Archive for the ‘Words’ Category

Messes (Writer’s Block)

Wednesday, September 7th, 2011

“I had to educate him that there was no such thing as writer’s block, that writers write when they write, and when they don’t, they don’t.”

“When you’re at odds with yourself, it’s hard to create.”

- Anthony Kiedis, Scar Tissue

On October 10th, 2007, a semi-trailer truck was driving down US 425 in Monticello, Arizona, en route to Wal-Mart.  The driver’s assignment was simple: arrive at the Wal-Mart, load the store’s expired meat into the trailer, and continue on to the designated place of spoiled flesh disposal.

However, because this was not the vehicle’s first stop of the day, it was already hauling more than 500 pounds of decomposing animal entrails, hides, pig heads, and outdated processed meat.

There is no law or regulation requiring a load of this kind to be covered.

For a reason unbeknownst to officials, prior to his arrival at Wal-mart the driver slammed on his brakes.  The contents of his trailer shifted forward, spilling blood and guts over the top and onto the highway.

The road was closed for a half-hour as bystanders watched in disgust while a 15-man crew cleaned up the filth.

Quite a mess, I’m sure.

A few years earlier, in January, 2004, a 56-foot, 60-ton sperm whale died after breaching on the southwestern coast of Taiwan.  Researchers were determined to perform an autopsy and use the carcass for educational purposes.  It took 13 hours, three large cranes, and 50 workers, but finally the mammal was loaded onto a tractor-trailer to begin its journey, bound for the Shi-Tsau Natural Preserve.

While passing through the city of Tainan, gasses built up to a critical level in the deceased whale, and it exploded.

The bursting whale splattered blood and entrails over surrounding shops, bystanders, and cars.

Residents and shop-owners put on masks and tried to clean up the disaster.  Despite the explosion, enough of the whale remained to allow for examination by marine biologists.

Again, quite a mess.

In the same degree, I’m feeling like quite a mess lately.  It’s a calm disarray, and I strive to harden myself and keep very quiet.

Also, my birthday is next week.  I just can’t seem to grow up where it matters.

Rotten meat en route to Wal-Mart (above)

Exploded whale on street in Tainan (below)

Digging, Struggling, Sinking (Relax & Float)

Wednesday, April 27th, 2011

In 1997, Everette Hodgins, 14, and his friend Justice Carr, 15, were walking to a fishing pond in Braidwood, Illinois, when they encountered something they’d only seen in movies – quicksand.

Traditional quicksand is created when water seeps up from an underground source and saturates an area of sand, silt, clay, or any other grainy soil. Normal sand can support extreme amounts of weight because friction between the grains of sand creates a force chain, distributing the load across a large area. But once there is sufficient moisture, the sand and water becomes a suspension where the sand particles are floating within the water. This significantly reduces the friction between the grains of sand, compromising its ability to support weight. Because the water seeps in from the bottom, the top layer of sand is often dry, causing it to appear to be normal sand.

The boys began to sink, and struggling just caused them to dig deeper.

Once quicksand is disturbed by movement on the surface, it liquefies, causing anything on top to sink into it very easily. The sand and clay then fall to the bottom of the mixture, creating a thick sediment that ultimately prevents further sinking, but makes it very difficult to escape.  To move within quicksand, a person or object must apply sufficient pressure on the compacted sand to re-introduce enough water to liquefy it. The forces required to do this are quite large: to remove a foot from quicksand at a speed of .01 m/s would require the same amount of force as “that needed to lift a medium-sized car.”

When Everette didn’t come home that Wednesday night, his mother called the police.  She told them she knew something was tragically wrong.  Officers believed that the boys ran away, so Everette’s parents began their own search.

The bodies of Everette and Justice were not found until Saturday morning.

When authorities first came to retrieve the boys’ bodies, the officers sank in the sand and had to be pulled out.

They then used pumps to drain “a large amount of water” from the pool, and finally employed a backhoe to recover the bodies.

The boys were never completely submerged.  According to a 2005 study, it is impossible for quicksand to completely engulf a human being.

Study led by Daniel Bonn, University of Amsterdam

The researchers simulated a quicksand pit in the lab and placed an aluminum ball of greater density than the quicksand on top of the pit. The ball didn’t sink until the researchers began to shake the pit, simulating movement and turning the mixture of sand and water more liquid. When they did this, the ball sank right to the bottom.

