Tuesday, April 22, 2014

A Heroin Diary

So I know Nikki Sixx has his biography Heroin Diaries. I never bothered to read it. This here is for me. It's my horror stories. To be quite honest, I don't even know if anyone will ever have the full story. Some people have different parts of the story and might be able to piece it all together if the combined their information, but I am the only one that has it all. I'm going to do my very best to not hold back. I'm scared to lat it all out, though. This may be the most incriminating thing I will ever write. I may lose the respect of people I love. I may lose the friendships of others. I hope that if this is read, it may be seen as my past. One should realize that things that were done were purely out of pure desperation. A sick junkie trying to get his fix so her would be okay for another day. Consider it a disclaimer to a graphic insight into the world of an addict. Do remember that not every addict's story is the same, though there may be some similarities. I will not discuss price or quantities. I will not mention names of where I got it from. This is complete honesty. If you doubt anything you read or don't believe it, that's fine. I'm not seeking your approval or anything like that. This is my story. I was there. This is me coping with my past. I have been clean since the first day of December, 2012. No one is going to change that. Not me. Not you. I am not proud of some things I have done, but I do not regret anything. A wise man once told me to live my life with no regrets. The only reason I can do that is because I can learn from my mistakes. I am proud of who I am today. If it wasn't for my mistakes, I wouldn't be who I am now. I suppose this was a brief introduction to things you will not be able to look past once you read.

Note to a note:
I wrote these pieces while I was in Parker County Jail for about six months. It's the story leading up to the arrest in April 2013. When I have time I will add the pieces I wrote from TDC. Thank you.

