Book 5 November 11 1984 to April 24 1985
Hello. This is the Rosetta stone. My name is Bret McDougal
Turner by birth. As soon as circumstances will allow it will be Damon
D'artagnon Killgrave.
Preceeding this are three blue surreal journals, one orange storybook
journal in a surreal mythical setting, and preceeding them are a comp. I High school
journal (written in the tradition of the blues) and a green records book (written in the
tradition of this one).
I first wanted a journal because I saw my mother writing in one. I was
very young. She gave me one for Christmas but I couldn't get the hang of writing down
thoughts. Then in High school Mr. Goheen assigned keeping a journal. I had complex
thoughts then to express. But I didn't want anybody else to know them. So I wrote them in
a style of surrealism. I subsituted abstract concepts in place of my concrete feelings. I
used Allegory and symbols, riddles and puns to mask everything from the teacher, I didn't
want thim to know.
I liked writing that way. It gave me away to express myself and not be
left open. It took me some time before I started again on my own. It was a . challenge as well as a release.
First I let some of my friends read it, but then I realized I was
writing to an audience and not to myself. So then they became secrete.
The storybook journal, directly preceeding this one, was a little
experiment for cohearance in a storyline. After all life is a storyline. I haven't gone
back and read it all yet, I may not for a long time. Those were some dark times and I'm
still in them sometimes. I don't need reminders, yet.
I've been tinking about this journal for awhile. I've always wanted to
write exactly what I mean. But I also fear it because, should somebody read this, I think
it could be my downfall.
I figure one day, I hope, when I'm dead, that somebody will read these
journals. I'd like to have my friends read them because then they could really know me,
the way I thought and felt. In the mean time this is for me.
For those that are observant there are two days missing between the
last journal and this one. I was out of town having the warmest feeling I've . had in along time. Shadowed with very little
guilt.
Soul Searcher or Soul Stripper, witch are you.
Brad Bronkow is a good freind from Middle School, Jardine. I haven't
really seen him in four years (only once or twice for a couple of hours or so). The main
reason for this is because he moved to Hiawatha, about a hundred miles from here in
Topeka. A couple of weekends ago, Davind Stous and I went down to see him. We only got to
stay a couple of hours though.
We planned to go down again last weekend but David's parents wouldn't
let him go (They don't like me). Since I might not get the chance again for awhile, I went
down alone to spent thenight as planed.
I got there at about 1 o'clock (pm) and we talked until apoximately 4
o'clock 9am) before finally falling asleep. We woke physically about noon, and were moving
around by 2 o'clock (pm again). We talk from then until 5 o'clock when I left and he had
to go to work.
We talked about everything! Religion, food, philosphy, and every aspect
of sex we could think . of (those are only
the highlites).
All that talking felt great! Even better though was the controll I had
mentally.
There stood the Black Beast and I struck him down, but he still
stirs.
Brad is a witch by religion (sorry about the pun), and I don't mean the
kind that fly on brooms. He hates that missconception and I can understand. For that, and
the fact that he is open minded, secure, and used to living alone now, he walked about
nude in the evening when we were ready for bed and most of the morning.
I did the same because I sleep nude and enjoyed the freedom for a
change. The thoughts I don't like crept up every once in a while but I kept in controll.
The freedom of the night, the vunerablity, and the simple conversation. It made me feel
great.
I have to go. It's late, I have class tomorrow and a lot ot do. I
seem to need a lot of sleep nowadays.
I'll be back, count on it.
The void surrounded me, enveloped me and said, EMOCLEW OT EHT DNAL FO DETSIWT SGNOS.
On my way back from Hiawatha I nearly feel asleep so I turned on the
radio. Music has always been important to me. Epseacily the lyrics.
Simon and Garfunkel's Sound of Silence came on and I turned it up. It's
one of my favorites.
Often I'll tape music and then write down the lyrics. I've used them
alot. It always seems that when I'm writing and there's music a phrase, artist or title
will slip into the work because it fills a gap of words in my mind. Often the context is
different, sometimes the same, but its meaningful in my writings.
Then I read my fantasys and let them take over my mind.
Comicbooks, though it sounds ridiculous for someone my age, are also
very important. Comicbooks aren't for kids anymore. Real writers are at the helm and turn
out some great literature. I hope to be able to write and illustrate comicbooks as a
career (but first I need to learn how to spell). I buy once a week and read them all
weekend. Never on . week days. I have a rule
of separtating reality from fantasy. Thus the week is for school and jobs while the
weekend is mine.
Both of these two mediums make me think extensivly. Often more than
school work does.
