You can tell yourself it is the sweat that stings your eyes; in that weather, it’s easy to do. You would still be lying. When you see that much death, when there is so much lost, those that remain become more valuable than we can imagine.

He spent the 2.5 weeks prior to that day, all the notice that he had, liquidating everything he owned save for a bookshelf, a table, and 6 boxes. Selling his car, he bought a black truck. He donated everything that I hadn’t worn in the last month. Those few items that had value were sold to the first person who would take them and everything else was simply given away.

Mindlessly, from a list the Outcast bought packing materials like some sort of Zen ritual. Removing any meaning from the act or the materials, lest he actually take a second to think about what it entailed; what this all led up to.

An Outcast, he left, accompanied by a girl who loved him very much, in the careless way that a child will still love a toy, long after it is irrevocably broken.

Miles Driven: 35,042

In the days after the Phoenix, the world was green and blue; the color change was drastic to the outcast after the landscape the color of cracked flame, and dust, and ash. it would be shocking to his eyes for the first few months. In the coming months, the cracked lips would subside, the eternally parched feeling would stay, but it was simply psychological now. but in the days after the Phoenix, the days close enough to be called such, the lips still bled if the outcast opened his mouth too wide. he tasted the sand and dust in his breath and hid from the sun as if it were still necessity.

Motorcycles: 3

In the Triangle city, people were different; less distinct, more fat. they smiled, but it was only because they land around them was friendly, not because they were. In the days of the Phoenix, a smile was something marvelous and genuine because it came from the inside when it did come… never spawned by the parched world around it.

The trip into the city center was less hectic, less restricted. The city seemed less structured but it flowed well.

As a conscript of the ruling powers, the Its, the Outcast wasn’t trusted initially. He was hired to perform a service that no one really understood, but everyone seemed to think they needed. Organization, structure, help but only insomuch as it didn’t step on any of the ITs toes or infringe upon their sense of mastery over their little domain.

Each day he arrived at the gates to the Center and was escorted by guards, or officials, or sub-officials to the places he was thought to be needed to gather the information he asked for and turn it into something that was beneficial to those that watched over him. Soon they lost interest and simply expected he knew what to do. He was provided a pin; a badge of sorts with which he could gain access to the Center and it’s antechambers.

Hours at work: 2080

The outcast changed too. Became dedicated. Wholly absorbed within himself; his body, his mind. Every day was fully engaged. He became aware of his body and his abilities. The weight, the fighting, the water, the struggle. Free time was everywhere and nowhere because he filled it with semi-purpose and rage and intent.

Trophies: 6

Max Depth: 126

Rising before the sun, when the simple fact of the suns return was carried by faith alone, he left the small room provided him at the outskirts of Triangle and traveled to the gymnasium to destroy himself, the old self… the one from yesterday, and recreate a new, better, stronger man in his place. Still the outcast, but there among the titans he was allowed the opportunity to change.

Certifications: 12

Leaving the gymnasium the sun had returned, each day without fail, it came back; not with the strength of the Phoenix, that rebirth in flame, but with the warmth of life. Gentle, coaxing, enough to settle the surrounding populace into quiet obeisance and obesity.

The Outcast fought the laziness in the air around him, rode recklessly and with abandon, thinking that feeling the cruch or the crash would be better than feeling nothing.

Motorcycle wrecks: 1

Life was not without romance, the hint of amorous, but it never stayed long.

Broken Hearts: 2

He went without sleep for days, trying to find the edge, but it will always elude those that seek it. Such is the nature of these things. And so he seeks, for meaning in numbers, for purpose in himself, for emotion in another, finding nothing…

The coffee in my left hand. The cigarette in my right. My breath is the smoke from the cold fire in my stomach. The exhaust pipe on my car. It’s been parked for a couple hours. I forgot my keys in the ignition and left the engine idling. It’s almost out of gas.

My brain isn’t here today. It’s in the snow. In the cold. I’m not good with managing keys lately. I can’t seem to keep the ones i need or get rid of the ones i should.

This isn’t a story about a hero, only kindling. An inexhaustible supply. The flames wouldn’t be eternal if they actually consumed anything. This isn’t even a story.

