Book 1 1982 October 1 to 1983 June 8

8304.03

I won't be home tonight.
My mind wanders off into the four corners of Universe (if there are four couners, or if there are corners). Nothing will bring me down. I contemplate the infinites of, Yin and Yang. Choas / Order, Good / Evil, Vicotry / lose, Positive / Negitive, Up / down, Right / left, Light / dark, Certianty / Uncertianty, Violence / Passivity, Space / Mass and all the other infinete oppositise.
Killroy was here, and Killgrave follows. Kill, Kill, Kill! Is it all Kill? The Young Militant kills, Death Dealer kills, the Indian in Black kills, the Calm Struggling Alien kills, even I have had visions of killing.
I could stop dreaming, but it never ends. For I am just a Dreamer. It isn't logical, but who gives a damn. I dream and they stare.
I lie here incased in a physical shell, wondering what it would feel like wandering about with-out it. To let my life force wander on the astral plane.
Damn Uncertianty! I am Uncertian. Uncertian of what I write, feel, say, think, and Know. To bad man will never escape these pitiable mental battles. Allways wrestling with himself in one thing or another.

8304.04

I walk out of the school, every-one else is gone. I wear black, and gold. My suit is black and so is my eye patch. My pendant and ear ring are gold.
As I walk forward I remember the torchers of the Fat-man and his cokecain. I remember pain discomfort and helplessness. I remember fighting back with a flare-gun and killing three men. I remembered the heat and the smell given off by burning flesh. Then.
Remembering is shattered by reality as two giant, muscular men jump out and try to hold and beat me.
All the helplesness and pain comes back and I strike out.
Being held from behind I kick the man in front, then swing around and leave the other on the wall. The first one stands and I quickly strike him in stomach and deliver a elbow club to neck. The second steps off the wall and I grab a sign post and swing from it to give a crushing blow to the jaw with my boot heels.
Both then lie on the ground and the Indian in black drives up and chuckles then sarcasticly asks 'Need any help?"
I then turn with a grim look and stare him down in an instant then turn and say
'No, Only time to think!"
I am a peaceful person yet in recent dreams I lash out. Why? I guess I do, 'Only need time to think.'
In one dream I deal with so many things. Drugs, parinoia, killing, death, treacury, with-drawl, violence at friends, innocents, guilty and self. Why the visions of Black and gold, one eye, and ear ring? Why can I so vividly remember the flare-gun killings of three, evil men. The feel of the gun, the kick of fire, the heat, the stench, the sight, the sound of a fat man burning. The exsaustion, the car engine, the sight, the stench of flesh, rubber, and metal.
Why do I remember this of all things?
I remember the withdrawl, and stikeing at Death Dealer, Mirrorr and the Indian in black. Why would I see them as monsters and strike them.
I only need time to think.

*This particular vision of me shooting a man with a flare-gun and watching him burn became a very strong image. I could feel the heat and smell the burning skin. I have never actually fired or held a flare-gun or smelled burning flesh. But if it's anywhere near what I had in my head I really never want to. It subsided, but occasionally I will still see it happen - like now as I type in what I had written.*

8304.05

The Indian in black saw another year pass yesterday, it was his eighteenth. He is now seen as a man by society, when many have viewed him as one before, long before.
He, in the past year or two, has giving me many things to think upon. To name only a few, violence, peace, Jekell / Hyde, freindship, release, and conflict.
A few days back, I spent a night conversing with the Death Dealer, and he said I was one of the few people he knew that could talk to him and "think back at him". So why do I feel as if I can't think a times when I need to.
Niether side of my brain is domainant, neither side will be domenated. They are at constant war. Why? why not work in harmony?
For every question man will ever ask he may find one answer, but always even more questions.
Life is a series of ever complicated questions and struggles. We fight to know and servive. Yet we often miss the goal we strive for, and no idiot is smart enough to learn from the mistakes and try to reach that goal differently.
Let the mind open and learn, let it strive and succed. let it Know.

