Journal Entry 2.25.02 Charlotte NC.

No one wants to know the real me, no one wants to see inside this dark clown mask that I wear all the time, no one wants to feel the rape I perform every fucking day I am alive. No one wants to see my guts torn out by myself for the enjoyment of myself, no one wants to see the inner self of anyone including them selves. I could go on for hours and hours days, months rant after rant and get absolutly nowhere. The bottom line here in that I am a complete fuck up in a more fucked up world that no one wants to look at, just shun and avoid like the virus I am. I have no problem with this, none at all, what is is, so deal with it mother fuckers. I am not here to make anyone happy, I am here to show the realest part of life that everyone else chooses to deny, the pain of existence. I am depression, I have been depression my whole life, I will always be depression. That is the sad fact of life for me, take your prozac and stuff it up your ass, I would rather eat lead or slice with a gleaming blade of truth than take some chemical in order to not feel the way I am naturally supposed to feel. There is no honor in chemical enhancments, there are no respects for the Prozac generation, there is nothing but dependance on a lie to trick my head into a line of bullshit on a daily basis. Yeah thank God for open source code eh? Yeah, me too pal. I always wondered what all that bullshit is about. We need to find more and more chemicals to fix all the human falasy’s we have, fuck that shit. I belive in better living through reality, not chemicals. The real world is not fun, or exciting, it just is what it is. I am not a fan of anything just of what is right in front of me. I guess that is all there is to all of this shit though eh? Yeah, what the fuck ever right? Who am I to complain? Who am I to disagree? Who am I to do anything at all? Yeah sure fuck you too asshole.

I have gone to great lenghts to increse my ability to feel pain, I have never felt so lost in all my life and this stupor has lasted 30 years. I go to war everyday with myself, I look in the mirror and feel nothing but pure loathing, pure rage pure hate. I dispise myself and everything that makes me what I am. I am not a happy camper, I am a miserable piece of shit that feels like there is never going to be a conection with another human being on any deep level. No women, no man, no anyone, just me and my rage to fester and pepulate into some other fucking piece of trash. I smoke so I can die faster, I drink coffee hoping for that anurism, I look for ways to dispatch myself daily that are not considered sucide, end it all in that abyss of depression and hatred. Who cares? I sure don’t anymore….


Untitled From 3.6.00

3.6.00 Denver

I wanna run away from myself

I want to leave myself somewhere

leave it in the dust

run til my legs can’t move

run til my ankles break

I wanna run away from my soul

leave it for dead

shriveled up

turned to dust

then breathe it all in

so I can remember

who I was

I wanna kill myself

see my brains out of my skull

see my blood splatter against her face

I wanna run away from myself

because I’m the bullet

that wants to blow myself away.

Untitled From Early 2000

234 am got the wierds

I feel like my head is splitting open

Like my brain is going to peal away

To form a new being

Something to pop out for sure

Have no clue when

Don’t know why

Don’t even care anymore

Just lost in a stupor

Sliding away from my own fears

The same ones that

Haunt me

All the day long

And this fucking Camel

Gotta smoke

Gonna die

Can’t ever stop

So so powerless

Over this chemical

Like so many other things in my life

I just can’t ever seem to stop

Doing what I do not want to do


I ask this all the time

Yet there is no real response

Like I am frozen in time or some shit like it

Stuck in the muck

Of a swamp back in Jersey

Just can’t move

In the tundra of life

The sky of death

Coming to consume me

In one fatal blow to my fragile ego

I’ll shatter into a million pieces

Like my soul, just pieces

No one knows

Who I really am

No one wants to know who I really am

The man who knows to much

The man who knows the truth

The man who is now a living abortion

What a shame…

2 Weeks Weak

2.18.00 01:00

Have you ever lie awake all night—not just for a night, but for weeks at a time? Never knowing what was real and what was a dream? Caught in the undertow of life, just tied down and beaten to pulp by life?