The Downward Spiral.
I used heroin as a form of self-medication. I know it wasn't right--believe me. I wanted to stop before December First, 2012, but I couldn't. Shit, I know I could have, I just didn't want to do what had to be done. I should have left Julia in may, but I was lost. There's no one to blame but myself. Mom and Dad were looking at a divorce, all my friends were doing the successful college thing, I wasn't working, and I had established a "home" in Dallas with Julia in the recent months prior. Naturally, I went back to my "comfort zone." That wasn't the first time that I should have left. I ignored the relapses. We were "getting by" until we almost lost it all. We had no income to pay the office after we pawned all the valuables I had left. The office started telling us we had to leave and no one would help with rental assistance. We started working at Sears at Valley View Mall. One day, when I was scheduled and she wasn't, she decided to surprise me by meeting me at Park Lane station (my last stop before the walk home). Well not only did she surprise me by being there, but she was also loaded. I assumed it was just a relapse, but I soon realized she was not about to quit. Later that week, we were arguing about her using. I told her to quit, she told me to accept her or leave. I did love her. She looked at me and said, "You should just do it; it will give you the courage to finally leave." Sold! Unfortunately, it took six months. I know she didn't force me to do it, but if it wasn't for her, I probably never would have done it. I'm glad that I've learned, but I'm truly sorry that it took these experiences to teach me what I knew was wrong. Sears quit scheduling me and she quit going in. Money became more scarce than it already was. It stared off with us having to travel to Carrolton to score, but then we fond it incredibly close to home; a couple doors above us. Dates are incredibly hazy through that period of time, but I would guess it was August or September. Soon after we met the guy upstairs, his girlfriend's mom kicked him out. We happened to have an extra room and saw a golden opportunity. We didn't have electricity and still weren't paying rent. He offered to help. Of course his help never came. Instead he paid us off with a little bit of heroin each day. You might start to see how ugly it really was. Julia started working at QT Kitchens and I got a job at Gamestop. We definitely started to see a silver lining. One dat, I skated up to work for my shift. It just so happened that I hit a crack, lost control of my board, and watched it roll into the street to get run over by a passing truck. I shrugged it off as just a bad day. Within thirty minutes of beginning my shift, Julia calls the store to tell me that the office is kicking us out the very next day. Talk about a shitty day. Julia's mom had won five hundred dollars on a scratch offand planned on helping us get into a new apartment. Turns out, we barely had enough time to get a storage unit, a couple weeks at the Suites of America in Addison, and some heroin. Things actually started to look up. We were maintaining our addiction and making rent each week. So much for hopefulness... While I was being denied a court appointed attorney in Denton, Julia was getting fired for her third strike for tardiness. She was "late to the morning metting because she was in the restroom." Oh, she was in the restroom, but she couldn't find a vein to shoot up in. Now shit really started to fall down the mountain faster than an avalanche. So, after losing the apartment at the beginning of October, I celebrated my twenty-first birthday by getting kicked out for not being able to pay the weekle rent. I'm not sure how or why, but her parents helped us out by putting us in the Guest Inn off I-35E and Valwood in Farmers Branch. A couple days into our second week, payment in advance, we got kicked out for having cats. Violation of policy meant absolutely no refund. That was her absolute last check, too. We pawned a couple of my rings and had enough for a night next door and just a little bit more heroin. We moved in just to be kicked out--again. Brad helped us move the rest of our stuff into the storage unit. We were officially homelessm but we were more mobile with only a backpack and clothes on our backs each. We wandered around our old stomping grounds in Dallas, but quickly realized we had a better chance in Carrolton-Farmers Branch. Mid-November, just before we got kicked out of the Guest Inn, we met another couple addicted to heroing. They helped us score and let us crash on the floor of their hotel room. With few options for money, we began panhandling. When we could afford both heroing and a hotel room, we got booked into the EconoLodge off I-35E and Valley View. We were counting on unemployment to hit my account. My balance would not show on my ATM receipt, which I took as a sign of an incoming deposit of money. Little did we know, unemployment wasn't coming and I had only overdrafted my checking account. When we noticed this glitch, we really robbed me. Can you say triple-digit overdrafted savings account? With a week paid off at the EconoLodge, and a substantial amount of heroin, we started to relax. We took the week off instead of trying to get ahead. We continued the homeless-hotel tango until the end of November when she got stopped, searched, and arrested for less than a gram of heroin and warrants. This is when I realized, "I can get sober. This is my chance at saving myself." That night, I talked to Davis and he set up sanctuary for me at his parent's house, even though he was in Colorado for school. December first, 2012. I went to their home and began getting my life together. They helped me more than they will ever know. I started working seasonal for UPS and finally got my court shit in Denton County resolved. I really started to get my life on track. Sure enough, something went wrong. Julia got out of jail just before Christmas. My seasonal job ended and my last couple of checks kept us afloat back at the EconoLodge for a couple weeks. Because it was in between Christmas and New Year's Day, there was no chance of getting a job. We lost the hotel and headed for the Samaritan Inn in McKinney via Lauren. That did't pan out for us. The women's side was full and since it was a family shelter, I was not allowed in with an assault-family violence arrest. McKinney didn't have public transportation, so we figured Dallas was our only option. Coincidentally, The Forest Fire was playing in Deep Ellum that night. Julia and I got into an arguement and I decided to go see my friends' show. She decided to eaat a bottle of sleeping pills. She refused to go to the hospital, so instead of dealing with her drama, I went back to Danielle's with the Forest Fire and she went to her friend Nicole's house. I later found out that she took this time to relapse. We planned on going to the Dallas Life Shelter together, but my family rescued me. Mom drove to Farmers Branch to pick me up and she and I moved into her friend, Corey's, home. Things were looking hopeful, yet again. Mid-January, I worked for Southwire in Mineral Wells who decided to let me go mid-February. Also, Julia's "pregnant." I'll never know if it was a plan to get me back, or I was going to be a father. By the end of the week, I had a new job in Weatherford at National Shotpeening, INC. Julia and I got a hotel off I-20 and South Main Street at the Super Value Inn. This would be my home for the next two months. Work was great, I was sober, we were surviving, and Julia was prostituting herself out on Craigslist. But that's what I get for thinking things might be alright and finally start to go my way. April first, 2013. Julia shows up at work work lunch as usual. She tells me she just left the hospital. Apparently, she had a miscarriage. I'm not going to be a father. I was crushed. I went home and mourned until work the next morning. April 13, 2013. Welcome to Parker County Jail.