8304.06

The weather has been discusting and of late I have felt just as bad.
My mind is in suspended animation out in space. Nothing around it, nothing in it. I feel as if my mind is deeply contemplating something that I am not prevy to. When it is done it will surface, a full grown idea, and I will feel as though I have thought it all along.
Tomorrow in the Class of life we will experence the feel of touch. We will touch each other, hug each other and enjoy life more because of touch. For I already know the joys of touch, but no one else cares to enjoy them with me. Girls are to shy, boys are to scared. The Artist is the only lady willing to share that experince with me.

8304.07

Today the day was great. The birds sang, the Sun shone and the temperature climbed. Oh, it was a perpect day to have an excersice in touch.
The experence of touch and unity! I loved it, it should happen everyday, everywhere.
Tomorrow we will hug, and later listen to music of the youths and freinds.
Oh, Dred! My thoughts seem to be shorter and shorter.

8304.08

As has always been, the scholars are impaird by the leeches of the mind. Killroy T. , a fellow, if not better, scholar is even now being drained greatly the mind leech Alexander the conquerer.
"He stole my memory from me and promised to returned it! Now he's left me no recall and I'm in dire need of it soon!"
"Fear not. I shall help, as I am alway glad to do. We shall copy my memory for you to use until yours is returned. Later we may both attack Alexander and conquere!"
The metal rang sharply in my ear and the magnified voices sang like the eagle, in beatiful screaches. The megalific multitide of sound vibrations eminated forward at Mack 1 and empacted deafeningly against my ears. People claped, sang, and danced to the sound. The artist's on stage danced and gave there all, and we enjoyed.
Then it stoped, all of stoped. Not a sound was made, nothing did I hear. Silence, deafening silence. I was a deaf leapard in a steel jungle.
Sound returned as I walked in the sleet, snow, rain, and cold. Then a song possesed my soul and I marched on like a proud solger after peace was made.

Give me a hug. Press your body to mine and experience a non-sexual joy of worth and good feeling. Come closer, don't be afraid, let me hold you in my arms, hold me in yours. Experence joy and exileration in the feel of contact with another human being. The aura spreads, grows and strengthens. Let all become one.
The boy is asleep, deep in contemplation and thought. Yet his emotions surface, he struggles for calm and strains against all else. 'Resist' his mind rings as tears fall from eyes. Awake! 'Never!' Yells the Dragon 'You may not awake for 17 and 3 years from now. Remain in meditation."
The boy withdraws further and further and cloud of grey snoke covers his head, there to remain until 17 and 3 years.
'Give me the gun Billy.'
"Go to Hell Killgrave! You one eyed pig!"
'I've been! And I've seen worse. Hell is for children. You'll have to kill me first, before you kill yourself. And I won't die."
'But I will!"
'Billy No!!!' . . . Bam!
I was helpless to stop him. I couldn't do anything. Why?!
Damn why did he have to die!?

8304.09

The Devaints Live. Thermo, Life-force and Tragan.
All Deviants thrown from society because they were differnt. Thermo, the man with child-like mind and genius I.Q., Institutionalized for peranoia, inferiority complex, and his child-like mind.
Life-force, a fugitive for an accidental murder in self-deffence. He didn't know of his powers, or how to controll them.
Tragan, a street boy, Jewish, black who also happens to be gay. He and his lover John Bishop stuck side by side through anything.
Who else will the Deviants find to add to there ranks? I have ideas coallesing in my mind. A band of Outcast portecting each other though all.