Laying there with words swimming in your head—but every time you try to write them it resembles a gun shooting blanks—sound, recoil but no kill. Yeah I feel like this a lot—like I’m shooting blanks. Every time I reach for my gun and pull the trigger on my temple it just goes pssss—a dud, nothing there—an empty gun for an empty man—a lost soul swimming in the sea of life. Just drifting from storefront to storefront looking at life wash by in the reflection—I am a nothing man, less then zero, less then nothing—lower then worm shit.

Cascades of blood pour from my soul daily—yet I never die—just bleed a lot—shriveled mass confusion—the looking glass of life—lost in rage—loneliness is my best friend, he knows me well—comforts me, tells me that I need to be strong—women make me weak—weakness kills, well not me.

I would eat anyone alive—consuming their flesh, suck it all down—shit it out and eat it again. The nightmares that haunt you are me good nights—the dreams that consume me whole would make you weak fucks go insane—the death—blood—pain—slices me into small pieces which I need to pick up and staple together for another day of total carnage. The silly people in my life can’t see how truly fucked up I am—no one can see how fucked up I am—look good on the outside—at all cost—the inside like a shattered vase—once beautiful—now just a bunch of pieces—on the ground—to be tossed in the trash—an unwanted person—unwanted man—unwanted soul—human garbage—I am useless to everyone—everything—nothing makes and sense—lost in the blur of life—lost in the blur of rage, lost without it. Jo to comfort me, validate me, tell me she is ok, and I am ok.


2.19.00 01:45

Pink Floyd swimming around in my head.

Just looking for something that just isn’t there anymore—it never was I think—just looking for the non-existent oracle, plane—existence—no where to run—or hide. The darkness consumes me like a shark on it’s prey—slowly and painfully, I actually like being digested by life—makes me feel pain and pain makes me stronger, and stronger still—I have no time for weakness in my life, none at all—Noah was weak—I told her how I dealt with weakness, she didn’t like it much. Well fuck her! Alone is still the best number, always has been—one—alone—one strong—6.26.71—pure rage, a fist of fucking fury, I will crush, plunder and kill the weak—I am strength—I am a cancer in the world, in your breast, in your brain, in your heart and your rotting soul. I will kill you in time—oh, yes I will, that is my job you see; to kill the weak—to kill them all.

But why?

But how?

I just don’t get it anymore

I mean what the fuck?

Why is this shit so hard to get?

I mean it’s just life isn’t it?

Yeah just life—

And life is

A real slow

Moving beast with

No hair

On it’s

Smelly ass.

Do be bop—do be bop




And no one to love again

Fuck it—

Valentines day—

I got myself some candy

And some flowers

Went to a movie, then dinner

Later that night I had my way with my self

And I still couldn’t cum at the same time.