Bad Cravings and Needle Games.
How can your body become so dependant on something that it never even needed in the first place? Before I even dove into the horrible world of heroin, I had heard the horror stories from one of my best friends. I watched the daily battle of addiction. I was aware of three different ways of dealing with it. There's the Methadone program, which has sort of become outdated. Ultimately, it is a pill you take to "block" the euphoria from opiates. Unfortunatelym if you take that route, you become physically dependant upon it. It's not a life I wanted to live. Another option is finding a new vice. Most common for opiate-addicts: Alcohol. It's a lot more scoially acceptable and it's the closest you can get to mind numbing. I've been around alcoholics all my life. It's in my blood. Honestly, I just don't like it enough. Another way is quitting cold turkey. Results may vary. If you're on the wrong side of the results, expect constant relapse, possibly even death. Grandted, relapse is always a possibility. Luckily for me, When I quit cold turkey, I knew I was done with the shit. Up until I was introduced to the hideous lifestyle of addiction, I was completely blind. Whoever said, "Ignorance is bliss," knew what they were talking about. JD explained sick to me. I didn't believe him. It sounded so surreal. I had never experienced withdrawals at the time nor knew what it meant to be truly sick. One night, I woke up to someone I loved punching a bath tub because they were craving heroin. Julia explained cravings to me. I couldn't, at that point, comprehend how anyone could want something so toxic and destructive that badly. I never understood any of it until I lived it. I'm still living it. Now that I have first-hand knowledge and wisdom, I can't imagine watching anyone I love go through what I've been through. Looking back on it now, I'm wondering how Julia can live with herself knowing that because of her influence, she had subjected me to this life forevermore. I know she didn't force the needle in my arm at gunpoint--it slid right in and she pushed the plunger. People, Places, and Things. That's what Narcotics Anonymous calls a trigger. I've tried getting rid of all of them. I left Dallas, I left Julia, I do my best to avoid things I did on heroin; but it doesn't stop the cravings. Let me explain a craving. It's not that I want or have to have the heroin, it's more like a post traumatic stress disorder flashback. It could be as trivial as looking at a used book. Suddenly, my mind taked me back to Half-Price Books where we sold books, CDs, and movies to get cash for heroin. It seems as if the fuzziest time in my life produces the most vivid memories, complete with colors, sounds, smells, tastes, and feelings. I feel I've always had a great memory, but now it's haunting me. If I look down at my arms and my veins are bulging from a blood-pumping workout, I practically lose my breath. Half of my addiction was shooting up. With veins like mine, how could I not love the Needle Games? Looking for the perfect vein to tap like a tree for sap and pushing the plunger to say goodbye. If I even touch my veins now, I get a tingling sensation up my spine. An imaginary spider crawling under my skin. It could be pure disgust or just another trigger. The reason I think it could be a trigger is because when I was sick and we would mix a shot, I would get anxious and tense. I would feel the spider crawl all over my spinal cord, teasing me. As soon as I shot up, my entire body would decompress like a balloon on the verge of popping that you let all the air out of. Heroin acts on the spinal cord. It also has a tendency to give you a shortness of breath. That decompression, to me, was like a breath of life. Icy-cold and straight through my entire body, flowing effortlessly like my blood--with my blood. In the end, that what every junkie is chasing. And they're trying to keep from getting sick. "I feel like dying only once the drugs are gone."

Living Dead in Dallas
Have you ever looked a heroin junkie in his eyes? Have you truly seen the complete lack of care? The true desperation?
The pilled out smile and the junkie eyes? Imagine Hollywood's representation of a zombie. That's what I looked like. That's what I felt like.
"I want to be alive again. I want to really be alive. I want to feel my heart pumping in my chest again. I want to feel blood moving through me - hot, and salty, and real. It's weird, you don't think you can feel it, the blood, but believe me, when it stops flowing, you'll know. You know why dead people only go out at night? Because it's easier to pass for real, in the dark. And I don't want to have to pass. I want to be alive."
-Laura Moon in American Gods by Neil Gaiman.
Julia joked about how she looked dead, especially under florescent lights - but then again, everyone does. I guess I was lucky to not have the ugly track marks and visibly blown veins she had, but if you had a tourniquet around her bicep, her forearm looked like a cadaver's. We became mostly nocturnal because we had no electricity and it was too hot during the day to even sit in the bath. We would wake up in the evenings and stay up until late morning or sometimes early afternoons. The only time we would be up during the day was to get on DART to go get more. And that changed completely when a dealer moved in with us. If we woke up early enough, we would go to Half-Price Books to enjoy the ambiance and air conditioning the offered. From there we'd go to our local QT and hang out with the night shift. Depending on whom was working, we could end up with free drinks or even the dead dogs from the grill. We would go to Whataburger and play Monopoly in the corner booth until the morning shift started to arrive. When it started to cool and we had candles and couches, we would read at home. Sometimes throw the football in the dimly lit parking lot to stay awake. Closer to the end of our stay at the apartment, we had a zombie get together. Almost ten dope fiends hanging out in the living room with no electricity, shooting and snorting by candlelight. I think that's when I realized how uncomfortable I truly was with the lifestyle. The place I called my home was a God damned shooting gallery. People I didn't know were knocking on my door to see the guy living in the bedroom to score some dope. I didn't want to be a fucking zombie anymore. I was finally done being numb. There were only two problems though. I couldn't quit if I was with Julia because she didn't want to quit. Also, I was scared of being sick. i knew what sort of pain I was going to go through to come back to life. it wasn't something I was entirely ready to deal with.

