Archive | June 2005

Serial Killing 101

Serial Killing 101

Serial Killing 101.  A guy wants to become a serial killer.  Teachers think he’s wrong in the head.  Teacher sends him to counceling.  Pychiatrist thinks he’s crazy. 

Thinks he is crazy. … Just because you say you want to do something, doesn’t mean you’re really going to do it.  Just because you show interest in something, doesn’t mean you really like it. 

In Serial Killing 101, this guy said something I thought was really true.  Simply stated, pyshco therapist don’t understand shit.  In my own opinion, everyone’s a pyshchologist, no one knows shit.  They think they understand you, but they don’t.  Anyone can mask themself and become something, but they’re still not something.

I’m very fragmented right now.  Don’t think I’m making any sense.  My mind has been so messed up the pass few days.  Every little thing has been upsetting me.  Maybe that movie only seemed good because of my mood.

Anyhow, got my self occupied all day so it was a good day, but now I’m inactive again.  Tomorrow I’m moving, hopefully it will keep me busy for a month or 2 to keep my mind off.  Ah…I’m so bummed out.  I thought to myself, maybe I should dissappear for awhile.  Forget work.  Forget everything.  Maybe just for a month or the summer.  Be anywhere but here.  Away from the familiar faces.  But then again, with the way things are going, I might come back with a missing arm or leg.  Maybe be found floating dead in a lake.  Blah oh well. 

By the way, reinvention is starting to sound cool.


Ill see you in the sky

I’ll See You in the Sky

I just got back from LA an hour ago.  I wanted to stay there until Friday and be back for work on Saturday, but we’re moving somewhere this week.   The gathering was a fucking nightmare.  No one liked each other and everyone still holds a damn grudge towards each other.  Some didn’t even show up to the funeral.  I’m not going to comment on that.  Why can’t people just get along? Life is too short to hate.  Anyhow Tom is gone now.   The accident was too much.  I really wished he was properly buried, instead all they could afford was cremation.  He once joked about dying in 9th grade, if he were to die, he better not get a proper burial.  Apparently he had been unconscious for a week before I was informed. His heart stopped beating the night they called.  His girlfriend didn’t tell me that for some reason.  I tried so hard not to cry and in the end I wish I should have.  I wish I could have talked to his mom.  She was hurting so much, but all I could do was sit and hold my tears.  Everyone must have thought I was a dick, but I’m just weak pretending to be strong.


You talk a lot of crap, you piss so many people off and until this day you still got enemies.  I don’t know if you ever grew up. When I first met you at ST, you were mouthing me off like a slinky necked black chick.  I thought to myself, this is one crazy ass white chink.  What the hell, I don’t even know you ass hole.  Dude why WERE you mouthing me off?  I swear, I wanted to sock him in the face in front of everyone, but somehow we ended playing perversion.  In front of the school, on the lawn, a guy was nutting his girlfriend on the lawn.  They drew more crowd than a Star Wars opening.  My friends and I stuck around with Tom and eventually became buddies.  He was the cream of the crop. The life of the crowd and the brother who knows everything.  He knows how to push anyone’s button and he knows how to have fun without fucking himself over with beverages or stokies.  You may not live a successful life according to people, but I believe you lived what you wanted live and that my friend is more success than any money grubbing white collar can ever obtain.  Wish I could feel the same, but life doesn’t grant me that favor. You, you asshole are my mentor.  We know you care when you say all the shit you say to us.  Your true friends, we are all greatful for being your toilet bowl to shit on.  .

Well anyhow, I didn’t finish my eulogy, but I hope you understand and forgive me.  I always thought you’re a good buddy and admired you for your eye in life, it’s very unfortunate we never got to hang out and have one last adventure.  I never admitted before man, but you really were the reason why my high school years rocked.  You saved my ass and a few others from Shimizu and that crap ass Andrew Hill.  My glass goes out to you my friend.  Hope you’re in a better place.  Hope you get as much bootie in heaven as you do in LA.  Peace. 


Gray, Black and Red


I had a weird dream last night.  Here it goes.