Fly oh, children of the Sun.
Warn the Earth peoples of there Danger
Tell them of the eminance,
Tell them of the horror,
Tell them of the chance,
Tell them of the six-minuet War.
DDK

8304.1Ø

As the markers screamed in agony as I forced them to do my biding. Yet the torcherer knew what he did was wrong and to fast, thus the screams only dug deeper into his mind. Eeeeeeee - eee - e - e eeeeek - eek!
Hoover? Hoover. A vacum cleaner! What do you mean a president? Depresion? Ressesion? Open door policy? Good neibhor policy? No! No! back vampire of knowledge! You'll not test me! No! No! Noooo!
Chained to a desk, for a test.
Help me my fantasy friends.
Tommy Mohawk, the indian with multi-colored punk-rock hair, fashioned in a mohawk. Wearing mirror glasses and a gold cross earing. A compasionate, fun-loving man with a great laugh.
Drake Williams, a tall lanky rich man with jet black hair and a natural white streake in the middle. All pulled back into on 6 inch long pony-tail held by a black bow. He wore black suites and red shirts with all the frills to match his crystal right eye and gold ear ring. A cold-caring man with a sence of laughter and a sharp wit.
Yet these fantasy friends are nothing compared to the real friends like Death Dealer, Mirrorr and Calm Str. Alien.

8304.11

Silence. Solitude. The long, huge, hall way is bleakly lite and the slightest sound echoes, seemingly, forever.
"Hello!" I say lightly.
Hello! hello. HELLO! hello Hi! HELLO! hello! Howdi! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
*The above line is actually in all different fonts. This the best I can do currently to match it.*
The echoes thundered through my head both loud and soft and the chaotic laughter chilled my bones.
Then a dark pall fell over the streaching hall, bringing feelings of ominious and foreboding fear.
Then snaps on a red dim to reveal the streaching halls to filled with the naked and bleeding bodies of crusified friends and acquatences.
The floor was a shallow pool of blood with dried chunks of flesh and bone floating on the waves my footsteps made. The cieling was a mirror of every pain around me. The air, the air was filled with an overpowering stench of sweat, blood and flesh, filled with the ever-echoing moans of friends and aquitences.
My eyes ajusted to the red dim, I walked down the hall, listening to the echos of footsteps, dripping blood, and the moans of agony. I viewed the bodys of friends, teachers, niehbors, realitives, people I never knew but see every day, and listening to the moans, those damn moans.
Then suddenly a hand flops on my shoulder with a deafing cry now ringing through the chamber. Startled I let out a gasp and each still echoed as I turned to the limp hand of a small boy named Ty. He looked pale, gaunt and weak. He, the weakest and sickest looking of all I had seen, had pulled one hand free, at the cost of his life.
Why? why couldn't one of the stronger ones like Death Dealer on the Indian in black pulled free and lived. They were stronger, healthier, .... stronger.
"Why!" I yell into the hall and the rest of the crusified!
Why! why WHY WHY! why Why! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
Just as my ears felt as if they were going to explode and I had been driven to my knees, the laughter faded to be replaced by Ty's voice saying,
"Because!" and then the splosh that followed as he fell face down from his cross into the blood.
I looked up, and dimly saw the end of the hall. I rose to my feet and ran to that end, Let it all be over I thought to myself, let it all be over.
I stopped dead in my trackes. For at the end lay a crusifix, three stakes, and a hammer.
I turned horrified as I heard creaking and spashing to see that from the other end, the crosses were falling into the blood. Right side, then left side, right side, left side, right, left, faster and faster.
The noise, the echo, got louder and louder as it grew closer and closter, losing in on me!
Then darkness, and awarness.
Now I was awake.
If it weren't for the wierd situations in my recent dreams, I'd swear I wasn't dreaming. all if was so real, it was scary.
But why such a dream. Why kill a fat man pushing drugs with a flare - gun? Why crusifix my freinds and myself? Why?

