Book 6 April 25 1985 to June 29 1986

8601.27

    What a way to start a Monday, ripped off Escape and found farce.
    "Get lost." said the man in the hall and I realized I was. My mind was gone and I was swimming in a sees pool of thought. I came home and began a colage to show a man of energy pulling a mecanical rabbit out of an atomic hat. Then came the cold and the boredom of the Ice King.
"Boredom" he said. He paused a moment then screamed and said he was going crazy. So we left and I drove as he rode.
    We past the lake of his home, hit the Lawerence rode and went past. I took a turn to the east and then north on Croco. Kicking up dust as the sun slowly hit the horizon. Depoche Mode had stopped and Gaberile begun. I made a few turns, hit a few dead ends, began heading into the setting sun. Soon we found ourselves on what I think is (B)Rice road by the Airport. I turned on straight and followed the croaked path out past Southpaw's home A few more turns and I was surprized. I found Chester for a moment, the little man was counting 14, 15 on the porch of his green house which sat in the middle of a desert. I drove on by, why not. He left me once, why can't I leave him.
    Soon we hit the edge of town walled in by the river lined by the rail road. Soon enough we hit Potween and took the Drive and rode the Outer Circle. The southward . curve ended and west we went again. Hit the horror of my 6^th grade year and drove by the Dinosaur eating golfballs.
    Finally came a lake as we rode through Robin Hood country. We found the winding roads of Sherwood fun and Dave perked up a bit went we whit Notenham rode and put Gabreil to bed and set Howard Jones to singing. Heading South on a dirt road finally we shot to 63 and turned east once again. Traveled around and turned at Washburn Rual. Tried 53 but it was dead came around and tried another made of dirt. Finally we hit Gage went North a short time then turned again. East to a broken sign which then became the Bolavard or Washburn but I turned up East again and found the spot where the Emporer shot me off, the edge of my sanity and I ran and did so again. Past the drive in to the highway, north then east and through a tricky latuce to East-bourgh, where Shawn Corcoran works. The Ice King never knew of the Amazon. Finally we head back, west on 6 then 8 finally 1Ø south on Adams turning early then to the bank on California then 29th to Vista. Duran Duran played awhile then we stoped. We ate, 7Ø.4 miles, 5 o'clock to 7.
    To my house for games. "Your boring me" said Death Dealer, so we hung up. Now He's with Tracy and I'm alone, normal again.

8601.28

    Incredible!     I was walking past the Union and it was silent so i viewed the TV and saw smoke. "Big deal" I thought. Went to find Dave, Couldn't, so I went home to eat.
Radio, news, news, news, news. Why can't I find a station without it.
    "The space shuttle appearently exploded ..."
Are they dead I thought. They wouldn't say, kept reffering in the past tense but haven't said dead yet.
    We've never had a death in space or because of the space program.
 McAuliffe, teacher in space. Resnik woman astronaut. Onizuka 2^nd flight. Jarvis payload speacilizt. McNair astronaut.        break         NASA        7 people -|
Debree continues to fall                 |
Smith, pilot. I seemed to have  <--|
missed two.
    Still I haven't heard the word dead. I have heard "it doesn't seem that anyone could survive."
    I've yet to see full footage of the explosion.
No ejector seats, lined with explosives, nothing seemed wrong, no explanation.
What happened, What.
    More later.
-------- 1Ø min later
    finally saw the film, they're dead. It was a large explosion which ignited the fuel tank of which they rode. Fire and small debree.
    One astronaut died on the launch pad before, first deaths in the air, now space?

