Book 5 November 11 1984 to April 24 1985

8501.02 supplimentary
    I procrastinate to much. Here, in full is the letter I gave Marc. *With notes from myself - then. Okay, In the journal my words where in a box separated from the rest. Here, Marc's letter will be indented, my words will be in a box, and go back to the original margin.*

---

    Marc,
        It's hard to difine what this letter is. It is many things all in one. I've been wirting it for a long time. I've felt like this one chef in a short story that had this habit of writing something on a small piece of paper, wading it up and putting it in his apron. Somebody finally asked him what that was about and he said that every time he thinks of something he wanted to tell his wife (deceased), he wrote it down and put it away.
    This letter is everything I can . think of that I wanted to tell you, about you, about me, in the sence of encuragement and a few other things. If you don't want to read this 'sentimental crap' then fold it up, save it, and read it when your sixty or forty.
    Here's your chance to stop.

You had your chance. First here's something I wrote awhile ago (8412.11) after a teacher said something which struck me strange. She rambeled on for a few minutes about all the bad news of the world then threw up her hands and said, "Why Christmas?"       My preply was.
                            The Divine Lesson.
    Have you ever noticed that . catastropy always seems to strike at the wrong moment. A great time of year for bad things to happen is in December, especially in the last part of the month. 'But that's Christmas' you say. Exactly my point.
    Christmas is that time of year when everybody is suposed to be cherful and happy and give everyone gifts. However, this never seems to be the case. For in 1984 in Topeka Alone, I've heard of a city call Bartlesville which maybe driven to bankruptcy because it main company (Phillips petroleum) will die. Also the union is going to court to try and void the teachers contracts and on a personal note one of my friends is moving and other is running from his family. It seems to me that everyday the paper gets thicker with bigger headlines shouting out bad news. People are losing moeny by the fists-full and experiencing tragedies. These people can't be happy. They can't buy prensents for relitives let alone friends or get over how there life is falling apart.
    When I think of all this I get this mental image of god laughing hysterically and Christ with a frown thinking 'when will they learn'. I think that some divine person is purposefully depriving people of money and love on the divine holiday. There is a reason though, a good reason.

    Every year people get into this 'top-this-gift' match or get depressed when they can't buy the gift they want to. We also get this attitude of 'what did you get me?!' Then things start to go wrong in your personal life. People begin to mope as there life goes down the drain. then they raise up there arms and sigh 'Why Christmas?"
    Wake-up people. Christmas is Christ's birthday. On that day we were meant to express love of Christ, freinds and family. I think god (or Christ) is doing this on purpose until we realize what we've been doing wrong. Look at the kinds of tragedy here. they drive people together or apart. This is so we realize what love is, and that money isn't needed to express it.
    Think about it. Let's remove the frown from Christ and ease the laughter of God.

    I changed the essay a little from it original form. Added a few things here and there as supporting facts.
    It still says what I think about Christmas.
    Well, from on kind of Love to another kind. More then just one feeling lies in this.

To a warrior, unlike the rest
May I be wrong when I say the Best
For, 'Perfect rhymes have no reasons'.
Intelligent, clever, bright
He seems right and wise.
Strong, swift and courageous
He wields a sword for all.
He was EVER A teacher,
Student and preacher.
Like a cat, curious, warm
And ferocious, all ways weary.
Knowing of Life, practiced in Death
He taught the weak to be strong.
I know because I was a student
i was weak, stagnet and afraid.
Now I'm strong and confident
Hoping the teachings remain strong.
For this warrior is leaving
But he says he will be back.
I felt LOVE for him
The Love of Friend, Brother, and Father.
His name you ask,
Sufice it to say His is like a Savior
And mine like one fallen from favor.

