Switchedback: Reflection & Sythetic Misadventure In The Inhuman Condition
Each thought, each blade of grass, each grain of sand, each one of us...do we matter? What is our purpose? What drives us? What makes us tick? Do otherworldly and outwardly multidimensional beings really bother with us if we're mundane in existence? Are we being closely monitored by these beings in our daily lives both within...and without?
I sit here and I think of these things. I think of things and I worry about things that no one can help, least of all, me. Still, each day is a new opportunity to try. Then, I take the sum total of my experiences and I write them all down here, for you, to just sit here and read. God only knows why you do it. I figure you must be fucking bored to tears.
Why, you ask? Because, in my mind, my life is very boring.
The things I write about are about 89% cerebral. It all takes place in my head. In find, mentally, the ways to jazz up an event that you or anyone else would see as boring and just plain mundane. Why do I do it? Good question.
Still, here is yet another example of the same type of posting I do. I'll describe a few things that have happened and use my mind to add these otherworldly and mystical elements to them. The only dimension you'll slip into on occasion, is the maddening voyage inside my skull. There will be no drugs involved or else, I may not have remembered my trip. There will be no condoning insanity, though it's always worked for me and, finally, it will be long...in my mind anyway.
Let's begin with this weekend.
Friday: I'd paid a few bills as normal and I slipped $40 into an envelope for Joe, the lawnmower man. I'd called his cellphone and left a message for him, reminding him of my appointment set up with him two weeks prior. My yard is like the rainforest of the Amazon. I've actually gone into my backyard with one of the many swords in my collection, a sharp, reptilian Katanna that I have aptly named Shiddiken-ha. Last I was told, it was Japanese for "Breath of The Dragon." I attempted, with some futility to take down the length of some of that grass...weedy as it is. I gave up. I have a lawnmower, you see, but it will not work and, with my skin and eye condition being sensitive to the sun's great and terrible light, I will not have it fixed any further when I could just pay another man who doesn't suffer the same condition as I to do it for me as I sleep in the cold darkness of my room. I'd retired to bed and, when I awakened, I checked mail only to find that there wasn't any. No news is good news, I think. But wait...something else was wrong. Joe didn't show and the evidence was there. Those tall blades of grass stood defiant, threatening to revolt against me and my home. I checked the front doormat...the money was still there. Dammit. Ok, no worry, Joe's been behind and probably needs the time. Time, I have. The grass won't take up arms and march on my home, surrounding and overwhelming me with grassblade armies coming in through the windows and a sword as my only weapon. No, this is wrong. I spend the entirety of the night contemplating tomorrow's grocery shopping adventure. I'd need a new pair of headphones, of course. The iPod has entirely too much bass for the ones I have on some songs and the ones that I bought online drown out the vocals and guitars too much for me to enjoy the music. No, they will not do.
Saturday:
I give another call to Joe, again, letting him know the money is still there. I'm hoping he gets to the yard today or it means another late-night run with the rent check to drop it off at the landlord's joint because the last thing I want to hear is his crap about the grass. This is what happens when he raises the rent by 100, some things take precedence over how presentable the yard is and, after the episode with throwing my hips out of alignment and putting my lower back and myself out of commission for nearly a week, I think he can afford to eat a few things. The electrician and roofer still haven't shown up. No phone calls as to when to expect them. Yeah, you get my point. I go to bed late, again, wake up late, again and still have to go to Zeph and Lycan's place to get the car. Once I get the car and head to Wal-Mart, it's a smooth-sailing straight shot. Keep in mind that this Wal-Mart's been open 24/7 since it's opening. I get there, grab a cart and start my shopping when the voice on the intercom lets everyone know the store is closing in 20 minutes. Shit.
I start a mad dash, grabbing whatever I could remember to grab. Cat Food and ground meat are big musts and a various assortment of odds and ends I'd need and then I hit the checkout lane. When I start home, I realize I've forgotten some things and begin the task of kicking myself in the head for it. I'll pick them up at the dollar store later, I vow, but I'll do it in the morning. I am not trusting myself to get to bed on time. Once my sleep schedule is screwed, it's that way for a long time. When I return, I realize that, in the two weeks since my friend and co-host left, I haven't put up the groceries I'd gotten two weeks ago. This greatly disturbs me. I find out after putting everything away that my cupboards are packed, I can't fit anything else in there unless it's on the top shelf and, even then, I'd need a stool. These cupboards were not built with the 5'9" man in mind. Another thought occurs to me, a former roomie had switched my food around with the dishes and it makes me reasonably disturbed to note this after so long. I would switch them all back around, giving me more room to put more food but this is too much to do for now. I still have to clean my kitchen. I clean the kitchen of the trash that has accumulated since my injury and, once I'm done, I feel as though I'm the King of All Creation. Great Colossal Power! ....itty bitty living space. With the kitchen's surfaces and floors cleared of debris, I go for a walk, testing out a new pair of headphones and I cannot believe the sound that was entering my ears as I heard Encoder's Hardbeat Mix of their song "Supernatural."
