Rituals.

Sometimes I get trapped inside a book. Sometimes I mind. Sometimes, I don't.

It still hurts, to see that name. To think of the time it's been. I've been lost these past few times. Of days or weeks. Shuttered windows block the view. I lie distressed, with a fever, with rage burning through. Anger that washes cold over my skin. That seeps through and leaves the sheets damp. Twisting in darkness, this four-post bed. A glass of water sits beside my hand. But it could be Holy Water for my fear to drink it. My throat hurts and my voice scrapes. Hands drawn through gravel, a victim dragged. The hole dug. The faint smell of oil and wiper fluid lingers from the trunk. Like smelling salts. When she breaks away, she runs.

I have been trapped inside half a dozen books. For the last week, my mind has swirled among words that drag on too long. It is an octopus, that I break free of one arm to be entangled by another. But it's a symptom. Willingly I submitted to this dragging behind a horse. Anything that would get me away from where I stood. Though, it was kind of like being dragged across a treadmill. One where a picture is turned alongside. It was so clear that, though moving, I wasn't going anywhere. And yet the surroundings were still in motion. In other news, I've figured out why I intentionally tank some schoolwork. It's a matter of being able to exert some control over the things I dislike. As a teenager, I hated that my parents put me under pressure to succeed, but never gave me any encouragement when I achieved something. Now, it's because I don't really want to be in school, but don't entirely have a choice (long story, well, long-ish, just don't feel like relating

So I have a job. And I like it. It's decent. I get to work at night, sleep all day, and though I usually use my alarm clock, sometimes I don't. Sleep is a little weird though. I think the sunlight affects my dreams because they're been very strange and very vivid lately. The job's not bad, though. I don't hate what I do, though I hate things about it. I don't hate the people I work with, though I dislike some things that happen. But it is unsteady work. I started with five, eight hour days. Then seven hours. Then four days a week. Then three. Then four. Then back to five, with some days at seven, some at six and a half, stretched to seven with a lunch (to get the midnight pay bump). Now I'm on six hour days with one five-and-a-half. So unsteady. And ultimately, where will this job get me? It's not enough money to get a place of my own. It's not enough to pay all the bills I want to take care of. Definitely not both, which is what I need. And what, w

Why do I lie? Is it just to get by? Yes. Because even getting by is itself a lie. Because I'm not getting by, or barely, or don't even want to.

I want to write without writing. I want to scream. I want to walk out that door and vanish into the night. Even though it isn’t the night. I don’t know where to go. I have a single path before me, but my feet are hovering three feet above the path and I have no way of getting down. Nothing is holding me up. I have collapsed under my own weight and I’m just so sick of it all. If I knew how to get a hold of them, I would do every drug man had ever invented. If I could stand the taste, I would be loaded right now. I am just so sick. My mind is moving at a snail’s pace. No racing thoughts, no wild visions. Just nothing and nothing to make me happy. Nothing to distract me. Just me and my misery alone and wallowing. I know I don’t have the right to wallow. I know I don’t have the right to feel sorry for myself. I can’t see any decision, of all those that landed me here, that weren’t my own. I just don’t care anymore. I d

Crayon Boxes I think I have died That you no longer care if I live This grave could be unmarked, for all the people who look at it and know I am here I am hunched At my desk in my favorite sweatshirt The hood lined with orange And the sleeves frayed, worn I have worn this sweater for so many years, though loved it half as long The orange does little to cheer me tonight As I have searched your name and found a new addition to your fame An expansion of your being I realize the knife is still there Because I can feel it twisting, fresh, in the wound I smell that change in the sweet spring air and regret that I am not there. These rhymes are happenstance and agony. It has been so long since I have written here, had the charge to write here, and as always, it is of a tragedy My tragedy Like a forgotten war, Like a villager, killed by a despot, who is survived by a child who grows up dreaming of nothing but the tyrant’s death (I don’t even care to draw the conclusion) I have a thousand songs

You have come to the end of a long tunnel. It branches to your left and to your right. The path behind you has vanished. On your left is a fire. On your right is a frying pan. Which way do you choose?

Currently, there is much about life that sucks. Most of it could be fixed if I had a job. Which I don't. Any offers? I'm not feeling very creative.

So I got tired of reading terrible reviews for the movies I like and great ones for the movies that I think are dumb and boring. Plus I watched Watchmen and had a lot to say on it. And I've wanted to do it for a while. So I started a movie reviews blog. http://outsiderinput.blogspot.com/ (edited, to say that I've pretty much lost all focus for it, so there's only like, three reviews. [shrug] Ah well. I'll go back eventually.)

Once upon, I saw the world as this other thing Back then, just once, my heart, it held a beat Now there are dark clouds, storms that rage and sing I lie dead, covered with a twisted sheet Night consumed the day and the darkness spread Alone, a knight of old, an endless quest I sought my salvation among the dead Needing a place to sleep, a place to rest Once upon time, there were flowers that bloomed When music rang out as laughter and mirth But on the horizon, faded stars loomed I looked at the world and just saw the earth Fitting then that the vine, the twist, should be, Keep the sun, I don't hate the things I see Sonnet, Iambic Pentameter...ish [a revision of "As the Sun Sets."]

Once upon, I saw the world as this other thing Back then, just once, my heart, it held a beat But now there are dark clouds, storms without spring I lie dead, covered with a twisted sheet The world has been corrupted by the Gray Like knights of old, they fight the will to strive So darkness spreads as the night becomes day And what hurts the most is to be alive Once upon time, there were flowers that bloomed When laughter rang out as music and mirth But a horizon of burned-out stars loomed I looked at the world and just saw the earth Fitting then that the vine, the twist, should be, My dark eyes, I don't hate the things I see

I wake to this high gravity. My strength, to rise from the bed, to suffer the depravity, has abandoned me instead. The room has cheered around me. In this aquatic blue I find an ocean deeper than the sea. The vacuum depths inside my mind, having sucked my body dry, leave my with the will to die. The warmth lies in these blankets still. And stay, if I possess the will, should the world keep silent steps, and leave my to my shallow breaths.

I must say, I'm terribly disappointed. I mean, seriously? Considering how many seasons Stargate SG -1 lasted (which was probably one or two too many), I understand why Stargate : Atlantis struggled with story lines. I understand why perhaps they might have chosen to end as early as they did, even though they certainly had the potential to last as long. But I suspect they stabbed themselves in the foot. Now, I certainly can't put my finger on the exact moment when it all went wrong. But I have a suspect in mind. For me, personally, my disappointment began with the Michael storyline. It seemed inevitable, and yet, I wished it had never come. I think it set the show on it's downward path. Well, I guess I did put my finger on the moment, although, as I said, only for me personally. I guess what I have trouble with is how it's gone wrong. Remember, inevitable, but regrettable. And this last season? Tragic. They've made, as I see it, two mistakes. Two threads that I desp