But when they used an aluminum ball with a density equal to the human body, which is less than the density of quicksand, they found it impossible to sink the ball, no matter how hard they shook the pit.

Incidents of sinking and disappearing into quicksand are exceedingly rare and tend to involve additional weight, such as heavy metal-frame backpacks.

Eventually the boys stopped struggling from exhaustion and began to float, but at this point they had already sunk too deep.

They died of drowning and possibly exposure.

The vast majority of deaths involving quicksand occur as a result of exposure: a person becomes trapped and unable to escape and then dies from starvation, cold, or rising tides.

The police said there were claw and scratch marks in the sand.

I can’t think straight.

I know what’s distracting me.

As usual, I’m digging myself deeper.  I thought I’d lost the ability.

Any attempt to pull me out will only tear me apart.

I need to stop struggling.

I need to just relax, and float.

“I shouldn’t have found that your lips I still taste in my head.” (The Story of Armin Meiwes)

Tuesday, April 12th, 2011

A little over 10 years ago, German computer programmer Armin Meiwes (right) posted an advertisement on the Internet.

The post stated that he was “looking for a well-built man, 18 to 30-years old, to be slaughtered and then consumed”.  Bernd Jurgen Brandes (below, left) answered the ad.

On March 9th, 2001, the two men met at Meiwes’s isolated farmhouse in Rotenburg.  There the men made a pact.  Meiwes would cut off parts of Brandes’s body for Meiwes’s consumption, while Brandes was still conscious. It was agreed they would film the entire episode.

Eventually, after Brandes consumed 20 sleeping pills and a significant amount of Schnapps, the two men prepared to cannibalize.  They started with Brandes’s penis.

Brandes insisted that Meiwes attempt to bite Brandes’s penis off.  This proved to be a difficult task, so Meiwes used a kitchen knife to complete the severing.

Harald Ermel, Meiwes’s lawyer, told 60 Minutes, “[Brandes] wanted to experience pain that was so bad it would kill him – pain that would destroy him. Obviously, he yelled. He was standing at the table and he sprang backwards. The blood was spurting out, and after 30 seconds, he stopped yelling, and said, ‘It doesn’t hurt any more.’”

Brandes apparently tried to eat some of his own penis raw, but could not because it was too tough and, as he put it in the video, “chewy”. Meiwes fried the penis in a pan with salt, pepper, wine and garlic.  He then fried it with some of Brandes’s fat, but by then it was too burned to be consumed. He chopped it up into chunks and fed it to his dog.

However, the wound wasn’t enough to kill Brandes, and Meiwes hesitated over what to do next.  He read a Star Trek adventure book for three hours while Brandes lay bleeding in the bath. (Meiwes’s bathtub, right.)

In an interview from his jail cell, Meiwes said, “At that moment, I didn’t know what to do. I asked myself whether I should pray to the Devil, or God? And I asked God for forgiveness. Then I took the knife, grasped it in my hand, and after hesitating some more, I cut his throat with it. Then in the slaughter room, after he was dead, I separated the head from his body [by slicing away the neck muscle and twisting the head off where the spinal cord met the skull]. I hung him from the ceiling. Then I removed his organs and cut him in half. I poured hot water over the two halves and washed the body.”

He videotaped the entire thing.

After preparing his meal and pouring himself a glass of fine red wine, Meiwes began to eat.  “The first bite was, of course, very strange,” he said. “It was a feeling I can’t really describe. I’d spent over 40 years, 30 years longing for it, dreaming about it, and now I was getting the feeling that I was actually achieving this perfect inner connection through his flesh,” he said.  (Meiwes’s dining room, below left.)

“Flesh tastes like pork, but stronger,” Meiwes continued, “more substantial, although I don’t think that other people would have noticed a difference, had they eaten it. It tasted really good.”

Over a period of months, he consumed more than 40 pounds of Brandes’s flesh.  He also tried to make flour from grinding his bones.  All the while, Meiwes continued searching the Internet for more willing victims. Eventually, in December 2002, a young Austrian student became suspicious and alerted authorities. Five months later, dozens of police swooped on Meiwes’s farmhouse to search the property.  They found 15 pounds of meat in the freezer (below right) underneath some pizza boxes.

“What kind of meat do you have in the fridge?” a policewoman asked Meiwes.

“This is just normal meat, animal meat,” he responded.

“You know, I’m a housewife,” she said.  “I know this is not normal meat.”