If you caught that one line in there that you wrote then you know that I've read all your poetry notebook. Very good. I think your ballad and shakesphearen sonnet show great insight. I don't know exactly what to think of your 'Enveloping and Embracing' or your 'Free verse with amphibrac lines and Different line lengths and arrangement' (a wrath like pain ...). I think your 'free verse (1^st)' starts with a lie and goes on to something you taught me to overcome long ago. And for your 'free verse (2^nd) try to remember 'There's no hiding in yesterday because yesterdays gone -. Overall very good, don't let the poet die. Write down everything even if you don't like it. You can always change it later.

    But then there was this,
"To a Boy who wears one black glove ..."
Shit, Marc, for a moment you had me scared shitless. I thought I had grossly underestimated you. For awhile I thought you'd seen all the way through me and left no more then a husk behind. I would have been grateful if you had, and thats why I write this part even though you requested ' ... No Reply NeCESSary ...'.
    The first stanza was great until you tried to name the problem.
- the Dominator! -
    I think you should know that my father is the least of my problems. He can't touch me thus he can't harm me. I have another father anyway. I do apreciate what your trying to tell me though.
    "The glove is an external representation of an internal thing." I've said it before. I said it now. I'll say it again. My fights are also internal, Marc. At least you've won a couple "So each victory is a hidden defeat ..." I have the normal everyday conflicts of everyone else (thank goodness) and one other. The Beast, not the Dominator, is the glove key. Think more, look beyond the surface. If you don't disturb the placid pond you'll catch a fish. Look beyond the surface of everything I say.
    Well, I have only one more thing . to say. It's not in plain english though. This is the parable of a hill and a day.
    They tell me when I was born it was black out, and there were many stars. That's what they tell me. But when I woke up the sun was rising and making my skin feel warm and tickley. I was alone at the bottom of a hill. There was no-one to play with.
    I tryied to stand and I fell down quite a few times. I finally got the hang of it though, one foot infront of the other. Right ... right ... right, pretty soon a slow rythm was made and I was walking up the hill, looking for someone to play with.
    Only a little ways up the hill I found alot of children. They seemed glad to see me, and I got know them well. I finally had someonr to play with. I enjoyed it, so there I sat playing with the people and imagination.
    Every-once-in-a-while a few of the children left and climbed the hill. But for every one that left one climbed up the hill to meet us.
    Then the monsters started to come. They would climb down from the mountain and chase the children. I tried to protect them. I would tuck them away like little jems, then I would run from the monsters for them. The children would laugh . from there safe place and I would try to make it funny by tripping the monsters and making faces when they caught me, and hurt me.
    Then three warriors came up the hill. There names where Richard, David and Gil. They did a very nice thing for me (I think). Richard fought my battles for me, David often helped and he also thought for me. This let me go back to the children and play. Gil tought me something he said was important and he taught me well. Gil taught me to lie.
    But soon these three warriors got tired and continued to climb the hill. I had to go back out and face the monsters again. But something went wrong this time. I was caught by a real ugly monster, and he threw me way up high in the sky. I was scared and the children were laughing.
    I landed up high on the mountain I thought was a hill. It was cold damp and scary up there. I heard monsters behind every rock. I was alone and I wanted someone to play with, like the children. I wanted to go back but I found out you couldn't climb down. It was dangerous and turned you into a monster. All I could do was climb up.
    Then I met Brad and David. They were lost too. But they wanted me to lead them out. They wanted me to . think for them. I met Angela and she helped to lead alittle, but she followed like the rest, until I made a mistake. I didn't want this responsiblity and I cryied and the monsters beat me for it. The monsters also told me about there master, the Beast. As they whiped me and I ran they said the Beast would haunt me, and give me trillions more time this pain.
    In my running I got lost. I couldn't find Brad, David, Angela. I was alone again, but I didn't care. I could hear the beast behind me and I didn't want ayone caught between me and it. I was alone and I would keep running from it.
    One day I was trapped by monsters. I had to fight them but I didn't know how. richard and David fought my battles, I never learned how. I ran from every other, but now I couldn't run. then a face appeared above me and reached out. He said he could pull me to safety, up in the sun again, and not in the shadows.
    I thought he was lieing. Gil told me and I found out that the higher up on the mountain you go the lie becomes the truth. I took his hand though. He wasn't lieing. I was in the sun again and I felt warm.
    He was a warrior, unlike the rest. He'd taken the right paths and forged a few of his own. He taught me to do . the same. He showed me his friends. Brian and Chris. Together they taught me to think, not think for me. They taught me to fight, they didn't fight for me. They taught me to walk instead of run.
    Of them all though, the one that pulled me out was the best. We didn't always agree and he said that was good. Together we climbed the mountain, each of us growing.
    But I always heard the Beast behind me. Sometimes all around me. I felt confident that I could beat it, maybe, but I didn't want anyone else caught in the fight. Espeacially not my firends.
    My friends said they didn't belive in the Beast. If they ever saw it, my friends said, they would kill it. So I never let them know it was following me. So I could kill it alone.
    Our paths separated one day, and it wasn't as bad as it seems. Every-once-in-awhile I could see him striding confidently in the distance. Every time I saw him I was reminded of the teachings.
    Then I sat down on a rock, and I watched the sunset. The sky turned red and it started to get cool. Then I had this feeling, that I would never see that speacil warrior again. The sun went down and it became Dark. I couldn't see any stars and suddenly felt cold and alone. Really kind of empty.
    I closed my eyes and said to myself,