"I ask myself, 'Why can't I have you?
'Why can't I keep my soul?
'Why can't I fight this lust?"
Because...you're supernatural
You're supernatural
I gave up my life for you
I gave my soul to you..."
The bass thrummed and bumped, the digital maelstrom wrapped my brain in it's brutal onslaught and I thought the only scene befitting a song of this emotional and magickal magnitude would be a scene of total liquid color as we all float in it, having our souls ripped from us collectively as we've all known the pain. A perfect denouement to total catharsis.
It wasn't just this song but others as well. Ozzy Osbourne's "Shot In The Dark" took on a frighteningly better turn with total bass boos and sound quality that just went fucking unrivalled. And they're so cheap. Less than $10....lightweight, they go in the ear but the wrap around the head and provide total comfort, cancelling out the noise from the outside. I don't want your warnings of watching where I'm going. Death has reached me once but has proven that he is too weak to hold me. As Stephanie put it, nothing short of a thermonuke could take me down and end me. If that were the case then I get the cremation I want and no need to scatter my ashes...I'll be vaporized and well on my way to the Great Halls of Valhalla.
Then, I remember, the time I spent walking about town, stalking various residents still out at these late hours could have been spent getting ice and bread....two things I needed. I missed my chance. I would not come morning.
Sunday:
The whole weekend had been a host of things out of left field. Stuff from Tammi I didn't know. Tammi, honestly, I didn't know whether you were throwing hints at me or not until you told me just what you were looking for. I wanted to help but I didn't know which way to go for fear of looking like a fool and becoming total swine in the process. Now that I know, I thank you because now, I can help and not reduce myself to that of a blubbering idiot. Then, my girlfriend came out with some things on me as well. I lay in bed wondering just where, if anywhere, my mental state was going. It was Sunday morning and now was the time for me to hit the dollar store for those last few odds and ends. After leaving the dollar store with my purchases, I began to regret not taking the backpack. I dare say it was only in the lower to mid-eighties and already, I was sweating like a Born-Again Christian at a Marilyn Manson concert. I'm still unsure of how many churches I walked past with people filing in and out of them, becoming completely appalled at my shirt that read "Parental Advisory: We Say Fuck Alot" and then "www.krushradio.com" below it. I vow that when I return home, I'll put all of this away, put the laundry on to wash and go to bed. When I return, I do just that but it still takes me until 11am - noon to do it. I wake up with plenty enough time to take the clothes, put them in the backpack and take them to the laundromat to dry. Once everything is dry, I take the clothes out of the dryer and set about folding and rolling the clothing to put it back into the backpack. That thing was monsterously heavy upon taking it to the laundromat, I'd hoped that the loss of the waterweight would lighten the load a bit. As I was rolling the clothes, a woman tapped me on the shoulder and asked me, in the middle of a Def Leppard song if I'd ever been in the Navy.
I told her that I hadn't but I'd had the questions asked of me before. Army, Navy, Marines, choose your branch of service but I have been asked that based on the way I prepare my clothing for a trip home. Yes, I even keep them in the drawer that way. In any case, I presented the 100 Monkey Theory to her, proposing that this is a habit that could have made it's way into our collective conciousness. She thinks the idea is quite humorous and then packs the rest of her clothing and leaves with her son who has been staring at me in slack-jawed whatever for the past five minutes.
When I get home with the clothing, I put it all away where it needs to go, this time, throwing in dryer sheets into closets and drawers to keep them smelling like they just came out of the dryer. These little domestic skills of mine are becoming sharper by the day each time I put them into practice. Tammi, thanks again for those tips...I still have them saved to notepad.
Misty...oh yeah, gotta call her back. She'd called earlier that day before I set out to dry the freshly-washed laundry and now, I'd almost forgotten her. Damn my eyes for such a thing. I try to not forget anyone who calls me but these days, it's hard. I call her back and then, another of our lengthy discussions ensues. Life, The Universe and Everything....all of it is discussed at some length. She keeps me company since there's no one here to talk to anymore. I miss being able to fuck with Stacy and her shooting insults back at me. We've been friends for 12 years and we still are able to spit our "fuck yous" at each other with some degree of intensity without ever taking a damned thing personally. Except tickling....I fucking hated it when she did that shit. I get off the phone with her after I finish making the chili dogs which serve as my dinner. It's simple and it's not much but it's hot and it's good food and washing it all down with a frosty mug of Pepsi puts me right at home.