The room of locks is inescapible and my consistant fear. I dread it for its darkness and forbiden knowledge.
Locker-rooms. I used to hate gym class. First because I hated sports
(I still do). Second, because of what I am, the guilt can get pretty bad. I don't like the
though of being a wolf in sheeps clothing. But I have seen sights to make my heart go
flitter.
Sports aren't so bad anymore. I got tired of being a whip when I was a
freshman in high school. When I was a sophomore I met a freshman who taught me not to be.
Marc Tolbert. I owe him my life. I enjoy being acive. Marc trains me peiodicly in Martial
Arts. I've always wanted to be "Gymnastic" since I read Spider-man and watched
the olympics. Marc and Brian (Cowen) were gymast and now I go regularly for leasons at
Capital City Gymnastics. I try to run alot also.
I still don't like sports because of competition. I'm secure in my
ablities and know where I stand. I don't need to prove myself on a competitive field.
Marc, Brian and my coaches don't really understand that but they teach me anyway.
Damn, sleep time again. Tomorrows wensday, a big day. I need sleep.
I'll keep talking untill I'm caught up. Then I'll be used to this and
get to some nitty-gritty.
So many under the dessert moon. Soul Searcher, Death Dealer, Angel. The light shone down on them with the glory of heaven.
I've already told you about Brad and my weekend. Last night while
writing here Angel called. Angela Seabach is a short, pleasingly plumb lady with the spunk
of a hellion! She is so much fun and so caring. I really believe she deserved better than
me as a friend. As I've heard she's getting it too, and that makes me happy. We didn't get
to talk much but she is thinking of comeing down for christmas or new years.
My day wasn't magnificent but .
had its moments.
After classes I went over to Tonys' (Pony-boy). He was in a motor cycle
accident and is winding up a two week stay at home after getting out of the hospital. He
has a pin in his leg and home work comeing out his ears.
Afterwards I went over to Marc's (Death Dealer / Cat). I haven't seen
him in a long time. We talked for a while and spared until I could no longer stand.
There's alot I'd like to explain, but can't now. Some where in
conversation here I will explain the reason's and evolution of all these names. But for
now I'm so tired from running around, sparring and gymnastics that my muscels are shaking.
Goodnight folks.
Not much to talk about today except my ussual lonelyness. So I
figure I'll Rosetta stone a little and explain.
I always thought it was amazing how concrete symbolism . came out of everyday life. I first came up with
nicknames for everybody because I didn't want people to know they were reading about
themselves. I came up with names I thought described them, and sounded well within the
contexts I would speak of them. A couple of them evoled into other things and became quite
alive on there own. Some of the names I gave to abstract ideas and emotions also became
quite alive. I guess because I felt them so strongly.
Death Dealer and Theseus can't be separated. they are strong and
powerful Kings and above all friends.
Death Dealer is Marc Tolbert and more (I'll explain later). Theseus is
Brian Cowen. At first I called Brian names such as "Little-Big man"
"Biggest man I know" and such. These were puns which never fit. Brian is short
(some where between 4'7" and 4'11" or so. I'm bad at judging hieght) however he
is also built like a sherman tank. What I tired to say was that his size was of no
difference, he was a great man (sometimes childish, but a great man in all repsects).
One day in mythology class it hit me that Theseus was a perfect
name. Theseus was a relatively short hero, who had great stature because of his wresteling
and gymnastic skills (which were Brians events in school). That's the way the name
strated, it evolved with Brian. *I don't know if I'll mention it
later - but it also evolved with my misspelling of the name and a pun against the word
'thesis' - the idea or theme of a paper.*
Death Dealer came about because of Marc's fasenation with oriental
fighting arts and weapons. It seemed to fitt more and more the more I knew Marc. Marc has
this little tendacy to strike at my heart without knowing it, with the calmness of dealing
cards. His name evolved so much on its own when I used that name I was hardly talking
about him anymore, yet I was. I started to use Cat. It was his own nick-name. He signed
things by it and felt he deserved it, and he did. The cat he choose specificly was a lion.
It fit into my writings so well, almost like I planned it.
Brian and Marc are inseperable (except for once. An episode I felt very
bad about and felt I could do nothing about).
Just so theres *should be these* names became inseperable. Both are very religious (I'm Agnostic,
something they can't stand) and very hung up on .
disipline and routine (order). Thus Death Dealer became repressinitive of Jesus Christ and
Theseus of Order (like he was a symbol of in A.P. English). So in useing these names I
refered to both an action in the real word ?world? and the
ideas they represent. I selected my details to fit into both worlds.