Traveling Junkies
At first I wasn't comfortable leaving the house when I was loaded. I was paranoid someone would know or I would nod off somewhere. Little did I know, the fine patrons of Dallas did not care. They were off on their own shit. I was super against shooting up in public. As the days of my growing addiction turned into weeks, there was a tolerance that was developed. It took more to get high. This meant what would last a week lasted four or five days between us. Then a couple days. Et cetera, et cetera. Because we were building a tolerance, we ran into the problem of dope sickness. If we didn't have any or enough, we would start going through withdrawals. Of course, the symptoms were only minor in the beginning. Not having a car meant we had to depend on public transportation to get us around the block and back. What should have taken an hour turned into an all day journey, even if we planned it perfectly with schedules. "Time and the train wait for no man." If we weren't waiting on our guy, we were waiting on public transit. Buses broke down, train's crossing signals went haywire, weekends ran less frequently. One giant hassle just to feel better. Because I was against public shots, I would have to wait to get home to feel better. As time went on and withdrawals got worse, we couldn't wait. First we would make pit stops at gas stations and use their bathrooms. Then we'd stop to get a bite to eat, but first we needed a shot, so we adopted fast food restaurants' bathrooms. Soon it was the isolated bus stop, or the empty part of the station, or the hidden corner on a bus. Before I knew it, we would hide under a jacket during rush hour on a train, or walking down a quiet street, or in a stairwell. After a while, it was almost a game of morbid curiosity to see where we could get away with it at next. To my knowledge, through observation and experience, there isn't a junkie that thinks ahead. The situation is always the same: "I'll get more when I need to." Sure, when you start running out, you might limit how much you do at a time, or dilute your last syringe to make it last a little bit longer; keep yourself from getting sick, you know? Even though we did dilute it, I think it was a placebo. Say you have a full one hundred-unit syringe that's honey colored and a ten-unit shot that's molasses colored. Each syringe has the same amount of heroin dissolved into it. Theoretically , they should give you an equal amount of intoxication, right? Does your mind believe that because the shot is darker that it is more potent? Or is your mind manipulated into believing the longer you spend pushing the plunger, the more "fucked up" you will be? Since we're speaking hypothetics, let's do some hypothetical economics. A ten dollar a day habit is an annual expense of $3650. That's no room for tolerance. Do it with a friend - $7300. Meet Harry. Harry works forty hours a week at about nine dollars an hour. Roughly $16,000 annual income after taxes. Harry tries heroin for the first time on January first. Harry loves it and keeps using. He starts off at ten dollars a day. He builds up a tolerance. April; fifteen dollars a day. Again, he's building a tolerance. Three months late. July through September; twenty dollars a day. October through December; twenty-five dollars a day. Basic math. Every three months he adds five dollars a day to his habit. (10X91.25)+(15X91.25)+(20X91.25)+(25X91.25) That's going to be 912.5+1370.25+1825+2282.25= $6390. This does not include the cost of living, or bulk prices, or dealer specials; straight drugs. So out of Harry's $16,000, he spent $6390 on heroin. That's almost half his annual income to his addiction. He only has $9610 to live off of. If he pas $500 a month for rent that's $6000 accounted for. Twenty dollars a week in gas to get to and from work and his dealer; another $1800. Harry's funds are around $800. That's car insurance and maintenance. What kind of life is that? "There's no junkie out there with a happy ending." Julia and I thought that we could be functioning junkies. HA!

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

People, Places, Things.