This isn’t a journal. It’s garbage determined to be misinterpreted. My journal is tucked in my bag. My snowboarding journal. A present.

The fire is bound to get colder in the snow this weekend. Frozen veins. Check the heart to make sure it’s still moving the ice water around. Check the breaths for the smoke. Back inside now, the fire raises my nipples and goosebumps.

There isn’t any real reason to feel bad. This has nothing to do with me. Maybe I am just channeling other people’s shit.

That’s me. The human toilet. Channeling everyones shit.

Gather round, you Corpses. Bring your Piglets and your Whores. See the Amazing Walking Talking Human Toilet.

Flush.

Hey kids! Get your relationship advice here. All the mercury and mystery you neeeed to succeeeed.

Flush.

It’s a day for this. It’s a day for psychosis. For neurosis. For perscriptions. Not the nice candy colored yummies. The generics. Large white pills chalk coated. No need to make them easy to go down because when you are taking these, things aren’t supposed to be easy. I’m pouring enough of these down my throat to make my skin white and chasing them with enough caffiene to keep me awake and staring.

Down goes the medicine. No spoon full of sugar.

Flush.

No one will ever love you for you. No one. They will love a concept they build up independent of you, that they hold independent of you and they worship totally independent of you. And when they loathe and discard it… it will have nothing to do with you. Nothing that you do will ever directly affect this idolic concept. This is not a message of hopelessness. This is not a message of hope. This is a message of truth. I seek truth. I bring truth. I am truth. I am the Human Toilet.

Flush.

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Fun folks, some of whom I’ve known for a years and many others whom I’ve only just met. I’ve had laughs and congeniality in abundance; and I can’t seem to relax. Not for a minute. I feel like a heroin addict. Waiting, waiting for the phone to ring; my dealer calling with my fix. Someone bring her to me. Bring her back and lock us away from all of this. I’m edgy, nervous, pacing. I’m sitting down trying to pour thick unrest out into this digital therapist. And it’s not working.

I’m isolated.

I am an extrovert.

I recharge and revitalize myself with the company of others. I am at my best and brightest with groups of people to bounce off of and interact with. Today they leave me more empty than before. I’m deluged with worthless moments and meaningless talk when all I need is the silent song of silken skin and the healing heat of her heart… too far distant to care.

Lock me away.

I’m a people person.

I can meet new friends anywhere. Strangers don’t exist, only friends I haven’t met yet. I love the easy connection I share with the rest of humanity. These people are making me feel inhuman; robotic and cheaply reproduced. I want something more. I need it or I’ll just shut down again and become the tin man that I feel. When can I start living my life again instead of just watching it fly past? Give me back my completion. Let me hold the thing that inspires and propels me through this mediocre existence.

Get away from me.

I’m independent.

I can take care of myself and handle whatever life throws at me. I have a front row seat to the most entertaining and engaging person I know every day. I hate myself today. I hate my weakness and I hate the need that arises in me every moment I am called on to breathe without a delicate hand in mine.

I need you.

Buddha would have us believe that we are linked to certain souls from our past lives; people we have wronged or been wronged by; people who have experienced or been the cause of great deeds of compassion on our part. I’m not a subscriber to the idea of reincarnation, but I agree with alot of what the ‘B’ man has to say aside from that. Sorry Sid, but I have to find my own way.

I’m a huge fan of psychological and sociological studies and I read whatever I can get my hands on that I think will benefit me in my dealings with others. I am better informed on this subject that the vast majority of the people I am acquainted with and still infinitely more ignorant than the least of those who make a profession of this sort of thing. Most of what I have to say about this is regurgitated studies and best guess tactics from my own experience. The thing I have come to realize most is that people tend to use one another like drugs.

To really understand this you have to realize that, for the most part, humans are rarely addicted to “drugs.” They are addicted to the release of natural endorphins caused by the intake of illicit substances. The temporary chemical imbalance that we call a night of fun. The fastest and easiest way to produce these feelings of euphoria is a needle in the arm or a pill in the mouth. Simple, effective, and you can count on it everytime. It gets complicated when we allow others to elicit this response in us.