    "I'll miss you, Marc."

8501.02

    Nasty thoughts, bad dreams, blood on my hand, left fist - open right, Darkness, very cold.

    I continue to have illegal thoughts and I got what I deserved. I was taking a bath, legal thoughts and a hard on. After soaking the scab fell off my dick. I inspected it no blood or puss came out. I couldn't find the lump, either it fell out, bleed out, dug deeper, or is lost in what ever causes swelling. I decided to let it rest longer.
    But, I had a hard on. I was determined not to touch or rub. Not good to reopen wounds. I thrust my hips in the water and closed my eyes for more vivid reception of mental images. In the heat of a good feeling I became cold and reasoned away law. I had very . vivid, very illegal thoughts. I touched my dick, I squeezed, I rubed. I bled, I didn't orgasm.
    I dryed off and the bleeding stopped. No scab on top this time.
    I sat and wrote the suplimentary. Then the rest of my day was spent chasing after my father and cleaning up his mistakes. The man can't drive in snow. No patients at all.
    Sleep now.

8501.03

    Jerhimia jesters disasterously.
    A whole house in a room. the good, the bad, the living.
    In a story today I began to try and explain. I drew ancient parralles.
4 parts = 5 in 1 whole. The basics are.

AYRE        | BRET         | CHILD (PAST)                     | HAPPINESS
URTH        | DAMON   | MAN (FUTURE)                  | DETERMINATION
WYTR       | JUDAS      | KEEPER (BALANCE)        | GUILT
-FYRE       |-BEAST     | ANIMAL (PRESENT)         | ANGER-GREED
SOURCE   | ME             |BLACK (THE FULL VOID   | LIFE

    3 faces, 4 parts equals 5 as a whole.
Its late. I'll explain later.
New carpet tommorrow.

8501.04

    No Carpet. The house stays here until Monday. Lifes a Bitch, then you die. Funny isn't it?

8501.06

    A day early on a day late, 12 hour job.
    -We'll be there Friday.-
    -Fine-
    -Carpet isn't here. Postpone 'till Monday -
    -Fine-
    -Hi, Know its only Sunday .... -
    -Fine -
    -Be there in an hour - 8:30am
9:3Ø - Where are they?-
1Ø:3Ø - Here I am -
    -(One Guy?)-
6:ØØ pm - My wife's here to help. -
9:3Ø pm - My boss is here to help. -
1Ø?3Ø pm - Were gone -
    -It's done. Its to late to move furniture and tomorrows a school day!-

    Every one was down here all day long. They broke my bed, spilled pop on my bed, ate on my bed, slept on my bed, aruged in my room (whats left of it).
    'Why's the cat looking at us so strange?' said mother.
    'We're violating his territorry." said Dad
    'Where is Bret?' said Jason
  Sitting on the kitchen table watching the house get stripped. I saw the house naked, but I couldn't hid in my room. I didn't have one, didn't have one, have one.