*This is still a heart wrenching thing to read for me. It was a huge set back in our space program - something that I still dream about and want to see succeed.
The Astronauts that died where: Commander was Francis R. (Dick) Scobee; Pilot Michael J. Smith; Specialist Judith A. Resnik; Specialist Ronald E. McNair; Specialist Ellison S. Onizuka; Payload specialist Gregory B. Jarvis; and Sharon Christa McAuliffe, the first teacher to fly in space*

8601.3Ø

    I have some serious pain coming out of my ass. It's the same thing I've had before acting up again. It hurts.
    Besides that I'm depressed again. I don't think I can live to 21 with my sanity.
    "Do you like your glove?"
    "Absolutly not."
    "Not?"
    "Exactly. It's a pain and an inhibitor. Not only that its a thief."
    "A Thief, what does it steal?"
    "It has stolen my ability to cry and I'll never get that back. It steals from my emotions, siphons my sence of touch."
    Don't be a fool. I stole nothing. I have only what you gave me.
    "Why are you depressed."
    "Life, rational thought, Howard Jones, Peter Gaberil, Depoche Mode."
    "No Smiths?"
    "I'm not suicidal, yet."
    Can I make it, Can I make it, only 17 months to go. Can I make it, can I make it, only my sanity can go. Can I make it, Can I make it, tick tick, tick, tick. 

8601.31

    End of the month. Theroy, hypothesis.
    I've made myself a martyr, I feel guilty and alone because I want to. I'm not facing up to what I am or anything else, I can't cope thus I hide everything behind a symbol or mask or lie. I like feeling guilt and pain, I want to suffer. I want to . suffer as payment of my "crime" I bear it like a cross. I mean it all but I do it for attention. I'm hoping to be redemed.
    Conflict, this is impossible. You can't be redemed by suffering, pain, guilt, grieve or any other bebilitatig emotion. You are redemed by over coming the emotions you are left with. By overcoming guilt and pain you are redemed. There is no longer a cross to bear.
    Thus you don't carry a cross to be redemed. You carry a cross as punish-ment. You are redemed when you relieve yourself of the cross. No one can help you.
    Solution, stop feeling guilty. I have done nothing wrong. Feel guilty after the act and then deal with it, don't let it rule your life.
    Complications. First and foremost. "Easier said then done." very true. Plus, I have worked myself into a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation with several angles.
    All these years I have labored under the impression my friends will hate me for being a homo. Should they find out, by any means, and they "understand" or don't care, I'm going to kick myself to death for being ignorant and denying myself happiness all these years. *and that pretty much did happen*

    Should they react the way I thought they would I'll still be miserable for having no friends.
        (beaut so far ain't she?)
    I also still for see the possibilitys of "going straight". Should I "come out of the closet" only to find it isn't right and now thourghly repulsed by men and aroused by women, I'll be upset for not having set myself straight sooner.
    Here's an ugly possiblity. I find I don't like men and still hate women. Thus doomed to be alone not wishing to stoop to beastiality or mess with the law for children.
    This would have been alot easier if socity would have let me experiment. Peer pressure only seems to hit me in one area. Here.
    Damn it all.
    Life is to complicated, but here I go back to bearing a cross. I've been slipping alittle. I've been droping big time hints to Shawn Corcoran the Amazon, my only "known homo-sexual" friend. I both like and dislike him a great deal. It amazes me how nice a person he can be and also fall so bluntly into fairy stereo types.
    His major is interior design, he likes bright pastels like pink, fusha ect. He dresses like a cross between Cindy Lauper and a fashion modle. When he walks he often waves his .  hips and holds his wrist stereo-typically limp. He watches the late night soap-opera dramas and takes his "bitch-lessons." He's as vaine as his mirror will alow and even admits to being self-centered and all important. He gives the old "helpless me" routine and how he hates "butch" men but is as strong as a mother-fuck and will beat the shit out of someone if they mess with his hair or clothes. (I for instance put a piece of tape on his sweater and promtly recieved a punch in the shoulder, a crushed hand and a swift kick with orders to remove the tape before he continued).
    After this he's hard to explain. I respect him though. He also is a virgin and is looking for a lasting relationship. Although he quoted to me today "I need a man of seven inches or better." And also, though a virgin he's not inexperienced ("I've to, shall we say, Heavy-Petting" wiggle of eyebrows and wicked smile).
    Let me revise something I said earilyer. he dresses like a cross between Cindy Lauper, Billy Idol, Micheal Jackson and a fashion model.
    Today we both comented how God had better forgive us for our future sins because we've already been through hell and he can't send us back. We'll kill him first, or fight our way out of hell like we did here. (Well, I'm on my way).
   Speaking of hell, I think I finally .  have a good start on the poem of Judas with the phrase, TIME TICKS TEN TILL TEN AT THE TOWER OF TWELVE TEARS.
    I don't have it here, so let me work on it some more before I put it in here. I have to symbol of glass and broken glass in it but I want more in it. It's much to short for its purposes now. I don't want an epic but something close. More religious symbolism for Judas, more focus on the hell he felt. More phycological focus degenerating into his suicide. (How did Judas commit suicide?) I still want that feeling of contemp for an honorable man.
    The weather is phenominal and its taking its price. It was 5Ø° today and felt like summer. But nearly everyone is ill. Mom doesn't feel well and I have a sore throat. Marc is missing school with a fever and his mother doesn't feel well either. Shawn O'Brien does appear well, he's been sick the last two weeks or so and today I was told he went to the Doctor and had a blood count. It's supposed to be like 5 thousand and he only had a count of 1 thousand. Shawn Corcoran wasn't feeling well this morning (he was raving about for a Panadol). And to top it off Topeka West is having an "epidemic" of measels (which maybe what Marc has, possibley Jodi from what I hear). Quite a lot, eh?
    Nearly 9 o'clock, started at 7:2Øish. goodnight.