The case posed a legal dilemma. There is no German law against cannibalism and Brandes was clearly a willing victim. Meiwes was initially convicted of manslaughter in 2004 and sentenced to only 8.5 years in prison. But a retrial in 2005 convicted him of murder and he was sentenced to life in jail.

“Today I know that what I did was wrong.  That this can never be the right way,” Meiwes said in his 60 Minutes interview. “The wishes, the fantasies you have, that these can never ever be fulfilled. And everything that you dream about will only ever remain a dream.”

During the raid of his farmhouse, police also found the videotape of the killing. It was so shocking that they have locked it away, never to be released.

“In this room: a door to the open road…” (& Full House, Season 5: Episode 3)

Tuesday, January 18th, 2011

Late one evening (/early one morning), I was sitting on my toilet, relieving myself of hours of Jameson and tequila consumption with the space heater on high and the usual mix of complete contentment and utter depression, when an idea came to me:

Maybe I can just stay in my bathroom.  Forever.

I sat there longer than my bladder required and rationalized this self-confinement.

As I mentioned, there is a space heater.  Its gentle hum somehow brings me comfort, and in the cooler months it creates an environment quite warmer than the rest of the apartment.  There is a small window above the bathtub that I can open for fresh air.

Additionally, there is running water, and Jayme can pass me food from time to time.  The four robes hanging on the back of the door provide different levels of coverage for a multi-seasonal wardrobe.

Also, now that the mold has been painted over, I find the pentagonal-shaped ceiling aesthetically pleasing.  That said, the corners of the floor are a bit dirty, but this is a project I can work on over time.

I am somewhat hesitant to allow a cell phone or laptop in my new abode, as my relocation is partially to limit my contact with other humans.  I do enjoy writing, so I could do this longhand like I used to in my old journals.

Recently I communicated this plan to some friends outside of the duck, and either Lauren, Becky, or Krystel responded, “Like Stephanie Tanner on Full House?!”

Full House, Season 5: Episode 3

DJ is absolutely fed up with Stephanie, so DJ petitions the guys to let her have her own bedroom. She mentions some good points, like her being in high school, and Stephanie and Michelle being perfect for each other because they are both in elementary school. The presentation DJ put together was called “Two Different Worlds”. The guys talk it over, and they decide to let DJ have her own bedroom. The new arrangement is that DJ and Michelle will switch rooms, and as a result, Michelle will be Stephanie’s new roommate. But Michelle creates a problem when she expresses that she doesn’t want to be Stephanie’s roommate either, making Stephanie believe that no one wants to live with her.  So, Stephanie moves into the bathroom, which the family does not appreciate. For DJ, this puts the prospect of having her own room in jeopardy, until she helps Stephanie accept the change, and they help Michelle accept the fact that she’ll be Stephanie’s new roommate.

Obviously I have left my bathroom since the night this plan was conceived, and I understand how absolutely unrealistic (and unenjoyable for Jayme) my never leaving our lavatory would be.

I just keep finding myself on the edge of something.  If I don’t disconnect myself, I might fall.  I guess I should just stop being afraid of where I’ll land.

Lori & George Schappell

Tuesday, January 11th, 2011

Forty-nine year old twin sisters Lori and Dori Schappell hated the rhyming names their parents gave them, so Dori, a country singer, legally had her name changed to Reba (after her hero Reba McEntire).

These days, Reba prefers to go by the name George.

While George enjoys making country music, sister Lori is an award-winning bowler.

And though they are twin sisters, Lori and George Schappell have only seen each other by using mirrors.  This is because they are craniopagus conjoined twins (joined at the head), and their heads face opposite directions.  The women share bone, vital blood vessels, and 30% of their brain (the frontal lobe and the parietal lobe).

The executive functions of the frontal lobes involve the ability to recognize future consequences resulting from current actions, to choose between good and bad actions (or better and best), override and suppress unacceptable social responses, and determine similarities and differences between things or events. Therefore, it is involved in higher mental functions.  The frontal lobes also play an important part in retaining longer term memories which are not task-based. These are often memories associated with emotions derived from input from the brain’s limbic system.  The frontal lobe modifies those emotions to generally fit socially acceptable norms.

The parietal lobe plays important roles in integrating sensory information from various parts of the body, knowledge of numbers and their relations, and in the manipulation of objects. Portions of the parietal lobe are involved with visuospatial processing.