It's standing under the scalding hot water.
It's that song on the radio.
It's hearing the name of a lake on the news that a car crashed into.
It's running my hand over my arms or legs.
It's seeing someone's veins stick out at work or at Walmart.
It's addiction and it's the rest of my life.
I'm dealing with it one day at a time but I'm not afraid and I'm not alone.

Do I miss the days? Yes.
Do I want to go back? No.
I'm moving forward. Yay.

I have a great job now making electrical wire.
I'm making friends at work.
I'm feeling better than I have in a really long time.
I think I genuinely love my life.

Big news ahead.

Monday, January 21, 2013

Background and New Truths.

Random spark of inspiration strikes at the strangest times. Not one bit do I dislike the fact that it's hit me now, though. I mean...a lot has happened in the past year. I'm not going to go that far into depth but just enough to get the basics.

I fell in love and moved out to Dallas. Then I left my job at Walmart to try and transfer and get a better position at the store closer to my new apartment with Julia. They basically gave me the run-around. They terminated me from my Walmart and I was no longer able to work for them. At the beginning of May, I got arrested because Julia and I got into a fight. I know what happened was wrong, and I really have learned my lesson. I started working at Sears and they stopped scheduling me. In order to save the apartment, I sold everything I had pretty much. Guitars, game systems, games, books, CDs. You get it... Literally everything. We ended up losing the apartment just in time for me to start working at Gamestop. We then got a storage unit and moved everything into it in a day or so. Julia and I packed up the cats and moved into the Suites of America. She was supporting that financially with her job at QT Kitchens which she lost around Halloween. From there we began a motel tango. Got kicked out of the first one for having cats. The second hotel didn't like that we had two people in one room without them knowing. From there we bounced from the streets to the Econolodge when we could come up with the money for it. Julia got arrested and from there I went and stayed with my best friend's parents. I picked up a seasonal job with UPS helping deliver packages. Unfortunately that ended on Christmas Eve. We're close to losing storage due to late payments. I've recently gone out to Mineral Wells. I'm currently living with my Mom. We're staying at one of her close friend's house. I've become what I'd like to consider friends with her son and we've been jamming together with a couple guitars. I'm fifty two days sober after a minor binge. I'm gonna lay it all out there, I got mixed up with heroin. You can judge me all you'd like, but it was my mistake to make. What's done is done and I've learned my lesson. I'm done with that shit and it's not worth it. I've seen the destruction around me and in the people I met along the way. It's not a place I'd like to be back in ever again. I'm moving on and dealing with it on my own. I have no fear of relapse if anyone is worried about it. This past year in a nutshell doesn't seem so bad, but to be completely honest, I feel like I've aged a good four or five years because of all the stress. I've grown my hair back out and I miss my beard tremendously. I blame UPS for making me ditch it, but the paychecks were worth it, even if it was just for a week in a hotel each time.

I apologize for making that sound like a very long caption you read at the end of documentary that explains what's happened since the filming. Afterword. That's what I was looking for. I know I've said that I'm gonna write again, but I think it's a good time in my life to pick it back up again. I've felt a little inspired; and hey, maybe I can actually finish something this time. I'd like to thank every one that's been there for me when I truly needed them most. I don't have to name any names because I KNOW they know they are and what they mean to me. I love you guys.

Andrew and me messing around on a song called "So Long."

I used to love ending with quotes because everyone knows I can't say it as well as someone said it once before. I read about a view on religion and faith that I never realized was exactly how I felt. It's "a philosophy of the term "God" defining not a being, but in what and how an individual is able to realize a faith and happiness."

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Tuesday, December 6, 2011


So this is where I've ended up. I couldn't be happier and I'm sure I've scared many people because of it. After working at Walmart for over a year, it hit me that none of them have seen me truly happy. Now that I'm creeping steadily closer to an unfamiliar realm, I'm scared. It's not the normal fear I'm used to. I'm not scared of pain. I'm scared of the nothingness that is the future. All we have is now. That is the central point that we can base time off of. Any forward thinking is nothing. Sure you can infer from your surroundings or the situation, but nothing is true until it's now. Anything before now, that's just a memory. Something we humans do out of narcissistic pleasure. We reminisce in the lukewarm past. The longer time goes, the colder it gets. Just know that you're not the only one shaking in all of this. We're in this together, and I'm ecstatic about this.

