… and here we are, again.

Old friend, we meet again. Same game we’ve played for years, around you go and then positioned to the side of my head.

I know in the past I said we were through, and I love myself too much. But you know me best and you waited, loaded for when I came back.

Old friend, many times you believed that I had purpose and saved me from myself. But you warned me that the odds were increasing and the next time might be my last.

And now I am here.  Again. After meeting with you five times before. And we both know this is our last encounter, my want to live is no more.

Old friend, this time I am certain. There is no need to save me. It’s time we follow through with what we originally planned. I’ll leave this note beside us, to give my reasons why.  To apologize for putting myself before others, just this one time.

Old friend, let’s make this a quick one. I’m ready to get the hell out of here. I’m ready to end this life that I believe I was not destined for.

I’ll close my eyes and you’ll guide my hand to do the rest. You have always been good to me, and now you will give me what I’ve been asking for, an escape from myself for eternity.

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it will become cold if you let it

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Organ of empty blue and cold. Once was breathing steady heat. Thought of the journey from then to now, brings confusion of how we got here.

Ocean fresh with healthy waves has transformed to the storm with no calm center. We can no longer see ahead and cannot define location. Blame on weather has taken its place when inside it is known that it has been caused by the strike of our own heavy wings.

Earth broken of crevice and covered stone. It was once known as soft fresh soil fertile of soul awe nirvana. We remember we sleep on this electric current surface of concrete but cannot recall the reason. Tips of our fingers only touch is foreign. Familiarity no longer exists.

An effort to surpass this. An attempt to recollect. Memories of vivacious continual change proceeding death. All that can be witnessed is one-dimensional photos of this aesthetic occurrence that leaves an impression has now become life.

I’m Gonna Git You Sucka

It was a Friday or Saturday night. I was drunk and couldn’t drive all the way home, so I pulled over and parked the car. I realized I was parked about five houses down the street from my house. Oh shit, I parked in front of the neighbor who is also the leader of a Mexican cartel. I was too drunk to drive five houses down, so I chose to sleep in my car instead of walk home.

Not even ten minutes pass and one of my girlfriends starts to knock on my window, “Chelle! Chelle! Wake up, this guy offered to drive us to your house.” She pointed at the 1975 Dodge Monaco Bluesmobile that was waiting beside my car. I get out of my car, watch her get into the back seat, and a horrible feeling manifested in my gut.

His features were disguised in the shadows of the vehicle.  He tried to reassure me in his deep Mexican accent, “Come on, I will take you to your house. I promise.” This guy worked for my cartel neighbor and he was responsible for the transport of goods. I knew what he was going to do.

I looked at my friend, and tried to mask my fear with an innocent smile, “Thanks, but I’m going to walk instead. Friend, you wanna come with?” But she was adamant to ride in his car. I wonder if he already drugged her… I closed the door and watched him take her in the wrong direction. I knew what her future entailed. She would be taken, drugged and sold.

I began to walk towards my house and it came to mind that the cartel knew where I lived. My palms were beginning to sweat, my body was shaking, an overwhelming sense of panic vibrated through me. Do they know I’m afraid? Will they come after me because I know what they’re going to do to my friend? I wanted to be home already. During the walk home, which felt like an eternity, I was hoping that my roommates William and Moe were home so I wouldn’t be alone.

I finally made it home. Before I entered I saw my next-door neighbor, Kid Cudi, peeking through his curtain, watching me. I knew he worked for the cartel, but he’s my friend, he wouldn’t turn me in… at least that’s what I was hoping.  I walked into the house and headed straight for my room… Wait, it sounds so silent. Moe and Will weren’t home. Dammit. I decided to close all the blinds and turn off the lights to make it look like no one was home, so I can stay safe until my roomies arrive. I walked to the livingroom and closed all the blinds. I walked to the front door and immediately the dead bolt caught my eye – it was unlocked. I remember locking it… I wasn’t alone in the house. Relaxed-like, I took my phone out of my pocket and dialed 911. I saw her from the corner of my peripheral vision. She was dressed in black and she was about to slay me with a tomahawk. I ran out of the house as fast as my size 6 feet could let me. I was running faster than Donovan Bailey, but my speed didn’t matter, she was right behind me.  After three blocks, one chaser became ten – I had ten females dressed in black and dark blue chasing me.  I was still on the phone with 911, listening to elevator music.