Now, I'm faced with a new problem....boredom. I decide to start my old habit of websurfing. I can't remember my password or username to get into VampireFreaks.com to update all my user info and tell more of these my gothic freak minions to tune into my show where I make my hideous return after being out for over a week but I'm sure I will soon enough. As I'm surfing, I come across subjects that interest me. The world of corrections being chiefly among them. Then, I find it. How I got there, I still don't know. It came about from hours of surfing the web and doing nothing more than just following links to wherever. Some site in the backwoods of the internet called InmatesForYou.com stares me in the face. I'd heard of these sites before. The inmate penpal sites. These were all women. Interesting.
My curiosity is piqued after weeding out the ones that state outright they're looking for relationships. Including "kinky" ones that are listed among the vast amounts of inmates seeking correspondance with the outside world. The ones that list the "kinky" preference...I'm half-tempted to write them and tell them about my extreme and rather escalating fetish for Lesbian Midget Bikers Wearing Diapers Chasing Nurses Dressed Like Smurfs just to see how kinky they're willing to go. Remember that joke about the guy and the girl meeting at the bar to find out they'd both been simultaneously dumped by their respective significant others for being "too kinky?" Yeah, well if you don't, the punchline is they go back to her place where she comes outta the bathroom dressed in a PVC catsuit carrying a whip and a pair of handcuffs to find him getting dressed.
"Where are you going, worm?" she asks
"Look, lady, I fucked your dog, I shit in your purse," he says, "I'm outta here."
Ladies, be sure to specifically enumerate what you find "kinky." There are people like me in existence, remember?
Anyway, I've chosen about six or seven. All of them from out of state. Time for this DJ to go on another adventure.
Tammi once said she wished she could find someone to slow me down by handcuffing me to a bed or something. Well, Tammi, I've saved you the trouble but she's in the U.K. of all places and *looking at my bed* My bed doesn't have bedposts!
Ha HAAAAAAAAAAA! ANOTHER ADVENTURE FOR DAMIEN!!!!!!!!!
-transmission ended-
I sit here and I think of these things. I think of things and I worry about things that no one can help, least of all, me. Still, each day is a new opportunity to try. Then, I take the sum total of my experiences and I write them all down here, for you, to just sit here and read. God only knows why you do it. I figure you must be fucking bored to tears.
Why, you ask? Because, in my mind, my life is very boring.
The things I write about are about 89% cerebral. It all takes place in my head. In find, mentally, the ways to jazz up an event that you or anyone else would see as boring and just plain mundane. Why do I do it? Good question.
Still, here is yet another example of the same type of posting I do. I'll describe a few things that have happened and use my mind to add these otherworldly and mystical elements to them. The only dimension you'll slip into on occasion, is the maddening voyage inside my skull. There will be no drugs involved or else, I may not have remembered my trip. There will be no condoning insanity, though it's always worked for me and, finally, it will be long...in my mind anyway.
Let's begin with this weekend.
Friday: I'd paid a few bills as normal and I slipped $40 into an envelope for Joe, the lawnmower man. I'd called his cellphone and left a message for him, reminding him of my appointment set up with him two weeks prior. My yard is like the rainforest of the Amazon. I've actually gone into my backyard with one of the many swords in my collection, a sharp, reptilian Katanna that I have aptly named Shiddiken-ha. Last I was told, it was Japanese for "Breath of The Dragon." I attempted, with some futility to take down the length of some of that grass...weedy as it is. I gave up. I have a lawnmower, you see, but it will not work and, with my skin and eye condition being sensitive to the sun's great and terrible light, I will not have it fixed any further when I could just pay another man who doesn't suffer the same condition as I to do it for me as I sleep in the cold darkness of my room. I'd retired to bed and, when I awakened, I checked mail only to find that there wasn't any. No news is good news, I think. But wait...something else was wrong. Joe didn't show and the evidence was there. Those tall blades of grass stood defiant, threatening to revolt against me and my home. I checked the front doormat...the money was still there. Dammit. Ok, no worry, Joe's been behind and probably needs the time. Time, I have. The grass won't take up arms and march on my home, surrounding and overwhelming me with grassblade armies coming in through the windows and a sword as my only weapon. No, this is wrong. I spend the entirety of the night contemplating tomorrow's grocery shopping adventure. I'd need a new pair of headphones, of course. The iPod has entirely too much bass for the ones I have on some songs and the ones that I bought online drown out the vocals and guitars too much for me to enjoy the music. No, they will not do.