Monday, October 24, 2011

Speak the Truth Even If Your Voice Shakes.

I look at my posts and I see seven drafts sitting there waiting to be publishes. Patiently or not, they exist as words for no one to see but holders of a password: I'd like to believe that is just me, but in today's day and age, I really have no idea. Now I've obviously been thinking, maybe not apparent to you, but visible to the drafts. Some of them could be minuscule notes about meaningless nothings because I haven't quite figured out every little tool on my computer. It's a process. Much like life. Learning from mistakes, certain keys and combinations create mass destruction and chaos, or even experiences we can take with us to use in life from what we've learned on said device.
Now, I do love the small things we learn when we least expect it. Thinking out loud, talking to strangers, having meaningless conversations about what if and how comes with the closest of friends that mean more than they understand.
I used to fear companionship and all the little things with it. Now, I've started to realize that the isolation can drive a (wo)man crazy. Thinking about paradoxical information and relaying them between each nerve ending in our brains; like we can even begin to comprehend how it all works. It's mysterious in an odd yet, comforting way. The fear of unknowing and the chase to find answers. Together as one, or perfectly logical alone. Yet life will eventually hold both at the same time.
Life is borderline paradoxical. Striving for perfection but never realizing the imperfections are what make us perfect, for the only form of perfection is imperfection. I'm making a notion that it should now be known as per-fiction due to it's complete lack in truth. Fighting to fit in by not fitting in with the population. We live to die. Simple as that. It's a battle at times, but no one ever said life was easy. You hear words like successful, short and long, worthwhile, meaningless or terrible. Hard might come up when you're feeling down about a failed relationship, the loss of a job, hell even over a sour comment from a passerby that means nothing but wasted air space.
I'm sure I'm ranting now and I'd love to keep going, so if you don't mind, I don't give a damn. Some things will never change. Hopefully I won't.
One last thing on this rant: All you have in your physical life is a name. Once your dead it doesn't mean anything. Sure you might have a legacy, but people forget things.

I've now decided to combine the several, which I believe has reached the double digits, drafts. Spring cleaning in late October. I don't usually censor myself, but I need some material for tomorrow, or tomorrow's tomorrow.

"Most people might have thought I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, but in actuality, I woke up on the wrong side of my mind. The mania has set in and there's nothing I can really do about it, so I'm going to do what I know how to do best.

I thought I proved everything I needed to for you, but I realized it's all one-sided. I hope it's not, but in the end, it really is us against the world. Though I know from the start it was incredibly weird and awkward, but it felt real. The truest feelings I'd ever had shown through my eyes. Your smile made me freeze dead in my tracks and my heart skipped a beat. I struggled to get back in sync, and then you were gone. Left speechless and trapped, I couldn't figure out what I was feeling. Then it hit me like a train."

To be completely honest, I'm not sure who that was written for or about, but it was in March. Still doesn't help, really. Oh how I'd kill for those feelings again, whoever you were. I'm not even sure where I was going with it.

I took the title from this draft for this post.

""Pythagoras believed that the universe was fundamentally mathematical by nature, and that the planets and stars danced along to "a harmony of the spheres." Basically, since musical notes can be translated mathematically, Pythagoras thought the workings of nature marched to the beat of a grand cosmic mathematical symphony."

So by the abstract, hypothetical, syllogistic principles:
The universe is math. Music is math. Therefore music is the key to the universe.

...or something like that. Nights turning into dawn...
A wise man once said, ‎"...and those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music."

I am what I am. I am what I think. I think therefore I am.
I'm sure that might make a bit more sense to you now, and a little bit more to some readers than others [none readers].
Right now I am scatterbrained. I think I'm scatterbrained. Therefore this will be another random rambling."

Well that's really it other than two similarly related posts, unrelated to this one. There's another one from four years ago, of which I'm sure will sit there for even longer than I originally expected.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Materialistic Paradox.

We take personality test to figure out what kind of person we are, if we're right brained or left brained, to figure out what our inner aura is. The only problem is we have biases and take these tests with biases. We don't answer truthfully, and it's not intentional. We see the choices and consider, "Which would be more like what I want to be?"

