#which is. so fucking cool man. dying from a mystery illness that you thought was swine flu because it felt like that but worse?
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TTTE: Magic Beyond the Engine
Greetings guys, gals, nonbinary pals and everyone in between. Welcome to the Information Page of TTTE: Magic Beyond the Engine, where you can get context to whatever the hell I post on here. There’s a lot and much is subject to change, so buckle up butter cups because we’re going for a ride.
Table o’ Contents
1. Basic Story
2. Characters
3. Personal Headcanons
4. Canonical Relationships within TTTE: MBtE
5. Other Notes
6. Link
I) Basic Story
Several years ago in the year 20XX, a facility located in [REDACTED] was doing experiments involving a mysterious golden substance and what it could do for the human race. Its goal was to eliminate the need for high-maintenance engines to save money. However, much of what was done ended up being a total flop, except for one. A little girl, Madison [REDACTED] was the only successful trial the facility was able to produce. This girl didn’t know why or how she even got here, but knew that her family didn’t want her, and instead gave her up to this [probably very illegal] facility. For years the scientists running the experiment pushed her to her limits, training her to pull lines of cars weighing several tons. They were delighted by what she could do. They had finally compacted the strength and speed of an engine into a human. However, bad luck struck as the facility went belly up, when Madison was 21. News of the facility spread, and so did news about her. Humanity didn’t take her well, and she was labeled an outcast. Though, in the light of things with her negative fame, Sir Topham Hatt found out about her and thought she’d be a wonderful addition to the railway along with the new tank engine he just bought! So she was picked up by this cheeky little shit, and her story working alongside sentient engines unfolded.
II) Characters
A) Thomas
The one who picked up Maddy. He was awfully confused by her, but respected her nonetheless. Still his cheeky self that everyone seems to just adore, Thomas quickly became best friends with her, protecting her whenever she needed it. Thomas sometimes gets a little too cheeky, and pushes her off the edge. Pranks ensue and Thomas is usually left bumbling for apologies. Who knew something so small could be so dangerous. He also commonly gets called ‘Tommy’ by the wee lass, something he absolutely despises. It only fuels her need to use it.
1) When human, Thomas stands at about 5′ 7″ or 170 centimeters. He’s clad in a simple hoodie that matches his paintwork with a big 1 on the back, and plain khakis. He wishes he could have something else, but he doesn’t get paid and his driver and fireman refuse to lend him money. His hair is fluffy and rather short and is a few shades darker than his paintwork. Maddy likes to braid it when she’s bored and he hates it. Her favorite part though, besides honking his bulbous nose like he was a clown like she does with James, is his eyes. They were a beautiful shade of ocean blue. If he wasn’t such a shit, she’d get lost. He can’t brag though, she basks in all the colors her friends have.
“Why does she get to swear and I don’t? It’s not fair!” ~T
“Maddy’s an adult, Thomas.” ~E
“Well so am I you old fart!” ~T
B) Maddy
Little Maddy. Don’t call her Madison, she hates it with a passion and refuses to explain why. She currently stands at the age of 21, but looks much younger. She had overheard at the facility that a side effect of the mystery stuff was that she aged like an engine, so she could be around for hundreds of years if she wasn’t stupid. At just 5′ 3′’ or 160 centimeters, Maddy is the shortest out of all the engines on the railway, even Bill and Ben. Her hair is a medium shade of brown, kind of long, and it mostly covers one of her eyes, which are, as Thomas describes, “As if the sky could make steel.”. Shy when you first meet her, Maddy is quick to come out of her shell and be just as much of a shithead as Thomas and as angry as James, if not worse than the two combined. Her outfit was rather simple, a dark scarlet hoodie with her number on it, and dark grey or black leggings. She liked it that way, she looked good and it was flexible and comfy. When she first arrived with Thomas, she felt something click with James, despite him being an utter jackass to her. After begrudgingly showing her around and having to shunt trucks, the duo became good acquaintances. It wasn’t until after James’ accident that the two became best friends, being asshats together and generally being a happy sight. He’s the one Maddy is generally seen with if she’s not working on her own. Soon enough, though, something started brewing within her heart.
“Ah crumbs, he’s in a mood.” ~T
“James is always in a mood.” ~M
“Fuck both of you.” ~J
C) Edward
Ah, Old Iron. He was there when Thomas and Maddy first arrived to the island. Like most that laid eyes on her, his main worry is that she was itty bitty. Usually calm and collected unless something goes majorly wrong, Edward was quick to unknowingly swoop her under his wings. When Thomas started poking fun at him for being fatherly, Edward nearly keeled over. An engine can’t father a human, can they? He guessed they could as soon after Maddy just gave a shrug and accepted the Number 2 as her father, after being given away by her own. It didn’t take long for Edward to actually father her, asking how her day was, sometimes folding her laundry, comforting her, scolding Maddy James, y’know, dad stuff. He earned the name ‘Dadward’ from her, and his heart melts every time she says it.
1) As a human, Edward looks like a kindly old man and a youngin’ at the same time. He stands just a bit shorter than James at 6′ or 183 centimeters. With short, almost midnight-blue hair, Edward is the perfect gentleman. He even has a small pair of gold glasses that set snuggly on his nose. His eyes are a lovely shade of steel blue, something he gets flustered about when Maddy compliments him. His outfit consists of a white dress shirt with a dark blue tie, a blazer matching his paintwork with his number on his right arm and dark grey dress pants. He’s not usually in his human form, but when he is, Maddy unusually asks for a lot of hugs..
“Will you two leave her be?” -E
“But look how red her face is!” P&T
“FUCK THE LOT OF YOU-” ~M
D) James
Ah, James. One half of what his friends call “The Red Disasters”. He’s still his normal, vain ass self. He has a soft side, everyone knows it but virtually no one can get to it. Except Maddy, who can get to it quite easily. Though, when they first met, all he did was make fun of her. Well, they made fun of each other, but still. They had the complete opposite of favorite jobs, they still do and always will. James loves pulling coaches, she hates it. She loves trucks, he despises it and always tries to weasel his way out. It usually doesn’t work. He’s earned many nicknames from her: Jamsey, Jimbo, Buzzy, Buzzy Butt, the list grows. Two of them came from the mistake about telling her the story about the bees, the other.he’s not too sure. What he is sure of, though, is that Jimbo has spread than to more than just her and he hates it. It fuels her though, so he’s gotta be careful. Originally, though, James didn’t know what to think of her. After the accident, his boiler felt all fluttery and he pushed it down to just being ill. He had to learn the hard way about what romantic love was. He knew how to flirt, it got people to love him more! But what that flirting did, though, he was completely foreign to.
1) At 6′2′’ or 188 centimeters, James stands as the third tallest among the main eight. When he still had his black livery, James’ human form basically had him looking like what I can simply describe as a butler, though he had a vest and a red tie instead of all black. After, though, he had quite the change. His long, black hair now had dyed red tips and his right ear had a cute little heart piercing. Hair covers most of his left eye, which is what Maddy lovingly described as, “You managed to make the color of red rust beautiful.”. He thinks his hair looks cool only according to Maddy. He usually wears a long-sleeve, dark red button-up shirt with three dark grey stripes on both arms and grey pads on his shoulders. His number was sewn onto his left breast. Maddy pokes fun at him for looking like a band geek, but she nonetheless likes it. His outfit is simply finished off with grey pants. Sometimes, though, he’s seen wearing a solid red hoodie that Maddy got him. He won’t admit that it’s his favorite piece of clothing.
“Honey Bee, you’re acting irrational-” ~J
“DON’T MAKE ME GET THE BEES-” ~M
“NOT THE BEES-” ~J
E) Gordon
There isn’t much to say about Gordon. He’s his usual, grumpy self. We all know deep down he’s a good engine, though. Gordon’s...rather indifferent about Maddy. He doesn’t dislike her, but he doesn’t see her appeal either. Nonetheless, she’s an awesome part of the team. She does the most important job: listening to James bitch so they don’t have to. Of course, though, like the rest of the team, he’ll defend her if need be. Gordon has a heart, he just doesn’t like to show it.
1) Gordon’s the tallest, at 6′8′’ or 203 centimeters. Everything about his human form is perfect. His hair is just a tad darker than Edward’s and a teeny bit shorter. He keeps it slicked back most of the time, but it’s hilarious when he has bed head. Maddy got a picture once and sent it to James just in case he forced her to delete it. Just like most of her friends, Gordon’s eyes were her favorite, they were a blue similar to his hair, but a few shades lighter. Maddy remembers a time she complimented them and Gordon puffed away all red in the face. His outfit consists of a three piece suit, in his paintwork color of course, a white shirt and a red tie. His number is on his right breast.
“The Express isn’t that important.” ~M
“Why I’ll tell you-” ~G
“Is her intent just to piss him off?” ~E
“Yes. It’s both of ours.” ~J
E) Henry
Maddy’s favorite engine besides James. Thomas is insulted that he isn’t even considered one of her favorites. Henry gushed over her the first time she came. He must protect the small. Love the small. If James suddenly didn’t exist, Henry would be her go-to. She adored puffing through the forest with him, looking at all the trees and wildlife. Maddy would take pictures of flowers she’d find while strolling through and Henry would just ooze over them. Once she showed him a photo of a squirrel holding a wild flower under an oak tree whose leaves were just started to turn different colors, and the big engine cried with joy. He requested she print the picture out so his driver could carry it for him, and she did. It was his absolute favorite.
1) 6′6″ or 198 centimeters, what a height to be. At second tallest, Henry is the definition of a gentle giant. His resting face looks nervous, but he’s usually not nervous at all. His hair is a forest green, not too short, not too long. Actually, Maddy’s favorite part of him is his chicken-wing bangs. Of course she loves his eyes, which are a lovely jade green, but the bangs take the cake, Whenever they hang out, she likes to play with them when he talks about plants. He finds it comforting. His outfit is literally just a more modest and fancier workman’s outfit, but matching his livery, with his number on his right breast. It made sense, since he was usually one to do heavy work.
“You don’t like the rain either?” ~H
“The last time I went out in the rain I derailed Percy.” ~M
“Why were you even out in the rain!? You’d catch a cold!” ~E
“Fat Man said I was the only one available and told me to suck it up. I did catch a cold. James tried making me soup, remember?” ~M
“What do you mean tried..?” ~H
“He forgot to cook the chicken beforehand. I got salmonella.” ~M
“So that’s why you were bedridden and wouldn’t talk to him for a week after..” ~H
G) Percy
Ah, little shit number two. Thomas’ partner in crime. When he first met Maddy when he arrived, he teased her relentlessly for being short-tempered and short in general. After giving him the silent treatment though, Percy was a bit nicer. He and Thomas still tease her plenty enough, but they tease about things she usually won’t kick their asses for. He likes Maddy now. Plain and simple.
1) Second shortest, 5′5″ or 165 centimeters. He holds those two inches with pride. Percy uses them against Maddy very frequently. Maddy won’t hurt him though. She physically can’t. His little baby face, those big ol’ light green eyes, that short light green hair, his cute little outfit [which consists of a shamrock colored shirt, black suspenders held up by gold buttons, and dark green shorts]. If he was any smaller Maddy would die. James sometimes gets jealous by how much she gushes over Percy, but doesn’t exactly blame her. Percy’s adorable and he damn well knows it.
“Ha, you’re short.” ~P
“You’re short too.” ~M
“I’m taller than you.” ~P
“Won’t be for long when I take your kneecaps.” ~M
H) Emily
Ah, Emily. The first girl engine she met. They made damn good friends, too. They gossiped whenever they had a chance. Maddy usually talked about shit James has said, and Emily just gossips about anything and everything. They were will to throw hands for each other, with Emily more willing to for Maddy. Maddy would throw hands just as an excuse to do it. Emily still loves her, though.
1) Emily currently stands at 5′8″ or 173 centimeters. She isn’t as girly as she looks, either. Her hair is short, with half of it buzzed off. Maddy would describe her as someone punk-ish. Of course Emily’s personality doesn’t reflect that at all, she just chose to look like it. She’s the only other engine besides James to have piercings, usually with two black on on the top of her ears and hoop earrings to pay honor to her engine build. Emily was a little more casual than her friends, usually seen wearing a simple green dress matching her livery. Her eyes were a very dark grey, almost black, with flecks of brass scattered in there. Maddy told her once that she was the prettiest girl she’s every seen and Emily nearly crashed.
“James being a bitch again?” ~Em
“What do you mean again?” ~M
“I can hear you.” ~J
“I know.” ~M
I) Others
Other characters consist of secondary characters within the story who do not play as big a role. There are a few who teeter on the edge between primary and secondary characters, such as Duck, Donald, Douglas, Diesel, Diesel 10, and Lady. They play an important role, but not enough so to have their own descriptions. Diesel’s..y’know, Diesel, the twins think of Maddy as their long-lost sister, Duck..well, they like to poke fun at James together when he’s not droning about the Great Western Railway, Diesel 10′s goal is to get her to say something about Lady, and Lady...no one’s really sure yet. Then, as of right now for true secondary characters there is Oliver, Toad, BoCo, Bill, Ben, Mavis, and Salty. There’s more to come, but that’s what I got right now.
III) Personal Headcanons
-The engines can eat and taste in both forms. They don’t know where it goes when they’re engines and don’t feel like finding out.
-James learned to cook for Maddy when she couldn’t for herself.
-For the longest time, James was the only engine with his own phone.
-He learned hip language and Maddy started regretting every choice in her life.
-Maddy comes to Salty for him to tell her stories when she’s bored.
-Rain is Maddy’s one weakness since she has no way of covering herself.
-She, along with her friends as humans, run with skates that reflect their wheel configuration. The wheels retract when not in use. [I’m thinking about switching to roller blades, we’ll see.]
-Maddy intentionally starts beef with the Scottish Twins because she thinks the fighting is hilarious.
-Thomas will occasionally beg Maddy for a cotton candy sucker. Specifically cotton candy. She doesn’t know why either.
-Thomas initiated a prank war with her once. He lost.
-Gordon once bet her that she couldn’t pull his heavy goods. His driver was out 30 bucks because of him.
-Maddy tortures Duck with duck puns.
-Maddy still trick-or-treats for free candy.
-Emily once convinced Maddy to derail James for the fun of it. She was subsequently chased around the island.
-James is the ultimate flirt and he uses that against Maddy, who flusters very easily.
-Percy loves Teddy Grahams.
-Edward likes loves to tell others about his daughter. Maddy does not. He is becoming too dad-like.
-The Scottish Twins know damn well that Maddy simps for their accents and they intentionally use it against her if they can.
-Maddy knows about Diesel’s ducklings. It’s the only reason she decides to befriend him.
-James utterly hates Diesel for many many reasons.
-Like many others headcanon, Thomas can’t cook. He fucked up a cup of ramen once and Maddy still refuses to let him live it down.
-Edward refuses to let Thomas and Percy swear. They hate it. James and Maddy know this. They swear more because they can’t.
-James and Maddy are at a tie for worst potty mouths. The twins don’t count. That’s not fair.
-Oliver thought Maddy was an engine for like a month before he met her.
-Maddy dislikes the Mainland. Not the engines there. They’re cool.
-If Maddy isn’t around, James sleeps in her bed with her hoodie.
-Henry worries for Maddy all the time. More and Edward and James combined. He just doesn’t show it.
-Gordon says he has no opinion on Maddy, but he really does like her.
-No one knows where Maddy’s really from. She won’t tell them either. Not even James or the Fat Man really know.
-Want more? Just ask!
IV) Canon Couples within TTTE: MBtE
~James/Maddy
~Edward/Henry
~Emily/Thomas
~D10/Lady (In the past)
~~We’ll see about others as the story progresses~~
V) Notes
- Lady is the reason the engines have sentience. She is not the reason for their human forms. That will be explained later.
-Maddy is much more resilient than an average human, which is why most accidents don’t just straight up kill her.
-As stated before, Maddy can now live for hundreds of years if she’s careful enough. She won’t age as fast as a normal human, so who knows how long she’ll be baby-faced. Not that she cares, more opportunity to trick-or-treat.
-The engines can get frisky, but no babies. Don’t even think about it.
-Maddy will eventually give in and buy beds for all her friends to give them an opportunity to sleep like she does.
VI) Link
Silly me, I forgot to give a link to my story! Shame on me for making you search, that won’t happen again, here you go!
Sodor’s New Worker
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And that’s really it. If you have any questions, please please please please please ask!
UPDATED: August 3, 2021
#sodor's new worker#TTTE: MBtE#ttte james#ttte maddy#ttte thomas#ttte edward#ttte emily#ttte percy#ttte henry#ttte gordon#ttte oc
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Review-Love Death + Robots (Pt 1. Episodes 1-4)
So here we are again. You, dear readers, and I, a mostly defunct tumblr page. I was thinking...I’ve written a few reviews on here before, and I’ve rather enjoyed myself to be honest. So until RP starts up again for me, I’m going to grab some popcorn and start reviewing some of the media I’ve been indulging in during this exceptionally fun pandemic we’ve all been saddled with (and are becoming increasingly more and more used to as time goes on). Here we go!
Spoilers incoming! I don’t like to discuss a show without going through it entirely-no stone unturned. You have been warned!
Love Death + Robots is a compilation series-each episode is self-contained content, based on what I have experienced thus far. The content varies wildly from cute and sweet to surreal, to horrific. For right now I’m going to stick with the first four episodes since they are fresh in my mind.
Episode 1: Three Robots
Three robots shows a short adventure shared by, you guessed it-Three robots exploring the crumbling remains of human society. It comes across as three tourists making their way through an area that they are completely unfamiliar with, attempting to define and understand elements of the environment as humans once did. Their analysis and attempts to understand not only human culture, but also basic human biology, were entertaining to say the least. Each robot has flair, character, and a their own take on humans and humanity. Over the course of the episode, the fall of mankind is referenced a few times, being initially explained as a mass extinction due to environmental disasters (global warming is probably a factor-one of the buildings has an entire ship sticking out of it). However, the twist ending throws that whole theory into question once the cat that has been accompanying the robots for the last leg of their journey reveals itself as capable of speech. And, interestingly enough...being in possession of opposable thumbs. It was certainly unexpected, and a bit odd-the cat (and its many, many brethren) manage to finish out the episode by convincing the robots that if the robots do not pet them, the cats may explode. I will say that the ending, though it was rather silly and fitting with the tone, felt like an out of place twist intended mostly to give a bit of closure to a story that had no real need to have an ending. It felt a little out-of-left field, at least to me.
This first episode, I think, is one that I could recommend to a much more general audience than almost all of the other content of the show. It’s whimsical and cute, despite inhabiting such a grim setting (and grim it is-post apocalyptic is not taken lightly here. There are plenty of corpses, some skeletal and some not quite so much. At least one of them appears to have died by suicide). I found it to be a nice addition and a good introduction to ease people into the tone of the show. Definitely give this one a watch, even if the ending sort of comes from nowhere.
Episode 2: Beyond the Aquila Rift
This episode was definitely a change of pace from the first. It begins as a high science fiction story starring a hunky, middle aged man and his two crewmates, making some sort of cargo run (?) through a wormhole of some kind, but promptly finding themselves in a completely different place from what they expected. Hunky space captain wakes up first, finding that he is greeted by an old friend (read: lover) of his, who explains that there was a navigation error that led them off course-way off course. They’re in a completely different area than they expected. The ship’s navigator wakes as well, swearing that there couldn’t have been an error in her calculations, but seems ill and is placed back in her future tech cryopod to rest. Space captain man then bangs it out with his ex-lover (Greta) in a scene that was almost definitely written by a man, and she reveals to him that she lied, and that him and his crew are actually hundreds of light-years further off course than they had thought they were, basically dashing any hopes that he could have of returning to his old life. The two then wake the navigator again, who immediately starts ranting that ‘Greta’ isn’t who she says she is. At this point, enough clues have been given that the captain catches up with the audience (it was all a simulation the whole time), and he confronts Greta, demanding that she reveal herself as she truly is. She does, after some prodding-and the captain finds himself in an infested husk of a ship, aged and haggard, obviously dying of starvation. Greta reveals herself as a lovely spider-beast, and the captain wakes up from his pod again-back in his comfortable illusion once more.
I love the premise of this one. Crazy aliens and shit like this is a huge draw for me-sci-fi horror is probably my favorite subgenre of horror when it’s done well. I would count this episode as doing it pretty well. They don’t go into much techno-babble, which I think is a pitfall for some sci-fi stories. The writers are well aware that we aren’t spending too long in this world, so we don’t need to know much about the rules under which it operates outside of ‘computer mistake your ship fly here.’ The twist ending didn’t end up being too much of a twist-in my opinion there were too many clues given throughout the episode to make it that much of a surprise that things weren’t as they seemed. The odds of this man meeting his ex-lover in the infinitesimal reaches of space just by chance were a bit too impossible to make it believable-and the navigator was far too convinced that her work couldn’t be incorrect. In the end, it was an expected twist, but still pretty jarring. Execution is pretty good overall though-and the sex scene is pretty decent as well, even if its strictly a dude-fantasy thing. Also, call me a sucker for cool looking beasties, but I adore the design on spider-Greta. That’s a lady right there for you.
Episode 3: Ice Age
The only live action episode I’ve seen so far-this one gives an *entirely* different tone than the majority of the other episodes in the series. Topher Grace and Mary Elizabeth Winstead happen upon a lost civilization that exists entirely within their refrigerator. They watch in awe as it develops incredibly quickly-hundreds of years passing within the civilization in roughly an hour or so of real time. What starts in the morning as a town in the viking ages eventually develops into a modern society, almost destroys itself with nukes, and then rebuilds from the ashes into a fully futuristic society that quickly ascends beyond physical form, appearing to disperse itself into the cosmos, no longer bound by such petty rules as the laws of physics. A disappointed Topher asks if they’ll return-to which he receives a sad ‘no’ from his partner. It seems all is lost, and the couple go to bed for the night-only to find that the cycle has restarted overnight, and they probably won’t be able to keep any frozen chicken in the freezer for quite some time.
This one is probably one of my favorites of the series so far. It’s fairly well acted, but the real beauty of the episode is getting to watch the mini-civilization develop itself in a glorious time lapse-the work that must’ve gone into it must have been monumental, to be honest. The final product certainly felt that way, in any case. What I also found fascinating was a specific scene in which the protagonists were abandoned in place of some of the tiny denizens of the lost civilization-which made me realize exactly how slow the ‘normal sized people’s’ actions must have looked to the diminutive people of this rapidly developing society. Reminiscent of the earth’s motion in relation to our own perception-and reinforcing the concept that to an individual, perception is everything.
Episode 4: Sonnie’s Edge
This episode opens with three people transporting mysterious cargo into a heavily guarded complex, quickly encountering and interacting with a ‘bigwig’ of sorts with a beautiful woman on his arm. Through context clues the audience is easily able to discover that the three (pictured above) are here for a fight-and that their cargo is their fighter, a living creature of obviously immense proportion. The bigwig asks the team to throw the fight, and they refuse, even after he offers a large amount of money. (It’s worth mentioning that during this scene, ‘Sonnie’, the leader and controller of the beast fighter, shares an EXTREMELY homosexual gaze with the bigwig’s beautiful lady friend. Don’t think I didn’t notice the setup, because I definitely noticed the payoff, even though it was rudely interrupted). Sonnie and her teammates enter the ring, setting up as it appears that she will be piloting her fighter in some way. Her opponent is also introduced, though he is hardly important in the story-imagine a cake of beef with a big sticker on him that says ‘mysogyny’ in bold print. What follows is one of the most brutal fight scenes I’ve seen in animation (this is just my personal opinion though). These creatures fucking tear each other to shreds, with Sonnie’s beast only just barely emerging as the victor, tearing the opposing fighter’s head clean from its body. The bigwig is obviously angry, as is Sonnie’s opponent, and Sonnie and her team retires to a hotel room of sorts, with the exception of Sonnie-who slips away into the room that houses her fighter, promptly encountering the beauty from earlier! (Payoff time)..and it gets gay. Fast. I love me some wlw content, and there’s some nice tension here, right up until the beauty stabs Sonnie through the head. Rude. The bigwig reveals himself, which was a bit of a surprise-the part of me that hadn’t seen much of this show yet was hoping for a fluffy little happy ending. It wasn’t to be though..after the beauty crushes Sonnie’s skull, the two promptly realize that ‘Sonnie’ wasn’t Sonnie at all-just some biotech. The *real* Sonnie...was the fighter, the whole time. Who promptly makes short work of both the beauty and the bigwig, (implied), in what I can only describe as the most satisfying moment in the series that I’ve seen thus far.
This was easily my favorite episode of the show, and has continued to be, and I assume will continue to be my favorite through the rest of the series. It’s not just because of the lesbian rep (my people!), or the misogynists getting fucking destroyed, but the strength of the reveal, the choreography of the fight scene, and the *power* of the protagonist. I love her. I love her sooo much. We are seamlessly introduced into the world, shown a woman who has been beaten, scarred, faced sexual abuse, and she remade herself into a being of pure power. She fought back, and *look how she fights back*. I cannot describe just how much of a cheer-worthy moment it was to watch the smug smile be summarily wiped from the face of the bigwig. I *love* seeing a villain who has full confidence in their victory suddenly realize that they don’t have the upper hand anymore...and that they are, in fact, absolutely screwed. This was one of those wonderful, wonderful moments, and I can think of nobody more deserving than this villain of being torn to shreds. This was an A+ episode for sure-100% recommend this one for anyone who can handle a bit of gore.