Saturday:
I give another call to Joe, again, letting him know the money is still there. I'm hoping he gets to the yard today or it means another late-night run with the rent check to drop it off at the landlord's joint because the last thing I want to hear is his crap about the grass. This is what happens when he raises the rent by 100, some things take precedence over how presentable the yard is and, after the episode with throwing my hips out of alignment and putting my lower back and myself out of commission for nearly a week, I think he can afford to eat a few things. The electrician and roofer still haven't shown up. No phone calls as to when to expect them. Yeah, you get my point. I go to bed late, again, wake up late, again and still have to go to Zeph and Lycan's place to get the car. Once I get the car and head to Wal-Mart, it's a smooth-sailing straight shot. Keep in mind that this Wal-Mart's been open 24/7 since it's opening. I get there, grab a cart and start my shopping when the voice on the intercom lets everyone know the store is closing in 20 minutes. Shit.
I start a mad dash, grabbing whatever I could remember to grab. Cat Food and ground meat are big musts and a various assortment of odds and ends I'd need and then I hit the checkout lane. When I start home, I realize I've forgotten some things and begin the task of kicking myself in the head for it. I'll pick them up at the dollar store later, I vow, but I'll do it in the morning. I am not trusting myself to get to bed on time. Once my sleep schedule is screwed, it's that way for a long time. When I return, I realize that, in the two weeks since my friend and co-host left, I haven't put up the groceries I'd gotten two weeks ago. This greatly disturbs me. I find out after putting everything away that my cupboards are packed, I can't fit anything else in there unless it's on the top shelf and, even then, I'd need a stool. These cupboards were not built with the 5'9" man in mind. Another thought occurs to me, a former roomie had switched my food around with the dishes and it makes me reasonably disturbed to note this after so long. I would switch them all back around, giving me more room to put more food but this is too much to do for now. I still have to clean my kitchen. I clean the kitchen of the trash that has accumulated since my injury and, once I'm done, I feel as though I'm the King of All Creation. Great Colossal Power! ....itty bitty living space. With the kitchen's surfaces and floors cleared of debris, I go for a walk, testing out a new pair of headphones and I cannot believe the sound that was entering my ears as I heard Encoder's Hardbeat Mix of their song "Supernatural."
"I ask myself, 'Why can't I have you?
'Why can't I keep my soul?
'Why can't I fight this lust?"
Because...you're supernatural
You're supernatural
I gave up my life for you
I gave my soul to you..."
The bass thrummed and bumped, the digital maelstrom wrapped my brain in it's brutal onslaught and I thought the only scene befitting a song of this emotional and magickal magnitude would be a scene of total liquid color as we all float in it, having our souls ripped from us collectively as we've all known the pain. A perfect denouement to total catharsis.
It wasn't just this song but others as well. Ozzy Osbourne's "Shot In The Dark" took on a frighteningly better turn with total bass boos and sound quality that just went fucking unrivalled. And they're so cheap. Less than $10....lightweight, they go in the ear but the wrap around the head and provide total comfort, cancelling out the noise from the outside. I don't want your warnings of watching where I'm going. Death has reached me once but has proven that he is too weak to hold me. As Stephanie put it, nothing short of a thermonuke could take me down and end me. If that were the case then I get the cremation I want and no need to scatter my ashes...I'll be vaporized and well on my way to the Great Halls of Valhalla.
Then, I remember, the time I spent walking about town, stalking various residents still out at these late hours could have been spent getting ice and bread....two things I needed. I missed my chance. I would not come morning.
