We are soaked. These rivers run, joining to flow through the valley down her spine. there is so much heat the water should be evaporating immediately, but it flows on unaware of anything other that this mad need to seek the fastest route to the dampening bedding beneath her.

My fingernails leave trails in her skin, line after line after raised line; creating patterns, walls, routes, a maze across the surface of a diamond. A maze with no exit. If I knew the route; if I could solve this labyrinthine puzzle, would I ever find her heart?

Her ink is bathed in sweat; this flood coursing from her should have washed it away by now. These color spots on her canvas writhe and twist and dance for me; compelling me deeper and deeper.

At this moment, in all the world, there is no more regal a landscape, no sunrise or sunset that bathes a valley in a light more fantastic than the beams these weakening candles cast across her.

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…

Her black skirt flared a few inches out as it passed her knees, like a halo surrounding the last whispered prayer of a bombshell.

A pencil skirt I think they call it.

Belted high, it reminded me of the 50′s pinup girls that walk my walls and the recesses of my bookshelf. The top was impenetrably black like the skirt, belt, boots, and the fishnets filling in the blanks.

When she started undressing it was like watching the Mona Lisa being painted. Slow, meticulous…

hopelessly…

artistically…

calculated.

Not a brush stroke wasted; all the mystery of womanhood. All the power of sin.

Her skin was soft… impossibly soft. So soft I opened my eyes to make sure it was still human being I was touching. Soft but not fragile; in fact, it seemed strong to the point of impenetrability. Like this was the pillow that caught Lucifer after the fall. This was the place where my stumbling had ended. As if all the air, epidermis, clothing, thought, expectation, and uncertainty had melted away and i was touching pure humanity. And I was lost.

It was time for her to leave. Night was gone and the morning was on it’s way out. We had broken our fast and done our best to break each other in the early dark. She wasn’t leaving. I made the best of the situation by kissing her with temptation, sliding moisture across her lips and sucking them rhythmically. I could smell her desire. Not her desire exactly, but it’s symptoms. You know; the prelude. Her increasingly heavy breathing wafting her lip gloss and the smell of orange juice into my face. The smell of her womanhood that was already slicking the insides of her thighs in rivulets. She should have worn panties. A satisfied need no longer motivates behavior. It’s time. Leave.

She exits like molasses. Black. Slow. Still fluid. barely.

Now I’m awake. Alone.

I dreamt that I bought a new car last night! Those of you who know me and my car are probably rather surprised by this as most people this of my current vehicle and I as somewhat akin to organ sharing siamese twins; possibly seperable, but it’s going to be messy.

The catch is I kept my old car in the dream, and the new car i bought was almost exactly the same, except it was an automatic instead of stick-shift. I kept Jenna as my project/play car, revising and revisiting. The new one was really nice, and familiar enough that it wasn’t a total change. In reality I am just going to buy a motorcycle for my next vehicle.

Oddly enough I’ve been dreaming of an old friend of mine alot lately. I’m sure it is through no fault of my own, but I have a strange habit of losing long standing friends. Not through drifting apart or anything, because I am surprisingly good at keeping track of people when i want to, but losing them suddenly and drastically for no apparent reason at all.

The common theme is this; I am friends with a person for many years. I keep in touch, remember birthdays and holidays. I go to see them when I am in town and am generally close with their family and friends as well. Then, one day I shoot them an email or a phone call saying hello, and 1) am promptly informed they no longer wish to associate with me, or 2) in less common scenarios, despite repeated attempts to initiate contact, they never answer the phone or email again.

Strange that people would be so upset by me. I’m not sure how or why it happens, I just rather wish it didn’t. The crazy thing is, the friend of mine who i have been dreaming of alot lately, seems to only despise me in spurts. Not those kind of spurts.

I even get emails and such from an anonymous person, whom i believe to be the same as my estranged friend. I’m not sure if they think it is easier for me or for them to communicate in such a fashion. We’ll refer to this person as Jazz from now on.

Jazz seems to feel this pull as strongly as i do. Some people are a part of your life, no matter what. The older you get, the smaller your pool of friends becomes. That makes the people that remain that much more important and meaningful.

So I guess no matter how much people dislike the person I have become, I still relish the experiences that made me this way. No matter how much others try to push the adventurous and wild parts of us back inside the shell of respectability and social caste, they still pop up from time to time.

Maybe that’s part of growing up: the denial of self. The reformation of the soul and the removal of youths capricious trappings. If so, I hope i don’t feel the need to excise the remaining people who matter to me. I like my adventures, such as they are. I’d even like more of them.

It’s not like every night can be a Vegas road trip topped with well-fitted blue jeans and pink lingerie… but they sure are nice when they come along.

—————————–

I dreamt of car wrecks. 3 at once. It was the same house i always dream of. That monstrosity on the hill… red brick and angled. I walked through it to make sure. As I neared the end of the wing where the cats were born in my childhood; the coat room, I came across two people I had never met. The woman wore all sparkly clothes, head to foot, and was anything but attractive. She had an orange beard and her counterpart was a bland unassuming man. We spoke and I was able to read much about her in those first glances. I went outside and got in my Jetta to leave. The couple I had just met got into their car behind me and slammed into the back of my car, sliding me enough out of the way they could jet off again. They slammed into two more cars before zooming off the road and far out into a field. I went to check on each car in turn, almost as if I felt responsible for it. Many people injured , though not severely, and the two that caused it seemed unconscious. And in the middle of all that, as i was racing to find the last car, the instigator, the crazed caroming pair that had caused all this destruction, horses. The birth of horses, three beautiful ponies from one wonderful brown mare. They were beautiful. They were peaceful. The mare sat and licked me as i touched and soothed her. It was as if all the other problems fell second to my ministrations to this horse. I’m not sure why, but I loved that horse in that moment.

Flying… there was a man catching butterflys in a net, at least attempting to. I tried the same from the sunroof and eventually got out of the car to try. All i caught was a large dry leaf. I told him I knew of a place with the most amazing butterflys. Perhaps I did. I would love to have some of those ‘butterfly moments’ now.

I feel I can’t say enough about the girl with the Huge green eyes and bamboo tattoos. She stuck out most in my mind, and I went to seek her out quite often. I can’t remember anything she said, but it was calming and inspiring. This felling of loss I feel each morning as I rise from dreams makes me realize I am not living the life that is meant for me. I must seek it soon.