*My dreams have become less vivid but no less odd. I can tell I'm dreaming even if the situations seem relatively normal. Actually the weirder the dream the more vivid it is.*

8304.12

To make someone you like, feel good. I barely know him, I know of him. He asked if I might, I said I would, and I did. He smiled, I smiled, I felt good. and I think he did to.
The Indian in black is, I believe, softer at hart than most people paint him.
Just as Death dealer puts up a field of strength, violence and brutallity, I know him not to be so. He is kind, caring, vauling, appricitive, and he can laugh.
I had a dream, another so real, yet so odd. It seems as if my mind has nothing better to do in sleep than act out moral delimas.
'You can save one, and only one of the two. For in saving one you condeme the other. Now ... Choose!" the Gaurdian waved a hand, and then was shown my delemia.
I had to choose between Death Dealer and the Indian in black. If I save Death Dealer, the Indian in black is doomed to death. If I save the Indian in black, Death Dealer dies.
How? how could I choose?
Each is a life, a human life.
Each artist, gymnast, and dedicated to fighting, weapons and good (in his own way).
One is a friend, close to my hart.
One is a potencial friend.
Each contributes to the world and people around.
Each one is.
I can't decide, my head spins. Each cry out to me to save them.
"I can't choose! Damn it!"
"Then both die. I nust have a life, and you must choose."
One lives, or both die. He must have a life. Then I know what I must do. Which do I cut?
. . . My own gut!

8304.13

To draw a blank when so much has happened.
The tour of the plant de Dungeon of miser - king H'TA. The stone walls the breases and dark.
The swimers hands, so unque and interesting. His greatest tool, and well made. I could stare at the hands of the swimmer for hours. So well made, unliked mine.
Death Dealer is like this also. Very well made hands. His are different though, long, graceful, artful, with signs of use and wear.
The swimmers hands are ... hard to explane. They aren't long or very graceful, but they are well worn, sturdy and firm. His handshake is good and refeshing.
The hand is the most universal instrument we have, with out it, I doubt we would have made it this far.

8304.14

The horrors of it all! World War the Second and Hitler, a vision of hell itself.
The horrors of the Holocaust and the attempt of genoside. Jew! Jude! Juda! Juda! Juda!
One damn lable and millions die. Mass executuions in the most hideous ways, and disacration of the dead.
Mass starvation, mass gasing, firing squads, acid showers, death marchs, beatings and many more horrors, all of the twisted mind of Hitler.
And the dead lie in masses and Hitler takes thous bodies to make soap, food, excessories and other things such as furnicure from flesh.
A nerve shattering and ear piercing scream rings through out the night as the old man awakes in a cold sweat. He pants, and under his breath cures the nightmares and the scum that brought it about. He rembers being left for dead in a pile of bones and rotted flesh. He remembers being rescued and watching other survivors, those who had lived through death and starvation, eat, and have the stomach reject the food and expand untill it exploded.
The rembers this, and dreams this over and over. Then he stares at the series of didgets tattooed onto his arm, curese again and breakes into tears for the dead.

Humanity was unfair to you old man. But worry not, for humanity will not let it happen again. But for certian, you make Damn sure we don't! . . . Rest now.

*This must have been after the visit our history class had from a War Camp survivor. It was one of the most powerful experiences that I can still remember. It really brought home the inhumanity of the acts to met a human that it had actually happened to. If you ever get the chance to talk to someone about the experiences they have had - take it. There is to much to experience, we have to learn from the experiences of others.
Especially the bad experiences.*

8304.15

I'm at the home of Death Dealer, after seeing a movie of death and sadness.
The walls are covered with Death, machedis, bows, arrows, shields, sword, numchucks, guns, and I wonder. Of what I wonder I know not what but I wonder.
Ideas are lost fast. I quite for tonight.

8304.17

Sorry I skiped a night but all fell behind. Death Dealer came over here for the night and long into the day.
Now I find myself hurriedly studying the White haired beast test and again feel unprepaired.
My weekly fantasy/dream reading has been neglected and now will be carried unfortunatly into my reality of the week.
My work-out must now be hurried or skiped with my meditaiton so I may sleep and be prepared and ditch a nasty hanging cold.
Damn, I forgot the supplys needed in the Teacher of Arts class of movement.
All neglected, all hurried, All falling in on me! Help me!

