking around for it now.. need to remember where i put that term paper.... (The Adventures of Jet - [Wasted Time]). Ok, so it was 1784 that Weishaupt was removed from Bavaria, and it was 85 that we became an actual country. But that doesn't really matter. Like Lisa Simpson said, in the episode about this shit "It doesn't matter who said it: A noble Spirit embiggens the smallest man." So happy Fourth of July, damnit. Go out and eat some barbeque, for me, eh?

I'll see you all later.

Day Dream

WOOHOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [And thank you, In/grid. You reminded my roommate, she had it.]

I'm going to go watch "The Nightmare Before Christmas" now because my roommate remembered she had it and i haven't seen it in forever and it's one of my favouritest movies of all time and oh my god Danny Elfman has such a sexy voice and he's just pretty sexy overall too ok i have to go now BYE!!

A window and a mirror....

Loved Ones

Allowing himself to feel
an unfamiliar longing;
walking in through the door
of the house he once called
home.
Looking at the walls,
no longer finding any comfort
in furniture he never chose.
He sits on the oddly patterned couch,
remembering (or attempting to remember)
the last time he had been
happy here.

He finds himself on the stairs.
He wonders, briefly,
how he got there,
and what he was planing to do...
But he is at the bedroom door,
and all thoughts are wiped away.
(His hands close tighter)

He trails his hand along the wall,
as he walks
to the living room.
He thinks about the number of times
he's had to yell at them
about writing on the walls...
They'd always looked so hurt,
by it.
He looks behind him and sees
smudges and handprints, along the wall.
He says, aloud, "For you."
She would probably be upset,
but he would make it ok.
A little more liquid, and those stains came right
off.
He sits on the couch, again,
and waits.

("What are you doing here?"
"I came to see the kids."
"The children are sleeping...")
She wrings her hands and
edges toward the stairs.
("I know...")
He wipes his hand across his brow.
She, never taking her eyes off of him,
sees a smear of red.
Her eyes flicker around the room,
to the walls,
to his hands.
She makes a break for the stairs.
His hand is on her back, holding her.
("Where are you going?")
He sounds almost insulted. Himself
like a petulant child.
("What have you done to the children?!"
"It's like you said: They're sleeping...
Did you want to see them?"
"Oh, god, why..!")

He is pulling her up the stairs,
to the door of her bedroom.
He drags her to the corner of the bed,
and pushes her face to the soaking mess.
She gags, sobs, controls herself,
and turns her head to the side.
Before he turns her head back
("LOOK! Look, godamnit!!"),
she sees it on the bedside table,
where he left it.
She lunges to the left and
grabs the knife,
as his hands are wrapping around
her throat.
As she lays there, locked with him,
he leans in and kisses her.
One of his hands grips tighter,
around her neck, and the other
is sliding up her thigh.
As she pushes the knife in,
again and again,
running out of air,
she looks into his eyes,
and the happy gleam, there,
reminds her of their first night together.
(c)2002 Damien Williams