Monday, February 24, 2003
crooked teeth crooked smile
Jon sat up in his bed watching the rain hit the window. Every few minutes, he'd push his head up against the glass to get a good look at just what the drops experienced when they hit, flattened, and exploded in that one instant. He looked at the clock every once in a while, to see how much more time he had until his grandfather came home from his job at the meat plant. He found that he had only ten more minutes until he would return, meaning he needed to clean up quick.
After relocking the chains and deadbolts on the outside of his door, he snuck back into his room through the vent that ran inbetween the kitchen and his own room. He had once left a sock on the floor of kitchen in his bustle to return to his haven, but luckily enough for him, his grandfather's dog snatched it up before his grandfather saw it.
After his parents left him, Jon found himself in the care of the only remaining relative that picked up the phone. Even then, it took the police two days to get a hold of him. On top of that, it took another week to convince him to take the kid in. In the meantime, Jon had to stay four nights in the police station, taking up the drunk tank when it was empty, and the corner of the larger office spaces when it wasn't. A female officer tried to take him home for the night, but his incessant crying made it impossible for her to care for him for any length of time. Grandfather finally relented, and took the kid in, on the condition that the police don't try to arraign him on any child abuse charges whatsoever.
One day he saw a girl walk past the window when is grandfather was gone. It was pretty much the first girl he had ever seen, besides his sister. But he hadn't seen his sister for four years, before their uncle grabbed her and dragged her away screaming. Whenever he asked his parents about her or what happened, he was slapped and thrown across the room, and yelled at to forget her. The girl walked by fairly infrequently, and ran away when he would yell through the window. Jon didn't know what to yell at girls, so he just yelled. He felt a strange feeling everytime he looked at the girl in the street. In the years that he spent locked away in the room, he spent most of his days drawing her face on his walls. He burned to show off his renderings to someone, but the girl herself was the most contact he had with anybody in the outside world.
The fifth time that the girl walked by, Jon came to a decision. He knew exactly where his grandfather hid his shotgun. Even the arms developed by beating bovine carcasses for ten hours a day barehanded wouldn't be able to save him from the double barrel. As soon as his grandfather opened the door, Jon blasted once. Grandfather blocked with an arm, and action that proved somewhat futile, as the arm and half of his ribcage was instantly vaporized. Realizing in a split second what was happening, Jon's grandfather tried his best to destroy his young descendant. He took two steps towards Jon before the collateral effects of blood loss, lack of oxygen and the destruction of brain cells took effect. His massive body fell towards Jon, who let off his second great charge, destroying the rest of the man's torso. His tattered rags that served as clothing were covered in blood; he imagined himself immersed in the shade of victory. He stormed out of his final cell triumphantly with smoing shotgun in hand. He trusted his instincts to find the girl, unknowingly startling his neighbors on his crowded urban street. He never imagined that outside of his previous realm of existence would be yet another cage ready to hold him. This concrete prison threatened to keep him a prisoner as before, and he realized that even his boomstick would not grant him freedom.
As he wandered through his gray maze, he found himself in a dead end, one littered in trash and broken bottles. As he turned to leave, he found his girl being led into his vision, followed by three laughing men. One of them held a short length of metal to her, an instrument that Jon would recognize as the 'party shank' so prized by his grandfather. He watched the men turn her clothes into rags resembling his own, and then grab at her pasty white flesh. He crept up to ask what they were up to, but was met by the shriek of the woman, yelling at him to get help. Unfortunately, Jon knew very little of how to speak, having been out of contact with just about anybody for a few years. Instead, he blew the legs off of two of the men before the man with the party shank stabbed him in the stomach. The man's head was promptly blown into a fine paste, but not before Jon crawled over to the bawling woman. Jon attempted to emulate the men, and found that this action, an action that only agitated his bleeding wound and covered the woman with his crimson life-fore, only served to make the woman shriek even louder. The last thing that he saw as his vision faded into a dull grey was the site of his girl putting the heated barrel of the shotgun to her lips.
Ennui was destined to
write this at 11:16 PM
My LiveJournal
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Tuesday, January 21, 2003
LOVE STINKS! OHH YEAH!
there was once a man from nantucket. He hated everyone because anyone he met would immediately try to recite a limerick. he learned how to kill people in one hit. soon, he met a skanky ho and fell in love with her. He spent 3 long weeks stalking her and finding out where she lived, worked, and slept around...
Ennui X: it turned out that she was an undergrad student from NYU, and was working as a waitress in a shitty coffee shop on 1st street. she thought that if she saved up enough money, her dream of moving to LA to establish her film career would be a sure thing.
Ennui X: Eventually, the man from nantucket kidnapped her and kept her for 3 days in his run down apartment. after 3 days, she stopped screaming and yelling and gave in to her fate. he promised to kill her and her friends and her friends if she ever left him
Ennui X: they were married, and she gave him 2 filthy boys that ended up in jail 18 years later. but thats a different story.