Sunday:
The whole weekend had been a host of things out of left field. Stuff from Tammi I didn't know. Tammi, honestly, I didn't know whether you were throwing hints at me or not until you told me just what you were looking for. I wanted to help but I didn't know which way to go for fear of looking like a fool and becoming total swine in the process. Now that I know, I thank you because now, I can help and not reduce myself to that of a blubbering idiot. Then, my girlfriend came out with some things on me as well. I lay in bed wondering just where, if anywhere, my mental state was going. It was Sunday morning and now was the time for me to hit the dollar store for those last few odds and ends. After leaving the dollar store with my purchases, I began to regret not taking the backpack. I dare say it was only in the lower to mid-eighties and already, I was sweating like a Born-Again Christian at a Marilyn Manson concert. I'm still unsure of how many churches I walked past with people filing in and out of them, becoming completely appalled at my shirt that read "Parental Advisory: We Say Fuck Alot" and then "www.krushradio.com" below it. I vow that when I return home, I'll put all of this away, put the laundry on to wash and go to bed. When I return, I do just that but it still takes me until 11am - noon to do it. I wake up with plenty enough time to take the clothes, put them in the backpack and take them to the laundromat to dry. Once everything is dry, I take the clothes out of the dryer and set about folding and rolling the clothing to put it back into the backpack. That thing was monsterously heavy upon taking it to the laundromat, I'd hoped that the loss of the waterweight would lighten the load a bit. As I was rolling the clothes, a woman tapped me on the shoulder and asked me, in the middle of a Def Leppard song if I'd ever been in the Navy.
I told her that I hadn't but I'd had the questions asked of me before. Army, Navy, Marines, choose your branch of service but I have been asked that based on the way I prepare my clothing for a trip home. Yes, I even keep them in the drawer that way. In any case, I presented the 100 Monkey Theory to her, proposing that this is a habit that could have made it's way into our collective conciousness. She thinks the idea is quite humorous and then packs the rest of her clothing and leaves with her son who has been staring at me in slack-jawed whatever for the past five minutes.
When I get home with the clothing, I put it all away where it needs to go, this time, throwing in dryer sheets into closets and drawers to keep them smelling like they just came out of the dryer. These little domestic skills of mine are becoming sharper by the day each time I put them into practice. Tammi, thanks again for those tips...I still have them saved to notepad.
Misty...oh yeah, gotta call her back. She'd called earlier that day before I set out to dry the freshly-washed laundry and now, I'd almost forgotten her. Damn my eyes for such a thing. I try to not forget anyone who calls me but these days, it's hard. I call her back and then, another of our lengthy discussions ensues. Life, The Universe and Everything....all of it is discussed at some length. She keeps me company since there's no one here to talk to anymore. I miss being able to fuck with Stacy and her shooting insults back at me. We've been friends for 12 years and we still are able to spit our "fuck yous" at each other with some degree of intensity without ever taking a damned thing personally. Except tickling....I fucking hated it when she did that shit. I get off the phone with her after I finish making the chili dogs which serve as my dinner. It's simple and it's not much but it's hot and it's good food and washing it all down with a frosty mug of Pepsi puts me right at home.
Now, I'm faced with a new problem....boredom. I decide to start my old habit of websurfing. I can't remember my password or username to get into VampireFreaks.com to update all my user info and tell more of these my gothic freak minions to tune into my show where I make my hideous return after being out for over a week but I'm sure I will soon enough. As I'm surfing, I come across subjects that interest me. The world of corrections being chiefly among them. Then, I find it. How I got there, I still don't know. It came about from hours of surfing the web and doing nothing more than just following links to wherever. Some site in the backwoods of the internet called InmatesForYou.com stares me in the face. I'd heard of these sites before. The inmate penpal sites. These were all women. Interesting.
My curiosity is piqued after weeding out the ones that state outright they're looking for relationships. Including "kinky" ones that are listed among the vast amounts of inmates seeking correspondance with the outside world. The ones that list the "kinky" preference...I'm half-tempted to write them and tell them about my extreme and rather escalating fetish for Lesbian Midget Bikers Wearing Diapers Chasing Nurses Dressed Like Smurfs just to see how kinky they're willing to go. Remember that joke about the guy and the girl meeting at the bar to find out they'd both been simultaneously dumped by their respective significant others for being "too kinky?" Yeah, well if you don't, the punchline is they go back to her place where she comes outta the bathroom dressed in a PVC catsuit carrying a whip and a pair of handcuffs to find him getting dressed.
"Where are you going, worm?" she asks
"Look, lady, I fucked your dog, I shit in your purse," he says, "I'm outta here."
Ladies, be sure to specifically enumerate what you find "kinky." There are people like me in existence, remember?
Anyway, I've chosen about six or seven. All of them from out of state. Time for this DJ to go on another adventure.
Tammi once said she wished she could find someone to slow me down by handcuffing me to a bed or something. Well, Tammi, I've saved you the trouble but she's in the U.K. of all places and *looking at my bed* My bed doesn't have bedposts!
Ha HAAAAAAAAAAA! ANOTHER ADVENTURE FOR DAMIEN!!!!!!!!!
-transmission ended-
posted by Lord Genocyde at 7:00 AM
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