Life Scraps

How does one define their life? I have been pondering this for a great many years now and I have no idea how to define my life. I have been an abused child, an avid reader, a lonely duck and a homeless drug addict. Well OK I wasn’t exactly an addict when I was homeless but this is what I was led to believe in a recovery program. I had stopped the cocaine long before I hit those doors and my first great relapse was a few Coors Light’s at nine months nine days clean my first time in the program. I can still remember how the people in that said recovery program chastised me for having a fucking beer on a really hot day in Denver. This is the funny thing about me and alcohol I go a year or more between drinks being I am not a fan of the effect of alcohol but I still do love the taste of a good European beer. Today my life is calm and serene and is filled with close friends that actually care about me and I also care for them but back in 96′ to 99′ I really had no one that I could call a friend until I met Jason in an English class at some dinky community college here in Denver. This friendship is about to hit a huge mark of fifteen years and he just gets better with age. I have a few trips I have made since getting off the streets and wondering from one end of the country to the next but really nothing seems that exciting to me. One day in 97′ I was in Arizona doing day labor cleaning up construction sites and the thing I remember the most is all the fucking God forsaken lizards there were there.(terrible sentence I know that so please no Nazis thanks). These fucking lizards were all over the place seeking refuge from the heat of this damn desert that no one in their right mind should live in. I wanted to grab a nail gun and do some target practice on the little green bastards but they were protect by the government or some ridiculous reason that I will never understand. Have you ever had roaches? I have and these green scaly cocksuckers were like big green roaches there were so many of them. I had taken a nap at lunch time since I had no food to eat (that was a norm during those years) and I wondered if they were gonna gang up on me and chow down on my toes or fingers. Just imagine that falling asleep and waking up to find out that you’re lizard food; what a drag. I had this delusion for about fifteen years that “I always have -A to go back to if shit hit the fan”. Well folks shit hit the fan often back then and I found no solutions or solace in the program yet by then I was so brain-washed (is that hyphenated? Brain does modify washed so I vote yes) into thinking that this was all I needed to get by. Bullshit! What I needed was to just grow the fuck up and take responsibility for my shit and that was an internal thing not something that the program can really teach me yet it would suggest that often enough that I got the hint around 1998 or so. I used to have poems that I wrote during those homeless years but they were stolen by someone that I considered to be a friend that is now in jail for murdering her mother so yeah karma is a real bitch sometimes isn’t it? Hostels, trains, buses, hitching, walking that was my life from 95′ to 99′ and it was one grand adventure that I would not trade for anything in the world but now that I am creeping up on 43-years-old I wonder if all that time was wasted in my 20’s. I have attempted to write my story in various forms but I stall out when I am off the streets because the adventure turns into a normal well adjusted life how boring is that? I can write about my childhood but really it’s been done a thousand times before so there is nothing new to be gained from it whatsoever so I have always said fuck it to my childhood and summed it up in one paragraph. That is how little I think about those years now; yes they existed but I see no reason to dwell on that shit because in the end that is what the fuck it is shit! Hey though if I had to trade my childhood for lizard country I would take my childhood every time because the past only has teeth if I let it have teeth unlike the green scaled fuckers. As I have stated a few times in my writings my life didn’t really begin until I got on that bus in Grand Central Station on my way to Denver for the first time over 18 years ago so what do I do with the rest? Can it I guess and just gloss over the details and move on to the adventure of my lifetime that I will never again be able to replace. The answers are there but as of tonight I don’t know the fucking question….

To write or not to write….

I am still stunned by this whole situation with my ex-friend. There is so much I cannot talk about relating to this incident but suffice to say I just never saw this happening ever. I had known her for about eight years or so but the last almost two has been spent in absolute silence for reasons that I have blogged about so I will not get into it here again. Let’s just say she betrayed me in the worst way that someone can and from that point on I have refused to communicate with her but now things are a little different. I may be the last person she wants to hear from but in all reality I might be the only person that is thinking of bothering to contact her at all. I have certain conditions on this contact that again I cannot get into being this is still a pending case to be tried or least judged depending on where they go with the prosecution but that is really none of my business just the final verdict is.


I think the part that is bothering me the most is that I was very close to this person for so long and I was totally deceived by her one-hundred percent. I had rid myself of her once but I let her back into my life thinking that her career in the military would have changed her. As it turned out in all the news reports she never made it out of basic training so everything she told me was one huge fantasy lie of hers.I kind of knew this before I read that it just validated my feelings already with actual proof and not just me and others saying this or that is not possible. This statement really is what she was to me for all those years: a liar. I know that her letters are going to be filled with more lies and not a shred of the truth but should I just sit here and ignore her if her life winds up behind bars until she dies? That is a terrible fate to have not one person to talk to on the outside. I really don’t hate her for what she did to me, I have concluded that she is just too stupid to know any better. In all actuality she saved me from myself and my old terrible writing when she did what she maybe did or did not do but she had my poems already when this happened so yes that she totally stole because they where never returned. Most of that was written while I was homeless and mostly angry at the world and depressed over my situation so really what the fuck and I clinging to that shit storm for? I guess I figured I would never forget what it was like but even sitting here in my condo for over ten years thanks to my mother I remember every time I see a homeless person downtown. I will never forget those aimless roaming days and sometimes I even miss it but that is just me wanting to get out of Denver for a few days more then anything these days.