Ennui X: Anyway, she lived her life in misery, longing to see the pacific ocean. however, the only thing she ever saw was the kitchen, because he never let her out of the house.
Ennui X: The nantucketite spent his days mugging and stalking other women. One day, he came home bleeding from the armpit where we had been stabbed during a botched robbery attempt. he refused to go to the doctor because he was slowly going insane and felt that doctors were the tools of satan.
IcedSuika: did he bleed to death?! from the armpit?!
Ennui X: he was bedridden, and 2 weeks later, he died in his sleep due to various illnesses incurred by the disgusting, infected wound. the woman thought that her freedom had come, until she realized she had to dispose of the body. She was paranoid and didn't realize she had to call the police. Being a stupid whore, she tried to dump the body in her apartment dumpster. When the body was found, she was put on trial for 1st degree murder.
IcedSuika: and then she was sent to jail for life and became a bulldyke?!
Ennui X: even though she was frequently beaten, resulting in 2 miscarriages, the prosecution tore her case apart. her state assigned lawyer cared nothing for the worthless woman, and she was sent upstate for 25 years. her sons were sent to a foster home, and were raped by their foster parents, and filmed fondling each other for their foster parent's child porn ring.
Ennui X: while she was in jail, she would cry day and night, dreaming of the day she would get out and visit Hermosa Beach in California. It was the only beach she knew of, because she had found a postcard to one of her neighbors from there in the dumpster one day. Because of her fragile nature, she was an easy target for her cellmates. She was frequently beaten by them as well, and was often raped.
Ennui X: Sometime during her years in prison, her luck started to turn around, unbeknownst to her. A distant uncle died, leaving her with a small fortune and a nice sized house in Moneterey, just south of San Francisco.
Ennui X: It took the attourneys handling the will 2 years to track her down. By this time, it had been 12 long years since she had been thrown into the high security prison. She decided that she couldn't handle life any longer, and found a way to secure a razor. 1 month and 3 days before the attourneys were to approach her about her new estate, she slit her wrists and bled into the toilet of her cell. Nobody attended her funeral, and her ashes were thrown into the west banks of the Manhattan Bay.
Ennui was destined to write this at 10:09 PM
My LiveJournal
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Monday, December 09, 2002
meaning of life
I was right in the heart of the beast. Actually, I suppose a more correct metaphor would be to say that I was in the trunk of the tree. Only, I think I was actually somewhere around the roots, so maybe I was more at the root of the problem. This was, of course, the tree responsible for all of the rotten programming, media blitzes, and moral degradation throughout the spectrum of the airwaves. I'm not entirely sure how I got in, but it was really damned crowded. I have a feeling that most of them were just tourists. Maybe thats why I was there, but I really doubt it.The blue tile that covered the place, from the ceilings, to the curved walls, and the hilly, uneven floor, seemed almost metallic. It hurt my eyes and only served to piss me off even more. I walked down a few halls/roots to look for the way out of here, when I ran into someone that looked familiar.
"Hey! How have you been? I really hope you're not mad at us. Care to join us?"
I stared at him for a second until i realized who this thin white boy was that was staring so intently at me. He was a Mormon who had tried to convert me with little success a few years back. For some reason or another, I got to know quite a few Mormons from his temple. The truth was, I was never really mad at them or anything, I just grew tired of their eagerness to see me. I felt like a mouse in the eyes of the hawk that was John Smith. I wouldn't be their prize, I decided. I looked around me for a few seconds and realized that he was with the youth of his temple, apparently taking a tour. I recognized a few of the faces, those who were once friends, or at least pretending to be, as to get Jesus into my pants. After more than a few seconds, what would be an awkward pause if the entire meeting weren't awkward from the beginning, i looked at him as directly as he did me. This, of course, unsettled him. Their main weapon is their laser stare, which cuts away all of your fear, to open you up to Jesus. Or something. "No thanks. No offense to you guys, but I hate your god. You guys are nice and all, but I'd rather not waste my time with that bullshit." I gave him as much of a smile as I could muster (which isn't much, I'm not much of a smiler, I must admit), and kept walking.
I felt the tree launching another seed at the city. Every once in a while, this tree, as though controlling the minds of millions of idiot Americans weren't enough, launched a seed toward the city. The seed then grew arms and a beetle's head, and ceased to be a seed. Instead, it became a huge beetle. This beetle would then start crushing buildings. I watched the seed fly into the city, and projected my thought into stopping the beetle. I had done this once before, I rather liked it. The seed landed, and as it became the beetle, my projection took shape. For some reason, my projection always took the shape of a large lizard. Still disoriented, the beetle was grabbed by my terrible lizard, and was tossed like a rag doll into a row of cheap apartments. Sometimes I wonder if my fighting the beetle caused more damage than the beetle itself would, but I didn't care. I just knew that it had to be stopped.