8602.02

    Month down, 17 to go. I'll die first. The fog was out today and Shawn (O) looked better in his new Z 280. Late into the night I played chess with the Ice King. Better games but I still lost.
    The King can't stand to have silence. My throat being sore I offered no conversation. Silence he can't have nor can he have noise. I must be perfectly balanced sound in music for he would adjust the stereo for every individual song.
    The fog wore off and it began to rain. I saw a rabbit run and a possum cross the road. I spilled water on my cat, and my bed. Guess I was to be babtized again this night, but to what?
Confusion, Lust, will power.
    I nearly became ill in the clouds of body gas, and blind in the fog. I drove nowhere, I wasn't in controll of my destination. Depression is here, but to stay or not.
    I cleaned out my mouth but the germs still grow and my throat to swell. I've drugs in my system and now sleep to my head.
    Goodnight cruel world. Why can't I figure the punch line of the joke or the last piece of the puzzle?

8602.03

    And something in me said run, go away. So in the silence of just laying there I siezed my coat and put it on.
    "Are you cold?"
    "No, I think I'm leaving now."
    "Why?"
    "I can't think. I can't relax." I stood up
    "Why can't you think or relax?"
    "I don't know."
    "Hope its not something I did." said the Ice King.
    "No. It's all my fault." I began to leave.
    "Tha'ts not the wa to think of things."
    "I know." and I left. There was a little more about call later and I never did. I left for no reason.
    We played tow games of Chess and rolled over on our backs. I talked about color, he talked about girls. We began to try and "psychoanalyse" why he just "loses interest" in women. then I felt. As I was driving away I convinced myself it was because I could imagine his hand on me, and it felt good. But that was a lie. There was nothing in my mind. It was blank simply waiting for the next sound.
    Maybe I left because his hand wasn't on me. Maybe I felt I was to close. Maybe I felt threatened. Maybe there was no reason. Perhaps I just left with none of the nice reason why that I always like to have. And still want.

8602.08

    I've been in a real bad mood lately. the last three days I've been wearing two gloves.
    yesterday I came out of class and finished putting on my gloves. I began to cut across the patches of grass that make up the campus heading for the parking lot. I saw Marc walking with a David Deminges (I don't know him other then he went to West and is in my history class now). I ignored them. Marc saw me and more to me then David said,
    "Look at the wierdo in the leather coat and boots."
    I kept walking, even went right in front of them. Marc called my name and I flipped him off with both hands, never turning around, never stopping. I half expected him to run after me and I knew that if he touched me in anyway I would have taken a swing at him for no other reason then I was in a bad mood. But I knew I wouldn't have to. Marc was talk to Deminges, god forbid he should stop and stunt another budding friendship. Ignore that, tis my mood talking. But I did know he wouldn't come after me.
    He came over later and I invited him in. He asked me about the morning. I knew he would, but he waited longer then I thought it was nearly 8pm. I told him was in a bad mood, that was it. He stuck around and watched . TV with me. We spoke oh so often. I even kicked the heater over because its on and off in the room Marc kept dark annoyed me.
    He left at 1Ø:3Øpm because he didn't want to watch the Hitchhicker. I didn't get up or show him out. I made him turn on the lights and told him I'd call him today If I thought of seeing a movie.
    I didn't have any money, so I didn't call and I'm still In a bad mood.
Generally I don't speak unless spoken to or I have something to say. Now I don't feel like talking at all.
    It's snowing out and I'm cold so that hasn't helped my moods any.
    I think it's really all my pent-up fustrations. Not being abel to express myself, not haveing a lover, not having sex, not being able to cry, not being able to smash things out of anger (thus burning out this mood). Perhaps this is the one set of that explosion I always knew was on its way. My self-imposed exile isn't helping either.
    Guess I'm just fucked - until this blows over.