Then I read in the small print for the first time on a personality/intelligence questionnaire.
"*Instead of retaking this test over and over again to prove to yourself that you are some sort of intellectual superhuman, or discard the results because you think the author does not share your viewpoints (which you can't know), why not instead spend a lifetime educating yourself, questioning everything you believe in and discarding ideas/values which don't actually improve you and the world (when you examine the evidence), become physically fit and maintain your physical fitness (aerobically exercise to exhaustion every 36 hours for the rest of your life), and live an altruistic life where you are considerate to people regardless of whether they mirror your values/beliefs because you understand you live in a world with them and their long term happiness benefits you, their long term unhappiness hurts you."

The end result of this survey turned me off of surveys completely because that's the answer I was looking for. I read somewhere "People were created to be loved. Things were created to be used. The reason why the world is in chaos is because things are being loved, and people are being used." Yet if we turn it around, will the chaos be irreversible?

I'm done designing my next tattoo. Where's pay day?

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Sergio Santiago.

Sometime in 2006 or 2007, this was written by a misguided and confused "Zark!"

Distant star, so far,
Lighting up the life of the nearby,
But gently shining in the far-off skies.

I understand the pressure of years building,
But what can you do?
Shoot across the galaxy?
That's running from your problems.
Can you supernova for a beautiful show?
Light years away from you is safe,
But what about all that's nearby?

Maybe we should let our problems go,
Body and mind separate but united.
Let your problems exist.

Meteors flying by,
Humans spying on you,
Aliens invading your territory,
It's all the same.
The stress you undergo could be the death of you.

It's all the same.
The life of looking through the glass,
Not around it.

The things that stress me out only make me stronger,
But I'll never tell them.
Harassment and humiliation,
Embarrassment and teary-eyed nights.

Masking my feelings---
Not just a defense system,
But a lifestyle for the weak growing stronger.

Fear written in my eyes,
Swallowed by intimidation and courage.
No more self implosion...
Now I'll shine on forevermore.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Dreamless Being.

So I've just come to this fascinating realization that no one, not even I, will care about.
Human relationships and interactions are extremely difficult for me to handle and take care of. "It's not intentional that I haven't texted you back or messaged you on Facebook in weeks, I just can't handle what most people would call a small amount of social interaction. It's too much for me." I could be an introvert, I suppose. Abnormal. Different. Words I've struggled with accepting since grade school, but now I think I'm coming to terms.
Why can't I be allowed to fall off the social face of the earth sometimes? I'll still go to work and everything, but just because I feel like sitting in my room with no lights on and the music in my headphones cranked up with the bass blasting my eardrums into another dimension shouldn't make it seem like "something" is wrong with me. Because in actuality, at that point in time when one would consider that something is wrong with me, it's more than likely that I'm most content with everything. When you need to worry is when I start writing about things. Thinking into the keyboard for no one and everyone to read.
Granted, all of this wasn't as bad as it was before. I'm receding back into my hermit ways with no intentions or desire to come out from under this rock. If anything I'll just burrow deeper in the ground to get away from any disturbance of said rock. The further away from it I go, the sooner I'll forget it's there and nothing else will disturb the rock. It might be moved, but when they look underneath, they won't see me, even if I am there. Further down the rabbit hole if you will.
This is something I came up with, and as soon as I post it, it'll get stolen and trademarked and someone will find a way to make money off it. Oh well. I thunk it first. It's not necessarily how I feel or anything, but it could be something I consider deep down inside of me.

It's not the night of my death I fear, but the mourning after.

Okay..it probably is. My dreams can't be crushed because I don't have any.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

The Number Twelve Is You.

The most impossible thing for me is holding onto something that no one else can have. Somehow, someone finds a way to pry it from your death grip. Even if it's something impossible to share, they'll steal it.
I'm a strange, strange man with these stranger thoughts in my head that make me crazy. Now that I've found a stranger that will listen to these thoughts, I'm scared she'll disappear. All the crazy inside me will scare her away, but there's nothing I can do about it but hope she's willing to take the crazy from me as if it were a simple kiss on the cheek before bed.
I think of her before I pass out for bed. The first thing that comes across my mind is her name, different every morning. She's described as my better half but the only half of me that she is, is not mine. It's one giant paradox where all I can do is peer over the edge of the dashboard while no one's driving. Observing entirely, letting it all come out however it may, waiting for nothing.
There is this whole limitless space beyond us that truly isn't limitless because limitless in itself is oxymoronic and paradoxical. It is what it is because it isn't anything.