8304.18

The hairy beast struck with little warning and quickly raked his talons through my vuneralble spots.
I screamed and yelled accomplishing little more than a bruze on its monolithic form. Then in my death throws I see the Indian in black standing to the side.
His dark sculpted face betrayed no emotion, was paniced, ready to flee, merely observeing, or something totaly different. Possibley this calm figure is only a marage of my delusioned mind for no one could be so calm and emotionless, could they?
Then the sight was nightmareishly erased as two sharp claws dove deep into my eyes and finally reached my brain. I fight back in blind fury as my brains are scrambled and I hear the white whiged judge mark on points for the beast.
Then all is with-drawn. I lay drained, bleeding, and blind in the middle of the field. And the Gypsy laughs. The sun shines, the air is cool, and the test is over. So he laughs. Tomorrow the student will take over and don the suit of a warrior. The he will prepare as he never has before. But now the Gypsy laughs, and will keep laughing!

8304.19

I'm not strange, you are! So Don't fuck with my reality!
He is a lost man in time. He has been alive since before the French revolution. He, as an underground, participated in the French revolution. A man of Justice with only his resorces and mental abilitys to aid him.
His calling card, a Salamander!
He now lives secluded in his Washington D.C. manision working as a part-time diplomat and C.I.A. contact.
His blonde hair swept back into a pony-tail, held by a black bow, lays limply on his red velvet colonial tuxedos. His powerful forehead reveales the inkling of his abilitys. He can read a total of 700 words a second and/or listen to three conversations with total recall, as if memorizing everything instantly. Both a help and a hinder, for he can read or discuss and know all about any subject, say fighting, but can he aply it?
He knows the corridors under his house 'like the back of his hand' and this is true for the viens and tendons in his hand form a map. Such a genius of peace, can justuse lose? The Salamander trys not to!

The Idiot blew hot wind to no-one!

8304.2Ø

My room screams naked, striped, and exposed.
The paint going up all over the house yells, sanitized, stirle, blank and White.
My body calls to me, atrophy, need, want, movement, stress, excersize and exersion.
Everyting yells, screams, calls, or tells me something, and I don't allways like the message.
I hate to move things, or move to new homes. The ajustment is usally short, but many things are broken, lost, reformed or thrown out. Things change, once they were acustom to there stage.
The white whigged judge pronounced the fight a total lose and a bad attempt. He then slamed the gavel on my fingers and left. The white haired old gentelman walked in and said,
"Now lets try again."
He touched my brow and restored sight and again begain to teach me the working of a battle.
Let the Pshyconauts travel through my mind, let them live my realitys and my fantasies.

8304.21

He ran and ran, but was finally caught. He was striped of everything and nailed to an oval. He screamed in pain but only felt exposed.

She blinded me with science. My eyes were perfect, I observed her anatomy.
Then She said "Theres power in emotion, but science is my field. Thus I blind you with science!"
We drove to her Raven Dark holme to Dye in escasy.
But in my sleep came the scaple form by and of science. The cold steel blade cut deep and skillfully, I awoke not in the pain of escasy but science.
"Just beat it" She said wiping blood from her hands, "Just beat it! It doesn't matter whoes wrong or right, this ain't no truth or dare, so just beat it!"
I stumbled out of the house yelling "It's just a fantasy! Its not the real thing! I've got to get ahold of my emotions!" but sometimes a fatasy is all you need. For I still awoke blind in the bed of a wench practiced in the ways of the night.
I still search for a
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Raven
*drawing of a bird* Dye . . . . . . . . .*stylized RDD*
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Darkholme

*Raven was a fantasy woman that I married. She was a prostitute trying to save her unborn child from her pimp. I protected her and the children she brought into this world.and she respected me for who I was. We never actually slept to together. It was as close to a 'normal' life my mind could get me.*

©1997 December (Date implied by entry date, Date of copyright covers web publication)