JUST
    FUCKED

8602.13

    Ow! I just found out the three most awesome songs on the radio were the top 3 on 106. Unfortunately they were in my reverse order of favorites and I missed hearing number three, my favorite.
  #3, Rock me Amadues, by Falco
  #2, Let's go all the way, but sly Fox
  #1, What you need, by INXS

    The word for the day is Jaded.
    I hav visions of turning 21, buying a motorcycle and a leather jump-suit, getting a mohawk and a lover.
    This sttic is going to kill me, one day I'll touch something, get a shock and die.
    A true statement on two levels.
    Our math system is fucked. We can't divide thus we can't add or multiply correctly. If we can't those three subtractions must also be bad. Examples, 1/3 x 3 should be 1, but it's not. If you divide a circle up it should be even, not a infinte descimal we call (pi). I hear there's a geometry proff that shows the number four doesn't exist. And what kind of progression is 1,2,3,5,7,11,13, exct.
    All sorts of little questions burning in my mind.
    Like whoes reading this now, as you read? Do I know you? Are you reading carefully? Do you know me?
    That's an idea for a poem, I'll call it "Not to be read aloud."

8602.25

    Usually I write, Hi, sorry I was gone so long but there was nothing to write about. Or I've been so busy heres what happened.
    Truth to tell, I have been busy but not so busy to write. I've had plenty to say but I didn't want to or have the words to express it.
    Major events. I've been talking to Marc, got over my bad mood, saw the Hitcher, got a 'job' drawing a cornucopea full of flowers for Shawn O'Brien's mother's shop, got a new hat (I need one again), and am renewing my new years resolutions (I ran 2 ½ miles tonight - I won't be able to walk tomorrow let alone masterbate).
    Isn't the life of a reperessed homo-sexual Kansas artist fun.
    I'm going to drop a class, first ever. I'm going to drop education from my major. I think I'll try and find a job.
    I think I'll try and fix these chapped lips. I'm tried of the taste of blood. I can't take my eyes off the men, and spring is getting here. More visions, more fantasys, less guilt.
Progress?
    I think I'll sleep now, Become comfortably numb.

8602.05 (actually it's 8603.05 - this isn't noticed until 8606.02 I'll correct as I go here.)

    An Angel is here and though time was short as her stature time we spent laughing, time I apresated.
    I am hyper now, happy I am. Discussions with piglet the puzzle solver, our characters, Invincible and fallen, seem alive to Donna's disputes.
    Ice King made me a character just as he secretely hints of trying to mold mine. Despise the thought.
    Anything but sleep! please don't me go. Because then I'll dream and the pain will go away. I'll be in love for a night and have the bliss of touch, and I'll remember when I wake. Realize it's all just a dream and feel alone once again. Please, don't let me sleep.
    Heart of stone, Heart of glass, Wait till were alone, and I grab your ass. Liveing a lie, will you shatter or die.

    Ah, but do you know the Reason behind the facts?
    Reason behind facts? is it true?

    Erotica Notebook, Pornography Scripts?
    The life of Hero, a Rockumentory.

    Awfully cold out here when your not wearing underwear.

                                        Protest, Protest
                                                    Goodnight, and 
                                                    it will, but
                                                                    Protest.