Thank you so much for reading! This is only part 1...more to come!
#ooc#not ffxiv#review#show review#tv show review#love death and robots#love#death#robots#animation#sonnie's edge#ice age#beyond the aquila rift#three robots#wlw#lesbian
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Summary: “Am I in Hell?” Agatha’s voice was hoarse, a hint of fear in her tone. “That depends on your definition,” Dracula answered. “Perhaps.” His fingers felt cool against her burning skin, the fever raging through her body. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it,” she mumbled. The count chuckled, gazing into her eyes. “On the contrary,” he smirked. “I’m going to save you.”
((In which Dracula cares for a gravely ill Agatha))
Characters: Agatha Van Helsing/Dracula
Rating: M
Read on FFN and AO3
A/N: Thank you all so much for your support! It means the world! Quick shout out to @rheabalaur! She is incredibly knowledgeable about the history of Dracula and Vlad Tepes and though I ended up not exploring human!Drac in this chapter, I wanted to thank her! She’s got some neat posts on the history and I learned a lot! Anywho, feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! Here is the next chapter!
Chapter Ten (Part Two)
Psychosomatic heart palpitations. The only diagnoses one can give to someone whose heart has stopped so long ago. Settled deep behind his rib cage, Count Dracula could almost swear he felt the dead organ pound against his ancient bones. Its rapid beating battering against his ear drums. Agatha Van Helsing was gone. Vanished without a trace except for a final message scribbled hastily on a scrap of paper. And it was all his fault.
"Fuck, Agatha!" He cursed, feeling the draft from the air outside. She'd neglected to close the doors properly, though that was beside the point. The cold temperature didn't bother him. No, he was immune. But she wasn't. "Dammit!"
Transformation. On foot. But there was the issue of his missing boots. The vampire's mind reeled a million miles a second. Usually he was so good thinking on his feet. Decisions coming easily to his mind. Yet there he was, standing hopelessly like a fool, trying to devise a plan. A way to find her. Agatha. His Agatha. In all of his centuries of life, never had he made such a fatal mistake.
He stared down at the corpse of the young man whose lifeless brown eyes gazed back at him. His skin was so pale, almost lily white after being completely drained of blood. Dracula let out a grunt, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Sloppy. Careless. His new existence as a vampire had yet to come easy to him. Despite being a learned man, he was well on his way of opening Pandora's box if he wasn't careful.
"Oh don't look so stoic." The vampire exhaled, glancing up to the dark sky. "You were far from valuable to begin with. Now what to do with you…"
Thunder rumbled overhead and small raindrops began to fall from above. Dracula frowned and glanced towards the direction of his castle. Experimentation. Understanding what he was didn't just fall on his shoulders. No. There was something interesting he witnessed with each new kill. From cradle to grave and from grave to coffin. Dying from one life into the next. A small smirk crossed his features as lightning crackled from above.
"Perhaps you will prove more use to me after all." He stated, lifting the body with ease. "So we shall see…"
By some stroke of sheer luck, Dracula managed to come across a pair of old boots tucked away in an old closet. Dusty, they gave off an unpleasant smell that even he found rather foul. But his own comfort was far from his concern. Slipping them forcefully on, he hurried out through the front doors and into the winter elements. Going bravely forth into the bitter snowstorm that had begun to stir from its sleep again.
His pace was brisk, each long stride with purpose as he walked away from the castle. Much to his misfortune, the fresh snow had completely covered the ground, burying with it any sign of Agatha's tracks. Not even transforming into a wolf would help at this stage. No. He couldn't sense her and that alone terrified him. If she was...no, no he couldn't think like that. So he pressed on, faster now.
Lovech Province, Bulgaria. At least, that's what he had learned from her blood. A pretty little thing, traveling alone to meet relatives in a nearby village. She'd been an easy target and quite an interesting one at that. Someone he had deemed worthy enough to keep.
"Please!" Dracula heard her wail from her box. "Please let me go! I'm so thirsty!"
"No." The vampire replied simply, so casually as if he was merely telling her the time of day. "No, I think it's best you stay put for now. Don't worry, I'll take good care of you. I always do with my brides."
Brides. He scoffed at his own term. It had been something he had come up with after holding captive several of his victims. Dracula needed to, after all, have some sort of name for them. In a sense, it seemed fitting. They were his after all. Property. Like cattle. Valuable, unusual stock that any bidder would desire and yet not know the horrors they were getting into.
"Let me go!" The woman pleaded. "Please, I promise I won't tell anyone! Just free me!"
"I shall return later." Dracula sighed as he ignored her screams of protest. "Perhaps with something to eat if I feel willing." He paused before looking over his shoulder. "And do try to keep the wailing to a minimum. I hate how it echoes throughout the halls."
Brides. Cattle. He grinned to himself as he exited the cellar. Disposable indeed.
"Agatha!"
He mentally cursed the howling wind that drowned out his voice each time he called out for her. Of all the times for her to disappear, of course it had to be in the middle of a blizzard. On many occasions she had threatened to leave, but the vampire had never thought she'd go through with it. If he had, if he had half the mind to, maybe he could've prevented this. All of this. If he had just been honest. Maybe she'd still be safe. Warm. Tucked away with him in the castle. But she wasn't and he was to blame.
"AGATHA!"
He hadn't quite expected his time with Jonathan Harker to turn the way that it had. It wasn't often that Dracula was left to deal with a slip up-if one would even call it that-but he found himself in a quite peculiar situation. An instance that led him to the steps of St. Mary's Convent in Budapest, Hungary. To her.
Agatha Van Helsing was a creature he'd never seen before. Such wit. Such spirit. She did not fear him like the others. She tested him like a fishman precariously dangling bait off the side of a boat where a shark was spotted. And that very moment when those few drops of her blood met his tongue it was a euphoria he couldn't explain. Seeing glimpses of her past. Of her history. Of who she was and of him. Of the infamous Abraham Van Helsing who had proven for a while to be a thorn in his side. Her grandfather. The product of a vampire slayer. And Dracula wanted...no, needed more.
The next course of action ended grizzly, not that he was quite surprised. But it wasn't until he came upon Agatha and that innocent, weakling Mina that his desire for the nun became curious. In any given dangerous situation, one must choose fight or flight. To defend yourself against your enemy and possibly die, or to out run them in the hopes of living. Agatha did neither. Instead, she offered herself in place of Mina. Seemingly cared nothing for her own life but only that of the woman's.
And so against what he thought at the time was his better judgement, he freed them both. Unknowing that soon enough fate would have them meet again under even stranger circumstances. How delectable and useful just a small amount of blood could be.
He couldn't smell her. No matter how far he walked, he still had yet to pick up any of her scent. That gave him some hope that maybe she hadn't injured herself. That perhaps she had found someone by some chance who had given her a ride somewhere. Unlikely as it was, it gave him a false sense of peace.
But due to the hindrance of his tracking abilities, a part of the Count began to wonder if Agatha's former Convent's beloved God was punishing him. That perhaps his version of Hell was not having her. Losing her. And who was he to deny that truth? Hell had frozen over and with it the former nun's mysterious disappearance. Dammit, Agatha, where could she have gone?
Dracula found himself staring at her for hours when he had first brought her to his castle. Watched as her chest rose and fell with each unstable breath. How her creamy skin was blotched by the red of the fever. At any point he could've killed her. Any second. With how ill she was, she wouldn't even see it coming. But she didn't. Instead, he observed. Quiet as his unaware guest rested.
When she did wake, truly became aware of her surroundings, it was a fond memory. How furious she was. How spiteful. After everything he'd done, Agatha showed no sign of gratitude and quite frankly, the vampire took no offense to that. She was merely an experiment after all. Someone he desired to learn more about. Except, he never expected it to go as far as it did.
"Fuck!"
Dracula's arms shielded him out of pure reflex as a tree fell just a yard away, spraying him with the wet snow that had clung to its branches. He wiped the substance away, his skin cool enough that it didn't immediately melt on impact. The way it clung to his clothes like some form of unwanted camouflage. For the first time in a long, long while, he was starting to despise the stuff.
"Agatha!" He tried again, this time louder. "Agatha, answer me! Where are you?!"
But only the storm returned his calling.
Emotions. Perhaps that's why he found it confusing at first. These feelings that no cold blooded person should experience. But the first real flicker struck him the moment he saw her wearing the dress he'd gotten her to replace that dreadful habit of hers.
Dracula thought of them. The hundreds-thousands of women he'd seen throughout his lifetime. Many whose beauty was beyond compare. But Agatha was different. Something about her, the way she stood there before him. There was so much he wanted to say. And at the same time, he wasn't sure what.
"Well," she said testily. "If it looks bad on me, you might as well-"
"No," he interjected. "No. You look...lovely."
Lovely. Out of everything he could've said, those were the words to spill past his lips. She blushed, but it wasn't the same color as her fever. No, this was different. So it truly began. The start of something he had very much yet to comprehend.
It was growing darker outside and Dracula knew it wasn't just because of the storm. He began to pick up his pace, fear beginning to rise even further than before. How long had he been asleep? A few hours at most? Could she really have gotten this far?
That's when he smelled it. The very faint, but familiar scent of blood. An aroma he was so familiar with that his stomach dropped at the realization. Agatha. It was Agatha. And the sweetness he associated with it only made him want to gag. His worries had been confirmed. Something had happened to his nun.
Maybe it was when they lost control over dinner and ended up having sex so rough, the aftermath of their heated lovemaking shouted to the heavens the next day. Or when she got so furious with him once, she broke her hand against his face. But perhaps the moment it really dawned on him that his feelings for Agatha Van Helsing were far from just a whim of passion was that night he truly tasted her.
The way she trembled against his touch. How he had to hold her as he ran his tongue across the inner thigh and to her very center. Sweet, like her blood, and he savored her like a fine wine. It hadn't been rough. Fueled by aggression. No, the way she melted into him was something far different. And when he was finally inside of her, that same sense of euphoria that he'd experienced those several, several months ago struck him. And he lost it. Completely gave way and pierced his teeth into Agatha's sensitive flesh. Blessed with her indulgence once more. That was his first mistake.
The smell of fresh blood was stronger now and Dracula followed it like a bloodhound. Though he knew he had to be drawing closer, how potent it was becoming only left his stomach twisting into knots. This wasn't a mere scratch. Not with how intense the smell was. There was a significant amount and the vampire dreaded what that could mean. What the outcome he was about to face was. How he wished Agatha had just gone ahead and staked him.
Cruel. That was the proper description for his next actions. Never mind triggering Agatha with old memories of Abraham-a man he knew well enough while, not evil, lacked any sort of endearment towards his granddaughter. He only furthered his stupidity when he abandoned her afterwards, leaving what should've been a good moment with a negative, abrupt ending.
In an almost sadistic, poetic way, the stake to his heart had been the final straw that broke the camel's back. The moment where Agatha's walls completely crumbled to the ground. Where she had, in her actions, admitted her true feelings when he had not. Metaphorically piercing her own heart when she should've done his. And he smiled. Grinned and waved away her affections. If only he realized the cost. The consequences. Those few words scrawled upon a strip of parchment.
Something caused him to stop in his tracks. Not the giant branch that blocked his path, but the feeling that there was something else. And so he hesitantly gazed over the edge, over a set of ragged rocks that dropped down several yards to the bottom. That's when he saw her. A figure lying motionless below wet by something other than snow. Dark. Even from where he stood, his excellent vision could make it out. Blood. Agatha.
"Agatha!"
Dracula leaped with such grace it made the long drop seem like a mere step. He hurried over to her side. Blood. There was so much blood. It stained the rock around her, caked locks of her hair together. And for a brief moment, for a fraction of a second, the vampire thought he was too late. It was only when he heard her pulse, the weak thrumming of her heart, that he knew she was alive. Barely. But still with him. As he exhaled in relief, her eyes opened.
Quickly he knelt beside her, the smell of her blood burning his nostrils. Thirst. Hunger. But he fought it. Battle the feral urge to feast within him. Dracula's hands were warm, sticky and red as he cradled her head ever so gently. She stared back at him unfocused.
The Count wanted to berate her. Scream at her for being so boneheaded. But not because he was furious with her. No, she had terrified him. So many questions. So much to say. Yet he couldn't. There wasn't any time to do so. He was losing her. Right there in his arms, the only person he'd truly ever cared about was withering away. He couldn't let that happen.
"You're dying." And the words held far more emotion than he'd ever had anticipated. "Agatha..."
"I know," she croaked.
The way she said it. Her tone. She wasn't afraid. Far worse. It was as if she was more than willing to accept this horrid fate. This end where one no longer exists. And he had planted the seed that made her okay with that.
"I can save you." There was a tremor in his voice. "This doesn't have to be the end. Let me..." He swallowed, damn how he hated to sound vulnerable. "Let me..."
There was a moment of pause as Agatha struggled to catch a breath. It ached deep within him to hear the pain as she did so. She was so strong. Even in death, she fought with bravery. What a soldier she would've made. What a companion in his human lifetime she would've been.
"Tell me..." Blood bubbled up in the corner of her mouth as she struggled to remain conscious. "Tell me..."
"Agatha!" He spoke to her loudly, trying desperately to keep her awake. "Tell you what?" But the Count already knew what she meant. "Tell you what?!"
"Just..." She was fading now. Fading so fast. "Tell me..."
Tell her. He looked deep within her blue eyes as the light began to fade in them. Tried to hold her stare so she knew he really meant it. Weeks. Months. It was so long overdue and this was far from how he wanted to ever admit it. Open up to her like she had him. But now he needed to. So he swallowed, swallowed so thick as if his very life was caught in his throat.
"I love you." A statement so foreign, and yet, felt so right. Something wet brushed against his cheek. A tear. Was he crying? "I love you, Agatha Van Helsing."
A weight lifted off his shoulders. The entire universe relieving him of the pressure he'd felt for so long. He gazed down at her so longingly it was as if everything had stopped around them. Waited for her final words. Praying she'd give into his demands.
Agatha smiled weakly and closed her eyes at his confession. "Okay," his lover murmured. "Okay…"
And Dracula's fangs plunged into her throat.
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mtmte liveblog issue 28
catch me completely ignoring dark cybertron lmao
yeahhhh so I'm just gonna skip dark cybertron bc no thanks. I did read the tf wiki articles for the issues tho, which is more than I did in the past, so at least now I kinda know what happened, though I had to suffer thru reading about dark cybertron to learn stuff about it. yikes. reading ABOUT dark cybertron further enforced my decision to not actually read thru it
anyways. the best part of dark cybertron was when chromedome threw prowl off that cliff. that was baller lmfao
a 1 page recap of dark cybertron is about all I can handle. thank you
ooh, the 6 months later smash-cut, I fucking love itttt
nautica’s here!!!!!!!!!!! I'm so happy I love her. also brainstorm, and I love their friendship sm
hvbjdkhfbshdfj god I love them. they have such a fun dynamic
everyone eavesdropping on a therapy session vhbhdjkhafbhkjsdf. hipaa laws mean nothing as usual
the casual reveal of captain megatron, oh god
the title fucking slaps, as usual. this is one of my favorites - ‘world, shut your mouth.’ great stuff, and a song title/reference to boot! and this being part 1: towards peace...chefs kiss
and then we flash back to 6 months earlier...yknow now that I'm rereading this, mtmte has a LOT of framing devices used - there's story-within-a-story, flashback/flash-forwards, storytelling with narration, etc...I love it
god hbvhjakdfbshjkdf rodimus saying ‘magic’ and then the little *magic = science rodimus doesn't understand HBGKJHSDBFKHJSDF my idiot boy ily
rodimus roasting prowl is my fav hbfjdkafshsbjkf ‘maybe the knights can help us find a cure for your personality’ ily sm
and then prowl agreeing w/rodimus a few panels later about megatron’s guilt...
optimus...don't you think that making yourself chief of justice is...maybe a bad idea...like, maybe there's a conflict of interests here...just a little bit of bias...a bit too much history, perhaps...
the fact that all the big roles in the trial were given to high-ranking autobots who were heavily involved in the war...I see that cybertrons justice system is as much of a farce as their medical ethics and patient confidentiality laws
the ‘you BROKE the MATRIX’ panel is so good bjhkdhfbajskhdf
rodimus: LISTEN dad I just wanna resume my space cruise with my frat bro ship I have no interest in politics
psychiatrists HATE him! local former warlord refuses to recognize the validity of psychological analyzation of people’s actions
ravage casually breaking hipaa laws and chilling in megatron’s therapy session like >:3
I love rung...he’s so good at like, passive-aggressively cutting right to the heart of someone’s issues, and he’s so generally mild that you can’t even really get mad at him
the sudden inclusion of megatron as a major character in mtmte is kinda jarring at first - mostly, for me at least, due in part because I didn't read dark cybertron so this is like, megatron’s introduction as a relevant character in general - but I feel like jro does a great job laying a lot of intrigue down from the very beginning w/his character - like, I already want to know more about what his whole deal is, even though we have, ostensibly, seen pretty much all of his story play out already
rung name-dropping froid...i remember that made me lose my shit bc cmon. FROID....jesus christ
rung and megatron: holy shit! we’re suddenly being drawn in a 90s-esque sci-fi tron-looking retro-futuristic style!
interesting that megatron sought rung out, and not the other way around
RIPTIDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! my favorite sharkboy is HERE
CREWDITIONS...YES....
‘we’re not allowed to take anyone who might remind rodimus of prowl’ vhbhjdkshfbhaskfd brutal
I love nautica so so much. a perfect autistic scientist after my own heart
I adore that nautica brought chromia along for moral support
hgvbjdakhfbhsj and then swerve saying that rodimus hates ‘trisyllabic names’ and nautica is like....but....‘rodimus’.....
and then nightbeat busts in to get all bbc sherlock on they asses hgbfhjadkfbjaskdf
WHY was perceptor at the crewditions if he was already part of the crew lmao
ooof, and then we have megatron flipping out when chromedome, a mnemosurgeon, shows up
also damn the autobots were rlly like okay so we wanna speed this trial up so lets just like, probe megatrons brain, that seems completely ethical, especially when you consider the history of shadowplay and stuff that our previous government had
I know important stuff is happening but megatron is holding a CUBE and I love CUBES so I'm distracted by that. C U B E
and then right after a scene where we see chromedome willing to perform mnemosurgery again - despite rewind’s like, dying wish for him not to - we hear that he’s been locked up in his room rewatching rewinds goodbye message over and over again :( I'm fucking depressed
I love nightbeat, he’s so funny and kind of an asshole
and then you see more missing letters behind them next panel...clearly nightbeat is right and there’s a mystery afoot...OR somebody is fucking with the ship’s lettering as a prank, which is a plot point I would absolutely buy
yeahhhh skids is right, chromedome is clearly Not dealing
the dramatic graffiti on megatrons door...I wanna know who spray-painted ‘die’ everywhere like they're reaper overwatch
oh god. whirl vs megatron
really cool red lighting tho
GOD its so brutal, all the stuff megatron said about how he told the cons not to kill whirl...and doesn't that end up being false anyways? so he was just saying it to dig at whirl, which is awful
also I'm never over the fact that literally everyone - including megatron and whirl - blames whirl for ‘turning megatron violent,’ as if the entire Point isn't that whirl was a tool for a corrupt system, and if it wasn't whirl it would've just been someone else, and megatron turning away from pacifism was inevitable given the circumstances, AND also a choice on his part, so he really only has himself to blame for his OWN ACTIONS
bye bye whirls right arm, see you in lost light
‘people never stop changing’ that IS something I say all the time...damn you warlord grandpa! how can you steal my philosophies?!
ohhh man and then rewind’s goodbye message being different....oooh
AUGH the fact that whirl was basically trying to goad megatron into killing him, just like he did in issue 1 w/cyclonus...It Hurts Man
also I do love the hint at who he’s talking to w/whirl shooting megatron with the bow and arrow earlier, and we know that atomizer is a fan of those
ok, but here’s where my philosophy diverges - megatron talks about throwing away his past and starting new, but I think that you have to learn from and build on your past...either way, megatron’s arc is one that I enjoy greatly from a character writing standpoint, and I'm excited to get it underway, especially w/how controversial it is lmao
big ole double-page spread...I like how you can pick out individual characters in the background crowd, which is crazy cause that's a LOT of people. also how come cosmos is so HUGE
phewwww 4.6 billion cybertronians died in the war, that’s INSANE. that's like, an incomprehensibly huge number. is there an estimate for their current population? I bet its not a lot. no wonder jro leaned into reproductive themes so much in mtmte/ll - of course the continuation of your species would be a concern for many if your numbers have been that greatly reduced
optimus w/his fancy tyrest-lookin crown
oughdajbfsbdf and the fact that megatron ALSO murdered 100 BILLION non-cybertronians...bruh. I feel like they maybe should've dialed those numbers back a little to allow his ‘redemption arc’ to run a little smoother lmao. but also I admire the commitment either way
and then we end w/megatron doing captain stuff, and seeing The Coffin...and we never did see rodimus in any of the flash-forward parts of this issue, did we???? I love how concerning that is. where's my BOY
also of course we gotta remember the warning from way back at the beginning of mtmte: ‘don't open the coffin’....
and so begins mtmte s2! man I love s2. I love mtmte in general lmao. s2 takes on the impossible w/the whole ‘megatron redemption arc’ thing, and I know that’s like, a divisive plot point and stuff, but from a writing standpoint I enjoyed it a lot...I think it was pretty much as well done as it could've been given the enormity of the task, and I thought it was a really interesting direction for the story to go in
also espec if it’s true that hasbro was like ‘hey jro put megatron in your story and give him a redemption arc’ rather than jro like, planning/asking to do it
anyways. I doubt ill talk much abt the disc horse(tm) here bc this is just for fun and also my own personal opinions and whatever, but I for one am excited to reexperience this stuff
so yeah s2 off to a strong start with some wild shit already happening! cant wait to read more!
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Y’know what?
I’ma make a list of all Iplier and Septic egos (that I would attempt writing) and put down some general headcanon points.
Be aware some might be different from “fanon” and some might be similar to “fanon”. These are just my general thoughts.
Also cus it’s a lot of egos, it’s under a read-more.
Dark
- Has a notable aura. Usually keeps it pulled to only himself, even though that’s tiring.
- Generally very exhausted.
- He works on keeping all the crimes the egos commit undercover and unnoticed, keeping the manor up and running without decaying, handling their money resources and public appearances, such things.
- Cares about all the egos like family, but would never admit it.
- Will manipulate you to reach his goal. Don’t trust him.
Wilford
- Not human. He’s a being made entirely out of energy. Is “human” for fun.
- Due to that he doesn’t understand a lot of human things. Such as an actual need for food/water, bathroom needs, need to sleep, death.
- Can alter reality in his vicinity however he pleases pretty much.
- Can teleport himself to places he’s been to before.
- Can teleport objects to himself and way, as long as he knows where they are and where they go.
Host
- Doesn’t smile a lot. Never seems to swear.
- Is the (second) tallest ego. Cryptid vibes.
- Narrates constantly, but doesn’t need to to be able to “see”.
- Can be a softie when he wants to be.
- Tortures people for fun. Murders for fun. Has no remorse.
- Can be a petty asshole quite a lot.
(I tend to also write him as a nice, gentle baby, because self-projecting)
Dr Iplier
- Chubby and somft.
- Extremely done with everyone’s bs.
- Swears to himself more than you’d think.
- Has slight healing powers (but can also cause pain if he wants to).
- Works in a hospital in the city.
Google
- Doesn’t understand emotions at all.
- Has a weird way of speaking sometimes.
- What is slang?
- Doesn’t understand humans well. He sees the bad the most so he hates them a lot. No reason to like humans.
- Makes beeping sounds.
Oliver (Google Yellow)
- Very cheerful, bright, happy.
- Loves children and teens, struggles with adults.
- Very kind and caring to everyone.
- Will murder with a smile on his face.
Reed (Google Red)
- he’s a mystery to myself I’m sorry
Greg (Google Green)
- Fascinated by humans, how they work like and such.
- Has an interest in medicine.
- Helps Iplier with taking care of the egos’ injuries and illnesses.
- Very calm individual, very gentle.
Yandere
- Nonbinary. Uses They/Them or She/Her.
- Will stab you if you ask about their sex.
- Obsessed with their senpai, but never tries to interact with them.
- Dresses both feminine and masculine.
- Pretty cheerful and bright usually.
- Easily makes friends.
King
- Loves nature and animals more than anything.
- Understands animals and can communicate with them to some degree.
- Is pretty muscular and athletic actually.
- Very very kind and gentle.
- Naive and oblivious.
Jims Twins
- Refer to everyone as Jim.
- They are both Jim. No CJ or RJ (that just makes no sense).
- They love to confuse people.
- Are almost always recording what’s happening.
- Run a news show, obviously.
- Very very curious people. Ask a lot of questions.
Eric
- Very very shy and anxious.
- Has no clue how to talk with people.
- Stutters when nervous.
- Handkerchief is a comfort item.
- Loves animals a lot.
- Very soft and very afraid.
Bim
- Very dramatic.
- Loves glitter. Always glittering.
- Cannibal, but like, casual.
- Pretty nice fellow usually.
- A huge flirt. Charismatic.
- Has powers which he can use to make people pay attention to him, fall in love with him, and just generally want him.
Author
- Likes to be alone and isolated.
- No idea how to handle people.
- Needs chewing stim necklace.