She also saved me by letting me know who my real friends are and who was not. I guess one of these days I might even thank her for the new life that I have that would not have been possible any other way. The one striking thing is that everyone said just about the same thing “Thank God it wasn’t you” or as in neighbors they gave me a hug too. Yes I am very aware it could have been me just as easily but it wasn’t and unless she gets released it never will be. You know that person that holds onto a grudge until they are in their grave? Yeah amplify this by about 100 and that is how she is with things. Maybe my alarm discouraged her or maybe she forgot all about me or maybe she is just laying in wait for the perfect time to strike who really fucking knows whats going on in her nuttier then squirrel shit head. So when she is in a more permanent home I will reach out and see if she responds if not I tried if so I will enjoy her lies and stories like I always did until she lied to my friends and family then I had to put a stop to it but really when it was just us her constant lying never really bothered me. I will say this: she gave me plenty of fodder for a story that I might title “Too many Mora’s” or something to that affect. I don’t know if anyone has any comments on this please leave them in Facebook and not on this blog site thanks…  

Creating Compelling NPC’s!

Marla came about after I joined a group in the need of a DM (Dungeon Master or the person that runs the game but I will get to that more later). If you are a DM and you want to know how to create compelling long term NPC’s (Non-Player Character or one that I control), follow what I did and make your creation come to life in compelling and interesting ways.


As the DM of the game I take some liberties when I am in character creation mode for the game. First thing one needs to do is the stats and I gave them all an 18 base start. Now you are all screaming that isn’t fair and no its not so I evened things out some by subtracting from Intelligence, Wisdom and Charisma and adding them to Strength, Dex and Con. What I made was one incredibly stupid childish little girl but she does so much damage in combat that they are in total balance now.


How she should act was the hard part with her being chaotic neutral in alignment but at the same time she has no idea what right and wrong even mean. These thoughts are too abstract for her to be able to really understand them. She does not speak much but she can draw well and play chess but that is it for her in that regard.


Marla see’s herself as an impulsive that is selfish and very much a brat when it comes to things she wants for she will get it at all costs. She loves to throw tantrums and be very argumenitive with most intelligent beings yet she is gentle and kind to animals and those with lesser intelligence as if she can talk to them and they can talk back. Most of the time she prefers to be relaxing or just hanging around resting and eating of course. She takes great pride in her fighting abilities and how well she can defend those that need it or herself in an ambush that she gleams about to fellow travelers she may encounter as she speaks in more gestures then words but she can convey her idea well when she wants to.


I created Marla to make the life of the players a little more interesting with Marla always running off to combat and giving shit to every big bad ass in a tavern just for fun. I have been creating characters to either be a player or mostly as a DM for 30 some years and Marla is by far my best one yet thus why she just keeps showing up in the game over all these years.


This is the job of the DM: breathe life into the world that you alone created either with the help of some world books or not this is your world so give it life! The best part of having Marla in the party is if they get super stuck either due to them not seeing the answer or me being too cryptic I can use Marla to drop a hint with her behavior. Yes it’s another riddle but its a far easier one then the one we are all stuck on so I see it as an advantage to have Marla around even with all the trouble she gets into all the time. This is all I wish to divulge on a blog about my creation process but I felt my new group needed a little background on her since she is part of the group now. Happy Hunting!

Larimer Square

I haven’t been to Larimer Square in years now walking through Writers Square where I used to hang out in 96′ and 97′ writing poetry that is now long gone and very stolen. I would go to this coffee shop on Larimer Street called The Market and sit outside sip coffee and smoke Camels while I wrote and people watched. Back then I was homeless and friendless so I would sit alone and write and write and write. I do not feel that any of those poems were any good but they are a huge part of my past. I feel bad that I have not been writing much lately and I have not done a drawing in over four months but I am just not feeling all that creative lately for some reason or another.

That is the thing about being creating things from pencil sketches or words to some prose one has to be in the mood to embark on such a journey and I just have not been. Even though I have not been writing I have been reading a lot like usual so I am still doing that part of the job of the writer. Yesterday I went downtown and walked the entire mall and right past Writers Square without even a look at how its changed since 1996.

