Excerpt: The Devil

This is what the weight of that war is worth. A brick and stone box for you to shuffle in, and hope you do a little bit better than the other guy. At the end of your day, you shuffle back out, and go home to your fat wife, your fat kids, in front of your fat TV’s and consume food that you didn’t take any part in. It was just processed by some other boring, blank faced guy wearing department store clothes, fighting for the same little piece of the pie as you. If you aren’t bored to tears by that, you have been fooled. Most of the people you see around you are cogs in a machine built to do nothing more than to run, and not even run well, just as long as it can.

Future, or the knife in the ground.

Imagine you were given one hour, sixty seconds to put your entire life in perspective. What would it say? What would it sound like?

---------------------------------------------------------------

The heart sits upon the sleeve, it is exposed, but not vulnerable. The only way to hurt it is by surprise. Shields cannot say up at all times. The brain see's all, it just chooses to ignore what it doesn't want to see. It cannot comprehend that what it does not believe in. Honesty is the grease that keeps this machine working, even if it gums up the gears from time to time.

I want a reality that allows me to touch the things I hide from myself, yet distract me enough to address them when I want to. I listen to music that speaks of the simplicity I desire in life but feel like that isn't achievable. I know simplicity isn't sustainable, just happiness in fleeting moments. I need to become content with those moments, and learn that is the power I need to sustain off of. In the end you are born alone, you'll die the same. I just need to be content with what I may leave behind. The path isn't complicated, I am, and I need to find the happy medium where option balances desire to simplify myself. I am the one who really blocks option.

I need to find more in myself to keep me from fixating. I am the crazy person I fear I am. Which is not as bad as society has taught me. If I lead the way, I will not be alone, people see the path and are attracted to that. I need to see that and realize my words are for me, it's my respect for those words that which gives them power. I am not as dissimilar as I think I am and need to speak in that direction.

I put value on words, and need to see that value doesn't matter, words are words. Actions are the only true value. Talk less, do more should be the ruler I measure by. I have little self perspective because of that. I talk more than I act and that needs to end if I am to truely acheive my dreams. The mental knife I throw in the ground needs to actually hit dirt and I need to have that as a physical reference for me to look at. I need physical reference, not mental.

I need to quit dismissing my feelings and address them. Not just write them off as a lark because it doesn't suit my reality. I feel it so it's going to affect my reality. I also need to see that some feelings are not going to change anything and know when to leave them. The coldness I have harbored in myself needs to be used more wisely than I use it.

I need to believe in the tao(way), if I beleive in it it will take care of me. Switch atheist for the agnostic. I am old enough to have faith. "God" as some would call it has shown himself to me enough. Beleive, if only to be sane. Find a church or way to worship, even if it's your sole crazy way. Don't question the tao, even if it questions you. The tests are what make you, you. The content will find a happy ending. Only something outside of you can do that, not you.

Right now, you're job is not you, and you are not your job. You need to sacrifice and work to do that. Reality as it stands has not given you the credit you need to acheive that. Work hard to get that reality and it may become so. A fire is only a fire if it burns hotter than anyone can touch. You are the fire, not the fuel. Find the fuel to acheive that temperature. Reality is that fuel.

Finally, you dictate what's important. The american dream is a commercial sold to those who have the money to buy it. The Robert dream is more important, and it shouldn't mirror what anyone else wants other than the humanistic level. We are all human, some just are less creative than others, you shouldn't be one of those people.

I love everyone, which is why I hurt so much sometimes.

Another story Idea I cant finish

Main plan for story: Take certain series of paragraphs and have them printed and trashed. Insert pictures of woman going through the woods. Take pictures of these pages and pictures on the ground around Madison. Really creepy in the insanity and spooky looming pictures. Look towards photoshop. This is fear no.3, Being alone. Represent a story that is slipping through the cracks into un-existance.