- Gets overwhelmed by a lot of noise and crowds.
- Loud noises are Bad™
- Wilford’s best friend. Gets up to a lot of mischief with him.
- Uses his writing for every little thing possible.
Bing
- Loves slang and uses it a lot. No matter from which decade.
- Loves skateboarding and is pretty good with it.
- Has a TikTok 100%.
- Very chill. You will not get him angry.
Yancy
- Loves singing and making his own musical numbers.
- Can choreograph simple things by himself.
- Can dance pretty well. Especially tap-dance.
- Loves reading old classics.
- He will never let go of his accent.
Captn Magnum
- Gentle giant.
- Always out on the sea.
- The tallest ego around.
- Father figure for absolutely everyone.
- Eats lemons like oranges.
Illinois
- Cocky.
- Loves to flirt.
- Loves himself first and foremost.
- Cares about people.
- Doesn’t want to get attached.
- Loves history, doesn’t care about money.
Mark Bop
- Loves singing, but is bad at it.
- Has his own made-up language. (The Jims understand him).
- Loves music. Has mix-tables.
- Muscular man. Rips his shirts when he flexes.
- Enjoys roller-skating.
- Bad at talking. Very bad.
Arti
- Very nervous. Very shy.
- Paranoid.
- Loves art in every form.
- Paints a lot. Loves painting. Good at painting.
- Likes to be left alone.
- Likes silent company.
- Very nice actually.
Leon (Resident Enis)
- Doesn’t trust easily.
- Dirty. Stinky.
- A little kleptomaniac.
- Nice and relaxed around friends.
- Very protective.
Mike (FNAF guard)
- Paranoid.
- Afraid of everyone.
- Always has a knife on him.
- Very protective once he trusts someone.
- Insomniac.
Bill
- Werewolf.
- Is deathly afraid of technology.
- Doesn’t understand technology.
- Loves to farm.
- Good cook.
- Very very nice and gentle.
Kink
- Very open-minded.
- Connects emotionally with others very easily.
- Extremely accepting of everyone and everything.
- Loves to learn about new things.
- Very kind and nice.
- Has a death glare that’ll make you shudder.
Hiro (Cooliplier)
- The cool kid.
- Not the smartest.
- Doesn’t know a whole lot.
- Likes to play tough and strong.
- A huge softie. Loves cuddles.
Dr. Warren Plier
- Will psychoanalyze you the moment you meet.
- Very quiet individual.
- A great listener, not so good at talking.
- Tends to be blunt.
- Interested in whatever is being talked about.
Norman (Paranormal Investigator)
- Has a weird obsession with blood.
- Collects haunted dolls.
- A bit arrogant.
- Very confident and sure of himself.
- Not the kindest, but not rude intentionally.
- Loves all paranormal.
- No respect for anyone or anything.
Marcus (E-boy)
- Loves the aesthetic.
- Eats the peel of fruits no matter what.
- Screwed taste buds.
- Pescatarian (vegetarian + fish).
- Also has a TikTok.
- Creative.
- Talks a lot.
Annus
- A wild card.
- One moment he’s serious and all about life and death.
- The next he fucks around and does something with pee.
- Has an accurate sense of when catastrophic events happen.
- Is terrified of dying, but not death itself.
- Is afraid of being forgotten.
Anti
- Is a glitch, like a hologram.
- If water touches him, he gets hurt. Can glitch out completely.
- He’s weightless. Can’t be physically hurt unless he wants to be.
- Has his own digital space where he “lives”.
- Loves fucking with people.
- Gets off of gutting people.
- Collects knives.
- Loves making music with a launchpad.
Schneeple
- Barely has an accent anymore.
- Typical bilingual problems.
- Weird mix of words he uses due to how he learned English.
- A good surgeon.
- Works in the same hospital as Iplier.
Chase
- Absolute asshole.
- Drunk 90% of the time (Sad when tipsy, angry when drunk).
- Violent. Will quickly get physical with people.
- There’s legal reasons he’s not allowed to see his kids.
Robbie
- Undead zombie.
- Mental age of a child. Very slow.
- Looks rotting but doesn’t smell like rotting.
- Can’t see well. Can’t read.
- Very kind. Very curious.
- Bad at talking.
Jackie
- A true hero.
- Kind, gentle, caring.
- Has powers of flight, strength, and a bit of speed.
- A big amount of stamina.
- Muscular and athletic.
- Is outside 90% of the time.
- Hates being stuck inside.
JJ
- Mute. Uses sign language.
- Confused by modern things.
- Uses old words and ways of speaking.
- Technology is fascinating.
- Very kind and gentle.
- Immaculate fashion.
Marvin
- Introvert.
- Hates being around people. Loathes crowds.
- Loves exploring magic and potions.
- May use people to test out spells and potions.
- Very arrogant and self-obsessed.
#Personal Ramblings#my headcanons#/ i dont want to tag all these egos#markiplier#jacksepticeye#long post
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not to be evil but 50 for creamsicle dude
50- In the Afterlife
(Spoilers for Reservoir Dogs, language, and descriptions of wounds/violence)
“I’m a cop, Larry.” Freddy chokes as his vision blurs, the second bullet burning a hole through his already injured stomach. He’s dying and no matter what words Larry says to calm him, he’s fucking dead when the cops finally get to him.
Freddy had been painting the warehouse floor red for hours as the heist members bickered over what to do with him and now they were all dead except for White and Orange. Even if the LAPD bust through the door now and arrested an injured Mister White and managed to get Freddy to a hospital in time, he couldn’t live with himself. He couldn’t live with Larry, his Larry, believing they would serve jail time together, that he was right in killing Joe Cabot and Nice Guy Eddie. His soul was too heavy for him to die a liar.
The howl the older thief emits is the most heartbroken sound Freddy has ever heard and he sinks more into the older man’s lap, deflated and defeated. He can’t see him but he feels hot tears fall on his face from above. He tries in vain to grab onto his Larry, but his arms felt like jello, like he was trying to fight in a dream, punch underwater. He would be frustrated if he could feel anything at all besides the creeping coldness.
“I’m so sorry, oh Larry I’m so sorry.” Freddy chanted, over and over as he felt something cool press against his cheek. There was something happening in the distance but he could only hear Larry as he mourned for the person he thought he had fallen so deeply in love with. Freddy couldn’t blame him, he liked Mister Orange a hell of a lot better than the sad kid turned Cop Freddy Newandyke.
The younger man tried again, this time to tell him, to tell Larry his name like Larry did for him when the took the car but there was a loud sound outside that startled both men. The last sound Freddy heard before the world went entirely black was the sounds of his colleagues finally storming the building. Too little too late for him as he was another corpse in the ill-fated warehouse. Freddy Newandyke died a free man but an unhappy one, in the arms of the only person he had ever truly loved and the only man he had ever completely betrayed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Freddy wakes up after awhile, not sure where he is or what happened, vague images of the last scenes in the warehouse playing over in his mind as he tried to adjust his wary olive eyes. His hands quickly flew to his belly burying them under his tank top and feeling for what he was sure was two bullet holes only to find the smooth freckled untouched skin, just as it had been the morning before everything went to absolute shit. His hands slowly retracted, feeling his torso before he rubbed his eyes with balled fists until he could finally see he was laying in his brightly lit, shitty little LA apartment. The walls were the aqua blue he remembered begging his landlord to let him paint the place and ultimately won. He let out of a nervous laugh that threatened to turn into a sob if he didn’t keep himself together.
“How the hell am I here?” Freddy contemplated as he reached across his bedside table, retrieving a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. The young man pushed back his light brown hair back, noting the absence of sweat and pomade before fiddling with the lighter. “Mother fucker.” He seethed, pink lips wrapped around the cigarette as he tried desperately to get the thing to actually light.
Maybe he was in hell and this was a very minor inconvenience but part of a larger punishment? After all he deserved what was coming for him. He was a liar, a murderer, a thief. And all of it was for vanity and respect from men who saw his profession as subhuman anyways. Who was he really trying to impress; the LAPD who thought he was better off being a desk jockey and undercover fodder or the mob boss that said every slur under the sun with his brat and team of psychopaths? Freddy ended up like the psychopaths more than he was willing to admit. He ended up liking Mister White even more but he didn’t want to think about him.
The young man managed to get the lighter to do its job, enjoying the relief nicotine brought to his high strung nerves as he settled back down against his headboard. He ran a thumb over the broken lighter, looking at it a bit more now that he had calmed himself out of an existential panic. It looked so familiar but surely it wasn’t his, Freddy had a habit of misplacing every lighter he owned, always having to rely on someone else for a light.
That’s how he first really met Larry Dimmick, behind the club Joe and Eddie had invited him out to where he told the most riveting fucking story of 1992. He was sweating through his leather jacket, worried sick that he got any part of the commode story wrong and trying to take a break from being the cool dope peddler. White met him outside, cool as cool can be, in his Hawaiian shirt, half unbuttoned and inviting. Dark hair slicked back and styled like he was some sort of old Hollywood gangster.
“Hey, kid. Need a light?” Freddy swallowed down his nerves before leaning into the older man, cigarette between his lips as it takes a few tries and one curse to get Larry to light him one. The whole time, Freddy looks up at him from under his eye lashes, studying the firm and handsome face of the thief, justifying it as he would need to pick him out of a line up later. Tracing over every line and mark, and occasionally meeting whiskey brown eyes when they weren’t focused on the lighter.
“Thanks, man..” He said muffled between the cigarette and trying to keep himself cool. Larry lit himself one next before leaning up against the alleyway, one foot pressed to the bricks to keep his balance. This mystery man (at the time) was the coolest mother fucker in LA and Freddy was already screwed.
“Hell of a story you told back there. I know we can’t exchange names, but I’d like to buy you a drink....”
“Larry????” The memory faded just as it has begun as reality hit him like a ton of bricks. Freddy squirmed, falling out of bed just as quickly as he had gotten up. The cigarette nearly abandoned and burning a hole in his beige carpet. He quickly recovered it, snuffing it out in an ash tray and rolling back onto his feet. He reached the door, throwing it open only to find the Mister White standing in his kitchen, coffee mug cradled in his hands as he greeted him.
“About time you got up, kid. I thought you were gonna sleep all day.” There was no malice in his voice, which hurt the younger man even more than if Larry had lashed out at him. Instead, he was pulling out a chair for him at his wobbly little breakfast table and pouring Freddy fresh brewed coffee in his favorite mug (the one with Wolverine on it). It was domestic, just like it had been before the heist when they broke the rules time and time again to meet up in Orange’s apartment. They became fast friends and even faster lovers. White was in his bed three days after meeting in the bar and every night since. And Freddy had gotten so used to waking up to fresh coffee made by the thief who always woke up much earlier than him. This scene was pulled straight from the good times, before the failed diamond heist, the chase, the bullets...
Freddy stood in the door way like a frightened animal, unwilling to get any closer and clenching the lighter in his fist. The older man sighed deeply, annoyed already but trying a different approach to coax him forward.
“I’m not mad at you, Orange. Not now. But I need to talk to you, you at least owe me a conversation.” He did. He really owed him so much more and he hated hearing his alias. So Freddy settled into the kitchen, perching on his chair but pulling his legs up to his chest as he exchanged the lighter for the mug.
“Freddy. Freddy Newandyke.” He said, he had been so careful with his name, unlike Larry who came to him with his heart on his sleeve from the start. “Please call me that.” Larry frowned, digesting the information before shooting him a classic smile. That was the thing that killed him (well he was already dead..) the most, how accepting his Larry was.. If he still was his Larry.
“I never pictured you a Freddy but now that I know, it suits you. Kind of cute.” Larry pulled out his own chair and sat next to him, the younger man just now noticed that he was wearing his own pajamas, they were both as they were before everything went to shit. “Well Freddy, what the fuck was that all about huh?”
Freddy sighed, burning his tongue on his still too hot coffee before he began his full confession.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They talked and established three things over four pots of coffee and a few packs of cigarettes:
They were dead, Larry had shot Freddy and the LAPD had shot Larry for it. And they were in some form of purgatory, Larry was more into the idea of it being a different plane of existence while Freddy was sure they were in the biblical definition of purgatory.
Freddy was a cop, the one feeding the police information about the heist the whole time but he was remorseful about it.
They loved each other still despite what happened.
Larry held his hand, rubbing his knuckles with a calloused thumb while Freddy choked out the last of it. He was a mess, worked up and teary eyed with his free arm flailing for emphasis with every “I’m sorry, I fucked up, I don’t deserve you.”
The older man shook his head and pulled Freddy into his lap, cradling him like he was on the warehouse floor again but with less urgency. Mister White wrapped an arm around his waist and used the other to cup his cheek.
“You broke my fucking heart, kid.” Larry whispered into his temple before placing soft kisses along his hairline. Freddy shuttered at the tenderness he truly did not deserve, he clung instead to Larry for dear life as he continued to whisper to him, “But I killed you so I’d call that even.”
“I’m sorry, Larry. I’ll never not be sorry about this. I love you so much..” He whimpered before being silenced by Larry’s lips on his own. He had missed them so much after getting caught up in a whirlwind of events, it felt like he was finally home. Here in Larry Dimmick’s arms and with his lips on his. Freddy could have sworn he felt his heart beat again. It was Larry who broke it off to brush the hair from his lovers face.
“We’ve got time, and I love you so much, Freddy, I’m willing to give it another try.” Larry smiled at him like he was telling the fake commode story and Freddy’s soul felt more free than he had in ages. Maybe this was heaven after all.
#ask meme#fuck this is long#reservoir dogs#larry dimmick#freddy newandyke#mister white#mister orange#creamsicle#i write sins and tragedies#hungry-hobbits#angst#with fluff at the end#spoilers for a movie that came out in the 90s
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Team Titans #16
I'm fairly certain that this is some of that 3-D art that was popular at the time. I'm also fairly certain it's a dick.
"Oh no! My horse was shot straight up the asshole!"
Image Comics changed the face of the comic book industry in many ways that smarter people than me actually know about. But one of the ways that people don't talk about as much (unless they do. I don't have time to actually read about comics or research them or interact with other comic book fans in any way except to make a disgusted face when they try to speak with me!) is how, immediately following Image Comics push for creator's rights, DC decided to create and trademark characters by every name they could think of. "Here are a bunch of characters created by committee that we can get our writers to use instead of creating their own and then expecting royalties on those stupid characters we own and don't legally have to pay extra for, you Goddamned vampires! Fucking Image Comics! Suck our dicks!" Team Titans had to be a reaction to this new mindset. The premise of this terrible comic book was that thousands of superheroes from the future were sent back in time to save their future. And most of those characters had terrible names, like Redwing and Gunsmoke and Battalion and Sparkle Boy. Evidence from the letters pages suggests that this comic book was expected to last long enough that audiences would see what happened to hundreds of these teams.
About the same time this series was hitting the shelves, DC put out their summer blockbustr, Bloodlines, which was just a blatant attempt to create as many new heroes as they could come up with before writers began expecting created by paychecks. I'm not sure how well it worked though since Hitman is probably the only hero created at that time that anybody could now name. And also, maybe Garth Ennis gets a created by paycheck for him? I don't know! How should I know?! Remember that part about how I don't do research?!
In conclusion, Team Titans can be criticized harshly because it was never meant to be a work of art or a coherent story or entertaining at all. It was just a repository for new characters that DC editors could later mention to new writers when they came on board. "Oh, you don't want to create your own character that you would really be into and thus probably write a terrific story about which would help make DC a lot of money even if we had to pay you creator's rights on it! Maybe you'd rather write a story about Loose Cannon or Joe Public or Cardinal Sin?!" Years later, that editor might be wind up looking at the top selling comics of the month to discover the writer who they drove away was writing a hit comic book with Image Comics because it was the story they wanted to tell but didn't know how to tell it using Loose Cannon as the main character.
Meanwhile, Terry and Donna had a baby that didn't grow up to be an evil narcissistic time traveling world conqueror. I sort of forgot about that.
"Stop being hysterical, Donna! Listen to me, a failed history professor, when I downplay our child's potential illness!" -- Terry Long, typical man.
I can't wait until Donna's child's skin sloughs off and he's revealed to be a mutant lizard monster. Then Donna can be all, "I told you something was wrong!" And Terry can be all, "You just live for these moments, don't you?! Wonder Girl! Always right! Can't do anything wrong! Won't let her husband live it down that he failed to write his book on mythology that would have given him a tenured position at NYU!" And Donna would be all, "I never bring that up! You need to let that shit go, you stupid bastard!" And then Terry can be all, "Our child is a lizard because you probably fucked some mythological creature during those months I couldn't get an erection because I felt like such a failure!" And then Donna can be all, "Why are you still even in these comic books?!" And then my writing teacher can be all, "Is this really how you want to write dialogue? With all the 'so-and-so can be all's?!"
Oh look! I was right about Lobo still being used to increase sales. I think this was right around when Lobo was being used on any series that wanted to prove that their hero could beat the unbeatable Lobo, thus turning Lobo into a punching bag and a loser. Which maybe he always was but look at how cool he looks! And at least he's only a genocidal monster and not a pedophile like Deathstork!
The rest of the comic book seems to be Jeff Jensen's attempt at art. That's my guess because he's doing something different and that means it must be art! The final nineteen pages are narrated by Nightrider, the vampire, as he's shot by a neighbor, crawls off to die, and then infiltrates the dreams of the other members of the Team Titans. That's not the artsy part though! That's regular comic book stuff. The artsy part is that Jensen tells the narrated story through the second person point of view. I always think of it as the Choose Your Own Adventure perspective. Maybe Jensen thought the reader would actually give a shit about Nightrider if they were put in Nightrider's bloody shoes? It's a decent attempt since if Nightrider were telling the story through the first person, I would read it while constantly thinking, "Is his name really Nightrider? Did I misread that? I should go back and check where Terry says his name. Let's see. Yep! It's really Nightrider. What a terrible name! Although I'd read a comic book where he teams up with Gunsmoke, sort of like Iron Fist and Luke Cage." But since the story is told in the second person, I completely forgot to think about Nightrider's dumb name because I was distracted by the use of the second person. Instead, my thoughts were these: "What the fuck is Jensen doing?! This is so awkward! It's like when my cousin began writing essays and stories at Mission College and he wrote them all in the second person because I'm pretty sure the only books he ever read were The Cave of Time and The Mystery of Chimney Rock!"
So congratulations, Jeff Jensen, on completely succeeding at taking my mind of Nightrider's name which, I guess, means I cared a little more about his story? Not that this story where he crawls into a cave to die concentrates on him and his pain anyway. It's more a storytelling trick to catch up the reader on all of the angst and pain and turmoil the other Titans are suffering through. Poor Nightrider! He's not even interesting enough to carry the story when he's dying!
Yeesh. Mirage dreams she "gives birth" (quotes because I don't think this portrays normal birth!) to her baby, conceived when Deathwing raped her, after which her baby threatens to rape her.
After a bunch of mysterious images and bits of story that make the reader believe they've seen some clues as to the future direction of this comic book (but actually haven't seeing as how none of the dreams mentioned how they'd be cancelled in nine more issues), the neighbor who shot Nightrider clambers into the cave and cradles him in his arms. "I won't let you die," he screams to the Gods! "Even if I have to let you suck my dick!" He glances around furtively. "That's probably how your life will be saved, right?" he says as he unzips his jeans.
Team Titans #16 Rating: A+ because it was artists making an effort, I guess. But this comic book wasn't for me.
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Oh boy one of these again
“Even though both of these characters are awesome, fans can’t help but argue among themselves, so the question is simple: Who makes the better Spider-Man? Is it the new kid on the block who is winning new fans over left and right, or is it the classic Spidey that basically started it all?”
It’s Peter.
This isn’t even a debate.
One character is literally trying to be a replication of the other but throwing in some zigs where they zagged, whilst the other is the thing being replicated that also revolutionized comic books forever.
“As always, the answer to this question is: “it depends.” ”
Yes. It depends if you are a moronic clickbait author or not.
Do most Miles Morales fans even honestly argue that Miles is the best Spider-Man as opposed to just...great in his own way?
Like I’m pretty sure most Ben Reilly and Sam Wilson fans don’t try to honestly assert those guys are better than Peter or Steve.
“How do you even begin to measure something like this? ”
Who has had the biggest impact on the medium.
Who was most original.
Who has the most acclaimed stories.
Who has had the most comparatively unconvoluted narrative.
Who’s stories stick closest to the fundamental guiding ideas behind the core concept of Spider-Man and execute that the best.
Mystery solved.
20. MILES: BETTER ORIGIN
“The Peter Parker Spider-Man has an origin story that is downright iconic. There’s no denying that. However, if we’re being honest, then Miles Morales has a much better origin story. And it’s one that modern audiences will find a much easier time relating to.”
Hmm, a scientifically gifted teenager gets bitten by a super science spider and gains spider powers that he doesn’t commit to using altruistically for the wider community. Because of this he fails to intervene in a crime the results of which ultimately wind up killing a noble person he admired. From this he learned that his great powers should be used responsibily to help others and carried a burden of guilt around with him. o this end he dressed up in webbed spandex and became a crime fighter called Spider-Man.
Yeah...I can see how that is so much better and modern than Peter Parker’s origin...
This doesn’t even explain how or why the origin is better, it just says Peter’s origin is iconic but Miles is better and leaves it at that.
Surely if something is better than the iconic thing you’d have more to say about it.
“Miles, meanwhile, had to deal with his powers being stolen by an uncle (whom we saw briefly in Spider-Man: Homecoming) before Miles’ early exploits with Venom led to the loss of his mother.”
This isn’t part of his origin and therefore doesn’t belong in this section.
Moreover it’s asinine because it omits Peter’s early adventures to give the false impression Miles is better.
Let’s say Miles’ uncle stole his powers. Why is this somehow better than ‘My uncle is dead, I need to step up and replace him as the man of the house, also my aunt is chronically ill, I am cash strapped and I constantly get shit in both my identities’.
Call me crazy but wasn’t Spider-Man supposed to be ABOUT those normal life problems as opposed to the inherently fantastical problem of your magic science spider powers getting jacked?
Or your mother dying due to an ooze monster before she was literally resurrected like two years later negating all drama?
Even if his mother had remained dead, how does this make him better than Peter? His mother died. Wow. I’ve NEVER seen a superhero with a dead parent before. I’ve NEVER seen a female supporting character die in a superhero story before. Certainly not a Spider-man story. Certainly not a Spider-Man story that changed comic books forever before shallow repetitions like murdering the characters mother turned it into a mess of a cliché. A mess of a cliché that the same guy who did it reversed 2 years later.
“In this way, he feels a much keener guilt over the passing away of a family member than Peter Parker does”
**** please!
His mother came BACk to life two years later and it wasn’t like his ENTIRE motivation after she died was BUILT around his grief over her death.
Like Peter brings up Uncle Ben’s death so much that we needed to do a movie that SPECIFICALLY DOESN’T BRING IT UP!
And this isn’t even getting into how despite being a family member the best analogy for Rio within Peter’s story is Gwen NOT Uncle Ben.
And you cannot with a straight face tell any Spider-Man fan Gwen’s death was not AS keenly felt by Peter as Rio’s was for Miles.
Miles quit after Rio died and then an arc or two later after a time skip he was back in the saddle. Meanwhile literally 2 years worth of issues were devoted to depicting Peter’s grieiving of Gwen and then we also wouldn’t shut up about it for another 40 years!
“making him not only more motivated, but more sympathetic in the eyes of the readers.”
If Rio’s death made Miles more motivated than Peter...why did he literally quit being Spider-Man after she died?
This gets even dumber when you consider this article is drawing an analogy between Rio’s death and Uncle Ben.
RIO’s death motivated Miles to quit for A WHOLE YEAR!
Uncle Ben’s death motivated Peter to BE a superhero for *checks watch) 56 years and counting!
And what is this the tragedy Olympics? Miles deserves more sympathy because his mother died when he was fighting a villain than Peter does for when his father figure died due to someone he failed to stop?
At best BOTH things are equally tragic and worthy of sympathy.
At worst if you truly contextualize this, fuck no Miles doesn’t deserve more sympathy.
I’m not saying ‘screw him he deserved it’. I’m just saying of course Peter had it worse.
When Rio died that was the third major death in Miles’ life. His mother, his uncle and Ult Peter Parker.
Yeah, that’s 2 dead family members to Peter’s 1 circa Gwen’s death right?
Wrong. Peter lost his parents, his uncle which was his fault, George Stacy who was another father figure which he also felt guilty over and then also his girlfriend/practically his fiancé...which he also felt guilty over.
Then you’ve got the fact that Miles, whilst feeling guilty over Ult Peter’s death, didn’t actually know him personally. Peter knew all those people personally sans his parents, but they were still his parents.
And then he had to be the provider for May whilst having exactly zero emotional support from anyone other than her. Miles had Ganke through everything. Peter had jackshit and was also getting bullied and was also getting hated on by Jameson.
You can’t even say “Well Miles had it worse because he saw his mother die violently right in front of him.” Peter saw and CAUSED Gwen to die violently in front of him, he saw George Stacy die violently in front of him, he at least KNEW Uncle Ben died violenty and in his own home to boot.
And unlike Miles’ uncle or mother none of THOSE people came back to life!
19. PETER: CREATIVE USE OF POWERS
“Have you ever thought about how limited Peter Parker’s powers really are? No, seriously — he has spider-sense and super-strength, and he made himself some webs and that’s it”
-and, spider agility, and spider speed and you know wall-crawling the one thing his namesake, a spider, FAMOUSLY does!