Controlled Substance: a drug or chemical substance whose possession and use are controlled by law.

Humans cannot be controlled. No one person, even dedicating the entirety of their time and energy, can ever control even one other individual any more than that individual chooses to be controlled. Thus, when another person causes the release of our wonderful hormones and chemical agents, we are in for one hell of a ride. Falling in love is the most manifest for of this potentially damaging phenomenon. Just as the wording implies, falling in love is all but uncontrollable.

Falling: suddenly losing an upright position; Dream interpretation: unsure of foundation, feeling out of control, powerless.

For a society so infused with the notion that we are the masters of our own reality and destiny we have an amazing predeliction to throwing away our self-actualized power at the first notion of our emotional attachment to another person. This carries on for hours, days, months, even years in some cases. The worst part? We as a society and as individuals acutally encourage this ridiculous surrender of self. Why? Because We like it.

So years later, when we feel some shift in our paradigm, we as humans feel the need to either redefine our interpretations of our past selves, or recapture the lost emotive states of happier times. When does this become healthy?

We believe ourselves to have become powerful, realized individuals having moved beyond the limiting addictions and beliefs of our past. Thus being this new and amazing individual, for some reason we feel the need to confront and overcome our past shortcomings instead of learning from them and moving on to a new and brighter future. Somewhere in our ridiculously complicated and completely illogical higher brain we believe that we will amplify our new capabilities by regressing to deal with the challenges of our past. Reading this it is easy to see how this is counter-productive and simple to commit to never making this mistake. However, of all the “convincers” in the human spectrum, (physical, emotional, and logical) emotional convincers are the most potent and illogical by far.

Perhaps we hit a rough spot and decide to revisit an older happier time when things were simpler; made more sense. Then we run away from the challenge at hand, that which would allow our growth and adaptation as humans, and rush back to older romanticized happier times; stagnating our growth and placating that desire to belong to someone… something greater than ourselves. When revisiting the past is done from this mindset it can be devastating.

However, there is a way we can allow items from our past to resurface. When we divest ourselves of the emotional baggage we hung on these people and experiences; when we realize that the emotions came from within and not from without, we can perhaps view the old and seemingly depleted in a new light; the light of rebirth and hope. When we can realize that all the wonder and magic of the world is just a gateway to something less sparkly and diverting; something lasting and strong enough to build a life of true love and happiness on, we can allow or disallow the past to merge with us and move forward into an honest and breathtaking realm of self love (not that kind) and love for others.

Holy shit, where the hell did all this crap come from? Anyways, to recap: Obey your parents, eat your vegetables, and love the moo-cows.

I have moved past wondering how things would be if I had done some things different because I can’t change the past. This being the case, my feelings for you should abate somewhat. I worry about you; you simply don’t return any type of message, like you are trying to avoid resolving the conflict in your heart. If you are truly happy with your life now then that is all I could ever hope for you… but your actions say differently. If you didn’t harbor feelings for me then you would not need to avoid me.

Substituting avoiding me for actually dealing with the turmoil is going to make it that much harder to resolve when it comes down to it. I’m not going to force you to make any decision, I simply liked being able to contact you. Amy if you truly don’t want to talk to me again, you’ve got it, if you want me to be part of your life on some level, let me know. I am pretty easy to talk to.

10/25/2004

Today was awesome. The first snow of the year. It’s always one of my favorite days of the year; I’m definitely more of a winter person in that way. Seeing it fall invokes thoughts of cold winter mornings snuggled up in a warm bed with a special someone. Hot chocolate or black coffee by a fireside. Snowboarding. You have probably never been on a sleigh ride or hay ride, but it is a great experience. One I would definitely recommend if the opportunity presents itself.

The ground is white everywhere except for my footprints. The snow cover is too thin to bear my passing unmarred. I’m going to Vegas this weekend to meet my friend Mike and talk about Atlanta. We’re going out on the town afterward and I’m looking forward to it. It should be alot of fun. The snow is turning into hail now. I was out walking when it made the switch, one second thoughtful and encompassing; the next directed and painful. Painful, but not permanently damaging. It stings, but I’ll live. A perfect analogy if you ask me.