Conjoined twins are a once in a 100,000 ocurrance.  They develop from a single fertilized egg.  Twins normally begin to separate into distinctive individuals 13 days after fertilization.  With conjoined twins, that separation fails.

They have argued that two minds can exist in a single fused brain.

Lori works part-time in a hospital laundry but frequently takes time off for her sister’s concert dates.  They live in an apartment in Reading, Pennsylvania, with George’s pet turtle and pet Chihuahua, who is paralyzed in the back legs and moves around on a wheeled device designed by George.  Each twin has her own private space.

“We’re different in every way,” Lori said. “Even when we bathe, I like to do it in the morning… George likes to do it at night.”  (They use a shower curtain as a divider so that the twin who isn’t bathing can avoid getting wet.)

Lori’s part of their apartment is disorganized; George’s is neat. And they respect that division of territories.

“Twins do what the psychologists call ‘individuation’,” says Dr. Alice Dreger, a bioethicist and medical historian at Northwestern University’s Feinberg School of Medicine.  “It means that they unconsciously develop aspects of difference between themselves so that they’re able to have distinct identities. Those things allow them to develop individuality even within the space of sharing a body together.”

Lori says she has had boyfriends throughout her life. George doesn’t interfere.

“She can’t see us, anyway,” Lori said. “If we’re on a date, she will bring something along that she has to do, or else she’ll read. She totally blocks us out.”

While Lori is able-bodied, George suffers from spina bifida, a developmental birth defect that has caused her to be four inches shorter than Lori.  There was no wheelchair that suited George’s unique condition, because to move around, she must be raised to her sister’s height to avoid excessive strain on Lori’s neck and back. The only thing on wheels that was the right height was a bar stool. Using this as the foundation, George designed the wheelchair that she currently uses.

Lori wheels her sister around on this specially made chair and spends most of her time standing.

When asked whether their lives were more or less complicated than other people’s lives, Lori said, “Less.”

If one died before the other, they say, the survivor would choose separation — but only under that circumstance.

Why I Need a Spacesuit (The Apollo 1 Tragedy)

Tuesday, January 4th, 2011

During a launch simulation at 6:30 p.m. on January 27th, 1967, a significant voltage transient was recorded on the Apollo/Saturn-204 spacecraft.

  • voltage (noun) – The rate at which energy is drawn from a source that produces a flow of electricity in a circuit; expressed in volts.
  • transient (adjective) – Lasting only for a short time; impermanent.
  • transient voltage – A time varying voltage value. Transient says that the voltage value changes, especially from a steady state, to a new value, then back again.

Beginning at 6:31 p.m., the crew – Command Pilot Virgil “Gus” Grissom, Senior Pilot Edward H. White, and Pilot Roger B. Chaffee – gave the first verbal indication of an emergency.  A fire in the Command Module was reported.

“Fire, I smell fire,” Chaffee reported.

Two seconds later, White was heard to say, “Fire in the cockpit.”

After twelve seconds, Chaffee yelled, “We’ve got a bad fire! Let’s get out! We’re burning up! We’re on fire!”

Some witnesses said they saw White on the television monitors, reaching for the hatch release handle as flames in the cabin spread from left to right and licked the window. Only 17 seconds after the first indication by crew of any fire, transmission ended abruptly with a scream of pain as the cabin ruptured after rapidly expanding gases from the fire overpressurized the Command Module.

  • overpressure (noun) – A transient air pressure, such as the shock wave from an explosion, that is greater than the surrounding atmospheric pressure.
  • atmospheric pressure – The force exerted on you by the weight of tiny particles of air (air molecules).  Although air molecules are invisible, they still have weight and take up space.
  • Earth’s atmospheric pressure is about 14.7 psi (pounds per square inch).  The Apollo overpressurized to 29 psi.

The Apollo hatch could only open inward and was held closed by a number of latches which had to be operated by ratchets. It was also held closed by the interior pressure, which was higher than outside atmospheric pressure and required venting of the Command Module before the hatch could be opened. It would have taken at least 90 seconds to get the hatch open under ideal conditions. Because the cabin had been filled with a pure oxygen atmosphere at normal pressure for the test and there had been many hours for the oxygen to permeate all the material in the cabin, the fire spread rapidly and the astronauts had no chance of getting the hatch open. No chance.