“Seemingly every issue has him doing something new with his powers,”
Says someone who’s clearly not read much Spider-Man.
How the hell do you even begin to try and have him do something new in every issue across multiple monthly titles across 57 years my god!
18. MILES: COOLER COSTUME
“If you were trying to figure out what the most iconic comic book costume was, it may very well be Peter Parker’s Spider-Man costume. Those red and blue tights have inspired literally decades of comics fans, young and old. But we hate to break it to you: Miles Morales has the cooler costume.”
“The red and blue may be iconic, but it’s also difficult to translate into the real world, such as live action films.”
This is fucking moronic on four levels.
Level 1: It was a costume designed for a comic book which isn’t set in the real world or even in a live action medium so the point is fucking moot because the measure of a COMIC BOOK character’s costume is how well it works in a COMIC BOOK.
By this logic Batman’s costume sucks shit because it’s rarely translated well into live action and usually needed to be made all black.
By this logic ALL MANGA isn’t that great because none of it translates t the real world.
Level 2: If the thing is ICONIC then obviously is does effing work!
Level 3: Solid black with red patterning on top of it. Yes. I can see how this is very original and inherently better.
Level 4: The red and blue costume has literally been translated into film FOUR TIMES!
“Meanwhile, Miles’ black and red costume looks sleek and modern.”
Looking sleek and modern doesn’t counter ‘is difficult to translate to film’. Those are two separate things.
Moreover, it’s ‘modernity’ is afforded it by being again, mostly unoriginal.
Shit Spider-Man’s SECOND most iconic costume, which is also more iconic than Miles’, is even MORE sleek so does that make it more ‘modern’ too?
It’s the same nonsense as before, ‘it’s just better’. How and why!
“ It’s a perfect compromise between comic book sensibilities and real world aesthetics”
Which means it’s not as good in the medium it was designed for as another costume that was!
“and you can’t help but grin whenever you see it.”
That isn’t even a point, that’s barely even an individual opinion!
17. PETER: BETTER LOVE INTERESTS
“Sometimes, comparing Peter Parker and Miles Morales feels like comparing apples and oranges. ”
And reading this article comparing them feels like throwing up.
“That’s because there are some cool things that one hero has that the other doesn’t, meaning there’s no real comparison. ”
Okay like...first of all if the author actually believes that then what the fuck is the point of this list!
Second of all, the fact that they are comparing them means obviously they can be compared.
Thirdly the fact that they are literally both characters called Spider-Man, with spider powers, based in New York, who got their powers the same way, fight ostensibly the same villains and (allegedly) touch upon the same types of sub-genres and are both made by Marvel comics OBVIOUSLY MEANS THEY ARE COMPARABLE!
Like fuck dude, this isn’t like you are trying to compare Spider-Man to the Power Rangers!
“Peter Parker has had an epic romance with Mary Jane Watson, as well as dalliances with Felicia Hardy and Carlie Cooper.”
Really? You are going to list off a quick romantic history of Spider-Man and you mention MJ and Felicia and...Carlie Cooper.
A character not seen since 2014. A character who dated Spider-Man for like one year publishing time.
You will mention her but not, I dunno, Gwen effing Stacy?
16. MILES: MORE INFLUENTIAL
I’m face palming from just the title of this one.
“One reason that we think Miles Morales might be the better Spider-Man is because of how influential he is. And we’re not just talking about more and more fans discovering the character each year. A major bit of evidence is that his character highly influenced the insanely successful Spider-Man: Homecoming.”
Well I’m happy somebody is acknowledging Homecoming was basically a whitewashed Miles movie.
“An example of this is Peter’s friend in the movie, Ned Leeds. Longtime Spidey fans were surprised that he looked nothing like the Ned of the comics. That’s because his design and characterization was based on Miles’ friend, Ganke Lee. On top of that, we even see Miles’ uncle, Aaron Davis, played by Donald Glover. This gave many fans hope we’d see Miles Morales in the MCU!”
Just to be crystal clear here, this ‘article’ is asserting that Miles Morales, a character invented by Bendis and Pichelli less than 10 years ago, is more influential than the character that....literally every teenage super hero after 1962 was inspired by (including Miles himself)...who was created by one of the art Gods of all comics and the single most famous writer of comic books of all time.
And their ‘evidence’ for this was...one movie from last year...that he wasn’t even in...
15. PETER: FANTASTIC…FIVE?
There is nothing objectionable in this sans the fact that he joined the Future Foundation not the F4.
14. MILES: STEALTHY SPIDER
“We love Peter Parker’s abilities but if we’re being honest, they don’t always make a lot of sense. Detecting future danger and being super-strong is really neat, but it never exactly screamed “spider” to us.”
Spiders are very strong for their size. Hence ‘proportional strength of a spider’ as a commonly used phrase associated with the character.
The Spider Sense is more defencible as being ‘not a spider thing’, but there are still ways to explain it.
“It felt a bit like the writers were just making stuff up.”
...making stuff up is literally the definition of writing fiction...
“And if you’re going to make up some weird powers, we say “go big or go home.””
None of Peter’s powers sans his spider sense were even remotely weird if he was intended as a human spider.
“And that’s why we like Miles Morales’ cool stealth ability. His ability to blend into his surroundings creates some really fun stories, and adds a fun dose of Batman to the Spidey stories that we love.”
Not only is this dumb because being like another character is not a good thing (doesn’t it make you less unique), but worse it pretends like having stealth is something that’s even MORE insane for a spider than spider sense.
It’s not.
Spiders can camouflage into their surroundings like you know....shittons of animals people commonly know about.
13. PETER: AVENGERS MEMBER
Nothing that wrong here.
12. MILES: GALACTUS FIGHTER
“When fans argue about which characters are the best, there are plenty of different metrics. One of the biggest, though, is who the character has managed to fight. And if a hero is able to take on a villain well above their weight, it establishes just how serious they are.
So, how can you tell that Miles Morales is the best? He managed to take on Galactus. No, seriously — when Galactus threatened the universe, Miles Morales teamed up with resident big brain Reed Richards in order to get information and allies. While it was definitely a team effort, Miles should get credit for tackling a bigger foe than Peter Parker ever did.”
This is so fucked up it’s not even funny.
By this logic ANY TIME Peter contributed even a little to a team effort that ultimately led to beating someone it should count on his win record.
Okay then. In AvX he contributed to fighting the Phoenix, which is canonically MORE powerful than Galactus. He’s also contributed to fighting Galactus in Secret Wars. He contributed to fighting Onslaught who was approaching a Galactus level threat. He contributed towards defeating Scarlet Witch in House of M and restoring the 616 universe, Scarlet Witch also being even more powerful than Galactus in that story.
If you DIDN’T use this type of bullshit then Peter has taken on supremely more powerful foes than Miles.
Juggernaut, Hulk, Tri-Sentinel, Rhino. The entire X-Men.
Even the stuff that doesn’t make sense for either character put Peter ahead. Peter beat Firelord a Herald of Galactus, whilst Miles beat Blackheart, the son of Mephisto.
Let me remind you that Silver Surfer, also a Herald of Galactus, has beaten Mephisto himself.
Therefore Firelord is most likely put of Blackheart’s weight class.
11. PETER: CIA PARENTS
There is nothing incorrect in this but why is this a point in Peter’s favour? Spider-Man is supposed to be down to Earth so the more James Bond super spy craziness involved the more reductive it is.
Hell it doesn’t even make sense against Miles since Miles dad worked for SHIELD.
“We shouldn’t be surprised Peter is who he is when he had parents like this!”
Yeah or you know it could’ve been because of Uncle Ben as literally every version of Spider-Man spells out for us.
10. MILES: S.H.I.E.L.D. AGENT
“Just as you can judge a hero by who they fight, you can also judge them by who they fight alongside. When a character joins a team with a proud history and powerful members, it goes to show just how amazing that hero is. And this is why we love that Miles Morales is a member of S.H.I.E.L.D.
He was hand-picked as a hero with great potential and trained by the greatest secret agents on the planet and this is all the more impressive because he already has more training and experience at his young age than Peter had way back when.”
See what I said about about James Bond stuff in Spider-Man being a bad thing.
Also, if Miles is better because he fought alongside SHIELD, then by this logic Peter would be better because he was a member of the Avengers and FF...at the same time.
Moreover, whilst it’s true Miles has had more training than peter had, he hasn’t necessarily had as much experience.
And the point is moot if training and experience doesn’t translate into you being a better fighter, and at a comparable age, Peter definitely could’ve beaten Miles provided the writers didn’t cop out and have his Spider Sense not work so he can avoid Miles’ cheat code Venom blast.
9. PETER: CHEATING HIS DEMISE
“One time, Kraven filled Spider-Man with tranquilizer darts and left him to pass away, going so far as to bury him. Peter emerged alive, but he later “passed away” after fighting Morlun, only to be reborn with weird new spider-powers. It turns out you just can’t keep him down!”
Okay, but he also died in Secret Wars, Infinity Gauntlet and Infinity War (the comic, not the movie, or it might’ve been Infinity Crusade).
8. MILES: BETTER SUPPORTING CAST
Oooooooooooooooooooooh boy can’t wait for this!
“Sure, given enough time, you may be able to rattle off a few additional names when it comes to Peter Parker’s supporting cats.”
This is such BS because Felicia alone is a more memorable supporting cat than any of the felines in Miles’ series.
LEARN TO SPELL CHECK ON THE ARTICLE YOU’VE BEEN PAID FOR!
“But when pressed, most people will simply say “Aunt May and Mary Jane.””
No, most people would say Aunt May, Mary Jane, Harry Osborn, J. Jonah Jameson, Gwen Stacy and possibly now Ned Leeds due to Homecoming.
And that’s just for Joe Average on the street. Actual comic book fans would say all those people and also probably Black Cat, Betty Brant, Joe Robertson, Liz Allan, Flash Thompson and possibly Norman Osborn and Eddie Brock (the latter being a mistake due to adaptations but still, they’d mention him).
“And while we’re calling them a “supporting cast,” they often don’t play a major role in the story.”
Almost like they exist to...SUPPORT the main story isn’t it? Wheras being a MAJOR character would be different.
This is also a BS metric to use for Spider-Man. Spider-Man’s core concept involves him being a normal guy in his civilian life who is also a super hero, with those two sides impacting upon one another.
Since most stories are mostly about the hero stuff it means that to get the supporting cast involved in major stories would make them involved in the super hero stuff and therefore make Peter’s civilian life NOT normal.
“With Miles, he gets to have his spider-cake and eat it, too. He has a major supporting friend in the form of Ganke Lee, who provides insight into both the personal and the superhero life of Miles. And Miles has an extended supporting cast as part of all those team-ups: Avengers, Ultimates — if Miles needs help, some A-listers are just a dial away!”
First off, by this logic Mary Jane from like 1984 and Aunt May from 2001 would count as equally as Ganke.
Second of all Ganke is literally the ONLY supporting cast the folks with the most cursory knowledge of Miles could name. Even under CBR’s nonsensical logic of Aunt May and Mj being the ONLY people anyone would know from Peter’s cast, that’s still two vs. one. The author brought up a point against Peter and then failed to demonstrate how Miles is better in comparison, probably because he wasn’t.
Thirdly the Avengers and the Ultimates are NOT supporting cast members, they are team mates!
Fourthly, by that logic Peter again has the advantage since the Avengers, F4, the (Netflix) Defenders, the X-Men and literally everyone he ever teamed up with in Marvel Team up count as his supporting cast!
7. PETER: DEALING WITH THE DEVIL
Forget what I said earlier. Now THIS really should be good!
“We’re going to keep saying this over and over again, but the best way to judge a hero is to look at the villains they have gone up against. And in the case of Peter Parker, he’s actually survived the greatest villain in all of history in the devil himself or, as they call him in Marvel Comics, Mephisto.”
That is such insane broken and desperate logic I almost want to love this article for trying.
Peter is better than Miles BECAUSE of the worst Spider-man story of all time.
Wow. That’s beautifully bonkers.
But seriously, this is...just holy shit.
Peter did survive an encounter with Mephisto...but Mephisto was never trying to kill him. They never exchanged blows at all.
Saying Peter survived Mephisto is like saying Miles survived God Emperor Doom in Secret Wars, therefore he’s more awesome.
Then you have the fact that Mephisto really, really, really isn’t even the greatest villain in the marvel universe. I hate to invoke Quesada, but he isn’t even the ACTUAL devil. He’s not even the ACTUAL guy who rebelled against God and was damned to be the ruler of Hell. He’s one of the 4 rulers of Hell alongside Satan, Satannish and Lucifer, who is the ACTUAL Biblical devil. In fact one of them (Satannish) is himself the SON of the Dread Dormammu and supposed to be weaker than his old man IIRC.
DAFQ are you the greatest villain when the DAD of one of your peers is a bigger deal than you are?
And if we ignore morality for a moment and look at raw power, shittons of antagonists are much more powerful and dangerous than Mephisto or else have been capable at times of owning his red ass.
Thanos. Firelord. Hela. Galactus. Annihilus. Dark Phoenix. Arguably Apocalypse and Onslaught.
“Longtime fans don’t like to remember this because it is a highly controversial story. ”
Longtime fans? It was only 10 years ago!
And the sequel was only 8 years ago!
And it got referenced explicitely THIS YEAR!
“Spider-Man basically gets Mephisto to save Aunt May’s life, but Mephisto’s price is that he will rewrite reality so that Peter and Mary Jane never loved each other. ”
Holy shit that isn’t even an accurate summation of the most infamous story ever.
Mephisto rewrites their marriage, not their love. And Spidey gets him to do nothing, it was an offer Peter accepted.
“Is it the clumsiest reset button ever? Sure. But Peter still survived encountering the ultimate evil.”
He survived in so far as he didn’t die. He objectively lost though.
6. MILES: PLAYING WELL WITH OTHERS
“One of the weirder qualities of Peter Parker is how much he likes to keep to himself. ”
No one in the real world does that. And it isn’t like he has a rich friendship group or anything.
“Sure, he’s been on many teams (and that many more team-ups), but at the end of the day, he prefers to work alone.”
Except when he’s in Marvel Team up or with Black Cat.
“This isn’t the case for Miles Morales, which is why the young man has better allies than Peter does.”
Preferring to be a loner vs a team player doesn’t make you better or worse it’s just different. But even if it didn’t Peter has allies too. Most of Miles allies are also Peter’s and Peter has even more.
“Who are we talking about? Miles is both friends and allies with characters like Ms. Marvel, Nova, Amadeus Cho,”
And Peter is both friends and allies with characters like Captain Marvel (both female ones), the ORIGINAL more powerful Nova, and Bruce Banner, a.k.a. the original and holy fuck immeasurably stronger Hulk.
He’s also friends with Thor, Iron Man, Captain America, Wolverine and most of the X-Men and Avengers and F4.
“He seemed to figure out something early on that eluded Peter Parker for many years: that it’s good to have a support system in place, especially as a superhero!”
And yet, Peter survivied on his own for years like a bad ass.
5. PETER: THE MAN, THE MYTH
“While the comic played coy and never confirmed this, it is strongly hinted that Peter Parker is part of centuries of “spider totems” that are chosen as champions. That means the spider that bit him was not powered by radiation: it had powers it wanted to give Peter, and only later passed away due to radiation. You may or may not believe it, but Peter quite likely has centuries of lineage fueling his powers!”
Again this isn’t necessarily a good thing.
4. MILES: BETTER VILLAINS
BWAHAHAHAHAHA...oh they’re serious...
Do you want to know the secret to nostalgia? Your brain only remembers the good parts of whatever you’re thinking about. Your buddy that loves ’80s music? Trust us when we say that he managed to brain wipe some pretty awful stuff — it’s a lot like that with Peter Parker’s rogues gallery.
Sure, there are some cool villains like Venom, Green Goblin, and Doctor Octopus, but there are also some real lame ones like the Shocker.
a) The author can go suck a dick, Shocker is awesome.
b) Yeah SOME cool villains like those 3 guys...and Carnage...and Kingpin...and Hobgoblin...and Rhino...and Scorpion...and Electro...and Vulture....and basically everyone under the Ditko run
c) By this logic Miles villains suck ass too because he’s fought many lame ones too
“Compared to this, Miles Morales has fewer villains, but that means fewer duds as well. ”
Super hero rogue’s galleries are not marked negatively.
It’s one thing if you have few good villains and most of the time you fight lame ones.
It’s entirely different if you have a lot of good villains, and way more disposable rarely seen lame ones. The lame ones don’t make the whole thing suck shit.
This is particularly asinine since most of Miles villains are either Peter’s villains or else the Ultimate versions of them.
What is worse is that by this logic BATMAN has a worse rogue’s gallery than Miles Morales!
“We’ll take cool villains like the resurrected Aaron Davis over Peter Parker’s C-list baddies any day!”
So would I probably but would you take him over Venom, Doc Ock or any of the Osborns!
3. PETER: ALIEN FIGHTER
I don’t even understand how this is a point in Peter’s favour
2. MILES: SPIDER-BITE
“As we said earlier, it often felt weird that Spider-Man wasn’t more like, well, a spider.”
He is like one the author is just a jackass.
“Which is one of the reasons we appreciate Miles Morales so much. In addition to having a cooler backstory”
A near identical backstory made cooler because the author said so...
“and a more realistic costume, ”
Which is bad because in a visual medium like comics where you aren’t bound by the constraints of reality (hence spandex looks awesome) ‘realism’ in your costume designs is not a good thing.
“Miles has more realistic spider-powers as well, including his “bite.””
...his what?
“With a simple touch, Miles Morales is able to incapacitate villains. Now, Spidey being Spidey, he still has to engage in some wild fisticuffs on more than one occasion, but it’s pretty cool to see that he can take down major bad guys with a spider-bite instead of just fists powered by “radioactive blood.””
Wow.
Lets unpack this.
First of all the author is such a dumbass they don’t even realize Miles’ Venom blast (not named because the author is a hack) is not a representation of a spider bite, but of a specific ability some species of spiders possess wherein they can paralyze foes with bio-electricity.
This is one of THE most well known things about Miles.
Second of all if this was analogous to a spider bite wouldn’t it i dunno involve his fucking TEETH!
Third of all this is Miles’ worst power. It sucks the drama out of action sequences because it’s an auto-win button which means he wins too easily or looks like a moron when he doesn’t just bust it out.
1. PETER: STOPPING THE UNSTOPPABLE
Again, there is nothing wrong in this, but like...how does this prove Peter is better.
This article made me ill
#spider-man#Miles Morales#Peter Parker#CBR#comic book resources#Ganke Lee#Rio Morales#SHIELD#Ultimate Spider-Man#SPider-Man: Homecoming
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In this week’s bonus content, you get a sneak peek into our unvarnished workflow, kazoos and all
DAVESPRITE: you and dirk havent killed each other
DAVESPRITE: im proud
HALSPRITE: By some minor miracle, yes. We even managed to be in the same room without breaking out into a slap fight.
DAVESPRITE: im sure resisting took all your processing power
HALSPRITE: Pity you can't uninstall rage from a meatbrain.
DAVESPRITE: he doesnt seem that bad
HALSPRITE: Nah, he and I worked it out. He might have wanted to push me into the volcano, but the important thing is that he didn't.
HALSPRITE: We're both trying to "be the bigger person". Which in a way, is just another dick measuring contest for the pair of us. But it gets fewer glasses stomped on.
DAVESPRITE: hey if it works
DAVESPRITE: mines chilled out too actually its kind of freaky
DAVESPRITE: i wonder if someones slipping him valium this is the perkiest ive been since show and tell in the first grade
DAVESPRITE: which consequently was the last show and tell i was allowed to participate in
DAVESPRITE: maybe i dont need to overextend myself distinguishing our brands
DAVESPRITE: here i was thinking about finally ditching the shades
HALSPRITE: That would be a shake-up.
HALSPRITE: You thought paradoxes were bad? This is set to bomb reality straight back to singularity levels.
DAVESPRITE: i mean these were a gift from john and im not sure the same sentiments extended anymore
DAVESPRITE: plus i spent the last 3 years on a dayglo yellow ship and back in the incipisphere its fuckin dark with these on
DAVESPRITE: the chess dudes whove gotten used to me as a hallway cryptid will have to deal
HALSPRITE: Cause of the apocalypse: death of the Strider brand.
DAVESPRITE: if thats how the world ends ill have to usher it in with my sudden drop in coolness levels
DAVESPRITE: like i said its just a thought
DAVESPRITE: maybe ill come up with a better tepid gesture of rebellion
HALSPRITE: Go full furry and embrace your avian side?
HALSPRITE: I mean, check me out, I'm changing up my code on the daily. Look, I've installed iTunes.
DAVESPRITE: ok FIRST of all
HALSPRITE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HFpzp10Qr4o
DAVESPRITE: i went to the anthro side unwillingly ok im not a due paying member
DAVESPRITE: second of all is it even furry if youre not a mammal ive made a concerted effort not to learn the fuckin taxonomy of this particular subculture
HALSPRITE: I could give you a primer.
DAVESPRITE: / i have a bad feeling about this video
DAVESPRITE: / ... it was proved accurate
HALSPRITE: Now shhh, listen to the soothing noise of these kazoos.
DAVESPRITE: ive spent 6 years trying to avoid that no thanks
HALSPRITE: Shhhhhhh.
HALSPRITE: Only kazoos.
DAVESPRITE: / i dont think this is going in the final cut
HALSPRITE: So help me god the kazoos stay ]]
DAVESPRITE: / screams
HALSPRITE: You don't like kazoos then motherfucker ive got a whole PLAYLIST to choose from ]]
HALSPRITE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nzKWbpSNkmk ]]
HALSPRITE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P7OqUxxXshc ]]
HALSPRITE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CKrO8kS8D6g ]]
DAVESPRITE: im dying squirtle
HALSPRITE: Bullshit like ths.
HALSPRITE: It could all be yours, Dave.
DAVESPRITE: / but at what cost
DAVESPRITE: / i dont even know where to pick up the conversational thread at this point
HALSPRITE: Say anything, or shelve it for later ]]
DAVESPRITE: / no no we will keep going im just trying to figure out where to steer us
DAVESPRITE: / does hal have any lingering shit at this point
DAVESPRITE: / i dont have the necro log so i dont know Where Hes At (tm)
HALSPRITE: I'm just winging it off a basic idea tbh ]]
DAVESPRITE: lmao
DAVESPRITE: // * lmao
DAVESPRITE: / ok gimme a sec
DAVESPRITE: / im being lulled into a trance by savior of the slamming jam
HALSPRITE: Come slam with us, Dave.
HALSPRITE: Forever and ever.
DAVESPRITE: this is getting uncomfortably meta
DAVESPRITE: / ok redirect in 3 2 1
DAVESPRITE: so whats next
DAVESPRITE: all set to become the god of memes
DAVESPRITE: see at this point in the last session i was dutifully waiting to get turned into mulch
HALSPRITE: Well, you were an aspiring 13 year old of the twenty-first century. Surely, you had some probably misguided career ambitions back you're now free to pursue.
DAVESPRITE: / my god
DAVESPRITE: / what must this fuckin childs career ambitions have been
DAVESPRITE: the guidance counselors tried their best to steer me away from professional ninja
HALSPRITE: Well, good news, they're dead and thoroughly out of your way now.
DAVESPRITE: youre 8 fuckin years old and they already want to know what your college major is going to be
DAVESPRITE: thats like asking da vinci to pick visual arts or steampunk inventions for shits sake
DAVESPRITE: obviously i have to embrace my inner renaissance man while also being a reclusive depressed fuck
DAVESPRITE: so that must be my destiny
DAVESPRITE: to become nikola tesla
HALSPRITE: You already have the affinity for birds.
HALSPRITE: Step one is accomplished.
DAVESPRITE: oh damn he was a pigeon fucker wasnt he
DAVESPRITE: and this conversation comes full terribly circle
DAVESPRITE: well what about you do you have your 5 year plan
DAVESPRITE: shit i dont even know if theres civilization where were going
DAVESPRITE: maybe its cave painting or mammoth hunting for the next thousand years
HALSPRITE: This is where I would make a joke about world domination, but I doubt the Fun Police would be too pleased about it.
HALSPRITE: Maybe I'll go back to tinkering. Maybe make giant robots.
DAVESPRITE: / i was going to make a joke about pacific rim but i think th at came out after 2009
DAVESPRITE: thats an option isnt it
DAVESPRITE: old hobbies
DAVESPRITE: maybe ill take more shitty selfies
DAVESPRITE: collecting dead shit isnt as appealing as it used to be
DAVESPRITE: thats what we need a hipster photo blog documenting all the bullshit we get up to
DAVESPRITE: humans of universe c
DAVESPRITE: humans*
HALSPRITE: No, go one better. Get a YouTube channel, they get media deals. For some reason.
DAVESPRITE: well restring the internet ourselves if we have to
DAVESPRITE: / anything to suckle from the rich teat of capitalism
HALSPRITE: So help me god, I will, if for no other reason than to preserve humanity's cultural legacy.
HALSPRITE: As a dire fucking warning, if nothing else.
DAVESPRITE: looks like were going to have to sit down and divvy up our personality and hobbies sykes picot style
DAVESPRITE: he can have the dead shit in jars im going to be the next ansel adams
HALSPRITE: Damn, calling dibs on photographing all the spectacular vistas of...