While the beetle was being battled, I kept walking through the root-corridors. My mind occupied, I didn't realize that the narrows were becoming less and less crowded. Eventually, I ended up in a large, empty room. The walls were shifting, and it wasn't until I tripped on a piece of moving floor did I realize where I had come. This was the control room of the media tree.
After a few moments of fighting, my lizard finally succeeded in crushing the beetle. The lizard roared as it stomped on its prey, and promptly disappeared. The beetle's corpse lay in the center of the freeway. Frantic commuters are going to be very pissed, I figured, but the thought quickly dropped from my mind.
As soon as the tree found out about its crushing defeat, the walls shifted faster, and the tree yelled at me. Actually, I think it was more that it sent me messages telepathically, which I found strange, since trees have no mind. But thats exactly what happened. I think. Anyway, the tree was hopping mad. It threatened to kill me, but I got mad at it, and killed it. It told me I'd be sorry, and though I doubted him for a second, I really was. The room was closing in, and i felt the whole tree falling in on itself, and i remembered all the people that were still inside, touring, evangelizing, doing god knows what else. (ony of course he couldn't since he doesn't exist.) Shortly thereafter it dawned on me that everyone inside deserved it, including myself, so I sat in the control room, ready to accept my fate. For some reason, though, I stood up and left. I watched the tree die, and I knew that this was my fate. Life was about to become much more empty, but I was happier for it.
Ennui was destined to
write this at 12:49 PM
My LiveJournal
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Thursday, November 28, 2002
What if...
I decided to get rid of my past. I came to realize that its the past thats holding me back, depressing me. I need to get rid of all vestiges of it. Cosplay needs to go, I'm afraid I won't talk to most people anymore. Most of the people that I came to hold as good and, in some cases, close friends may never see me again. I'm torn between who I was, who I knew and who hurt me and who I am now.. Without those thoughts, I can return to who I am, who I know, what I will do. Only then can I start living in the present again to work for a future. I'll be lonely... but I am anyway, so its not like anyone loses out. If anything, this would only be a good thing. I'm not the person I was two years ago. I have never been that happy since, only just as depressed. The only chance of recovering that happiness is to find myself again. The life I have now resembles too much the life of me two years ago, and that can only bring be memories and sadness. All I have are depressing memories... I need to make new ones, ones that I am glad to recall, and don't cringe and hate myself for. I need a new life for the new me. Right now, I depend on people for happiness; I've found that all I can rely on in this world is myself, and I let myself down far too often. I need to change that. I keep telling myself that once I have someone to care for me, I'll be ok, but I think I would only rely on them for all of my emotional needs, and that is much too heavy a burden to place on anyone. I am the only one who can and should take responsibility for myself, and I need to learn how to deal with it. Most of the closest friends I had are inaccessible to me now, and though I've come close, I can't quite replace them. I'm still looking for what the old me was looking for, but I need what the new me needs. I need help, but tough shit. Half the time I don't even know why I bother; I know for a fact I'm going to die alone anyway.What if.
Ennui was destined to
write this at 9:19 PM
My LiveJournal
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Monday, November 04, 2002
DATURA DATURA DATURA DATURA DATURA DATURA DATURA DATURA DATURA DATURA DATURA DATURA DATURA DATURAEnnui was destined to write this at 9:36 PM
My LiveJournal
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Sunday, November 03, 2002
the los angeles beaches constitute one large mirror.empty, beautiful seas line each side
full of mindless plankton searching themselves for the power to reach
the other side, but the grass is only greener.
large waves threaten life, but the fear inspires life to thrive in spite.
the frothy crests are lined with refelections of the sky, the enemy of the sea.
water | concrete
Ennui was destined to
write this at 7:20 PM
My LiveJournal
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Sunday, October 20, 2002
personhood
I know who knows the 'self'. Not me. Becuase I don't even know who I am. But I know who does. Matt. I mean, Matt Sanchez. But not me. When I say Matt Sanchez, I mean, the Matt who is seen by everyone else. The one that I see. The one that knows. I'm not Matt, I'm me. I'm the one that is myself, and that is all that I am. Matt Sanchez is a label. A label for a person that doesn't exist, the thing that is seen. What everyone sees in Matt Sanchez is different. Maybe Kimi's Matt Sanchez doesn't know what the 'self' is, but I know that Matt does. He's holding out on me. I have a feeling that if you ask Matt to tell you his secret, he'll hold out on you, too.Ennui was destined to write this at 11:15 PM
My LiveJournal
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Its just me ranting. I dont even update that often. I guess I'm as useless as i think i am?
AIM: Ennui X
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