Spacecraft technicians ran towards the sealed Apollo, but before they could reach it, the Command Module ruptured.  They were repeatedly driven back by the heat and smoke.  Many feared that the fire might set off the launch escape system atop Apollo.  There were also fears the fire might ignite the solid fuel rockets in the launch escape tower above the Command Module, likely killing nearby ground personnel.

Roughly 5 minutes after the fire had started, technicians succeeded in getting the hatch open.  By that time the flames in the Command Module had gone out and the astronauts had perished, probably within the first 30 seconds due to smoke inhalation and burns.

As the smoke cleared they found the bodies but were not able to remove them. The fire had partially melted the astronauts’ nylon spacesuits and the hoses connecting them to the life support system. Grissom’s body was found lying mostly on the deck. His and White’s suits were fused together. The body of Ed White (whom mission protocol had tasked with opening the hatch) was lying back in his center couch.  Chaffee’s job was to shut down the spacecraft systems and maintain communications with ground control. His body was still strapped into the right-hand seat.

It became apparent that extensive fusion of suit material to melted nylon from the spacecraft would make removal very difficult. For this reason it was decided to discontinue efforts at removal in the interest of accident investigation and to photograph the Command Module with the crew in place before evidence was disarranged.  Photographs were taken, and removal efforts resumed at approximately 12:30 a.m. on January 28. Extraction of the crew took about 90 minutes and was completed about seven and a half hours after the accident.

The name Apollo 1, chosen by the crew, was officially assigned retroactively in commemoration of them.

After the Apollo 1 tragedy, the Apollo & Skylab A6L spacesuit was upgraded to be fireproof and given the designation A7L.

In preparation for the new year, I’ve considered investing in one of these suits for personal use.  This would be to my benefit in that I’ve started playing with Fire again.

Sometimes I can feel her eyes on me.  She’s even showing up in nightmares.

I don’t want to get burned.

The Myrtles Plantation & Oleander Poisoning (Angola Prison Reprise)

Friday, December 17th, 2010

I finally made it to the Angola Prison Rodeo this past October.  It was absolutely amazing.

About three-quarters into the two-hour drive from New Orleans, somewhere in St. Francisville, I saw a sign for the Myrtles Plantation.

“What’s that?” I asked Adrienne.

“You don’t know about that place?  It’s haunted, and it’s a bed and breakfast,” she said.  “You can stay there.”

She went on to tell me the story of Chloe, the most famous ghost said to haunt the estate.

In 1817, the Myrtles Plantation was owned by Judge Clark Woodruff and his wife Sarah who resided there with their two young daughters.  One evening, a household servant named Chloe was caught eavesdropping on Clark’s business dealings, and this wasn’t the first time.  As punishment, the Judge cut off one of Chloe’s ears.

Chloe feared further punishment of being sent to the fields to work with the rest of the slaves.  She devised a plan to bake a cake poisoned with oleander leaves for the Woodruff’s.  Once the family became sick, she would redeem herself by nursing them back to health.

Oleander is one of the most poisonous plants in the world and contains numerous toxic compounds, many of which are deadly to people, especially young children.  Reactions to oleander poisoning are evident quickly, and ingestion can cause both gastrointestinal effects (nausea and vomiting, excess salivation, abdominal pain, and diarrhea that may or may not contain blood) and cardiac effects (irregular or erratic heart rate).  Extremities may become pale and cold due to poor or irregular circulation, and the central nervous system may also be affected.  (These symptoms can include drowsiness, tremors or shaking of the muscles, seizures, collapse, and even coma that can lead to death.)

Unfortunately for everyone, Chloe’s plan backfired.  Only Sarah and her daughters ate the cake, and in a matter of hours all three were dead.  The other slaves, afraid that Clark would punish them for harboring Chloe, beat her, hanged her, and finally drowned her in the Mississippi River.

Since her death, the ghost of Chloe has reportedly been spotted at the Myrtles.  Although historical record does not support the story of Chloe and the Woodruff girls, it is the most popular tale among visitors and employees.

There are more murders said to have taken place at this historic building since its construction in 1796, all resulting in paranormal activity still taking place to this day.  Additionally, it is believed that the house was built over an Indian burial ground, and the ghost of an Indian girl is said to roam the plantation.

In any case, I plan on going to the rodeo again, and when I do, I will stay a night at the Myrtles Plantation.

Myrtles Plantation (above), Oleander (below)

My New Clock (And The Final 2004 Entry)

Monday, December 13th, 2010

Every year is getting shorter
Never seem to find the time.