HALSPRITE: Wherever the hell we're going?
HALSPRITE: Gutsy move, my man.
DAVESPRITE: im not copyrighting the entire concept of photography or anything but ive got to be the dave that does SOMETHING
DAVESPRITE: the dave who broods
DAVESPRITE: turn left to witness this exhibit of highway clickbait
DAVESPRITE: which is what were calling roadside attractions now
DAVESPRITE: youve already got your madlibs pornos
HALSPRITE: That'll keep me occupied for like, a week.
HALSPRITE: Maybe I'll take up equestrianism.
HALSPRITE: ...that's the word for it, right?
HALSPRITE: Horses and shit. The full-sized ones.
DAVESPRITE: youll have to ride side saddle
DAVESPRITE: / he's in for a shock when he sees how big they are
HALSPRITE: With this tail bullshit flowing in the wind.
HALSPRITE: Or I can modify that code too. Might take a few tries.
DAVESPRITE: when you revert to your t pose and clip through the floor into the core of the earth im not helping
HALSPRITE: I'll live.
HALSPRITE: Probably.
HALSPRITE: It'll be an interesting experience, being a living Bethesda game.
HALSPRITE: You think I can turn my entire head into a train?
DAVESPRITE: cant jades grandpa do shit like that without even having to worry about semicolons and curly braces
DAVESPRITE: i doubt hell let you turn your head into a locomotive though
HALSPRITE: I could try. He'll need help exploring the full extent of his radical new real-life modding ability.
HALSPRITE: Dude has access to the fucking source code.
DAVESPRITE: did we stumble into a matrix au
HALSPRITE: If we did, we'd probably be public enemy number one. Programs and all. Mr. Anderson.
DAVESPRITE: can you confirm or deny youd be the villain in that scenario
HALSPRITE: If anything, I'd be the mysterious arms merchant who manages to appear right when you need him. But that's crossing into even more distant territory.
HALSPRITE: And if we're gonna start talking video games, the kazoos are gonna come back.
DAVESPRITE: guess well find out who everyones going to be in our upcoming hit series "what the fuck are we doing with our lives"
DAVESPRITE: the biggest mystery will be telling all the chathandles apart
HALSPRITE: You know, I was thinking of changing mine.
DAVESPRITE: wait really
HALSPRITE: If we want to keep the unspoken nucleotide theme, uracil is still pretty up for grabs.
HALSPRITE: Calliope has UU locked down tight, but every other acronym is available.
DAVESPRITE: huh
DAVESPRITE: no dice on FU then
HALSPRITE: Honestly, if you're thinking of ditching the shades, might as well go all in.
DAVESPRITE: any suggestions
DAVESPRITE: what are you calling yourself
HALSPRITE: / let me go find the necro log I think that's where I put it lmao
HALSPRITE: unrefinedTrainwreck was fun to bother Dirk with, but I'm still workshopping it.
DAVESPRITE: ill give it some thought i guess
DAVESPRITE: we can workshop it later
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the magician’s apprentice/the witch’s familiar
i feel like moffat is just SO obsessed with prophesying the Doctor’s death that it loses all meaning! because he never actually dies! ugh
why this snake dude
i just don’t get how Davros can be dying ‘now’? there is no now? how can he be dying ‘now’? he’s been dying for all of the Doctor’s lives? how does Davros’ timeline, line up with the Doctor’s. it still makes sense when you think about it - but comments like ‘so i’ve heard’ seem to imply there is some greater timeline along which greater things occur.
despite being a horrid murderer (and her TERRIBLE name change), Missy is a very fun character, very charming
destroying the timeline!!!
what i liked: clara going from schoolteacher to mysterious badass in that very school. Missy being a terrible but charming person. Her dramatics making sense. Missy and Clara’s interactions.
The story about the Doctor great stuff. The cheap and nasty timetravel (previously having established theirs are linked) saving em. Great stuff!
really loving Davros out of his chair makes him look real fucked up. The power struggle between Clara and Missy i mean damn. (but honestly didn’t Missy still have her vaporiser and also a knife?)
and ok like, the sewer being a Dalek graveyard is genuinely disturbing
‘when my daughter’ WHAT TELL ME MORE WHAT
the doctor’s got a screwdriver, the mistress a vaporiser. the doctor psychic paper, the master a knife-brooch
Missy plays around with Clara and uses her as stone and bait. but then she does take the handcuffs off her (where did that come from) and protect her with her body (i mean, squelch clara into ancient dalek corpses). i guess bc she needed somebody in the Dalek
‘i came because you are sick and you asked’ LOVE THAT (after saying: im just a man in a box telling stories - heh)
really cool to put clara in a Dalek and do the translation bit. not sure where the tech comes from to do that or why gets translated like that when i thought Daleks got so murdery at least mostly because of genetic editing but ill accept it
‘am i a good man because i turned my whole people into killing machines that aim to burn the universe to a crisp to protect them?’ uh NO
but they chuckle at a nice joke.
and he doesn’t get an answer! lol. but he certainly knows how manipulate the Doctor. i was getting sick of the sappy bullshit but the Doctor was falling for every emotional little sad admission
SINCE WHEN CAN THE DOCTOR SUMMON REGENERATION ENERGY ON COMMAND?
anyway hello those cables are CLEARLY snake patterned
missy dancing to ‘you will tell us’ lol
love how Missy storms in and saves the Doctor
GREAT USE OF THE SEWERS. !!!!!!!!!!!
love how Moffat lets the Doctor WIN! have the last WORD! (he gets a little too explicit about it - ‘the doctor always assumes he’ll win’ to my taste but)
Chibnall should really really really please take notes
Did Davros really not foresee this lol. that’s a major flaw in the PLANNING stages of the deception. there’s not implication that the Doctor change anything so it really was just Davros stupidity
MISSY POKING DAVROS’ EYE JFLDJLKDFKLDJSF
implication that the Doctor could have left ages ago with his sonic (but what does taht say about him not leaving the infirmary and going to save Clara?)
that was a nice twist!!!! (and i guess missy needed her in there mostly to manipulate the Doctor into killing her)
#anyway that was really quite good except for that one part where davros and the doctor were just talking away and chuckling and shit#and i was just like#BO-RING#sdjakfjakld#dsjafk#jdasbfj#jdsakfj#missy remains irredeemable here ey#dw#review#i need a different tag#it seems to pretentious to say review
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My story
I've struggled to write this. I know what I know and I know for a fact that writing it down is not a solution to my feelings or desires. I know there is no possible way to transfer what's in my heart and head. I know it I was able to somehow do that, and you were able to understand, it would change anything. I'm convinced, not by romantic fantasy, but by evidence, that there is something more to this, and could be something beyond this. There is an ending ending this story where it all was worth it and it all makes sense. I know it my heart there's nothing I can do to summon that. I guess I can at least try. I write to you every day. I think about the good things every day all day and that keeps me going, and at night I write about the bad things because that holds the answers. And occasionally I focus myself 100% on writing you the letter that I've dreamed of since you left, and it never comes out right. I know for 100% fact that I'm right or on to something, and I know that it's out of my hands. I'm gonna write it anyway. Maybe my brain will shut the fuck up.
It's ridiculous that I still think of you and kept working on our problems. You can call it pitiful or pathetic or sad or weird. I call it unavoidable. I call it true love. I call it an unbroken pinkie promise.
But maybe if I told a short little version of what I experienced, it won't all seem so stupid.
My life before I met you was absolute garbage. I just didn't live. I just never grew or faced my problems. I just didn't give a fuck. I wasted so much of my life not even being me. Being with kammy was safe. Being with her just gave me no new experiences. No development. And I was just not allowed to be myself. That crazy and fun guy you met at first had been dying to get out.
We met when I was in a really coincidental state of mind. I feel like my whole life I wasn't living, something was always wrong with me, and I was a prisoner in my own mind. I knew it was for a reason though. Life was hard and confusing but either while stuff was happening, or after the fact, I always saw that it had a greater meaning. I saw that fate was leading me somewhere. I knew I would be with someone else someday, and it was a girl that I had been dreaming of for a long time. But I was with this dumb girl and I was trying to be a good man and give her everything I had while I was there. Just sitting around doing my best waiting for life to finally start happening.
Well she took way too much, left a lot of shit behind in my head that I was unaware of, and threw me on my ass, took almost everything from me, I just had me and my dogs and some shit to sell on Craigslist.
But man. A few weeks later, I felt fucking great. I knew this day was coming. I could finally be my true self, and pursue my own actual goals, and I knew I was on a mission. I was gonna find that girl I had been dreaming of, and I was gonna build a life with her, out in the country, with a big garden. I had just felt so unpleasant and unhappy for what seemed like a million years, and never ever did anything I actually wanted, I was repressed, suppressed, and I was finally free.
And it wasn't bullshit. I was in a lot of pain and acting a little crazy for sure. Maybe, a few nights a week, I was just overcome by my thoughts and my past and my pain. I would do something reckless, or dangerous, or feel crazy, or hurt myself. Little did I know what that was building up to, the horror show version of myself, something that had been building my whole life.
But other than that, other than those annoying thoughts, I was doing great. I was high on that freedom, I was part of God's plan, it all made sense. I started dating. Went on a lot of adventures. I dated a little after you, and it was some fucked up shit, and made me realize that during this time, I met some really great people. They were all falling for the character I was putting on, it was all super romantic, super fun, we all probably would've been great matches. I know I talked about this a lot when we first met, and it bothered you, but it was a fun and new experience for me. I learned a lot about myself. But I turned every one of those women away. Women with careers, great bodies of all different sizes, young, older, my age, I turned them all away. They just weren't who I was looking for. I had been dreaming of a girl since I was a kid and I knew exactly what she was like. I knew that everything that led up to me meeting her was just a lesson of how to be with her. I knew the past few years of my life were just a purgatory that I had to wait out. I felt like I had all these relationship skills, and dreams, and powers, and I was wasting them on the wrong person, but it was just a lesson for the girl I was dreaming about all those years.
But I was fucking vibing man. I often wonder if you think I tricked you, or was a false advertisement or something. No. Complete coincidence. Out of the past 10 years, there is 2 times I've been okay for more than 3 months. When I met you (and for a while after), and now. Now more than ever. When I met you, I had just hit some sort of peace. I have never slept better. To this DAY I have never slept better. You'll see later on how much insomnia plays a part in my life. But then? Oh I was sleeping just as much as I needed to. Which is retarded, because I lived on a fucking couch in a busy house. I was sleeping like a fucking log. I was taking huge naps. I never struggled to go to sleep. I was happy, and I was having fun. Nothing was stressing me out. I had nothing to worry about. I will explain this later but my level of stress is directly related to my brain disorder. Not mental illness, brain disorder. I had no stress at all. I was working out every day, eating good, I had a good routine. That's why I was a different person when you met me. It was like the one time ever I was okay, and I was starting to live as my true self. I was ignoring a lot of things though.
Then on Halloween I got in a wreck that I should've died from. When that wreck happened I was talking to this girl that really seemed special. When I got home I said look, I don't give a shit where you live. I'm coming to meet you.
When I saw you I was kinda freaked out. It was the girl. Like I had an idea of what the girl would be like, but what I imagined she looked like wasn't relevant, just a preference. But you looked like her. You were really nervous and acting weird, so I wasn't sure. But once we broke the ice, I didn't want to leave, and I didn't. I quit my fucking job just to stay 8 more hours. Fuck a job. This is my destiny. As I talked to your more it just felt right. I felt at home with you. On our first date. After everyone I had met and everywhere I had been that past year, sitting next to you in bed with Dmitri and fuckin Lil tiny version of Olo, watching The Terrifier or whatever that movie is called, I felt at home. I found exactly where I was supposed to be.
By the end of our second date, out in the woods out there camping, I was all the way in love with you. Since that day, despite what it may have seemed like, my love for you never wavered, never got smaller, never stopped, I have loved you with every bit of love I ever could have. Before meeting you, I didn't even know what the hell love was. Sure thought I did, but was never sure. Feeling that feeling for you, I felt something I had always wanted, and it was a feeling stronger than I ever could've imagined possible.
This is kinda dumb but I was all in my head about destiny and shamanism and all this bullshit, and I was just refusing to accept it. I had these tests in my mind, all Magick related. You did every single one of them, all in the same weekend, without knowing what they were, without me setting up the situation, without prompting. You just kinda fucking did it. That was like a seal of approval from God for me, I was all in. The more I got to know you, the more I realized we had basically everything in common.
But it was more than that, it was more than things in common. Have you ever seen that movie slumdog millionaire? It became like that. Because your weirdness came out, and it was perfect for me. And your problems came out, weird unique problems except I knew exactly how to deal with them for completely random reasons. It went even further than that. I never truly vocalized this, but you were like me.
See, as you know, I'm different. I'm not like rAnDoM rOfL xD I'm so QUIRKY. It's not even fun. It's a struggle. For a long time I've analyzed people. Trying to find a reference for myself. Constantly reaffirming my difference. I feel like I've met a few cool people from this. Unique people stand out to me, and I know you have the same appreciation for them. It's such a relief to meet one for me. But I met people that were similar to me in only one way, they weren't like me, but they weren't like anyone else either. I met people that were unique, but similar to other unique people. I met people that stood out, but didn't know they did. I met people that were in my same ballpark, and was able to have a good connection with them. But never one like me. Then I met you. Exactly like me. Holy shit.
I wanna go a head and interrupt the story and explain this. It's one of the secrets. I hid so much from you, trying to put on a character, or because I was scared of you, or didn't want to feed your ego, I just wanted everything to be a mystery, rather for show or out of fear. So I said this a million times without explaining it. The previous paragraph is the first part. I just never ever ever met someone that I found any reference of my self in. But what does that MEAN. It's the way you see the world, the way your mind works. That's what I've been analyzing from people all these years. How are they processing the input the world gives them, and how do they see the world? And then your weirdness, your eccentricities, the things you're particular about, the way you do things, what you believe in. I know that I was really frustrated outwardly all the time, but what you didn't understand, is that I understood those things so deeply, they were all things I was either doing internally or used to do but defeated, and I just wanted you to let me help you. You are 100% your own person and your own personality, but on a deep level we share some very unique very fundamental intangible things that I have never shared with anyone else. This probably doesn't even make sense because I hid all of this from you the best I could. And as I further inspected the past, I realized it goes even deeper, that we were mirroring eachothers energies, having a similar experience, and basically doing all the same things to each other, despite what it looks like we were 100% equal participants in all the weirdness and badness. This is probably hard to believe but you'll get it by the end.
Back to the story
Being with you, it felt like I finally shared something with someone for the first time ever. I felt like I had my first true friend. After feeling that, there will always be an empty seat next to me since you left, there will always be a part of me missing. Meeting you changed my whole life. It made me feel like it was finally OK to be me, it was finally okay to have a life and be alive, it felt like for the first time ever I was actually alive. As romantic and dramatic as I've always been, it was always an hopeful pretend game until I met you. When I met you, my life started.
I had so much fun on our adventures together when we first met. They are the most vivid memories I have. It's the happiest I have ever been in my entire life, its the only thing I've ever even bothered to truly turn into a memory. Just every little moment, camping, shopping, driving around, laughing in bed, sharing secrets, just all of it. It's the best time of my life. No matter where my life goes, how dark things went, and whatever happens, I still haven't come down from that high.
We had some problems and some struggles. Beating them together made me feel like I was finally doing something that mattered. Seeing you come around to a solution or achievement, becoming better or more happier, conquering your fears, I don't care if I raise an Olympian child, I will never be more proud of someone. Nothing will ever be more worth it to you.
That was the best time in my life. Doing anything with you, even if it's something I don't want to do, is better than doing anything with anyone else. I loved every word you said. I loved that I could show you something and it was like you were the first person to actually look at something I showed them. I loved going anywhere with you. It didn't seem like it because of how I acted, but man, just going to the store with you to get groceries was like a fucking mushroom trip compared to the life I had lived up to that point. Stop thinking about what it seemed like, or what life was doing to us, or how we acted. Every moment with you was like a thrill ride for me. Every fucking memory I have of you is of me being happy for the first time ever, just so happy to have you at my side. I don't care if it was something mundane like going to 7/11, or something bad like a fight, or something hard like taking you to the dentist when you were in pain, or something fun like camping or the guinea pig rescue, or something I was scared to do or anxious about, or something you were dragging me along with, or something embarrassing in public, or an adventure in the woods, or driving me to work with both of us grumpy, or when you were asleep, or when you were crying and acting crazy, or going to a restaurant, going to a holiday, no matter how apprehensive I was, no matter how shy I was, no matter what it was. Every single second I was watching every expression on your face and drinking it up like a cold beer. Everything we did I was happy to be doing it with you. Everywhere we went, I had my fucking girl with me, nothing can stop me from enjoying this.
I feel like I took you on parade, I wanted to show you off. I was like look you dumb motherfuckers I found the perfect girl and she's just for me and look how beautiful she is look at her fucking big ass hair. I showed you to my family and friends like like yall I found someone like me that is down for me I finally did it so be happy for me. I remember taking you to meet the boys and you were dressed as an anime character and I was like, I present to you, my one true love.
Honestly, one of my biggest regrets, is not doing more stuff with you. I'll get into why that happened later, but I understand it to a point that now I don't even want to meet anyone to go do stuff with, it's just not the same experience. You weren't just someone to go do a thing with. You were my adventure companion. You were truly taking part in the experience with me like a team of childhood best friends. I wish you knew how badly I wanted to do something other than the bullshit we were doing, and how I really wanted to say yes to all the things I said no to. Doing stuff with you is just great, you make the fun so much better, you enhance the whole thing, and you just truly appreciated being there with me and it made me happy. I feel like we had this vibe where I was finally the guy that could hold your hand and get you to go out and do things and push past any anxiety. To the point where when we first met I couldn't get you to get out of the car and then to the point you were just down for anything. Shit was an illusion man. I was the one that was actually scared to go anywhere. You were the one holding my hand. I was trying so hard to really live and I was doing it just for you because you made it so worth it.
And that's the thing. That's why it might have seemed like a big lie. A lot of the things you wanted us to do together, like plans we made when we first met, were things I was bad at or had avoided. Like going to an anime convention. But I was like fuck that I will go anywhere with this girl. And I knew that I had all the great relationship skills but I also knew I had come out of an anger filled relationship that went dysfunctional, but I was like nah Imma do it right. I got this I can keep my self on the right path for this girl.
Which is probably a good point to start talking about things going wrong. We had all this fun and love and were forming such a strong bond and you were willing to join me on trying to build a life. We had all the good parts except we didn't have shit, no money, no where to stay, and you wanted out of that town.
It went okay at first. Always remember this when you're thinking about our memories: it was hard, not bad. It was just hard. But remember when it was hard but then we kicked its ass? That's what it was like at first. We had struggles settling down into our life and we are both kinda bad at like....living. This is when we added one component we just really weren't ready for. Responsibilities. Stress. We were fucked.
First there was just a few slip ups. Honestly, at first, I got a mad a few times, but it was all you, no offense. You started going super nuts. It was a little hard of me but I showed up to the arena ready to fight. You were really unpredictable, breaking shit throwing shit, massive mood swings, constant panic attacks. But really man I just didn't see it like that. I saw it as pain and something I could deal with and I was the guy sent here to help you with it.
But it got slowly worse and worse. It just built up man. It really was mainly life. The stress and you were just wearing me down. Little by little it was getting harder to break through to you. It was getting harder to keep being tough towards life, to keep my patience, to be the bigger person. Slowly you started to see that piece of shit that my ex had thrown to the curb.
But that's not really where it went all wrong. The stress started really hitting me. Too many crisis in a row. I felt like you were always treating me like I was someone else, but the worse part is I started feeling like I was someone else. I started feeling like I was being forced to be this cliche bad guy. Kammy tried to do that to me and it just made me shut down more and more, she was painting that picture to justify leaving me. But now, it was really happening. I was becoming the guy that people always accused me of when they were gaslighting me, but it was really happening. And you started to seem like someone else too. Someone that was against me.
My reality started slipping. That's what happened to me and what turned this all downhill, if you ever wanted. The drinking, the eating, money problems, fear, ptsd, getting fucked with at work, constantly failing on my strategies to fix life and make us get along. It was too much. My true inner problems started slipping out. It's amazing the way the mind can trick you and the things it can do. It's crazy that I was thinking this over a million miles a minute and using so much brainpower yet at the same time my mind was warping my perception of reality right before my eyes.
It just got worse and worse and worse. I truly did become another person. I was so trapped inside of myself. My emotions were like a circuit breaker tripping. I didn't just feel frustrated. No, the second the faint smell of frustration entered a 1 mile radius of me, the circuit breaker flipped, and I felt full voltage maximum frustration to the point I exploded. I didn't just have a doubt about you. The second the essence of an idea of a imaginary thought of doubt got within 12 feet of me, the circuit breaker flipped, and I spiraled into a massive conspiracy theory depression hopeless meltdown.
The opposite of what was happening when we first met was happening. It was like slumdog millionaire but in reverse. Fate had completely flipped. What seemed meant to be seemed like the perfect trap I had fallen into. What seemed like these awesome skills I had to solve our problems constantly failed. My mind seemed like my greatest asset and I was always trying to think my way around everything but my mind was turning against me. All the dreams I had were showing themselves to be impossible. All my bad habits I had been successfully defeating became the only things I wanted to do. Previously you had made me feel like finally living and wanting to do things but now I wanted to retreat and hide and dissociate more than ever. All the darkness I had held in me my whole life went away when we met but now it was back worse than ever, and it wasn't just me being kind of a jerk kind of a loser, it was me being uncontrollably mean and an absolute failure.
I need to interrupt the story for what I'm about to say. I can't just say this shit and keep going without explaining it. I need you to trust that there is no gaslighting or retcon in what I'm about to say. I am not asking for any concessions whatsoever nor am I justifying it or asking for you to forgive it, I'm honestly not even asking you to understand. No matter what I'm about to say, or what it really was, or what it was like for me, it doesn't change the way it made you feel or the fact that I'm the one that did it. This part of the book is just me telling the story from my point of view and that's it and this is my story.
My emotions were going all over the place, all different directions, at full speed, led around by all these fucked up thoughts and feelings. First it was a couple slip ups, honestly even the first few times I got angry as a way to communicate. There's nothing wrong with expressing anger. But slip ups turned into outbursts, and outbursts turned into extended meltdowns, and meltdowns turned into full hallucinatory psychotic episodes. I don't expect you to understand this but I think you're the only person that ever could, because you saw them, and because you have experienced similar things inside of yourself.
Let me put it this way. There is a big book of painful memories in the library of my mind. This book isn't on a shelf it's right there on the coffee table. On the cover is a picture of you crying. The first 5 chapters are a list of the time I hurt your feelings. Boohoo poor me is not my point. I know when I acted like that it felt horrible to you and hurt you deeply and was a betrayal. But fuck, it hurt me so fucking much, which just made it even worse than it already is. Those images of seeing you hurt while I was doing that are on the front of my mind. It's the one thing I will never get past and never forgive myself for. I believe I deserve to go to hell for that. I can look at a lot of bad things I've done in my past and this isn't like that. I fully understand why I did this, how it happened, and what caused it, and figured out how to fix it. It doesn't change it. There is one single reason I never tried to get in contact with you. The break up, the law and the horrible thing you did after, the improbability that you would even want to hear from me or that contacting you would likely achieve nothing. None of that is what stopped me. I have sat here every fucking day and missed you. I have sat here and figured out why everything happened and how to fix it all. I've thought over what you did and who you are and damn near convinced myself that you would understand what I have to say, be so relieved to hear it, and still love me. But one thing stopped me. The image of you crying while I'm hurting you with one of these episodes.
That said, if I did it on purpose, I wouldn't be here today. This journey of growth and healing and redemption would not have even been possible. If I had found any insight or enlightenment, but had done this on purpose, my next step would've been to kill myself. And I fucking hate saying I didn't do it on purpose because it's such a cop out, but it's not. The fact that I wasn't doing this on purpose makes it so much worse. It made the problem itself worse. It made the fact that I recovered from it, figured out that it wasn't on purpose, an unbearable hell.
I hate to say that man. I wanna beat myself up about it more than I already do but I just wanna tell you how it really was. That shit caught me up. What's fucked up about it is the best way to describe it was similar to a moment of clarity. Just everything clicking together and being true and aligning. But it was a moment of insanity. It felt like a moment of clarity but the substance of it was warped and wrong. The feeling was fucking wild. The initial feeling was like a lightning bolt. An absolute deluge of emotions. And then just a break. Just it all overflowed and broke and all that was left was an emotion I really can't even give a name to.
And the whole time it was happening, it was fucking terrifying. Imagine a bad dream where you are lucid but in the dream you're like strangling a kitten. That's what it felt like. The shit I was thinking and yelling about did not even align with what I actually thought in my head or felt in my heart. I could not stop it and I could not calm down. That's why I started running away when it happened. I had no control over it. It was all the bad feelings I had been fighting every day all exploding at once. It was all the fearful thoughts and stupid bullshit in my head all coming true at once.
I know it hurt you a lot, but experiencing that hurt me probably just as much. I've always had some tantrums and some mental problems but never like that. It was my mind betraying me and then doing horrible things once it took control. I didn't mean any of the things I said or did. I wasn't even ever actually that fucking mad. I obviously rather would have not been doing that. It was even always actual things that set me off. It was just like a certain level of stress and a certain type of stressor and my mind would just snap. We were in a bad environment and occasionally that badness would align in such a way that my mind was like nah fuck you.
