Doesn't mean you ain't been on my mind...

Listen to the voice that echoes inside your head, seriously. It's usually right. It's common knowledge that people second guess themselves; I do it hourly. Have I made the right decision with what I'm doing? Will it work? Do I need to do what I'm doing? Yes, yes, yes. I don't have to ask myself these questions anymore, because I know the answers full well.

It's true that I quit drinking, I quit, because I'm capable of that type of action, do I want to drink? Not really, not anymore. I want to be the Sober guy, and it's not a big deal, and it's not as big a deal as people make it out to be. You can drink, I just won't. I don't need to drink to have a good time, I just don't. If I want to see the sad looks on people's faces, or the faces behind the faces, I can do that sober. And if I want to remember everything I say, and do, I can do that sober as well, because let me let you in on a little secret: I remember everything.

I don't understand it either, believe me, but I'm not lying. I remember entire nights, I remember conversations, and it's sad that in this short time I've been drinking, 5-6 years, I can tolerate alcohol like that. I remember throwing up, I remember yapping away like a drunken moron, but not being able to control myself. I'm sure most people don't believe me when I'm typing perfectly well, and I'm drunk, but it's one of those things. I have complete control over my body and it's functions, so why do I drink? Why do you think I stopped? I don't know anymore....People drink to get away, people drink to forget...I can't forget and I can't get away, so what's the point. I'm not having fun, because my brain is forging an alliance with the walls and forcing me to be competent. Forcing me to look into the blonde girls eyes and find the truth behind her orbs. I don't even know.

I don't mind saying, that I can't make it anymore. I can't deal with what's going on in my head anymore. It's just like a constant reminder that I'm not capable of dealing with the outside world, not at all capable, but yet, I do it anyway and look at the effect it has. I leave my house at 9:30 pm and find my place a place I can run away too...and don't come back until 11pm. I tell people of the place, but not the name or area, and therefore I can go back again, next friday at the same time, and read my book Winter of Our Discontent - unless I finish it before that.

Thanks for listening, buttheads.

JD

Benjamin.

Just something I wrote quickly and felt like sharing.

December 4th, 1984



Benjamin,
Stop. Look up, gaze at the stars in the sky. You die. Your family mourns and eventually they get over it. Sorry. That’s just the way it is. It’s a horrible thing to even suggest, that Death is that simple, but quite frankly, I’m not the sugar coating type. You’re going to croak a year from now, and your family is going to come to the funeral, cry a bit, then walk away from you and never think about you again. This is because you’ve succumbed to the drugs. You’ve succumbed to cocaine, heroin, ecstasy, and valium. You decided that doing drugs was more important than your family, and that was wrong. Drugs are important, sure, but taken at the correct dosage, or with friends who can carry you to bed, so you don’t go through what happened to you.

You croaked, Benjamin. You died a painful, excruciating death and it was something you deserved. You sat there on your stain ridden couch and shot heroin into a main artery in your left arm, if you were a rook you would’ve died instantly, but you were a pro, you shot up and then when you began to feel your heart beat accelerate you picked up your rotary phone and dialed your former household.

When your wife answered she sounded happy, she remarried, she had another child, she had begun to forget your ever existed. Ben, you ruined her life, twice now. I suppose it was the right thing to do though, calling your ex-wife to tell her you were going to die. Tell her to lie to your son about your addictions, why you left, and then in a few years when he was older tell him the truth. Tell your son the truth, tell Michael the truth. Tell him that his father was a drug addict and had four-thousand dollars to his name to live on for the rest of his life. Four-thousand dollars that was spent on H, X, and crack. Allow Michael to hate you, to loathe you for what you’ve done to his life. He’ll grow up, raise a child, become something you never were: a father.

Benjamin, stay with me for a moment longer, before you descend into Hell, tell me, was it worth it? All the things you’ve done in your life ruined by drugs. Ruined by injecting, snorting, and puffing. You say that you don’t know. You say that you’re confused by the question, but it’s evident that you’re stoned and believe that I’m speaking Latin, however, I’m speaking English.