One single flush light lit the blackened arena, pendulant on one string from the ceiling.  Its light translates subtle detail, illuminating partial features of two disputant centering a close quarter fence steel cage.  The grounds holding the arena held the resonant of thunder.  It constructs cracks, eating away the aged concrete.  Crowds lay pasted on multiple planar walls in black and gray.  Their face, inflamed in expressions of griping content, creates the noise of a million cries.  The world of eyes, circle the gladiatorial hard knockers as the room spins around in stagger at a full 360.


Enter the color of battle.   Enter the blood and bones.  6 feet 9 inches, 300 pounds and malicious, the brute enforced with anatomical muscle structure of a bear, hones his strength to pound away his antagonist prey.   Each punch sounds through the considerably smaller fighter’s blocks.  It hit’s like a diesel with every punch connecting for minutes after minutes.  Suddenly he grabs one arm as the next punch continues its pattern.  6 feet tall, 210 pounds of force breaks the arm right off the collar socket.  Agonized with rupturing grief, the brute slowly backs away cowering as the smaller man pulsate him with exhausting vigor, one punch after another dispatching pandemonium to his door.  The brute falls knee down and laid his swollen cheek against the concrete, knocked out and wide eyed.  Blood trails from his throat and on the battle ground as he lies lifelessly chest down with his legs both “S” shaped and arms straight down.  The face of the victor busy with stain and bruises, stares triumphant and straight as the light dims away to pitch black.   The crowd degrades into silence of awe. 


The day after, the 2 gladiators were met in the same brightly lit hallway with the press in every inch of the area.  Pushing and shoving, the brute demanded a rematch.  Yelling and pissed off, he screams at the victor, but the victor deliberately ignored him as he looked away.  This scene then disappears and forgotten, running into the next scene. 


Washing away his face, the victor stares down in a sink and washes the blood and dirt off his face in a bright cleaned bathroom accompanied by a bathtub. The bruises stand prominent as he looks into the mirror with no emotion.  His eyes were lifeless until the bathroom door slowly opened.   Stepping in head first as he barely fits through the door, the brute stares down into his counterpart’s eyes displeased.  His arms slightly bent forward ripping with steroidal muscle, his fists were apparent and clenching violently like a starving glutton. The victor surprised and quickly launched himself back as if blocking an attack.  Charging forward, the brute tackled with his broad shoulder as the victor grabs with both his arm, the neck of the monstrous embodiment of man.   Everything blacks out.


Against the bathroom door, the brute sits faced down against his knees.  Bloodied and beaten to a pulp, no life was left.  The other one lies in the bathtub.  Both legs branching out and spread outside the tub, he lies knocked out and unconscious in the tub.  Some how knowing this, I took to the scene in my red truck waiting outside the building.  A few feet a way, I witness the smaller guy get carried out shoulder to shoulder by two men in black business suits and a pair of matching shades.  They passed by me as the press left with the scene. 


The dream was in full detail, but as the day goes by, it disappears from my mind.  It got  kind of crazy and freakish.  The brute became a freaking cyborg, an invincible cyborg like Arnold Swartzennegar.  Crazy stuff I thought, I somehow got mixed in the dream as a random guy spying for some reason.   To summarize it, the Brute comes back as a cyborg and kills off the victor, the victor then became a cyborg himself, but a crappy made one due to a conspiracy.  Someone fired at the guy’s shoulder and his whole arm blew off, then he got destroyed into pieces I think, I really don’t remember the rest.  Later on I was found sleeping in my truck with some guy in front of a fenced gate.  Some guy working there or some gangster guy saw us and chased after us.  We took off driving, afraid he might have caught my liscense plate, I chose not to drive home, instead I drove into some type of warehouse.   I don’t remember the rest, but it was a pretty scary dream I thought.   I hadn’t had a dream like this in the longest time, I wonder if it had anything to do with the accident.


Anyhow, I’m leaving for LA now.  A friend of mine got into a car accident.  He was hit by a diesel in the freeway and been in the hospital since Thursday.  They say it’s really bad, so I have to go visit before it’s too late.  I’m praying so that all will be alright.  Hopefully everything is fine.  Keep a strong face, keep a clear mind, expect the worst because there’s more to come.  The end isn’t here yet.