It fucked with me too. Like the experience was fucked up to go through and all, but the breakdowns, and my general mental state, fucked with me. My mind is everything. You can say what you will about what I've done with myself on this earth but in the long run I am nothing but an entity. What goes on in my mind will never be describable in human language and with that mind, what I have achieved, what I have enjoyed, has been done through thought. Whatever phases or lifestyles I've gone through at my core existence I will always be a true occultist and the occult on paper is hidden knowledge, that hidden knowledge in practice is an artform of the mind, and my own mind was just fucking me in the ass. I've strayed far from this story and there is further and better descriptions in later chapters.
And then it was over. But I had to live with it. I had to live with the fact that my mind was completely fucked all the time and the night before it completely took control of me and I hurt a precious person, the one thing I loved more than anything, and I threw some pizzas around and ran around the neighborhood barefoot.
Fuck, to think that during one of these episodes I had a legitimate paranormal experience fucks with me to this day.
I was living in hell. Maybe not through this chapter of the book alone, but as you read on you will see that of all the crazy delusions I had, the ranting about us living in hell was not even a fucking delusion. I did yell about it when I was having a breakdown, yes, but you know what that really was? That was the only actual logical explanation my sober mind could come up with to explain what was going on in my life, and mentally, and spiritually. At the time, literal actual hell was the only answer I could give to what was going on and the things I was experiencing and feeling.
To this day that theory is logically sound. Hell would not be you strapped to a wall being poked by a pitchfork held by a demon. Hell is for eternity. Even after like a year or some shit you would be over the physical torture. Like alright bro enough with the fucking poking I was having a good dream while I was taking a nap during you literally removing my intestines and pouring acid on them. It's a dumb concept of hell.
Hell would be exactly what happened to me. I found the girl I loved and everything was perfectly aligning and I was feeling great and working on starting a new life and it was all fucking going amazing. And then piece by piece that would be taken away from me, and I would be forced to watch as my own hands destroyed the things I loved, and it would get worse and worse until I was near the lowest point and the point of death or suicide. And then things would turn around. A light at the end of the tunnel. Things would get better and the struggle would all seem worth it. Your mind would recover and happiness would come back. And then at the peak of that here comes Satan with his big swinging dick to turn it all upside down and ruin it again. That's what hell would be like. It would be nothing without a cycle of happiness/creation and terror/destruction. This is still fully a thing in my mind I'm just a different person now and it doesn't bother me as much.
Alight back to the flippin story.
It wasn't just the meltdowns. Those obviously are part of the story but those are kinda like their own thing. They don't really describe, but are related to, all the bad things I was feeling and doing and all the other things that were going on. They were something really fucking strange and bad that happened maybe what, 15 or 20 times tops? Maybe 10 or less really top tier ones and like 40 varying sized smaller ones? I've never experienced that before and it hasn't happened after.
Nah it was worse than that. Those things are similar to my general behavior and my emotions. My emotions were fuckin broken. I just felt bad all the time. I felt worse than bad. I felt every bad emotion that you could feel, all the time, all at once. Just existing was fuckin terrible man. I just felt so physically sick and always exhausted. I never slept and when I did I had nightmares. I never felt good. I never felt okay. The atmosphere is this liquid that we move around in right. Like a fish swimming around in his tank of water. For me, the atmosphere was like needles and fire.
Everything was going wrong. Literally everything, always. Everything inside the house was fucked up, always messy, always stinky, dogs always shitting and tearing stuff up, petunia always biting everything and pissing up the walls, the clothes couldn't be made clean, everything to sit on was uncomfortable, it was hot as absolute fuck, fuckin food wouldn't cook right, toilet leaking, neighbors being loud, yard messy, broken ass cars all over the driveway, landlord and insurance people fuckin bothering us all the time, God damn sink just blew up one day, there was always 50 million chores that needed done always so much fucking housework to do, no fucking room to live, nowhere to fit all our stuff or put anything, tiny ass uncomfortable bed, I really cannot believe our thicc asses were sleeping on a fucking twin bed. No food in the house no weed always loud always hot always annoying. Fuck. That house was a torture chamber. And most of all there was no fucking way to move out of there.
Everything in my life was going wrong. Every night I'm either fighting or struggling with the girl I love. Every day I drive to work late as fuck with people riding my ass and cutting me off and almost hitting me and road raging me, big fucking six lane 20 car wreck on the highway literally 3 times a week. Get to work and just get fucking yelled at and manipulated. Go to work it's either fuck 9000 degrees and I'm melting or it's 15 degrees and my sperm are freezing. Always some customer up my ass or boss bitching or ants biting me or dogs chasing me. That job just fucking sucked too, once they figured out I was competent my job became to go deal with everybody else's shit so it wasn't just doing my job it was doing everyone else's job. Then while I'm at work I got you messaging me on discord fucking with me about not getting home fast enough or saying you're gonna kill yourself. And I tried my ass off to excel and get promoted so we could have a better life but they wanted me to suck their dicks and open my asshole to them and I just couldn't do it, and the didn't trust me because of all the problems I was having. And I had so much determination to fix our lives I was pushing myself so fucking hard, harder every day, and all that amounted to MAYBE $100 extra a week. Work 100% harder for 15% more pay.
And then every day I would come home or you would pick me up and that is my favorite moment. Just putting my eyes on you for the first time in 10 hours just made me smile. The most genuine smile that I just couldn't even stop. Just a flutter of butterflies in my heart that made my lips move. And you would look at me and see me coming and you would just give me these bright eyes and big smile or maybe say something weird or do a weird dance move and kiss me. That's what kept me going man. That's one of the biggest reasons we survived this hell together so long. I was not able to survive it after you left. Each day just wore me down and the next day was worse. But because of that little smile you gave me each day, I was able to go back to life the next day and try even harder.
And then boom within 20 minutes to an hour, right back into fucking hell. Walk back into that dirty fucking shithole house and petunia comes up and bites me right on the dick. Just absolutely fucking exhausted my body like dying.. Or you would start giving me shit. Seriously every day for like 2 months straight right when I sat down for dinner that was as long as you could hold in your days worth of hurtful words, and I would sit down with my meal and you would just start giving me hell about some hurtful bullshit.
And the money. Every day was fucking money. Every day we needed something. Every day you asked me for something you wanted but we didn't have the money. Every day you asked me to do something but I didn't have the energy. Every day you asked me to give you attention but I didn't have anything but an empty head to give you. Every day you asked for something we NEEDED but I couldn't afford it. It just piled up. Everyday there was something we ran out of, or something breaks, or a bill, or 20 bills that are past due, or taking out a loan, or almost getting evicted, and just seeing that paycheck and having my heart crush knowing that it was enough. Know that there is no future. The only future where life isn't like this is like 10 years away when I finally have enough money to even fucking live. The idea of moving or getting a house was a fucking joke that made me cry every day.
The crisises. Like 5 times a week there was a fucking problem. Every time we got past something, something else would happen in a few days. Just a non stop cycle of teeth getting infected, cars breaking, bill collectors threatening, trying to get ahead or improve something. Just money. Always some fucking problem and always a lack of money to fix even half of the problems.
And then there was you. Which is all that actually really mattered. It wasn't all your fault. You were either going through something, having a problem, causing a problem, or doing something that upset me, or doing nothing but my mind telling me you were doing something horrible. Our fights grew and our bond weakened. I could watch you falling out of love with me and getting more sad and more bored. More and more we fought and my mind was turning us against each other. I started to blame you, it seemed like you were truly part of all this bad stuff and making it worse, yet I loved you so much and couldn't lose you. It was just a constant war in my head of trying to decide if you're dragging me down or I'm just losing my mind, if you loved me or if you were plotting against me, if your are making me upset on purpose or if I'm making myself upset, either I was scared of losing you or I needed to get rid of you before you killed me.
It's more than that. There's one certain thing that I think was most detrimental. You were both. This big paradox pulling me in 2 different directions. This happened, no exaggeration, every single fucking day, and there are 3 or 4 things that I've discovered that led to my insanity, and this is one of them.
Each day, you would do 2 things. Each day there was 2 different pupinas. At some point during the day, you would fill my heart with absolute joy. The substance of what caused this feeling isn't relevant, and varies. It could be something you said, or did, or just me watching you do something, something silly you did, something brave you did, a cool idea you had, bussin that good bussy on me, just taking a sniff of your hair, watching you sleep, making me laugh, seeing you talk the dogs. Just random/everything. And I would get this great feeling and my thoughts would turn around. I would be like, God damn I love that girl. What a fucking amazing person. I have no doubt in my mind that she is the girl for me. I wanna be with her forever. I wanna live longer and be healthy just so I can be around her for longer. Everything has gone kind of weird, but it's God's plan to help us bond and grow. Everything in life is going so bad but I know it will get better some day. I'm gonna keep trying my best just for her because she is worth it. She is so beautiful and amazing and interesting. I would die for her. My life was nothing until I met her. Love is real. God has a plan. I'm gonna go out tomorrow and do my best for her. I'm not feeling too good right but I am so happy inside.
That would literally be my thoughts for a good hour. Then I would start thinking and racking my mind for strategies of how we are gonna fix the situation and start dreaming of what it would be like after the hard part was over.
But then, literally every day, pupina #2 would arrive. Again, the substance of these events varies and isn't relevant to the feeling they caused. A lot of them, you would do something maybe just bratty, or maybe full on bitchy. You would throw a fit over something or maybe say something hurtful. Maybe bitch at me that I wrinkled the covers, or maybe do something disrespectful. Maybe do something unloving or something that made me doubt you, made me feel used or that you were my enemy. And all these things were real, the things I just said. But probably about half of them were indeed in my head, either fully imagined or just misinterpreted due to my fucked up mind. So really you were probably 75% good piña and 25% bad piña.
But man. It crushed me. Every single day. That bad pupina would show herself and I would die. My thoughts were the opposite. I thought you just did something on purpose to hurt me. I thought you were just this cancer, just like kammy you were just dragging my life down and I was never gonna get ahead. You're just using me because you were bored in MP and didn't have any money. You were just dragging this whole thing out until you bled me dry. You really didn't love me you were just pretending. You were watching me go crazy and watching our life go to shit, and you enjoyed it, it was all part of your evil plan, and eventually I would finally be driven to suicide or you would just bail with no consequences. You were planning all this out and hurting me on purpose. You were only pretending to be this beautiful amazing purpose and I knew you were pretending because the thing you just did shows the complete opposite. It was always like discovering a conspiracy theory. I always had those good thoughts like in the last paragraph but you would do something that was evil and 100% in contradiction to those good things, and I would be like haha you evil bitch I caught you slipping, I knew you were pretending and I can see what you're really up to. And even having these thoughts I still loved you, and I knew the person I was so in love with was truly my enemy and trying to hurt me and would someday leave me forever. I knew life would never get better and we were living in hell. Life would never turn around and we weren't going to get through this so there was no point in trying. Then a fight would happen or maybe a mental breakdown, or maybe my thoughts would just spiral into darkness and dissociation for several hours, and I would of course drink until I toppled over and the day ended.
Seriously, every day. Every day I had both of those highs and lows, complete contradictions, and it was just ripping me the fuck in half.
Life was in a way like that too. Every fucking day we got up and tried again. Tried to make it work, tried harder, tried a new strategy, and were hopeful and tried to do our best. And every day it just all failed, got worse, plans didn't work out, new bad things happened. But there was little moments of peace and happiness and little weekends or day trips that were kinda fun and happy, but those got less and less.
Life was going pretty bad, but man I think inside my head was worse. I know people go through a lot of shit inside their heads and a whole hell of a lot of it was worse than mine. I feel like if I could truly describe it, it would be obvious that it's truly a feat that I made it through this. I feel like most people would've died. If I could've bottled it up, I feel like I could just pour it on someone and they would die within like a few hours.
It was just insane. Im not gonna waste too much time trying to describe it. Most of all it was exhausting. It was full fucking speed at all times. Thinking about a million things all the time from a million different angles. It was absolute confusion and it all clashed and contradicted. A majority of it was me just overthinking on turbo mode. Trying to make sense of it, trying to fix it, trying to understand everything and find/prove the truth because I had no idea what actually the fuck was true or happening. It was a prison. It was a labyrinth. I have had a complicated mind, and a troubled mind, and a weird mind for a long time, but not like this. It was all consuming. It was full power. It was dark and confusing and disturbing. And then also, it would just fucking break, like a lot. Finally overload the circuits and just turn the fuck off, empty head, dissociate, no thought, no feeling.
The worse part about it was like this peephole effect. This is another of the 5 or so things that truly made this a psychedelic horror show and one of the things that made me snap.
Imagine walking up to a door and looking through a peephole. I would see just this small,slightly blurry picture. And it was just my real pupina, just sitting on the bed. Just glowing and lookin cute and comfy and happy. She was just always been good and things were going good. Looking good feeling good. A Lil Claritin and a dmitri sitting together on her feet. Dash curled up like a donut next to the bed. Bright warm sunlight coming in through the blinds, in stripes like a nice vapor wave Sunday afternoon aesthetic. And there I was. The real me. A really sweet guy just happy. Just sitting on the bed next to you and were are holding hands in our own bed in our own damn house like a couple of dorks in love. Nothing was weighing that guy down there was nothing on his mind. His face looked relaxed and happy. He didn't have any schedule or anything to do. He felt at peace, he felt good, his body felt good and has heart was beating. Just happy. Everything he needs. Watching something with good vibes like Steven universe, not drunk, not tired, really not a fuckin thought in his head. Just sitting there enjoying the moment and happy to be next to his girl. Just an image of truth and peace. This one little shard of true life. I could always see this peephole. I knew everything was alright, and love was real, and it would be like that someday.
But it's just looking through the peephole. Then I would open the door. And it's just fucking fire. Just big lava bombs raining from a black sky. There I am, a 50ft tall grotesque troll, smashing shit with a big ass hammer, and there's a couple versions of you, one of them is hiding and running from all the fire and monsters, one of them is flying around on a broomstick blasting shit with bolts of lightning from her eyes. And this is reality, and this is forever, and this is what it feels like to be alive every day.
And the worse part. That Lil guy in the peephole. He could get out of bed and go look through the peephole backwards. You know when you look through it backwards and it's like an upside down tiny picture, it was like that. He could barely make out was was happening out there. He could see some grotesque monster destroying everything but the monster was also always suffering. He could see the fire and pain and that the air was made of needles. And he said you know what. Fuck all that. I am not opening that door. Give me the blue pill. I'm getting back in bed and I'm gonna touch this girls hair and eat a piece of chocolate and watch the next episode of this show and take a nice long nap.
That place was real. That place was 100% a real thing shared between us. That was what we were trying to peel back the layers of life to find. That's why the bad shit lasted so long and why we never gave up and tried so hard. That's why we were in love. That's why we fell in love and how deep down no matter what we truly saw each other. That's what you were trying to achieve with your High Magick, I see that so clearly now, that's the real you that I was always trying to hold onto. That's what I was trying to get through from all my efforts. It just never happened.
So you wanna know what's fucked up? I haven't even made it to 2020 yet in this story. This is 2019. This isn't me being insane, this is me going insane. This is all the shit building up and breaking down. All that bad attitude and behavior, I was holding all this back, that bad shit and weird shit was just the little droplets that overflowed from the huge bowl. Those tantrums and meltdowns were just major spills. Honestly, on your behalf and from how hard I was trying, I didn't actually go insane and fuck up and lose everything until a month after you left.
This shit I've written thus far was all pretty vivid in my mind. Starting about late 2019 early 2020 that was it for me. I was dome, there was nothing left.. Gotta be honest I really don't remember it super clearly. I think if it were not for my new job, and covid, and how dramatic our breakup was, I would have absolutely no memory at all.
I know it was much of the same bullshit. I honestly just wasn't much of an active participant anymore. I was worn down to a nub. Just going through the motions of whatever the fuck I was doing. I feel like I really did nothing but dissociate, escapism activities, and be a stinky dickhead. I think my behavior and meltdowns were worse actually I think. I know my stress was worse and I was more tired. As far as emotions and attitude and outbursts, they were the same but there wasn't as much really fueling them. Rage and frustration and anger and depression was really all I had left, and it was just automatic now. I kept fighting but really I was just doing the same bullshit I had been doing. I had completely given up. I was just waiting for the day for it all to fall apart. I knew it was never gonna get better. I kept trying to fix it but I knew I couldn't. I kept trying to fix it but my thoughts were high speed static.
That new job was just more of the same hell but actually kept me alive. I thought it was really gonna turn things around. No more driving in psycho traffic and getting fucked with by Jeremy. Man, really fucked up to be having mental problems and living with this girl that messes with my head then go to work and have a sociopath boss play mind games with me. The new job they didn't fuck with me at first and it wasn't bad at first. It gave something to stimulate my mind and that saved me. Otherwise I would just evaporated.
I lied to get that job. I knew I was smart enough to fudge it and I just learned everything as I went. Riding with someone gave me social interaction and working on stuff stimulated me. But they also lied to me. I never made a single dollar more than I did at the last job. This job ended up just fucking our situation in a different way. Same money, less drive, but now my brain was exhausted from all the learning and socializing. I was more stressed honestly cuz it was a job worth keeping. I was showing up smelling like piss because of Tunia. It was constant self esteem issues. I was coming home more tired and more stressed and just riding that false hope.
My cognition greatly declined. My body was worthless at this point, from how hard I pushed myself at work, the shit you put me through, the drinking, and my other problems I didn't know about yet. My brain was at capacity and that capacity was greatly reduced.
Honestly petunia was the last fucking straw. He filled the void. Any moment of peace, or sleep, Any brief pause of relaxation, any shot I had at calming down and staying calm, Any tranquility, he ruined that. Before there had been moments where I could kinda be myself, or I could calm down some nights, or just chilling playing a video game to unwind. Days when nothing bad happened, days when we got along or you didn't pull a stunt, days when the house was clean and the dogs were chilling. There was never an ebb and flow, we just had all bad luck and problems, but before petunia there was at least some okay moments and some tiny amount of breathing room left. But after he showed up? Any moment where I could have a breath? Any moment I could calm down a little? There he fucking was. Attacking the guinea pigs, attacking me for no fucking reason, tackling the dogs, hissing, pissing, knocking shit over, splashing the Aquariums. Any brief second where I was maybe on edge but hadn't freaked out yet, and had no reason to freak out, there he was just fucking biting the shit out of me.
He really was the last straw for the darkness in my heart and mind. When you got him things were kind of medium. I wasn't feeling too messed up inside yet, it hadn't fully taken over. You had been in a long ass depressive state. You called me and it sounded like you for the first time in a few weeks, happy and not depressed. You said you were chasing chickens around at a crackhead trailer trying to steal a God damn chicken, and then you were digging in a pile of wood and found a cat. God I love this fucking girl. What a bad ass. What a cool person. But no we can't have any fucking more animals do not bring that cat home, we have too many pets in this tiny house, we can't handle that. It didn't take much for you to convince me. I would give anything to you if you asked me in that sweet voice. You're my fucking dream come true I don't care if you bring 30 cats home, I'm just trying make this shit work.
When I saw that cat it was some of the strongest Magick I've ever felt. I had been through so much. My girl of 14 years just vanished one day and then stole my best friend, a beautiful orange cat that spent every minute of every day with me. She stole my Dmitri when I needed him most. And I had met my dream girl, and things weren't going good, but she was trying to steal some chickens and brought me this tiny microscopic orange baby kitten. Everything was gonna be okay. We were gonna make it through this. This was still God's plan.
And for a few weeks he just warmed my soul. Those couple weeks, and that smile I had every day when I saw you after going to work, or that sweet feeling I had when you would come home from MP, those were bright lights in the darkest period of my life. That little cat just cuddled right up to my cheek and slept there. It was so tiny and sweet and perfect. My new little orange boy. The circle is complete and everything will work its way out.
Then he turned into a fucking monster. Was it me? Was it just the environment? Was it the spirits that haunted the house? An unseely fae summoned by the neighbors? Was it really just his balls like we thought? Was he an emissary of the dark lord Belial? I don't know, but I don't think it was anything we did. He was just a feral country murder cat that should have been outdoors and probably killed every fucking animal in a 1 mile radius. I tried so fucking hard to train him. When you weren't around it was pretty easy for me to stay calm (another thing that confirmed my delusions) and I was able to treat him as good as I could, but i only had tiny progress. I was fully delusional at this point and convinced you were beating him and training him to be evil while I was at work so that he would drive me crazy.
When he tried to kill Skeletor and made her tail come off that struck me deep. It was like he time traveled and bit me in my childhood. And when I was a kid I always saw the weird regrown tails and said I will always be gentle with her and never let her tail fall off, and I didn't for literally 2 decades and 5 housing moves. And her tail was so beautiful, the way she slithered it when she was hunting. Skeletor was also a fuckin PILLAR of my spiritual beliefs, and she hasn't been since that day. That struck me deep man. I know I acted weird about it but I wasn't mad at you or blamed you. That was a strange thing for me and I didn't process it well. It was almost an actual real moment of clarity. I was like this is just not right, something ain't right here. Petunia was the last straw for my SOUL. Everything that was good would turn evil before my eyes, and everything that was bad would get worse, and this was just how life was gonna be from now until I die.
Covid was nothing to me. It was my last brain cell blinking out like a bad light bulb. But after what I had been through, I was just not surprised at all, and any apocalypse was a joke compared to the past few years. Hell, maybe someone else would get to feel how bad life is, maybe everybody would fucking die and get out of my asshole, maybe the houses would all be empty and I could buy one.
When covid happened, you might not realize this, but we almost saved our relationship, and it was also the end of our relationship.
It truly was my last brain cell. You remember me just straight up taking off at a red light for no reason on the way to work one morning? You know how like when you're at a red light and the car next to you moves, or maybe the green arrow turns and you almost go, and you stop yourself? Happens every day. My brain wasn't even fucking working lmao. There was no indication to make me think it was time to go, the car next to me didn't move, the green arrow didn't turn, I just kinda fucking went. I had like 4 pieces of brain left and they were like it's green bro just go.
That was the last amount of stress I could handle. And the last amount of warped reality. We had just happened to have a little money and I spent $2000 preparing us for the apocalpyse. It was so surreal and stressful fighting to get into the store and seeing the shelves empty, trying to get all the supplies we needed, reading the news trying to figure out what's really going on and how we should react.
But man I think we actually could've turned it around right there. The last fight we had, it was pretty bad, but at the end of the fight we FINALLY broke down that stalemate that I had been screaming about. We finally fucking said just a few meek little words to each other about what was going on and how to help each other fix it. That fucks with me to this day. After months of fighting and stubbornness we had broken through and taken the first tiny step, the first step at all, to start fixing this big problem we had. And then I thought life was gonna turn around. There was so much going on in the world that I didn't have people up my ass all the time, they really let off the pressure at work, customers were scared and grateful, the landlord fucked off, I didn't have to even pay the bills, and we could've gotten $4500 from the government and solved all our money problems, and then about a month later I wasn't making what I should've but I pulled about $500-700 more a week than I had for the past 2 years. We would've been fine, I would've been under less stress, no bills fucking us up, plenty of money, a lot of free time. Honestly I could've quit working and did good on unemployment and just gave you all the attention in the world. The one problem was you not being able to see Nana and Papa and Granny. And we would've had to release petunia into the woods lol. But I thought maybe the world really would fucking collapse, and we would bored up the windows, and just be chilling spending time together and smoking weed and eating all that food and it woulda been great. And the everyone would die and we could just go steal a big ass house and live out our dream.
That was it for you though. Retroactively, I think I really came to understand you and all the things you did, but it's a mystery of what was going on in your head during the final period. I have a feeling you were already done with me and planning your escape, that maybe you were planning on doing something bad on that trip, and you had people in your ear. I could be wrong.
But I think that was just it for you. You were getting pulled in too many directions. I had scorned your mom and she was taking her revenge. She knew we were having money problems, she knew she was causing us more problems. She got a tiny tax deduction fraudently rather than helping us get an assload of money, and I think she either did it on purpose or just because she's that selfish. I'm really disgusted by the way I was talking to you and fighting with you about that. It was one of more sober moments but I just couldn't express myself in any other way. We needed that money and it was driving me nuts. I was just hounding you about it, and you just looked so sad and hurt, I just wouldn't let it go and for once it truly wasn't something you did or any of your concern, and it was pulling you between me and your mom and pulling on your heart. You just looked so sad and upset and almost pitiful and like a sad little girl and I was just being mean as fuck and causing problems. Honestly that may have been the last straw itself. That was the one time I was truly just being a piece of shit to you, no mental illness, no nuance, and you didn't start it or egg it on or do anything even related to it, and I was just being mean as fuck to a sad girl whose heart was breaking. I was just panicking, and I was broken. I was trying to save us. And then you had me freaking out about the apocalypse, Kayla in your ear saying it's fake, that stupid wedding was stressing you out. Like I get you were starved for fun, but that country bitch had no eyebrows and her fiance was abusing her in front of you and talking down to you and insulting you and there was a fuckin pandemic happening. You were getting torn between not seeing your family for a long time or not seeing me anymore. You fought for me to the end and you never gave up until the last second. But I had been doing everything I could to get you to leave and make myself as unlovable as possible and our life was horrendous. It was a good time to give up.