E-mail, Placemat, In garbage, on bulletin board, on the floor, on a lamp post, _________, __________, __________,

______________________________________________________________

Everything will one day disappear. People, places…. Things. Eventually fade and die to never be seen again. It’s only natural in a universe that’s consistently moving forward for things to be left behind. Like the light on the event horizon of a Black Hole, memories are sometimes the only thing that can tell us of what no longer exists. But if all you have left, is what’s left behind. You too will eventually be left behind.

If that’s true I disappeared a long time ago, pulled into a black hole and frozen on the edge looking in screaming. Watching everything around me being pulled in as well. My memory is all the light I have left, and even that is beginning to fade. I sometimes wonder if it completely goes out. If I too will finally leave this plane. Actually, why I am still here is the question I ask myself every time I breathe, eat, shit, and open the door.

I have to remember. I have to keep my memory from dying or the darkness will consume all. Things far worse than any nightmare will win, and they shall feast on all of the light, upon which we all live. I have to write these things down. These words need to remind me, keep me from disappearing along with her, and maybe. Just maybe. Bring her back, and prove she existed.

Lynne kept me from disappearing a long time ago. She filled the hole inside me that was swallowing my soul and body. A hole so black and great it prevented me from seeing those around me until she appeared like a brilliant star on the horizon. Just to see her smile and know that she was listening was all I needed to make me see all of the great things around me. The world existed in those liquid brown eyes of hers and I should have been happy with that…but I still had to look further…

Miskatonic is not a huge city. Big enough for a couple hundred thousand and Miskatonic State U., one of the greatest colleges outside of an ivy league. Not that I have ever graced its student roster. Lynne said just growing up around it was more than enough for my intelligence. Miskatonic U. had that sort of sway over the rest of the city. Culture and information just spilled over from it’s classrooms and halls into the rest of the city making it kind of it’s own little reality from any other place in the state.

Maybe that is why things have happened so easily. Why my little reality is so easily being turned into nothing. However, wasn’t it the school that led me to this? Wasn’t it the fact they couldn’t lock up something so dangerous that it consumed everything that was dear to me?

Dejunier

Here's a sample of Dejunier, it nearly complete now but I need someone to spot check and point out it's flaws. It's probably gonna just be novella and have no idea where to send it, but hey, who cares? Anyways, here we go.