8501.07

    Furniture up (well at least most of it) and the rabbit got here.
    Rum-Tug-Tugger, Tugger for short.
    I'm going crazy, so I'm going to retreat into what promises to be some strange dreams (if I remember them).
    I can hardly wait to wake-up (sarcasm).

8501.09

    Snow, Snow, Snow, and more Snow. It came down all day leaving inches! It parilizes this city.
    Two ideas have been going through my head (storys that is).
    1. A composer and singer is badly burned but continues his fight to be at the top of the music charts. He knows he can't go on stage with his disfigured face, so he puts on a mask and calls his band Hero. They make it big! Nearly instant success. Physically he can't stand the strain of touring and wishes to reveal himself to the public.
    So he hires a man. Goodlooking, visually creative with similar tastes and voice. They write a new album and film the videos, un-masked. 'Facades' the album by Hero goes double platinum.
    2. Marc is gone, the summer months come. I met a man named Cliff and fall in Love. I began to open up and truely have a loving realtionship. Marc comes back. I fear for my life but soon find . that I can juggle back and forth between Marc and Cliff. Marc never mets Cliff.
    I lure Cliff into an alley way one evening for a little messing around. Two armed thugs come storming out into the alley. We heard "Witness! Waste 'em!" Cliff turns around and a shotgun fires twice.
    I lay unconscious with Cliff dead on top of me.
    Marc cann't understand why I'm become so depressed and I cann't tell him we were lovers because I needed his friendship to help me through. We have an arguement over my attitude and I leave.
    Waiting are the two armed thugs angry because I'm alive. A tough white man and a large bald black man. They knock Marc unconscious and then me.
    I wake up bound on a boat. The men hint that Marc is dead. I swear that I'm going to kill them. They start calling me fag and waving there dicks in front of me. I try to fight, kicking the Blackmans's balls. I only get severly beaten.
    That night I untie myself and find a flare gun. I wait.
    The next morning the white man comes down in a robe and says 'I'm going to fuck you raw, . faggot. What you got to say to that?"
    "Burn in Hell." is my reply. He chuckels and I pull out the flare and fire. Theres a bright light and the smell of sulpher as it hits him in the stomache. There is a loud scream and the smell of burning flesh as he falls against the wall and his robe catches fire and he dies.
    The balck man runs down and I hold the hot barrel against his face and <get> by him. I reach the top stairs and I hear him behind me I grab a shot gun and point it and fire. It's not loaded. I hit him with it and we grappel. He pokes his thumb through my right eye and tears it out. I palm his nose in pain and as he bleeds on the floor I break his trachea and watch him soffocate.
    I go to trail for 1^st degree murder and get off with a 1 years probation because of the surcomestances. (I pleaded with responsiblity not self-deffence or temporary insanity).
    From there I've yet to finish.

    TIME TICKS TEN TILL TEN goodnight.

*Is this where this began? The image of the man I shot with the flare gun has been a very powerful image in my head for a very long time. I can even smell it. I consider it a very grizzly way to die, and the image bothers me every time it plays through my head. It will probably appear again. I find it odd that if this is where it first began it's connected to feelings of secret love, loss by death  and discrimination with violence.*

8501.1Ø

    Today was okay, very cold but okay. No real thought today. My mind has been moving real slow lately. I can't wait for school.

8501.12

    This is New. I'm not sure if I like it yet or not. I will have to live with it. The walls are bare besides the holes and nails. It's all so white here, my black all stands out. (Good? Bad?)
    I have so much junk, so little space. I'll have to resort and disgaurd more things. All around, in and out.