I begin to wonder if my thinking in this maner made me act towards them
as abstract ideas? Marc and Brian were always close, friends long before I met them. But I
was always closer to Marc and slightly resentful, while I never was as close to Brian.
That's a scary thought. I don't like it espeacily since now that we're
at different schools (I'm in college they're seniors at
Topeka West) and I don't get to see them much. I really miss seeing them and doing the
things we did. (Shit. I have the radio playing. Here I am talking about this and on comes
Deep Purples' new song 'Perfect Strangers')
I can't talk any more. Damn left glove is becoming stained with the blood of innocents again.
I haven't written because nothings happened. Nothing has still
happened. Nothing ever seems to happen.
Not only that but everytime I sit down to write, it seems that I
finally think myself into a depression. Yet, I can't stop writing, I have the urge. The
last couple of days I've been writing trying to prove that the Fool and Edgar as the
madman acted as King Lears conscience. Not difficult, but a challenge.
I have philosophy tomorrow then Thanksgiving vacation begins. I hate
that holiday. Give thanks for nothing then eat yourself to oblivion. Doesn't make any
sence. Tomorrow I also have to turn in said essay, check my math score and perhaps talk to
Mr. Novone (my present art teacher) about my fluctuating grade.
I still have homework coming out my ears.
You read this and think 'he seems real bussy to me. how can he say
nothings happening.' Easy - Nothing has happened. Freinds and pleasurable
activities which spark feelings, thought and .
emotions is something happening. I've been wasting away here alone like a computer
unpluged.
Marc, sometimes Brian, Brad last weekend, and David just a little rarer
than Brian are the ones that (Shit! Really sorry. Chris Brown
Grey-Wolf (Brown-Wolf) can always make me think and feel.) can make me live.
Marc, Brian, David all go to different schools, Brad is in another town
and Chris Grey-wolf (previously Chris Brown) is in the Army soon to be married.
They all told me not to fear going off because we would always be
close. Hell, Marc is moving to Ponapay before Christmas (Ponapay - some obscure 8 x 8 mile island somewhere between Hawaii and the
Philipines!). Here's an example of life tossing me symbolisms. My 'Christ' figure is
leaving me before his 'birthday'.
I was thinking the other day in the shower though. My father (the Dominator)
got a job in town now and will be living at home again. Thinking about that I realized I
probibly think of Marc as a god because he is my father .
figure. Marc always told me I couldn't hate my father (no one can he said) and he's right.
But Marc is my 'father'.
I don't really hate my father. He's a nice guy. But he's narrow minded,
obstinate, and grumpy and we clash on most view points. Thing is he raised a whimp that
won't speak out against him thus he probibly doesn't even know I dislike him. Marc though,
he taught me every-thing I missed. I really do owe him my life.
Time tickes ten till ten (someday I'll figure out exactly where I
want that said in a poem)
Anyway tis oft to bed I need go. For if not asleep I'll be prenst at
Fairy time.
People are amazed when I talk like that, let alone write like it.
But who cares? Everything I say is a riddle to myself.
Figure them out and I'll give you $1Ø. Only fair Judas return the
money gotten from betrayal.
Marc was just here. I really enjoyed having him here. This is the
first time I've seen him where I was here and he came by to see me (one other time he came
by, I was in Hiawatha). I went over to see him once or twice, he didn't really have the
time and usally wasn't in good humor.
This was the first time I really noticed the change. Chris Falk was
talking to me once were he told me Marc had changed. I could 'explain' these changes but
hadn't noticed them until tonight.
He seems less religious, less disipline oriented, more
"hell-raiser" matterial. He was planning fights, swore and talked about things
he usally doesn't talk about. He seemed awful cocky.
Did you ever see someone or something, and know positivily that is that
someone or something yet they don't feel like that someone or something? It just feels
wrong?
That's the way it felt, now that I think about. When he was here I was
overjoyed to see him.
It's late. Turkey day tommorrow (Dad, dad's relatives and more 'fun'
times). Saw Amadeus today. Exellent movie.
How supperficial our lives are that we needs lie.
8411.22 Thanksgiving
As we drove down I watched the telephone lines dip down and rise up
against the blue sky. I'd turn around and Jason (my bother) and Grandma Turner were
asleep. Uncle Dick and Mom talked, I listened every now and
then. Olathe is a long drive but Jake and Grandma whent out like lights!
I was kind of day dreaming about a 'perfect' lover, an how Marc would
try to run over me in his car if he found out. No matter how many times I go through it in
my head it always turns out wrong. I lose more, much more then I gain. Could be I'm bias,
but I can't tell anyone else and get there opinion!