1996 what a year that was. It started with me moving in with a base head while all the time I was hooked on coke then I moved to Denver and arrived on 2.13.96 which happens to be Henry Rollins’ birthday. I was 24 when I got here and he turned 35 the day I arrived here. I think the funny part is I had no idea who that was until I met this guy Sonny that introduced me to him. I used Denver as my home base for the next three years while I traveled around the country seeing America.

Seattle is still my favorite city to visit but last year when I went I was looking to move there and leave Denver in my past once and for all. I spent a week there with no sun and I realized that I live in the greatest city in the country already so I henceforth scrapped the plans to move. I used to have a friend there but something happened on that visit that changed everything and we have not spoken in well over six months after a ten year friendship. Shit happens.

I honestly think right now the thing that I need to do is read more in Zone 3 a Lit Journal I bought at The Tattered Cover in Lodo. I went to The Elliot Bay Book Company in Capital Hill in Seattle when I was there with my now non-friend and it was really nice plus they had a lot of Lit Journals that I had never seen before. I was talking to my mother about finding some Indy bookstores in NJ and I found three all located at this link.

The ting about Indy bookstores is that one will find some very eclectic books and of course they are the main source for publishing and selling Lit Journals. Barnes and Nobles carries a few Lit Journals but nothing really obscure more like the popular ones like The Paris Review which is thirteen bucks an issue where as Zone 3 is five bucks an issue. I realize that this blog has gone in a few directions but this is just where I am right now…

Bookie Readers

I realize that I have not written a blog in a very long time but the urge to be creative in any sense has not been with me as of late. I last mentioned the Henry Rollins books I found on Broadway back in November and I have been silent since then. I have read so many great things since then that I wish to mention a few. First I have read the entire graphic novels of The Walking Dead thus far and as I tell my friend all the time the TV show is Other Rick. I do not remember the names of these books but they are not hard to find at a local library if one just asks. I know one of them is called Some Kind of Peace by I do not remember but it fits into the genre of Swedish Mystery and or thriller. I have read so many novels set in Sweden that I feel like I actually know the place a little but that happens while reading.

Other things that I have read are a grip of Ed Greenwood fantasy novels set in The Forgotten Realms of AD&D (Advanced Dungeons & Dragons) that I play in with a group on Skype that includes my mother. I also got the two huge volumes of Ed Greenwood Presents Waterdeep. They are two large books with three novels in them that centers around Waterdeep which is a town in The Forgotten Realms. I started to read fantasy all of a sudden to get ideas for my AD&D capaign but I am now not in need of that being I have what is known as a Super Module called The Temple of Elemental Evil that I am going to run for the next three or so months.

I have also of course read Lit Journals and now the Denver Public Library has access to magazines on the Android Tablet OS so I have been utilizing that as well. I also made a new friend a few doors down so we watch movies and basketball games or we play a game on the PS3 together so that has kept me busy. I mention all of this reading and the such because I finally understand why I have never had a successful relationship.

I have dated a few woman and really not one except Lisa was a reader and all Lisa read was teen fiction that I did not want to read or could relate to. I crave the company of someone that is willing to read A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens like I am right now so we can sit down and talk about it. That seems to be the majority of what I read: no one else I know has read it so there is no one to discuss the book with. I think this is what I crave the most in a mate and I have yet to find anyone that is a veracious reader like I am. I am not saying that I am not also a gamer and a geek I am but reading is my one real true passion.

My aunt Della has a Nook now and she reads about a book a day. In some ways I am jealous of her speed but at the same time I like how I savor a book like a fine wine. There is a girl that lives here that I dig but she is not a reader and I know in the end that it will just end badly like all of my past relationships have ended. I am very aware that I am kind of nick picking here but I think everyone has this idea of who they want to be with and someone that appreciates poetry is a good start. I guess I am just doomed for a life alone with my books and I guess that isn’t such a horrible fate….