You don’t deserve to go to Heaven, Ben. You don’t deserve to see Our Father who art in Heaven, you don’t deserve to see his face and lie to him again. You don’t get to take back lying to Our Father on his death bed. I will not allow it. You’ve sinned and now you’ve perished, you’ve left a family and all because you denied help. You wouldn’t let me help you, Benjamin. Therefore you’re dead.

Sincerely,
Father James Kirkland.


Thanks,
JD

Did you ever just not want to think about anything? I have, and it's hard when your mind continues to run rampant, your brain pulsilating like it's got some massive work load, when in retrospect, you're trying to go to sleep. Grasp that, try and understand that. If you find out what it means, then get back to me and let me know.

I've had a heart to heart with myself in the last couple of hours while delving into the first season of One Tree Hill, yes, I'm aware of how gay that sounds. But if you knew the screenname I chose for Blogger, then you'd know I have a Penchant for the Dramatic. Life is a revolving movie reel just waiting to be torn apart, waiting to be spliced with a clip of a giant dick. The truth of the matter is that it's not a level playing field, it never was and I intend to make it so that it doesn't necessarily have to be.

I see the loneliness in peoples eyes and for some reason I need to see that fear in the eyes of a blonde girl, while I'm sitting drinking a glass of water trying to get the taste of beer out of my mouth. If you can look past a person's shell, their looks, then you will truly know them, but then and only then, will you be whole. You're whole when you realize that you're better than most people out there, that you care about the people around you and their feelings. I'm going to be an freckle on the wall of the World from now on, I don't know if I want to be this person that goes out partying every weekend and gets intoxicated and wakes up with a hellacious headache that grips your brain and won't let go. Second though, I know I don't want to be that man. I don't know what man I'm going to become, but when it comes, I'm going to be alone; it's destiny.
I want to promise I'll never drink again, but it's not possible. What I can promise is that I will continue to see the things I see, and feel the stress of my life on my shoulders. I will continue to feel sorrow for those that need it, and those that just are pretending to be something they aren't, because most people wear a mask, and today's the day I take that mask off.

Jim.

Kill.

Sometimes, I sit around, and I think about losing someone. I've lost someone, a friend, a loved one, I think about really letting that effect me. It would hurt a lot, I wouldn't be able to function. You know you get the whole Christmas Carol thing going then, like "What would people do if I killed myself?" or "What would happened if I just got up and left one day?" Would people really care? Would you become a legend, or just a folklore? To sum it up, this is your fucking life, who do you want to be? Are you who are you want to be? If it's over for you?

It's funny, I don't know who I am...I mean, I know my name, and my birthday, and my social security number, but who am I exactly? I'm not going to get into it. Was my life worth it? Did I make the grade? Did I make a difference in anyone's life? Probably not, but not everyone's life is meaningful. The town I live in, the memories that I have, good and bad, mostly bad, but some good as well, the friends I have, and the friends I've had. The people I hate, and the people I can bear. Sometimes, I can't understand people, and the friends I'm with, we don't do normal things, we don't have decent relationships with each other, we're like co-workers without the titles.

Somewhere down the line, you have to cross a bridge, or for someone who's got bridge-0-phobia, walk across a street, a side street. Get to that other side, and leave everything behind, because that's what you have to do, if you want to become who you're destined to be. People will only drag you down, and losses will do the same, cut your losses, cut your ties, everyone who is sucessful is bound to be a loner for sometime before they find that one person who understands. That one person who understands everything that's foretold in your mine, the memories that you have back in the depths of your mind, that you'll never retrieve, because even now, you can't recall. You'll wake up one day, and just laugh. You'll cackle to yourself, and your wife or husband will ask you, "What's so funny?" and you'll have no idea, you were dreaming of your past life and now you can't remember what that dream was about. You lie back down, smiling, because somewhere deep in your heart, you know whatever it was, whatever that dream was about, it was hilarious.

Well, you're just across the street
Looks a mile to my feet
I wanna go to you
Funny how I'm nervous still
I've always been the easy kill
I guess I always will

Could it be that everything goes 'round by chance? 
Or only one way that it was always meant to be 
You kill me, you always know the perfect thing to say 
I know what I should do, but I just can't walk away

JD.