“Thank you for calling 911, what’s the nature of your emergency?”

“Please, you’ve got to help me!  I’ve got a whole of bunch of bitches chasing me and they’re working for the cartel!”

“Okay ma’am, remain calm, I’m going to dispatch someone to you right now.  Where are you located?”

“I’m running down Reo, and I’m just passing Manos Street!  Wait!  I see the cop car, but it’s going the wrong way!  Please!  He’s going the wrong way!”

“Ma’am, he’s going to help you, he’ll be there.”

“Fuck you!  You’re not helping me!  These people are going to kill me!”

I hang up the phone.  Fuck 911.  I saw a gated community to my left – I made a quick left and jumped behind a gate.  Most of the girls kept running forward.  A white girl stops right in front of the gate I’m hiding behind and a Mexican chick right behind her.

“Hey Martha, this doesn’t look right.” This 90210 bitch is from the valley, no doubt.  Her perfect blonde hair wasn’t rustled even after chasing me for ten minutes.  She pointed at the foliage, bushes and the gate.

“What’s the matter, Kelly? What do you see?”  This haina was definitely born and raised in South Bay San Diego, probably some chola from PHLS.

“Well, look at all those flowers, that’s Hydrangea Paniculata, also known as the Little Lamb Hydrangeas.  These are all white.  But look, there’s a black area where there should be white foliage.”  This scalliwag figured me out, dammit.

“Okay Kelly, let’s go check it out.”

Both these punk ass vajayjays approach my location.  Fuck, they caught me.  They called their cohorts and they dragged me back up the street towards the cartel’s house.  I knew some of these girls, how could they do this to me?  Anger raged through my body and the energy became a part of my bones.  Something snapped… all rationale left me.  All sensibility, reason and coherence separated from myself.

“Fuck all of you!”  I shouted with my arms flaring all around me.  “Fuck your moms, I hope she dies while sucking George Bush’s dick!”  My anger was making me jump all over the place, to where they couldn’t get a firm grab on me. “Fucking shame on you bitches, turning me in, knowing what those fuckers are going to do to me!” I was becoming uncontrollable and I knew it.

I broke loose from the group and started running again.  I ran towards my house, through Kid Cudi’s back yard and I rapped on his side door.

“I need your help, they’re going to take me away.”

“You’re safe here, the cops are on their way.”  Right as he said that two cops were approaching his front yard, both dressed in 70’s polyester suits, one tan and one charcoal.  Following the cops were two of the right-hand men of the cartel leader.

“Oh fuck me.  I thought you said I was safe.”

“You know I had to do this.  I need to protect my children.”

“Kid, this time, tomorrow, I’m going to put a bullet right through your fucking head.  Believe you me, I’m going to kill you.”  He looked at me and couldn’t believe what I said.  The unsnapped me would’ve never said this.  He stared at me with a frazzled look on his face.

The cops gently guided me through the side of my neighbor’s house and up the street.  Through only my ears, Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana began.  I knew where they were taking me.  O FORTUNA.  Nothing good was going to come from this.  VELUT LUNA.  I abandoned all thoughts of salvation, deliverance and rescue.  STATU VARIABILIS.  I had the will to live, and I was going to ensure just that.  SEMPER CRESCIS…  As we approached the front door to the cartel house, I pulled my 14 inch, 9 inch sharpened, 1/4 inch thick 420 J2 stainless steel blade with a saw back from my right back pocket.  While I fastened my grip onto the hollow aluminum cord handle, I felt around my torso with my left hand to make sure I was equipped with my M2 Browning MG, my AK47, M60 MG, an RPG and lastly I check my back to make sure my bow and arrows were intact.  I knew what I had to do.  No one was going to come out of this alive, except me.