8501.13

    I am ill, David is uncoordinated (for a guy into athletics and martial arts) his brother is destructive and by brother is sadistic (or is it masochistic - he's into watching me squirm). The world seems mad, but then again, I'm not feeling well.
    Which is what, what is which.
    How is why, why is how.
    Or is it?
        Why are you Death?
        Which is my illness?
        How do I live?
        What light are you?
        Or which dark are you?
        Why me?
        Answer me you fool? Why!

8501.14 suplimentary

   Strange dream last night, the Cinimatography was great.
    I (though it dosen't look anything like me) forget I. Told from many points of view.
    A tall dark skinned young man is sitting at a table. He is wearing a white suit and fondeling a big bosomed young woman (also very dark skined (brown like an indian) and wearing white). He owns the restorant which is full of action.
    In one back corner sits a regular customer. He looks like Mel Gibson in the road warroir. He wears all black. He unwraps a caremel and bites it in half. He waves to the waiter and gives him the half caremel. The waiter then takes the caremel to the owner.
    "Ha-Ha!" he says as he looks to the man in black who gets up and starts to walk toward them. "He can sit at my table anytime as long as he remains handsome." He eats the caramel and the man in black walks past without a word and leaves the restorante.
    The man in black in the parking lot with the sun behind him. It is early morning. He is loading large heavy black boxes into his large custom black truck. 4 wheel drive tinted windshields and bright reflective chrome.

    The restornate owner walks up behind him with the woman. He slaps the man in black on the ass, smiles and says hello. His reply is,
    "Watch Out!" he turns and tackels both the man and woman. When they land it is on sand not concrete. The truck is gone as is every other familar thing.
    The woman rises her head to see a vast dessert with rolling hills and a pack of 1Ø men on brown horses riding toward them fireing lazers and swinging spears.
    The man in black moves to action quickly. His entire coustume has changed. He is still entirely in black but now the shirt is overly large and open to just below his sturnum. He has on riding boots tight black pants and a belt which is a holster with a large black hand lazer. He also wears a large flowing black cape. He leaps onto a running black horse and yells
    "Fight!"
    "How?" yells the man in white as he holds the woman close to him as if protecting her. As the horse men come closer we realzied they all have chalk white faces and many wear clown, harliquin, and mime make-up in very simple designs.

    A lazer suddenly appears in the man in whites hand. (Funny thing about these lazers a diamond shaped w light appears at the barrel and there is no sound until the beam which you can't see hits its target. then the results are funny) The white man begins to shoot. The horse men fall in slow motion and continue to move in slow motion facing the West. All are down but one small bald man with red lips and blue eyes wrinkeled with age still had his gun and fired in slow motion.
    "No!" yelled the black man. "dissarm him. They are the legion of death. They can't die until sunset."
    Soon the trio are in a dingy puple room with only two births and a few shelves(?). It's the man in blacks home. He tells the two to get comfortable and leaves.
    The man and woman decide to get very coszy and undress and begin to make love on the top birth. Then they are interupted, by the little old joker and a very large man only with a white face. They seem to be searching the room. The little man carries a spear the big man a shield. The woman gasps and they turn toward them.
    The two poke around the bed and the couple always move just out of range and discover that they . can probibly hear them and touch them but can't see them. The man puts the woman behind him and presses up against the wall. It feels like he can feel the wall he's pressing against. Soon though they the white faced men leave.
    The couple climb down off the bed and are startled by a pounchy white mummy which runs into the room and into the closet then out the other side wearing a purple and gold robe with red flourishes and black pants. Then around again he runs into the closet and back out now wearing black shoes and rings on his fingers. Then again comeing out now with flesh and a squinty eyed face.
    He stops bows to the couple and smiles.
    "Pardon my rudeness. Welcome to the after life."
    "After life?" asked the naked woman.
    "Yes. Your guide here was death. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Belzebub. Chief exsecutive here in Hell."
    The man in black comes back in hands the fat man some papers and says.
    "Here's the paper work, boss. Hi guys. Sorry about that but you fought the wrong guys. Those clowns where life. Now its to late. Enjoy yourselfs."

© 2000 April (Date implied by entry date, Date of copyright covers web publication)