Olathe was okay. Aunt Betty is a great cook but I'm a picky eater and
there wasn't much I'd eat. Turkey, mashed patatoes, rolls, water. Watching Ben and the
twins, Phil and Greg, run around was fun. I always wanted kids, but the odds are stacked
against me presently.
I fell asleep on the way home trying to remember
the name I'd given my dream lover. Now I remember!
I'd love to open up in here like I did in the last ones, but I can't
overcome my little insecurity of somebody reading this. And my dieing.
Feels like saturday.
Ever been Damned by a Dream?
I have, all the time. It's these dreams that divided me, disected me,
made me unwhole. They show me who I am, who I was, what I could be, what I never will be.
The land of Shattered or Broken Dreams. It's a dark and nasty place of foul images.
Bret McDougal Turner, whimp! A poor dreamer lost in
imposiblities. He scarcely knows what life is, and is quite afraid of finding out. His
world is so kind, gentle and niaeve'*naive*. And so unreal.
Damon D'artagnon Killgrave! A man of power and action. He sets a goal
and achieves. He will marry and have strong children. He knows martial arts, gymnastics
and is a fine artist and writer. He knows music and culture. He is a Man. He is Bret's
Dream.
Judas Brutus Jupiter Scarriot (J. B.J. Scarriot). Someone of profound
nature, and incredible power for pain. He is master and instrument. He is priest, prophet,
popper, ... traitor. He wears a black leather glove and carries of purse of 3Ø gold
pieces. He will betray one man with a kiss, in the name of Love. He is Bret's Nightmare. *something erased - can't tell if it's Best or Beast*
Child, Man, Beast. All of this and more.
I had a Dream last night. I became angry. Lack of fullifuled dreams. I
hit my father in an arguement, I left needing a freind. I needed to know the boundrys of
reality. I had to know I had freinds and that somewhere I could get a hug and let the
tears lose. I had to know I was alright.
Marc wasn't home. Brian wasn't home. David wasn't home. A Lover was. He
gave me a hug and told me things were okay, and in my dream I could cry. I lay there in a
Lovers arms revealing in the fact that someone would touch me, just touch me. Nothing
sexual, just care.
Then Marc was home, Brian was home, David was home. They saw be laying
in tears. Cuddeled like a child in the arms of a Lover. They were furious. They felt sick.
Judas kneeled before freinds and begged forgiveness. I was instead spit upon, kicked,
beaten and nearly run over.
They weren't there, yet one fictional man was. And my world ended.
Marc usally isn't home, either is Brian or David. I have no Lover. Thus
a man is Damned . by a Dream, for the real
world goes on.
I've heard that often Homosexuals aren't really gay. That often they
are trying to get even with there fathers. I don't get along with my father. I really have
something in for him, I can't stand to be around him. I hate it when he touches me. I
don't want to be a gay to be hateful to my father. I have another father. I love him like
a freind. I have some friends. I want them to be my friends. To hurt my father is also to
hurt my friends. I know I'm not in this group then. But were do these feelings
come from!?
Existensialist believe that man is responsible for everything he does.
He is responsible for what he is, what he is to be and become. I know I can't blame God,
man or freinds for what I feel. I did not create these feelings, even so I should be able
to remove them, like a sist or cancer. But I can't. I can't believe the existentialist.
Existentialist believe we are alone. I feel so fucking alone I could
die. I feel like crying, but who would be there to dry them. Some say men can't cry. I say
they won't. Even wehn they want to. I want to cry. But I can't , because . I wouldn't for so long. I don't know why. I've
never been afraid to cry. Then for awhile I had no need to cry. Now I do and I can't raise
them.
Snivelization has raised a people of the Lie.
How supperfial our lives are that we need to lie, or at least not tell the truth.
The good thing about life is it doesn't happen all at once. Hell, it
doesn't happen at all. You sit around hoping it comes to you and it doesn't. Get up and go
after it and it runs away from you. You can't win.
Then again. To every rule there is an exception.
Storys run through my head constantly. Some start in dreams, some from
real life others are situations I want to encounter but haven't. All are real to me,
almost as if they actually happened. My human Relations teacher (Teacher of Life) Ed Peden
said that these storys may be what put me up high on a moral scale. I don't if its true
but I do tend to have empathy with people. I'm going to start writing down these . storys. All of them. Real to fantasy.
School starts again tomorrow. Hope I have the time.
© 2000 March (Date implied by entry date, Date of copyright covers web publication)
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