---------------------------------------------------

We pulled into the driveway of the Cole’s and I could see Janice with her oldest daughter standing on their porch. Both were in that blank and cold state that comes after you just can’t cry anymore but the pain won’t leave you bones. One of the boys, probably Holden, their middle one motioned us towards the southern pasture with a look on his face that made him seem more forty than fourteen. I didn’t see Bob Cole anywhere, probably fixing some piece of machinery in his barn or on the opposite side of the fields repairing a fence. I’ve been around this town long enough to know that for some, keeping working is the best way for them to work through these things
As the truck drove down the two ruts that led into the southern pasture we passed the horse pen. The two horses in it were slick with sweat and foaming a little. Something definitely had them agitated. I’m no farm boy, still I knew that horses will spook, but not in familier surroundings. Off in the distance an ambulance and the two department Blazers sat idely before the forest along with that now sickening yellow of police caution tape.
As I stepped out of the Sheriffs truck the first thing that hit me was a smell not unlike that which was at the “bad stone” earlier in the day. In fact, not quite unlike the smell at Wally’s cabin the night before. I looked over at the Sheriff and from the puzzled look on his face and the flaring of his nostrils I knew he smelled something sour too. Which was quite a feat for a man who’s been chain smoking since we left in the Country truck earlier today.
I hadn’t realized how cold I had become within the last 24 hours, I hadn’t realized how horrible the things I had seen had been in the last day until I walked up to the spot where little Rachel had died. Green grass, crimson blood, yellow hair, and a white sheet that seemed way to big to cover such a small body. Next to her Dick Whatley stood with such an intense silence above her body that when I looked up into his eyes I felt like he might shoot me on the spot if I lifted that sheet.
I said nothing to Dick, he was not going to tell me anything anyways. Be it shell shock or a sense of duty to a fallen lamb. I just stood up and walked over to Nathan Collier who was coversing with the two ambulance drivers. As I looked back over my shoulder Dick still held his stance, like a graveyard sentinal keeping evil spirits from an innocent soul.
As I approached Nate, he turned from whatever conversation he was having and took off his hat to scratch his head “Terrible day we’ve got huh, Willy?”
I hadn’t seen Nate yet that day but from the stubble on his face you could tell Lisa, trying to help me out, called him in this morning unaware.
“This unfortunately is the half of it.” I sighed and looked back at Dick and the white sheet hiding the tragedy of the hour. ”He been like that long?”
“He was the first one here. He’s the one who found all of this and called for back-up. When I arrived he was standing right there with that look on his face, and it hasn’t changed since.”
“Any idea why?”
“Dick’s a pretty religious man. I myself am not the best member of the church, but if I found what he did. I’d be doing same I’d bet.”
“What do mean?” I turned around and saw the look of glassy eyed fear I’d been seeing since last night.
“Follow me.”
I tapped Sheriff Kummer on the shoulder who had followed me over to talk to the EMPs and we both follwed Nate towards the woods. We walked past the corpse of Rachel’s horse which had managed to get far enough away from her body to die of shock, but not enough to rub the blood from its hooves. Rotting flesh was permeating the air more and more the close we came towards the first trees of the forest. The hairs were standing up all over my body as I began to see too many correlations between this and what I had earlier in the day. I damn near leaped out of my skin when I heard the sound of the Sheriff opening his lighter to fire up another cigarette.
Nate led us along the brush along the woods a few yards until we hit a small clearing in it leading inside. He hunched down and walked through it motioning with one hand for us to follow. I leaned down and followed him in when just inside I was hit with a stench so fowl I nearly wreched right there on the spot. It was a small pocket in the dense woods filled with what seemed to be the corpses of several hundred cats all in various states of decay. A small round stone in the center seemed to be the place of their demise from the dried black blood that covered it.
“Did the Cole’s have any clue this was in here.” I just stared in disbelief at the charnel surroundings of the place.
“Other than noticing a sharp decline in the amount of farm cats recently, no.” Nate had put a hankercheif to his mouth to try and block out the smell.
“What do you think of this Sheriff?” Sheriff Kummer was trying to kick the remains of a calico out of his way to get a position in the place.
“Satanists. I went to a Sheriffs convention in Madison last year about it.” He finally got the fur covered skeleton out of his way, nearly falling over in the process. “Seems Wisconsin is of the number one states for cult behavior of this kind. Some place round Lake Mills just reported something like this not to long ago.”
Nate just looked at me like this was a little too weird to be dismissed like that. I felt it too, but it was a ritualistic thing that was happening here. The blood covered stone proved that. I told Nate to get his camera and we all left. Bob Cole had a back-hoe in his garage and I figured after today, that spot was not going to be in the hidden darkness of the woods for much longer.
I stuck around long enough for me and Nate to coerce Dick to get in his truck while the EMPs zipped poor Rachel into a bag to take her away. Dick seemed noticibly releived as the ambulance bounced its way out of the feild towards the farmhouse. I then left the both of them to take pictures and ask the Coles if any of their boys had been listening to any Slayer records and wearing black lately.
As we bounced out of the field in the Sheriff’s truck I grabbed his pack of smokes from the center console and lit one up. The Sheriff just looked at me like I just pulled a frog out of my eye socket.
“Thought you didn’t smoke those things Willie?”
“I quit when I was twenty Rich.” I held the cigarette on it’s end in front of my face contemplating the lit end. “After today I need one.”
The Sheriff just laughed and steered the truck through the field gates and out of the Cole’s driveway. As we passed the barn I looked in and noticed the diesel backhoe idling blue diesel smoke from it’s stacks and Bob jumping up into the cab.
----------------------------------------------------------
I was relieved when Sheriff Kummer dropped me off in front of the brick façade of the police station. My day with him had worn my patience and hurt my lungs. He yelled something about he’ll be seeing me “real” soon as I slammed the door behind me. I personally hoped I wouldn’t see him until election time again. I stood staring at the red door that led into the station as he pulled away and began to think that the last thing I wanted to do is continue to serve and protect.