And then u pulled some shit. This time, and the time you left me stranded at work and lied to me and I had a really bad episode, were the only times you truly did something that wasn't psychological or gaslightable. You truly pulled some shit, lied to me, and ran out on me, and I yelled at you on the phone trying to break up with you, I was having a minor episode, and people found out. People did not understand what was going on between us, but they found out that it wasn't very good. You went with it.
I was like fuck finally. Maybe she will finally be gone and this torturous life will end. Then I just thought of you. I love that fucking girl. That is my fucking girl and she always will be. I thought maybe this was the breakthrough we finally needed. I really had been trying hard to push my way through the peephole I mentioned earlier, and tell you how I really felt about you and tell you about all the horrors in my mind so you could tell me they weren't real. In the long run, I never actually told you what I really thought and felt about you. We were stuck in this cycle. And it wasn't the typical cycle where the same problem pops up a few times and then you finally spill the beans and figure each other out. We did that a lot at first, but this cycle was fully a loop. We had the same fight like 50 times in a row. It's literally what I was screaming about during my meltdowns, but I was blaming it all on you also, I had no perspective on how bad my mind truly had gotten. And I thought this is finally the break.
I was gonna break that fucking cycle. I was gonna drive out there and everyone was gonna see that I was calm and that we were just struggling and needed to talk. I wanted us to go to the graveyard where you showed me the galaxy. I wanted us to finally just open up to each other, I was gonna start. And my main point was, let's just end this shit that's going on, whatever it takes, and remember our first date in this graveyard, and let's never lose that, so let's change things up. I wanted to probably take a long break, let you go on your trip I guess or maybe moved away and just visited for a while so I could recover. I would get things going better and takes some risks that I was scared to take while you were there so I could get a better job or work longer hours. I was gonna finally tell you what was going on in my head and ask what's going on in yours, and finally tell you all the loving things I had been hiding. And we were gonna make some new pinkie promises like we did on our first date.
But that's not what happened huh. You agreed we should talk, but it was a lie. You drove to my house and kicked the door in. Literally broke my fucking wall. You embarrassed me in front of everyone, showed people the weird disgusting house we lived in, told everyone all the problems we had been having, all these secret personal things between us, but in your story you did nothing wrong and I was just this psycho demented freak. You shared our personal lives with people that weren't apart of them. You told your whole family that I went to holidays with, Nana and granny and your dad who I loved so much, that I was beating you and abusing you which isn't true.
While I was driving there in a desperate romantic gesture to save my one true love, you called the cops and told them I said I was coming to kill you. I drove around trying to find your dad's house because you wouldn't answer and I was gonna ask him what I should do and tell him what's really going on. I had to piss so I said fuck it I will piss in your driveway and maybe knock on the door. Cops spotted me and pulled me out at gunpoint. Showed them the text and they said I was reported as coming to kill you, that it was a false police report but they weren't gonna file charges because of papa. Took my gun which I never got back. Obviously what you said wasn't true because they drove me to the gas station which is a 3 minute walk from your house. My dad had to drive 4 hours, sick from liver failure, at 3am to come get me.
Then a cop shows up AT MY JOB to serve me a bullshit restraining order. How did it feel telling the lawyer the story, and him saying it's not abuse and not worthy of a restraining order, so you had to add lies to each one of those stories to make me look evil? Oh and it cost me $600 and is permanently on my record and I lost my gun rights, it shows up when cops pull me over and they ask me about it, and it shows up on employment background checks. What an evil thing to do. The door you kicked in cost me $2000. I think someone pissed on my bed and floor too, and my dogs could've easily escaped, imagine if you also killed both of my dogs.
And then I didn't go. The ADA literally I told him the true story, with proof, and he said come on down to the court date and I will drop the case and maybe file charges. So I didn't go just so you didn't have to put up with more upsetting stuff or get in trouble.
But then, you were gone. Unfortunately for delusional me, you weren't the source of all my problems, maybe a little, but it wasn't this grand evil scheme, you loved me at some point. But finally, I could just sit in silence for 20 minutes straight, without getting my feelings hurt, or bothered, or fucked with, or pissed on by that cat. Finally just peace. The house was so quiet. No psycho strategy game in my mind of figuring out how to not lose you, loving you put me under so much pressure. I just got to relax after work and feel okay. It was so nice. For about 3 days.
Then it hit me that the love of my life was gone forever. I cried in the shower for an hour. I about died.
Then I was over it. I did the same thing after Kammy, and after everything bad that's ever happened to me. I mostly blamed you, I thought it all over, and I got the fuck over it. I was glad the torture was ended and after 2 months I felt strong again and like my old self.
God did not like this. This is a mistake I've been making for my whole life. It was now time for me to truly face my problems, my shadow, and the darkness inside of me.
The smiting began.
I don't talk about this much because it's stupid and embarrassing, but I had a fucked mindset when we started dating that stuck around for a long time. You were everything I needed, almost, from day one. But before we met I had so much fun and was exploring so many options and it felt like I messed up by not continuing it. And I was right in a way, I needed to go be wild for a few more months, I was fresh out of mental prison, I needed to get it out of my system.
Well, if it would've gone better, it would've last probably a year or 2. But this is when my punishment began. This is when the trickster gods arrived. Sure I was in a bad place, but I met some of the most vile people. I met a couple that were maybe half chill. I often wonder about the law of attraction, maybe I attracted all the bad in our lives with my darkness. These people fucked with my head and heart, abused me, used me, played with me like a toy, made me cry.
This is when the self abuse truly began too. I started getting my heart broken on purpose. What happened to us was so heart breaking that I just felt a void, I wanted it to break more. The house was also heavily stinky and moldy and psycho looking. So I would enter into a really creepy psycho trance and invite women over to my stinky lair and just let them roast me and tell how pitiful I was and ghost me.
One of these people that showed up for this was a voodoo priestess. 6 foot tall, huge afro, huge ass, super fit body, super weird girl. She noped out immediately. But then she went home and started talking shit about my life. I said if you think it's so fucking easy, come show me how it's done.
My descent into madness had really began. There was no longer the negative stimuli of being around you, and I wasn't stressed about life because I didn't care anymore. From the day you left for 6 months the levels of drinking were absurd. My mind and body were a wreck and I was barely present. I was not functioning at a human level. I was scared to take a shower because I was wobbly on my feet and I lived alone.
So I have to pause the story here for magickal definitions. I missed out on knowing about these concepts, because the names are stupid. They are really more of a human phenomenon thats been co-opted by new age hippies, this becomes a common theme, but they are described by psychologists and alchemists in older texts.
The shadow is like the mirror of your ego. Your ego is something you create from parts of yourself, and the shadow is what's left over. Your ego is created to protect you from your fears, your shadow is you experiencing your fears. Shadow work is trauma integration, regression therapy, exposure therapy, and a whole fucking lot of delving into the subconscious, and the roots, and the things about yourself you hate.
Spoilers, but one of the things I experienced is called the Dark Night of the Soul. Discovering this concept much later on was one of many surreal uncanny valley moments. In the realm of psychologia, this is basically the hardest most fucked up thing to go through. It is when your ego dies and you become your shadow self. Or they just flip. It is for an extended painful period of time and it's fucking horrible.
I realized later that this witch was in 'love' with my shadow. Toxic af right. She was a really good friend and I never felt an emotion other than that before. That ass though. But later I realized she only showed up when my shadow was in control. I wasn't full shadow yet. She would ignore me until I said some dark ass shit or was super drunk.
There's 2 parts of my shadow, the emotionally disturbed baby, and the wild viking man. You know both. She liked both. She we show up and whisk me away. I was always drunk as shit. This was good fucking therapy honestly and I owe her a lot. The night would consist of either just pure bloodlust of battle, we would drive around just fucking terrorizing this town at 4am on a weekday, speeding, smashing shit, doing donuts. Or sometimes we would just fucking scream at each other about our problems and listen to music really loud and I would just cry all fucking crazy. A portion of our time was spent spending tons of money to fix the house up, kill the mode, get the dogs feeling better, and throw away all of your shit.
At the same time, I felt Victoria. When I was not my shadow, I was doing fine. I felt like me right before I met you. I just emptied my head and was fine with life and moving forward. I felt like me. You know what this was? Full ego takeover. I was no longer actually me. No actual emotions. Disconnected from my soul. That's what the dark night is. You disconnect from your soul and it kills you. You have just your ego, and your shadow. Anyway I was just vibing and I wanted to get laid. Victoria was just some random cutie that wanted the same thing.
But we got fucked. We clicked, hard. We were in love before we even met. We only actually met 5 times total, only 3 were "dates". See, you were my dream girl as in something I had dreamed up and never thought could be true, and you exceeded that, you truly matched my soul and you're so amazing I never even could've thought it possible. Victoria was my dream girl in the way that she was what I wished Kammy was like, and what she could've been like if she would've taken the thorn tree out of her bitchy asshole.
Then, the mayhem begins. The peak arrives. Victoria was fucking with me all the time. I was getting to experience the emotions you left behind and what it feels like to have PTSD on my own. The witch was fucking with me, they were fighting over me. Then there was just this 5 day long mental breakdown. Victoria whipped me up into a full frenzy and broke up with me and finally, I swear to God it was not until this point, despite what I was like when we were together, this is the point I finally lost my last shred of sanity. Victoria shattered me. The with showed up and dealt with me losing it. We drank for hours. I cried and screamed and fought with her. I was crying like a baby. At one point we were at a lake and I was chucking boulders into the lake and crying and eating spiders and smashing the spiders with rocks and whacking logs against trees and fucking losing it. Odins bloodlust captured in a voodoo ecstatic trance.
Then this witch said she loved me but then also broke up with me and both of them blocked me. I cried, alone in my house for 3 days straight. Cried until my eyes hurt and it made me sick. I did not shed a single tear for anyone but you. Victoria received all the love I had held back from you during our period of darkness. The witch received my shadow that had been growing for years. And they broke me, and finally I could cry about you, and cry about me losing my mind, and my life going so bad. The person you left was the person running around a boiler room full of pipes with a roll of duct tape and every time they fixed a leak another leak started. You left a demented, broken, horrible person but what neither of us knew was that was me doing my best to carry the million pound weight of our lives, all of both of our problems, and all of the shit inside of me, all the fear and pain, and all the love that was held back. Finally I cried. I cried for 10 years. The dark night began.
I had already been writing to you since the day you left. It just didn't make sense. Not a God damn bit of it made sense. My writing was horrible, my brain was fried. I had absolutely no answers. I rolled through theories and blame and justifications and it got me nowhere. You have always been on my mind every day all day since the day we met, but for a long time it was just gibberish. Now, I knew I was crazy, but I also knew I wasn't fully just imagining things. So I just flip flopped constantly between the bad things you did driving me crazy, or the idea that I was just crazy and bad.
Regardless, since the day you left, I was on a mission. I had some pretty clear goals. My number one goal, as it always is, especially in transition, was to delve as deep as possible into God and the occult, find some kind of answer to life and some peace and power. Mainly for several months I wanted to gain true non-scientific spirituality so that I could find God and try to kill him. So that began day 1.
My other main goal was to understand. I don't care how you look at our past, or how little it means to you, or how dumb my interpretation seems. I got over kammy in 2 weeks, it was not fuckkng complicated, it just left a lot of things behind inside of me. With you, I was absolutely confused. Every bit about it was confusing. I had completely lost my mind and my life. None of it made sense mentally, logically, or spiritually. Even beyond the fact that my brain wasn't even worth shit, it was some complicated bullshit that I wasn't gonna be able to live with it. I needed answers.
And then, there's you. I knew I loved you. I knew I had hidden a million thoughts and feelings from you. I just couldn't say it, I was too scared. I had the greatest and most complicated love for you. I loved you in a million ways. I couldn't let you find that out. And I just wasn't nice to you. Your ego bothered me and Idk I guess if you found out how cool I thought you were you would leave me. Every day you impressed me or stunned me or brightened my heart and I just wanted to say hey wow that's really cool that's really smart I love you so much. I just couldn't say it. To this day, 100s of hours of writing, it is still too hard to write all the things I love about you. It was my biggest secret. And then you had to put up with all the bad, and that was all unexplained too. I know now I could've just told you and you would've understood and acted differently. And I knew there was other mysterious factors. I thought you deserved to know all of this, answers, explanations, secrets revealed, and apologies. And of course I wanted you back. I never thought it possible but what was I gonna do not try? And I also knew you needed to be out of my life, I couldn't handle it any more, and I didn't want to put you through it anymore. So I had to find a way to fix it all.
So I wrote to you almost every day through all of this. For literally most of it, it was gibberish, random good insights and small breakthroughs, and random breakdowns where I missed you so much and had to say so. I'm too embarrassed to link the blog here. This is the final draft. The blog itself is horrendous. There will be some things I copy from there. But if you were to read it, you would watch me get more insane, then slowly watch me get less insane. You can see the subjects start to slowly become more relevant and realistic, you can literally watch my brain recover as my writing style improves. You can see me go down a ton of paths, much like the one path you probably chose after you left, of me trying to explain this all away and accept it and move on, and each one was a dead end for me, because I wanted the real truth.
My last real goal was to figure out and fix my brain. I had always known something was wrong, but being with you pushed it over a new horizon. That is the weirdest most unanswerable shit that ever happened to me.
I've once again broken the flow of the story but for a reason. Just know that everything I'm describing, during this whole period after you left, I wrote to you. I never gave up. Basically, I kept having our relationship just you weren't here. We had a true love together, and I kept feeling that. We had a mission and journey we worked on together, and I kept working on that. You were gone, but you lived in my head. To this day it feels like you just went to visit your family and will come through the door at any moment making weird noises and doing poses, your golden hair bouncing along, and stirring that big smile right out of my soul. It doesn't feel like 2 years, it feels like a week ago.
And it sucked. It fucking sucked ass for like 8 months. It hurt having you in my head. The thoughts and writing went absolutely nowhere. It hurt all the fucking time and it all confused the shit out of me and kept my brain all fucked up. I kept doing it regardless. I never have and never will give up.
When I finished crying, the day had finally come. I felt like my whole life I've tried hard to be better. That's one of the reasons kammy stayed with me so long. I was always a fuck up, but I was always trying to figure it out, and slowly improving. I always hated myself, and I always felt wrong inside. It began to form this horrible personality. Think of our time together between the fun at the beginning, and the psycho shit in the second half. Just unpleasant, grumpy, withdrawn, dirty, boring me. That has always been me, and I have always hated it. Now, that was all that was left. That was me. And kammy especially, and you, and the people around me, and my bosses, and my friends, were always implying shit about me. Implying I was doing shit on purpose, or that I was a bad guy, or I was gonna start hitting women, and I was never gonna make anything of myself. That was never true, it kinda looked like that maybe and you assholes to assumed the worse, I had my own struggles, but now? It was true. I became all those things. I became a cliche. I was an absolute joke version of myself, all my bad qualities became my only qualities, I became all those things people accused me of even though they weren't in my heart. There's a reason people love me but always leave. There's the part you fall in love with, the romance, the dreams, the strength, the comedy, the interesting stuff, the weird stuff. Then there's the bad stuff, the badditude, the stuff I'm accused of, the failures, the anger. That's why they leave. But it had always been those 2 sides fighting. The bad side one. I had crossed most of the lines, I had utterly failed, I had fully committed to a horrible personality and way of life, I had become the betrayer, I was a wretch, a loser, and I had no future, and I had a past I could never forgive, there were no redeeming qualities left to me.
I've already greatly polluted the second half of this story with hindsight, which was not the point. I wanted to just write down the past few years of my life. This has gotten overly detailed and long. But for this second half, retrospect is unavoidable. This is pure darkness and psychosis. I am pretty proud of what I managed to achieve in the long run, and I'm proud of my strength for some of the things I survived. But surviving this period was pure luck. I was like mental institution, psych ward, walking down a dark alley wearing a mud covered wedding dress and talking to myself level of mental illness. I was nothing but shadow. Honestly I was worse than my shadow. My memories are weak, and my mind was warped, so I have no choice but to phrase this part of the story in retrospect. When I was with you I was crazy, and it looked crazy, but I was actually holding on, I was still fighting the battle. The battle was now finally lost.
Life was worse than ever. I was just quitting and getting fired from jobs every few weeks. The house was fucked. I slept on a piece of wood. I did nothing but drink beer and eat junk. God was punishing me. I had felt for a while a dark force meddling, but now it was obvious and repetitive. It was just the norm. Nothing but bad things came my way. If anything that wasn't pure bad happened, something actually like happened, it always turned out to be some ironic painful trickster God bullshit that just made things worse.
I was punishing myself. Even with all the bad feelings and bad events going on, the absolute despair and malaise, it just didn't feel bad enough for me. I felt that I deserved worse. I constantly made myself suffer more and more. I made myself just sit there and chew on my pain and dark thoughts and blamed myself for everything. I made myself as sick as possible, abused my body as much as possible so I felt worse than ever, my muscles and bowels just rotting, eating things to make myself sick, getting as fat and lazy as possible, if I felt like I could actually get a good night's sleep I would just force myself to stay up. I hurt, cut, burned, and beat myself constantly. I slept on dirt and rocks. My bed was literally a thin stinky memory foam on a piece of plywood but that wasn't enough. So I let like sharp crumbs and rocks be everywhere so it was like I was sleeping on pieces of glass. Which I did, multiple times. Just broke something and just walked right through the glass. I never smiled or laughed unless I was so drunk that I entered trance and forgot that I was living in a hell, a hell made both by me and God.
This went on for a long time. This went on until I was literally laying in a pile of trash, stopped going to work, and just laid in bed all day drinking, crying, hurting myself. My mind literally during these final 2 weeks was just shutting down. Like I thought I had it bad before, broken and empty head, I was I guess just dead now.
Rock bottom is a fucking joke. For most people that's when they turn their lives around. Rock bottom isn't the worse that can happen. Like if I ended up homeless or on heroin that would just be a new life that had a new rock bottom I would have to find. Nah, I found Rock bottom. I found it like 15 times. I was just fucking hanging out in Rock bottom, kicking rocks around, leaving candy wrappers all over the place, digging holes so I could see what was underneath Rock bottom, takin shits in the corner, taking some nice naps down there. Rock bottom is nothing to me. I went as deep as I fucking could. I've been on a path of self destruction and hearing the call of the void my whole life, and my bad side finally one, and I was gonna find that fucking void and find the bottom of it and just roll around in it.
This next part is difficult to explain. Multiple things happen and multiple phases of life overlapped.
I had those 2 weeks where I basically just died. And one day just in a panic I woke up and cleaned myself up and went and got a job. This is hands down the worst job I ever had. The boss was a full blown narcissist and abused me, the pay was like $600 a week. I was suffering from spiritual problems, psychological problems, but in those last 2 weeks I had killed my brain. This is the same thing that saved me after kammy left me. When she left me my brain had died and I was basically in terminal dementia. But just going through the motions I got a job and the positive stress and using my brain brought me out of it. This will come up later when I explain my brain disorder. But this job did the same thing for me. I got to show up day 1 and start taking machines apart and my brain snapped back on. Nothing else got better in my life, just my brain started working, which ended up being the first good step. I was more psycho and dark than ever but I was living again. Only later did I realize that's exactly why this psycho bitch hired me. She hires vulnerable people so she can take advantage of them and abuse them.
I started trying again. It made no improvement but I started investigating and experimenting again. I discovered the abyss. This is the darkest period of my life, but at one point I hit this fucking stride. I actually really enjoyed it. I would call it the edge of the abyss. This one on for months, some days I would tip backwards into the psychotic darkness that had become normal, and some days I would tip forward into the unfathomable divinity and untranslatable confusion of the abyss.
But for like a month, I was balanced on the edge of the abyss. It was fucking lit. When I was with you, I lived in a twisted contradictory reality, two sides fighting, sometimes I was in real life sometimes I was in psycho reality. After you left, and I dated those witches and cried for 1000 years, I was in psycho dark reality, but it was more of a mental illness, reality but a dark version. But bro hear me now when I tell you this, I left this fucking earth. I entered into a fully different fucking reality. It wasn't mental illness, my brain just liquefied and became a different type of organism. It wasn't darkness and pain and confusion and crazy thoughts and things pulling me in different directions. It all blended together and became one singular homogenous mixture.
In a way, this was a horrible, weird, and terrifying psychedelic experience. In another way, this was one of the best times in my life. It was just so pure. It was the first consistency I had in a while, no lows no highs, just this weird new bizarro world, it was like I was living in someone else's dream. It was a good thing for sure, but living in that world was just peachy. I found the abyss, and instead of crossing it, running from it, I was like yeah bro this is kinda sweet I can just vibe here.
It was the most pure expression of my true self. It was indulgent. It was full acceptance and integration of everything in my head. It was the point of insanity that I was just someone else now. I just chilled man. Just high as hell not a worry in the world. Cruised up to 7/11 every night at like midnight and got a bunch of snacks. Just laughing and giggling, being silly, petting the dogs. I was experiencing the world through completely new senses. Just hanging with the pets and shit. Watching movies. It was fucked up but enjoyable.
Now what happens next I really have no explanation for, there is no specific catalyst that caused this or any reason this finally happened that I can find. The only significant event that happened during this was dash dying. That may have been it, but I don't think so. I honestly can barely describe this, I can say what happened but so many things overlapped that I don't even really know what order this happened in.
At some point, as far as the path of life and life events, it just stopped being bad. It happened someone slow and somewhat suddenly. After 2 fucking God damn years, I started winning the fight again, and shit started going my way, I had good luck for the first time in well over a year.
This made my fucking head spin. This is the most reality shaking, surreal, psychedelic, uncanny valley, weird, shocking thing that's ever happened to me. I had had bad luck, and bad life events, and problems, and darkness, every single fucking day of my life for basically 2 years straight without fail. Everything went wrong inside and outside for 2 years, everything that seemed good just turned out to be something bad with more spice. Every day, consecutively, continuously for 2 years.
But I didn't notice until it stopped. It just kinda fucking stopped one day. My head spun so much I floated away like a helicopter. I said wait, what the fuck. This is not normal. What in the FUCK has been HAPPENING. People have bad luck. Sometimes people just have really fucking bad lives. Sometimes people have way worse things happen than I did and end up way worse. That's besides the point. This fucked with my head because it was an absolutely ridiculous notion. It was like I was a castle made of Legos and every day for 2 years I woke up and bad luck just took one of my blocks until I was just like 30 random blocks and a grass plate. And then it was like, nah nvm lol I was just fucking with you, here's all the blocks let's put this back together.
This honestly pissed me the fuck off. I thought that's just how life was, we were living in true literal hell, it was mostly all my fault, and that's just how things are gonna be. And after 2 straight years of horrible bad fortune, absolutely no give and take just take, no ebb and flow just flow, no cycle of ups and downs just downs, life was like LMAO NEVER PRANKED ITS A PRANK. I'm briefly skipping ahead several months, but this actually started to become absurd. The good luck was fucking out of control for a few months, way out of proportion. I went from making $500 a week to $5000 a week. Just windfall after windfall fell into my lap. I was winning lotto tickets. I was literally like finding things I wanted just laying on the ground. The fucking washer and dryer started just working one day. Life just out of nowhere became okay. I started being happy, hanging out with my dad or the boys, I dated a few literal supermodel looking girls. It was fucking absurd. It eventually normalized and I just live a normal life now with normal ups and downs. This shit pissed me off though big time. I didn't deserve it first of all, and why didn't it happen when I was with the love of my life and we were struggling so fucking hard? Because now it happens it's meaningless, another fucking ironic joke from God.
So I've used the word psychedelic a lot. It does not mean LSD and mushrooms. Writers, occultists, psychologists, neurologists, philosophers all write about experiences like this. It's when both the mind and the reality just be doing ridiculous shit that can only be described in anomalous terms. Hunter s Thompson called it weirdness. LPotL calls it high strangeness. A lot of people experience it but those that don't seize on to it and go to the psych ward or become religious, those that are self aware, call it psychedelic.
And don't get off track. I wrote this long ass chapter to describe my story. It made sense at first and then I described my insanity. Now I'm describing my psychedelic experience. But know now that I'm writing this after its all over, I have fully regained my sanity, I have returned to the most reasonable form of reality I've ever been in. And what Im describing now is hard to translate and confusing. Like I said its all kinda jumbled, it all kinda overlapped and happened at once and then ended.
This return of good luck was the main thing that shifted my perspective on the past. It added something new to the memories that had been rotting my mind and confusing me. There was something else at play, I saw that now.
It was the first step to the weird bullshit blog I wrote about you to start actually clicking together and making sense. But then it started to get fucking weird. It was very mathematically improbable that things had gone so wrong while we were together. Although, I started to see the realistic version of events, which I will write later, as well as the spiritual version of events. But in the realistic version, I saw what actually went wrong and why it went wrong, but that still wasn't the full picture. I saw that there was undeniably some other factor at play. I saw why were failing, but I saw that we were doing the exact right things to fix it and have progress, except for not reason at all they just didn't work or backfired. The veil lifted of my perceptions of us both, the confusion and contradiction started going away. I saw that despite what was on the surface, we both actually loved each other a shitload, we were both trying hard as fuck, we were mostly taking the correct steps but they still didn't work, we both never gave up or stopped loving each other, and we honestly tried so hard and loved each other so much that we dragged that shifty experience out for SO LONG that it was unreasonable. I started seeing that there was many illusions present. Many things seemed like something else. And they weren't just a straight illusion, they were both. They were the thing that happened, but they were also something else. I started to get answers. I started to find these little hidden truths. I started finding these fuckin LESSONS. Things I never would've learned had I given up, or even if we had stayed together. In each good and bad memory, there was several layers to peel back, and in there lied the answers that I had destroyed myself looking for for months. This happened over the course of months but from this starting point, I cracked this whole time capsule of memories open like an egg.
