the world is ending but not over.

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 I am crying. I don’t know how old I was… I am hunched over trying to disappear. I feel breath against my ear and she is screaming. Screaming and I can’t remember why she was so angry. 


The feverish horror is beautiful to me now I can see myself at age five or six. In chimney orange and goblin green smoke surrounding me a  I cook in a very personal hell.


“Set your head on fire!” My radio told me years later.


“It has been for as long as I can remember” I wanted to reply


Why I Am I typing this tonight because I want to talk with someone… my pet cockatiel Luna is asleep. While my mother (who is on my mind [if only because] I am needing talk and no one is there). 


This is one of the days where I feel like the pixie dust has been carried away on dump trucks.


Most of my fiction I have shared is near porno in moral twilight. More voyerstic therapy of working through a childhood of watching AE serial killer documentaries and being exposed to violent pornography without knowing what it was.


I had dolls I tied up and cut and painted blood on. Drawings of the films I has seen and then scribbled in the rough ten year old little hand of mine. Not sure why I was compelled by these ideas I did not understand. 


I remember distinctly excerpts from a snuff film on basic cable with censored nudity of women who would die being bound threaghtened and dispersing into the quiet darkness of history for gotten except for the brutal nature of their deaths.


Leonard lake and Charles Ng terrified me I don’t know how old I was but the woman tied to the bed as they screamed at her infant haunts me.  All of life at its extremes is almost unfathomable. His monologues on guiltless evil at the beginning of the Miranda tapes terrifies me more than nuclear war…. On some level I prefer nuclear war to knowing the human heart when it is not in conflict with itself.


I think that AE special on the Miranda tapes and my uncle leaving me to watch demon beast invasion (I cant know for certain that was the title but it was demon beast something). To help me figure out what sex was are fundamentally the reasons my art is so fucked up.  I am trying to work through some stuff in a very public way on this blog… trying to document the burning away of the dead wood of my soul.


I think what I am obsessing over wanting to communicate with people while being so isolated that I am talking to myself repeating memories over and over. Trying to find some way to purge myself of them. To be able to look in the mirror unashamed. 


Originally I was going to work on a short story tonight. Though I think a lot of it is simply the world is ending but not over.


Yet I think that this is the last time I will allow myself to dwell on these specific memories. I think move forward I have acknowledged the nightmare and I can no longer force myself to relive it.


I am tired of the repetition of wanting to understand. There is nothing take away from this perversion of innocence. I only want to find some way to be happy. That and I don’t want to go to hell.  


Peace and love.


Be safe out there friends.



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