8602.09 (actually 8603.09)

    Here comes the heat, nightfall and 7Ø°f with a chance of rain tonight and tomorrow. Fun time is on its way and I crave spikes today, skimpy black outfits.
    Can't keep my eyes where they belong, there like children you tell not to cross the street. Talking another stab at insanity, another bout, another charge. If I can't find someone to talk to, I'll go . . . . 
    Helping Marc with Christs tomb, which belong to Dave if his symptoms continue and he sees no Doctor. head aches, ambdominal pains, dizziness, bloody noses, all very sudden and fairly brief.
    "Kind of scary, but I came back, I'm okay now." I'm okay now, okay now, okay now, now.
    Bullshit! you had a ten minute headache which "felt like someone took a knife and stabbed me here." pointing to his temple, followed by a "gushing" bloody nose after which the pain stopped and you felt dizzy! Why won't you see a Doctor?!
    "I'm okay now."
    What a fuckin' Ice King.

8602.16 (actually 8603.16)

    "I think I'll just go home." and write. Try to figure out where I am and what I am. I imagined Marc asking "Think it can be done?"    No, but I should try.
    I didn't go home though. I drove semi-aimlessly. I headed toward Vista. As I crossed the rail road tracks I saw a man walking. My hands in the air my eyes on him and my foot on the excellerator. I pulled into Vista's lot but found no reason to stay. I backed out and started for home. As I passed Whelands I noticed the man had changed sides of the street, and he waved at me. I waved back, because I stared. He wore denim. He's stature reminded me of Marc, his face reminded me of no one, it was deep in the shadows.
    I considered it, thought against it, reconsidered. I turned around at Osco Drug, and headed back. I rolled down the windows and unlocked the door. But I didn't see him along the road. I pulled up to Vista and watched Brian Paxson get out of his car. He didn't notice me and I saw the man over by K-Mart. I could have drove over and asked him if he wanted a lift. But I had to give myself a chance to lose him. I went in and spent 52¢ that I could have used later on a Root Beer I didn't need. Then . I left in a hurry. I had to give myself a chance to find him.
    I remembered sitting at Marc's. He watched The Falcon and the Snow-man and I watched him. I watched the muscles in his leg ripple beneath his white pants. I stared at his bare foot and its perfect construction. From behind the white fabric I saw the flickering fire and remembered some scenes from 9 ½ weeks. I watched Marc's dark, gracefull toes as he held the fire place bar between them. I thought about there beauty, there construction, the way they would feel touching me. Then I remembered how they where constructed. There grace and strength came from the martial arts and began to think of the force there could be behind them. What it would feel like to have them smashed into my rib cage or testicles or face, or any bone they might break.
    All this time I also kept thinking, look away. I knew how easy it would be just to look away. And I would, for awhile.
    "What are you doing out this late? Don't you have one of those self imposed curfews? So you can get up and do neat things?"
    "No, but I will."
    "Remember, a healthy body is a happy body."
    I just stared at Dave as he . swept the floors of Vista. Shelly handed me the Root Beer and I left in search of the Denim man.
    There was a cool breeze coming threw the window and I kept checking to see that the passenger door was unlocked. I drank my root beer combing the streets he may have taken. I couldn't find him and threw the empty cup out the open window. I turned the radio off, rolled up the window and locked the door.
    I listened to the silence to try and clear my head. I'm being torn in to many directions. Both In and Out. Between Yes and No.
    Marc, do you want to know something? 
I'm afraid to die.
    "We all are." I imagine I hear.
    But even worse, I'm afraid to be alone. I don't want to grow old alone.
    "But you're not alone." I hear him say.
    If only you knew. If only I could.
    Where am I? Topeka Kansas. Cross roads of confusion. Torn between solitude and friendship.
    What am I? Confused, afraid, alone.
    What is wrong? Nothing. Everything is working out to they way I live it.
    Why can't Dave realize there's a reason not to touch me. I screamed the time he crawled over me because I didn't want him to know about the erection I had.
    Why can't I live? Because I don't.

© 2002 November (Date implied by entry date, Date of copyright covers web publication)