- Pink Floyd, “Time”

And it’s time, time, time
And it’s time, time, time
And it’s time, time, time that you love
And it’s time, time, time.

- Tom Waits, “Time”

I knew this would happen.

I could hear the clock from my bedroom, ticking on the floor of the den where I had neglected it since my trip to visit Andrea over a month ago.

Still, I moved it into my room.

Aesthetically it’s a great clock, and lately I’ve been wanting to change things  – I want to redecorate while ridding myself of the unnecessary.

But I cannot decide if the constant tick-tock is aggravating or soothing.

There’s the masochist in me, wanting to deprive myself of a peaceful journey into the sandman’s terrain, getting off on being driven crazy by the sound of this machine hard at work while I lie awake with my internal dialogue as its accompaniment.

On the other hand, it comforts me with its distracting tick-tock.  The sounds divert my attention from thoughts that make me cringe, from fantasies that will never be real, and from scenes replaying in my mind that I wish had never occurred in the first place.

Like so many things, I can’t decipher what level of disgust or adoration I have for this clock.  It’s just another noise in my head, and my mind spends hours wondering if it’s ticking towards something or ticking away from something.

It must be ticking towards something.  Towards my fucking head exploding.

The need for more redecorating is weighing on me.  But I think the clock has made me realize that I want to change other things.  Things that only I can see.

The inner workings of this clock have been operating audibly and flawlessly for years, while my inner workings have been functioning silently and insufficiently.  This needs to change.

It’s time.

The final entry from my 2004 journal is below, entry # 10.

(Entry # 9)

(In black ballpoint pen, printed handwriting:)


This is stupid.  In my old journals, which I am now reading (they are giving me nightmares) I would write down everything honestly.  Every thought and every feeling.
I love him.  Not forever maybe, but right now.  And I am a nerd and I am nothing and it’ll never happen because that is how it always happens for me: Not at all.

My new clock (below)

April 6th, 2004 (Entry # 9 & A Juncture)

Wednesday, December 8th, 2010

(Entry # 8 )

(In black ballpoint pen, cursive handwriting:)


I was right.  And so the story will go and go and go, at least for the rest of the year.  Where will I be on New Years Eve?  NY.  There’s just always something to look forward to, I suppose.  “Crimson and clover over and over.”

I can’t stop thinking about something that happened.

It happened then it paused then it happened some more.

The episode was brief, and at moments intense.  It reached a juncture, I made my decision, and here I am today, still thinking about it.

Maybe I should learn to keep my mouth shut about these things.  Still, I can’t help wondering if it will ever happen again.

March 28th, 2004 (Entry # 8, Prefaced By Another Talk with Justin)

Saturday, December 4th, 2010

And I thought the circle, it had an end,
I’m old enough to know.

-Charlotte Martin, “Sweet Chariot

(Entry # 7, but before # 8, yesterday:)

“Honest question: Your journal entries at the beginning of puberty are sooooo focused at finding love.  Obviously you’re not alone.”

I wondered where Justin was going with this one.  He continued.  “BUT do you think you put so much pressure on it being ‘perfect’ that you’ll never settle down with someone because it will never be perfect?”

I considered.  “I mean, sometimes i think along the lines of me wanting some ‘perfect’ love that is most likely nonexistent,” I started, “but super-honestly, I think i just… Maybe I pick the wrong guys? Or the wrong guys pick me?  Look at the last two guys I dated. They were not perfect but i felt so strongly for them, and then they both dicked me over.”

“Hm.  Yeah.  So maybe you’re the other kind of person,” he said.  “A suggestion, if I may: You run in the same circles all the time, and not for nothing, but most of the guys I’ve met through you are great, I just don’t think that most of them are at the same point in their lives as you are.  So maybe you should widen that circle a bit.”

I sighed.  “I’ve been realizing my circle recently.  I think I don’t know how to break out of it, to widen it.”

“Yeah it’s tough,” he agreed.  “I’ll have to think about that.”

There are only three more entries in this old journal (followed by some strange poetry whose publication I am debating, though knowing me I probably will), then back to the closet it goes… or the bookshelf… or under the bed.

(In black ballpoint pen, cursive handwriting:)


I wanna kiss him I want to kiss him into another world where I don’t even care if I breathe.  I wanna be warm with him.  I want him to feel me.  But I just really want that moment.  That nonexistent likely impossible moment.  Where the world stops.  It’s only on TV.  I watch too many movies.