And the mass carnage begins, SORS SALUTIS!  I used my saw-toothed bowie knife and sliced both the cops’ necks as if they were attached.  I held my AK in my left and my M60 in my right, and I went to town.  In health and virtue, driven on and weighted down, always enslaved.

I used every weapon I had.  I used them against cops, drivers, messengers, pushers, dealers, buyers, cartel leaders and their families… it didn’t matter if they were men or women or children or infants.  Everyone in this house was left without a breath.  I knew the only way I could survive was to be the last one living.  I showered in blood, and there was no fear, no oppression.  It melts them like ice, monstrous and empty, the whirling wheel which is malevolent, well-being is vain and always fades to nothing.

After fate struck down and the weeping ceased, I was left with silence.  It was a safe silence.  I wiped my face with my blood-saturated sleeve, and I walked out the front door.  One more thing left to do.  I set up my sniper rifle on the porch.  Through the telescopic sight, I aimed at my target, which walked outside to get the paper.  I pulled the trigger and it raced through his right temporal out his left.  I told you, Kid Cudi, I told you I’d kill you.  I walked down the street to my house.  I never felt so secure, so protected.  

I can live without fear.  I smile.

AND THEN I WOKE UP.

Swine Flu Diaries – Day 5

DSC_0538_2Monday, November 2, 2009

I woke up so refreshed this morning.  Probably from the ten hours of uninterrupted sleep I just had.  But I woke up to my phone ringing – at 7am!  Doesn’t anyone know that I’m sick?  Grandma made some bomb oatmeal for me, and I ate it while watching a Christmas movie.  I love the holidays.  At 11am, my dogs were itching to leave the confinement of my room, so we took a stroll to the back yard.  The weather was gorgeous – the sun was pronouncing her great glory of 80-degree weather.  Nice.  I sat down and imagined myself at Mission Beach, smelling the ocean air, digging my feet into the cool sand, listening to the helicopters above… wait.  Helicopters?  I opened my eyes and two helicopters were making their way southwest.

I sulked back to my hell-hole.  A draft of tiredness hits me.  I begin to drift into a nap while watching television.  Thoughts of Monday responsibilities play through my head while Bruce Willis is listening to Samuel L. Jackson’s spill of how he’s a superhero.  Shit!  I have an exam due today and I haven’t contacted my professor.

So I guess I could just type up a play-by-play of what I did today, or I can share some thought.

I have a lot of time to think… Well, I think all the time anyway, but the thinking I’ve been doing is different now than usual, because I don’t have any distractions or obligations or anyone to really talk with to dive into thought with.

I was on Facebook, and saw that Moe got a love quote.  I read it and immediately connected.

“In a sentence of love, oftentimes you have to put a period on something that has to end and not just settle on a comma.  In time, you will realize that it’s nicer to see a complete sentence rather than a phrase that’s completely hanging and doesn’t even make any sense.”

Oh, Closure.  For so many years, I thought that amicable break-ups would be easier, you know, the kind where you say, “It’s not you, it’s me” or “We can still be friends.”  But so much gets lost in the translation.  Then you think that if you stay friends with an ex that maybe he can bring closure to all the open feelings and all the pain and hurt that you suffered through – just to realize that being friends wounds your heart even more.  I’ve learned the hard way, the only closure you can receive is the kind you give yourself.  You cannot depend on someone else to give this to you.

So I got a love quote and received,

“When you’ve found a reason to walk away, never look back… just keep walking.  It’s better to get lost moving on than to get stuck stranded broken.”

I have realized that I rationalize almost every single thing I come across in life, in order to understand it.  Once I understand something or someone, it’s easier for me to accept it for what it is.  I think when comes to people, I fool myself often.  I’m not sure if I do this because I want to believe the best in everyone, or if I’m just afraid.  It may be a mixture of both.  After reading this quote, I felt like I was being presented with words I needed to hear.  A revelation was brewing… No more second chances, third, fourth or fifth chances.  There’s a reason why the 1st chance didn’t work.  I can’t keep thinking that people will change in order to encompass me in their life, because it doesn’t work that way.  It’s time for me to move on, and I don’t mind getting lost during the journey, I can rationalize to myself that this is the fun part.