Wait a moment, it's all coming together!

This is a writing session of creative energy (which means it's got nothing to do with me).
As a matter of fact, the only reason I'm writing this anecdote is because I'm feeling weird.

It's incongruent. Parallel. Prestigious. Dark. Ambigious. I can't find the words to tell you how I feel. There's something in your soup and it's making me uncomfortable. Spoon. SPIDERS. SNAKES. Sunsets. Tablecloth. Soup. You're right here with me and that is much better than your soup. I tried to exit through those doors in the back of the coliseum, but they were locked. I looked for security, but only found an old woman in a green dress. Knives. Rubber Gloves. BILLFOLD. Car. River. Vaccuum. Scrub brush. Television. Bedroom. Notebook. Pen. Keys. Doors in the coliseum. I heard a knock on the door. One. Two. Three knocks and you were inside. I was hoping you'd bring my favorite casserole. Peaches. Cinnamon. Marshmallows.. Chocolate and Graham over a large fire. Gasoline. Baseball bat. Clothes pin over my nostrils. Ashes. But you didn't. I was hungry, so I asked you to get me something out of the refrigerator. Something salty and something sweet to wash it down. Roast beef and Coca-Cola. It's perfect. Let me have the powder. Credit card. Elementary math. Parallel lines. Nostrils. Burning. Gasoline. BASEBALL BAT. Clothes pin over my nostrils which are burning so good.

Thank God.

You came inside only to find me a wreck, Savannah. I was trying to tell you that I didn't mean to impose upon your time, but that I was hungry and I needed to see you. I needed to touch your face and know that you'd come if I needed you. I did need you. You didn't make my favorite casserole or Peach Cobbler, but I knew you wouldn't, so I put some in the oven. The roast beef was just an appetizer.

I called you to tell you that I've been doing poorly lately, Savannah. I killed that old woman at the theatre, and threw her in the river. I cleaned up the mess and made it immaculate. I wore a suit of rubber and a wetsuit on top of that. I bathed myself in vinegar and alcohol after I put the first suit on, and did the same after dawning the second. I did this all outside. It was a knife that took her life, and it wasn't that she did anything wrong. I thought someone was following me and called for security. She came from behind a corner to help, but it was too late. My knife pierced her stomach. I couldn't watch her suffer, So I slit her throat. I placed her in a meat cooler in my trunk that I kept for emergencies, and took her to the river. I removed her billfold and her license and threw the cooler in. My suit was covered in blood, so I removed it at the river and placed it next to the cooler, which had situated at the bottom. I wrote a note on my office label maker and placed both the label and the maker on the cooler. Water covered about twenty inches of the cooler, but another foot remained above water. Rocks on all sides prevented it from moving.

I drove to the address on her license, making sure to abide by all traffic laws. I pulled up to the house around sunset, and the crisp air started to cool down. I started to notice smoke rising from chimneys on the street, and knew that in a few minutes, this house would light the same flame. I exited my car and walked to the window, where I could see an old man sleeping in a chair. I walked into an unlocked door and walked toward the oven. I blew out the pilot, and turned the gas on high. I shut all the doors and put socks under them and made sure all the windows were closed. Then I took off the rubber suit that touched my skin and placed it at the doorstep. I watched with binoculars from down the street as the man shivered awake and walked toward the furnace. With a flick of the wrist, a spark emerged and flames shot from every window on the door and he was no more. The suit I left at the door was incarcerated and I was on my way home.

I called you, but you didn't answer. I turned on the television, and quickly left the news to watch Nickelodian. I was hungry, so I called again. And Savannah, I'm still hungry.

Another Chapter has Begun.

I tried this blogging thing a few months ago, only to find that I could only continue for one day. I read my own story months after writing it, and thought about how much has happened since those words came into my mind initally. This is a rant.

I'm in college now and so much has changed. I have become somewhat of a neat person; organized and punctual, while at the same time more free spirited and fun to talk to. I have developed a respect for those of lower financial status, as I worked in manual labor this summer. I know what it's like to work hard for your family, because college is expensive and my parents can't afford it. Seventy two hour weeks are never fun in the construction business. I know what it's like to feel like you've failed at a relationship, because I have failed over and over with girls that are nothing short of amazing. I have had experiences with tobacco, alcohol and near death depression. I drive with the windows down while singing at the top of my lungs. I have had great kisses and horrible ones. I have fallen in love and have been heart broken. I have been fat, ugly and unacceptable. I have been called stupid. I have been called a pussy for not being afraid to cry. I have cried in sadness and in laughter. I cry often. I am legally blind, but I think it's kind of cool. I have been a missionary, a youth pastor, a councelor and an accountibility partner. I have been a liar, a thief, a cheater and hypocrite. I have been an atheist. I have been given eternal life by a savior that discourages denomination and encourages love. I have been pulled out of a pit of darkness and been given life.

I'm sitting in my dorm room trying to sort things out, but my mind is going at 500 miles an hour and I can only type 100 words a minute.

At my desk, a half empty bottle of water sits underneath a lamp that is lightly covered in dust. A roll of toilet paper sits on a pile of cd's I've been listening to lately. I ran out of tissues. Death Cab for Cutie is playing in the background and I am content. This place has become my home and a safehaven. My phone is filled with numbers of people who I have lost touch with and people whom I love. I feel so constant. I feel accomplished. I feel good. Really good. Talk to you soon.

There's a Love that Transends.

This is my new and improved blog page. I used to do this all of the time, but I poured too much about me when I originally intended to use it as a way to let out my creative energy. This is the rememdy.

An old couch sat in my living room. From years of constant use, the cushions were flattened in the middle with broken seams and protruding cotton held in place by golden painted safety pins. Across the room, an old upright piano sat next to a window of stained glass and cobwebs. It had been quite sometime since I had cleaned this place. The doors were nailed shut and the only entrance was by window. An access ladder lead to this window, but some climbing skills and faith were necessary to enter. I didn't have many guests. I guess "clean" is only relative to the audience a room satisfies. Today, I was going to host a concert. A concerto in Eb. The room was packed with unwanted guests already, and quite a congregation had gathered on my unoccupied couch. The windows were covered with large brown sheets, so I pulled them aside to bring light into the otherwise gloomy room. The piano was heavy, but I managed to drag the heap into the middle of the room. Light hit the keys in a manner that caused the old scrap wood around them to shine like the day it was assembled. I sat down on the bench, which had no wear or signs of aging. As long as I had lived here, I had never stuck a key on this piano. It sat next to the window for as long as my presence had graced the apartment. The window adjacent always made me paranoid that someone was watching, so I'd sit for hours on the couch looking at the piano in anticipation for the disappearing window. Windows aren't very good at making themselves go away.

READ ON TOMORROW.