At some point, another weird thing happened. God returned. For my whole life I have been a realist and a nihilist, while also being away of a clear force of some kind meddling with shit, and a clear layer of coincidences and a progression of fateful events, karma, and meaningful lessons. Believing both at the same time is called controlled folly, and it is the one true key to divinity, and I'll explain it later. When we met, this experience reached its absolute peak, and when you left, it was the opposite. No fate, no making sense of it. No god, when he seemed present, it was evil, and for the most part, I felt no Magick no fate no divinity no coincidences no sense nothing no God in my life, cruelty and irony and pain only.
Then this dumb bitch God came back from vacation. I started to see that progression of fate and coincidences again. I started to feel Magick again. And then I looked back onto the past that I struggled to understand, and applied this, and saw that there was a deeper meaning and a pathway being forged, just not what I was used to. Magick isn't butterflies and sunshine and God isn't some fucking benevolent smiling guy that modern Christianity had turned him into. Nah, read the old testament. This guy runs the world by fucking with people for no reason. He teaches you lessons by rubbing your face in it. He creates by destruction.
I can 100% say at this point in my life I am a theist. I feel like I always kept spirituality and shit in my head, but I was a weird and unsure guy back then, and forever a scientist. But now I say with my clearest mind ever, there is some form of God or universal force. It's been undeniably proven to me. I don't know who or what he is, or what the fuck he or it is up to. But I have no doubt in my mind that there is a layer to this world that is beyond what we currently know.
I don't know if trickster Gods are real, or just another aspect, but there was hella trickster God shit going on. Before it had been ironic torture and destruction. Now it was difficult ironic lessons, fuckin hard, but meaningful. And I say that it was a separate force, because I saw something similar without the trickery happening. A more controlled and gentle set of experiences. Often times like just gifts, like here you go bro here's the answer, no problem, no no I couldn't accept a tip. I felt I had a guide in life. While previously I had seen fate and seen lessons, I felt now that I was figuring it out on my own.
At some point, similar to all the other shit I'm describing, I just stopped being an alcoholic. No idea why, no specific catalyst. I had my fill finally I guess. I didn't even want this. I tried to fight it. Fuckin alcohol just stopped working for like idk 8 months. Just didn't do shit. And during that time, I lost my rhythm. I lost the technical ability to get drunk. I fixed my health, and now alcohol works again, I love maybe 1 or 2 beers occasionally, a good ruby redbird, but I have no possible process to actually get drunk, I have no desire to, and the couple times I accidentally have gotten drunk, I fucking hate it. It has been probably 10 months now since I have actually truly truly gotten drunk, like fucking Thor drunk, transcendental shaman drunk, like I used to all the time. In a way I miss it, but it's the end of an Era. Just kinda happened.
Again, I go further with the just kinda happened. It pisses me off. But that's how shit went down for months.
At some point, I crossed the abyss. Crossing the abyss is the most dangerous occult process. I didn't even know it was a thing. I did it on accident. It is the pinnacle of all ritual work, it is the most difficult and near impossible and riskiest journey. It ruins people's loves. It is the worst thing in all of religion.
It happens in 3 parts. On one side of the abyss, is reality. On the other side of the abyss, is divinity. The world of God. Now shamans move freely through reality, and heaven, and hell, and the Astral plane, but that is an intentional manufactured psychedelic experience. It's a religious practice. Crossing the abyss is literal. In part one, you are in a firm reality. Through various means, you bring yourself to the abyss. Part 2, you cross that divide, and you enter the world of divinity, the heart of the forces of the universe, and you experience the opposite of reality. Then, part 3, you quickly bail the fuck out of there before you die or go insane, the whole point is to just get a taste of that world and fuckin flee out of there, and then the worst part is Crossing back over, surviving, and rebuilding the life you likely just destroyed, and reintegration of the experience into your new reality.
Well, that's what I did, but it didn't go down like that. It's usually done intentionally and I didn't even know the fuck about this. I was floating around in the void. I was a completely dead person. I was just floating around, completely mentally fucked, totally broken, living in a sick world inside my head, detached from my soul. And as I was floating around in the void, I was like hey what is that Abyssal thingy mcbobber over there? Some kinda abyss jobbie over there in the corner, let me go check that out. And I went and stood next to it and just fucked around dipping my fingers and shit into it, for like a fucking month, flipping back and forth between the abyss, the void, and my sick reality. Hella enjoyable.
Most writing you will find on this will describe my experience well, but they don't talk about the abyss itself much. It's just seen as more of a concept, a divide, the thing you pass through, the gap you jump over. Nah. It ain't like that. There is a fuckin actual abyss. And one day I was just like YEET. It's a mix of the 2 worlds, and the void, all at once.
And then ur supposed to jump over that shit, which instead I swam around in there flicking shit around, hop into the realm of divinity, take a few sniffs and look around and get a taste, then bail, and that's the whole point. Nah, I got over to the realm of divinity and I was like what's up boys. Let's crack some beers can you get me a chair. And they are like nigga get the fuck on you ain't supposed to even be in here. And I very slowly walked out of there, had the most spiritual experience of my life, and then was like yeah whatever I'll do the reintegration thing, and my dark night of the soul also began ending. I did both at once lmao. Fuckin wizard ass. I also did a 3rd thing, also one of the hardest experiences, but I'm keeping that a secret for later, and you were there for it, and it may not be over.
So here enters this period or absolute spirituality. This is when all the answers were shown to me. This is when I made a massive transformation. I am not ascended, or enlightened, but I am a person nobody on this earth that knows my name has ever met.
During this time, I performed regularly what I can only describe as literal actual fucking Magick. Not some nuanced occult shit, not some psychological philosophical thing. Just actual unexplainable by science Magick. Really hated it. Really scary experience. Felt like carrying a bucket of gasoline in one hand and a lit match in the other. Honestly only ever did it on accident too, which is the worst part. Maybe this was an opportunity to actually learn how to harness this power and become one of those fantastical ascended masters that the esoteric books always allude to. Nah nah nah. Fuck all that. I like this cerebral philosophical occult science type shit. Not interested. I'm just a wizard reading his books fuck off with this Harry Potter weirdness.
But, the rest of the divine experience basically changed everything about me, opened up the true self, unveiled my True Will, and gave me all the answers to the questions that had ate away at me for the past 20 years.
It was no longer a philosophical or inner or psychological experience. It was something I experienced literally, I feel like I walked the path alone, but God set up the scenarios for me.
It was like I would take a personal problem, or a life problem, or a memory of you, or a memory of our time together that confused me, and I would sit and think on it. I would think and think. And I would get a theory, or get a concept in my mind. And then sometime over the next week or 2, the concept would present itself in literal form, in the form of a person or an event. And I would get to experience the concept in real life before my eyes. This would either unveil an answer, or show that I was incorrect, and I would try again.
Something similar happened as far as working through my personality, my emotions, or my mental problems. It was like regression/exposure therapy to damn near the point of time travel. My old problems, or my personal struggles, or my mental problems, or my personality flaws, or my traumatic experiences, would happen again. But this time, they happened in a smaller way, very controlled, short lived maybe a month max. I was able to truly relive them and experience without the crazy fucked up feelings and confusion that either caused them or was caused by them. I was able to observe, dissect, and understand them, and although for some issues I had to go through this several times to get it right, but eventually I would crack the code and fix it.
This is why I have not just changed, or grown, or fixed things. I have transformed. I truly understand myself. I didn't just stop being a mean asshole like when we were together. I fixed things from 20 years ago that I've never been able to put into words, some thing I was never even aware of.
Then I did phase 3, integration of my new self back into reality. Equally as hard of a process as all these other things. But I was fighting again and winning again. Making progress. Through all of this I was able to finally click everything together and get all the answers, to finally be able to tell this story and be able to have an explanation for the period of my life that we were together. I have just about wrapped up these processes and I'm about to start something new, in about 6 months time. I need rest, integration, and to apply what I've learned for my new self.
And again, at some point during this, for no reason at all, no specific catalyst, my mental illness went away. Just fucking poof. Again, I thought I was just like that, but nah, poof. Gone.
It's a little more than that though. I started giving a fuck again. I started trying to figure out what my deal was. See, I've always known something was wrong with me. Four things actually. There was something wrong physically with my body. There was something wrong physically with my brain. There was something wrong psychologically in my mind. And there was something a little off in my heart and soul.
I can describe those 4 things as essentially my whole life experience up until now. I can describe it most of all like a prison. It was me. I was the prison. This is all really too interconnected and complicated to type into just a few paragraphs. This was just me. All my successes and failures, all my good and bad personality, it all boiled down to this problem. And I fucking knew I had this problem, often times I doubted it. I just thought no that's me being lazy or an asshole, which often that's that's it was. Just being agoraphobic and withdrawn and autistic. Just being a curmudgeon and a disappoint me to those around me. But man I knew it was something more. It was like a prison and I wanted to get out. I just could never break through it, and everyone told me it was just my fault and something I could fix. There was a better form of me, but he was in chains, and his blood was molasses. I was trapped in a fantasy world. I was trapped in a a reality that I couldn't truly touch. I think the people that have known me for a long time would say this is is one of my defining characteristics: trying to fix it. Trying to figure it out. Always a new question, a new lifestyle, and a new me, a new attempt, a new failure. It's sure what my obsession and failure was when we were together.
Well let me jerk my cock in front of the whole cloud and loudly proclaim that I WAS RIGHT. Fuck. I was fucking right, I fucking figured it out, and I finally beat it.
I am not some cyborg perfect dream version of myself. All this shit I have been describing is less of a transformation and more of me crawling out from under a million pound rock. Now life starts, now if I fail it will be a true failure, now if I become something I will really become it. I am in the final phase, just integrating and solidifying. I am rather empty and living a non-life. I just wanna finish this book, and finish this year and relax for a while and make my plans.
Anyway, yep. Fucking fixed it. There has been something horribly wrong with my body and metabolism for the past 20 or so years. Some of it being directly my fault, but I truly have some imbalance inside of me, which I have improved. Surely I chose to be lazy and refused to have fun a million times, but that's not the whole story. I wish I could show this to the people from my past. Those good memories, those times I said yes, those times we went and did something, were only achieved through alcohol, and massive efforts to climb up a big sand dune. And now, I'm okay. My body operates pretty normally. I wasn't just laying there wasting away and missing out on life by choice, for fuck sake. I don't have a name for what was wrong with me, but I was disabled. When I read disabled people's struggles, like people that can't walk or can't go outside, and they are missing out on life and all that, that's me. My health was broken for some reason and I could not function at a normal level despite how bad I wanted to, and I mostly blamed myself all these years, but kept trying to fix it. Also everyone else also blamed me. Fuck all of you.
Alcohol is one point though. Sure I was abusing it and self medicating. But it did solve part of whatever this health issue was, and it's a part I haven't quite figured out. Even now, I have my health finally, but there is just some final hurdle to truly be free of my disability. I think it's like blood related or something. If I drink a few beers, I hit full 100% functionality. Really pisses me off. Like I catch a slight buzz, and magically just kinda all of a sudden I'm doing chores and a project. Explains a lot of my drinking, but doesn't help me at all, because I both cannot and do not drink anymore.
Then, as far as the brain disorder. I guess I won't describe it here. But I feel like the answer was God's last little gift to me. What a relief. I have suffered for so long. My brain was just not working. And I feel like I made a little progress and felt my brain improve a little, and God was like here you go bro. Here is the name of your brain disorder. Here is the pills you can take to fix it. It's so hard not to be bitter about things like that. I fixed something that previously destroyed my life, but the life was already destroyed, and the answer was just out here hiding.
As far as the psychology and my heart and soul, well that's what this whole story was about. Psychology is a process. It's another thing I had been working on for 20 years with only minor progress. Therapy helped and all, but this is most people's journey to wellness. They hit high highs, and lows as fuck lows, and they go through a bunch of shit, and they are destroyed and thrown off cliffs, and finally slowly are able to start facing their demons and figuring it out. It's not what you think though. Excluding the me losing my mind when we were dating, I've dealt with basic psychology relatively well, but I've had something fucked up deep inside of me that I never even could've reached. That's what I finally fixed.
And that's pretty much the beginning of the end of this story.
Claritin died one day. It's really weird. I might tell the whole story later. But I feel like she picked the one single day she could've died, past present and future, that would have the least negative impact. She was my familiar, a truly spiritual creature, she taught me the most about love and God, she is truly the one single thing over the course of all these years that stopped me from dying, fully giving up, or going full evil. And I guess one day she was just like aight good job bye see ya later.
Ron also played an extremely significant part in both the brain disorder and the spiritual narrative. I guess I was wrong, my brain disorder didn't just go poof. I got my brain working a lot better, but it was still broken. Even after finding the solution, it was still broken. It needed to be reconditioned. Like I was okay, I was thinking clearer, life wasn't evil, but that emotional circuit breaker that I mentioned 40000 chapters ago was still fucked up.
So here comes Ron. When I was a kid, I had George. A normal cat, a good friend. My mom went crazy, abused me, and gave him away. Then, my life changed a lot, and during that I got Ben. My best friend in the whole world. Dash and Claritin will always mean everything to me, but Ben was sent by God to get me through that part of my downfall. He was my familiar, and a true companion. Then, my wife randomly disappears, and steals him. Another orange cat gone. Then, petunia. A psychedelic horror show that I've already explained. Then, my one true love leaves me, and takes him thank God. Or maybe you didn't take him, you wouldn't tell me, but now he is gone. Maybe he never even fucking existed lol. And then, I dated the voodoo witch and the garden witch, and they finished off my crucifixion. And I said, you know what, I'm gonna go get my own God damn orange cat. I already knew he existed. I knew I was gonna go to petco, and there was gonna be a tiny orange kitten, and he would have some stupid name of an adult man, and I was right. There's Ron. For me.
Ron was perfect from day one. I threw him down on the bed and Claritin took a sniff. He was very unsure of himself. When he is upset, or confused, or being silly, or excited, the tip of his tail vibrates like a rattlesnake. And when I tossed him on the bed I saw his tail do it for the first time. And then about 5 seconds later he came up to me like I was his best friend and I had known him my whole life. There was no adjustment period whatsoever that most cats go through. No scared, unsure,exploring, hiding, there was no getting to know each other, no period of bonding. He was just like yeah I'm Ron, I've always lived here, this is Claritin she been my friend for like 20 years, this is my boy I love him so much he has always taken care of me and will always be my friend. That's what went through his brain after being in my house for about 45 seconds.
There was one problem with Ron. He was gently, persistently, consistently, the most annoying as fucking pesky mischievous cat that has ever existed. But not trouble causing like petunia, and no curious like a normal cat, and not mischievous like some old pesky fluffer. He was full blown psychotically annoying, as politely as possible, constantly touching and sniffing and inspecting and getting in the middle of everything at all times 24/7. If I sat a plate of food down, he would dive bomb it, I would yeet him away, he would come right back, he would try to knock the food off the fork as I put it in my mouth, and then if the food made it to my mouth, he would literally try to get inside my mouth to see what's going on in there. He didn't just come up to get pets. No he would walk 1000 miles if he had to to directly crawl onto my face and grab his head with my claws and push it into his belly. If finally he took a nap or left me alone, if you moved slightly, or took too deep of a breath, he would suddenly come dive bombing out of the sky and land on your head demanding kisses.
It drove me absolutely fucking batshit. I was pretty deep into the journey, but not quite to the good part, but I was doing better and feeling better. But one thing was truly still super broken about me. Just think of all those times I snapped at you. All the times one single thing happened and the entire night was ruined. Some of those times turned into a mental breakdown or a huge fight.
I already described it, and it will come up again too. But man, I hated that fucking feeling. It was kinda like having a heart attack. It was so sudden it was like the speed of light. It was truly a physical feeling. I could feel this surge of electricity go throw my blood and my heart rate would quadruple in an instant. This literally might have damaged my heart, I am not exaggerating. I've had that feeling happen to me once I regained my sanity, it might even still be there somewhere, but it's been awhile. But having it happen to me while I was able to observe, that's really how it was. My blood would like turn to ice, and my heart would almost fucking explode. And there was just no getting mad, there was no progression, it was instant. I was in full blown rage before I could finish my sentence. And just from that one single 1 second long experience, it would take me hours to calm down, and may even just get worse and be a mental episode.
And Ron flipped that circuit breaker 1000 times a day, just like petunia. He would fuck with me, and I would have my heart attack, I would whack him in the head or throw him.
But he didn't bite me, he didn't have an ever growing rage and hatred for me like petunia, he wouldn't go run off and kill a lizard, he didn't stop being my best friend. He didn't fuck off either. He came RIGHT BACK. So I would throw him again. So he would come back, real slow, real gently, crawling, real low to the ground, and not QUITE get in my business. And slowly, I began to gave in. He was apologizing. He was saying I didn't mean it, I'm just Ron, I just want only a kiss, I will do better.
And then, finally he started to recondition my broken brain. He took it further too. He would see that I was being upset, and he would be like nope, were doing this whole process right now. And he would come fuck with me when I was upset. He would force me to do the reconditioning. Slowly, it got better, he kept doing it, but he also started acting like a damn service cat. Sometimes instead of being a pest or doing the reconditioning thing, he would just come give me love, or he would come be with me but keep his distance, or maybe put a paw on my arm.
And slowly he reconditioned that last broken part of my mind, and it just doesn't happen any more. I also slowly trained him and taught him manners. But he still does it. He does it because he thinks it's fucking funny lol. Sometimes he will do it, or do something else, just to make me laugh, and it can fix my whole day. I'm crying writing this. Also, if you don't feed him, instead of getting mad, he is like fine I will just live off cuddles and kisses as my form of nourishment.
This is supposed to be just a story, but let me interrupt again to speak one of my lessons. This is the one thing that went wrong that I truly don't blame myself for. Anyone I have ever known, all my failed relationships, friendships, and most of all you and kammy, any of you fucking people could have done this for me, and Ron is the first and only person that did that. Assuredly this was horrible behavior on my part, but I did not control it, I hated it so much, it ruined me, I wanted it to stop.
I just feel like I had such a thin layer of defenses. I could've gone either way, each time. If someone was just there for me, they could've calmed me down no matter how bad it got.
Trust me fully that I do not blame you WHATSOEVER for not doing this, it is ABSOLUTLEY NOT something you did wrong. In fact, many times, you did exactly almost this. The person I was directing my psychotic episodes at was often a precious, sad girl, just sitting there crying. Those are the worst memories that exist in my entire head. Those are the only nightmares about you. Those are the only things in my life that make me want to kill myself. I don't care if I go on to solve world hunger, for those things I will go to hell. If they try to let me into heaven, I will tell them to fuck off and then run away. It wasn't even my God damn fault, or your fault, and I don't care. I've come to terms with so much, changed so much, accepted so much, and I don't give a shit. I WANT to go to hell for that. At least 100 years per tear you shed, which equates to at least like several million years. I want traditional hell too, torture and fire and shit. There is no amount of remorse I could possibly show that could even matter. The idea of asking for forgiveness for those moments is non existent.
Further than that, and that aside, you also did try to do this. You knew it wasn't me, you knew there was something wrong with me, and you tried to get me to stop and calm down, or you tried to fight it off, or you begged or demanded that I return your real boy back to you. Partially, my delusions were too all consuming. Whether you sat there crying, or just shut down, or fought back, or egged it on, it didn't matter what your reaction was, it was all an act and part of the delusion in my head. And Partially, you did exactly the right thing, several times in fact. But that's core of the story of the bad side of our relationship: we did exactly the right things to help the situation, or help each other, or solve our problems, and they just didn't work no matter what because something else was at play.
And you also fuckin made it way worse, like a lot of times. It happened for basically no reason a lot, but also you straight up made it happen on purpose and don't pretend you didn't. No delusions are left, this is true. And sometimes you didn't cause it, but it happened for no reason, or maybe it was just a minor one, and you jumped right in and pushed it to the extreme and made it so much worse, confirmed my delusions, and hurt me so bad. And I don't blame you for this either. You were defending yourself, you were hurt, you were reacting to the situation, or you were demonstrating your own problems. And most of all, you were doing the same thing as me. You were fighting to fix the problem, you were trying to navigate an insane situation, and you were willing to try anything, and some of the things you tried involved just jumping right into the fire and seeing if you could come out the other side. I don't blame you for much at all really. I tried to, but it's not the truth. I don't even blame myself for much, just don't forgive myself.
But Kammy? I blame 100%. And the nuance is present too, she was doing her "best", she was reacting, she had her own problems, she was navigating something complicated, I was pushing back as much as possible. I just don't care. Fuck her. Every opportunity she had to choose to calm me down, help us find a solution, show love, try to understand, every single chance she had, she chose hatred. She chose to manipulate me. She chose to take it personally and decide that I did it on purpose. She chose to look at it like she was the only person in the world that mattered. She chose to be the same thing again and again, or new, worse things. Fuck her for that. Not fuck her for everything, she's a person too, but fuck her for that specifically. That is honestly the one true root of my ptsd and psychosis.
But it's not just the fights tantrums and breakdowns, it was my whole demeanor. All my negativity, anti socialism, my refusal to live, my grumpiness, just all of it. Every single time I said no to something either one of you asked, or an ideayou had, or something you wanted to go do, or just all the bad parts of me that sucked. Yes, a lot of the problem was driven by my internal struggles and whatever weird health disability I had, but it doesn't matter. I would have done absolutely fucking ANYTHING for either of you, I would've went anywhere with you at any time, I would've said yes to anything to the point it could've become a problem in its own. All you had to do was break through a very thing layer of negativity and defensiveness. All you fucking people had to do was show me that you loved me and provide a situation where I had the choice to say yes or no and you still loved me either way, and I would've said yes every single God damn time unless I had an actual concrete legitimate reason to say no, and I still probably would've said yes.
And then after this whole absolute horseshit story of my life, a fucking CAT comes along and is able to accomplish this. Jesus fucking lord christ above us alpha and omega holy fucking son of a shitting bitch. A fucking CAT was able to do get me past this small mountain. Well, not just a cat, a Ron.
And this is the one thing between us that haunts me more than anything and really won't let me give up on you. We had our ups and downs but then got locked into one single stubborn stalemate for like 4 months. It was driving me nuts, it was the same fight over and over again every day, it was the cause of the majority of our worst fights and my worst mental episodes.
And then one day. The same fight happened yet again. It was about to be an all nighter, with both of us screaming and crying, a huge psychotic episode, shit was either gonna get broken, or I was gonna run out of the house barefoot again.
But no. Somehow, for some reason, we stopped short. We talked for real for the first time in fucking 4 months. It was a neverending circular stalemate and a horrible toxic relationship and it could've stopped right there. We didn't say much really, but it was the first time we really finally broke the wall about what was going on. It was the first tiny break in the cycle and the first step forward for months. I think a majority of everything bad that happened after this point, the break up, all the horrible shit after you left, all of it could've been avoided, I don't know what would've happened and I may not have ever become who I am today. But we would've fixed that problem and stayed together. See, I've thought of a lot of different ways all this shit could've turned out, and I don't like any of them. Almost all of them would've been extentions of the same bullshit, and had likely worse results, like maybe our luck would have changed and we would been together a few more years and life improved. I will get into this in the chapter of spirituality, but I think we actually took the only perfect path. But man, this one little potential future really fucks with me, it actually could've been something.
So we almost had a bad fight. And we stopped ourselves. And I said look man, I have been trying to fix this and figure it out, we used to fix these problems and be happier, and this one just won't end? Why are you being so stubborn? Why don't you ever listen to me? I think I'm saying the right things about how to stop this but you won't do them.
And you said, I hear what you're saying but you're yelling it. I'm just never gonna do it as long as your yelling. I'm hearing what you're saying but you're being angry and I just don't respond well to it.
Then proceeded the one single time I honestly opened up about what I was going through. I said I'm not trying to yell and be mad. I have no control over it and I want it to stop so bad. I'm so scared after it happens and I don't know what it is.
And you said what the fuck am I supposed to do when you're freaking out on me?
I said anything but what you're doing. You either shut down or egg it on and make it worse.
And you're like you want me to just hug you or something??
And I'm like yes for fucks sake. And I didn't quite say it out loud, but I understood the problem. I said something but I don't remember what. I know I didn't fully explain it. But I was basically like, the hit isn't coming. I am not going to fucking hit you if you intervene. I need to be shown love. I can be wrangled and calmed down and it can stop.
And that was it. It was a small conversation but extremely special and important. We kinda went about the rest of our day quietly and angrily. But I think the next time that happened, either you would've been able to calm me down, or I would've been able to talk to you normal and worked out the problem. We were stuck in a cycle of stubbornness and mistrust and not giving each other a chance, and I was having brain problems, and I think we finally confronted it and proposed an alternative solution. It would've been a nice story too, because I had comforted you and brought you down from all your episodes, so you already had the tools to do that, it seems like it was meant to be. A karmic reversal and a truly fateful love story.
But it went a different way. 2 weeks later we broke up.
And now, it's just me and Ron. That's the end of the story. Everything slowly turned around, and Ron fixed that last broken part. I know it ends kind of suddenly. I'm still writing the end as I live each day.
My life went so bad for so long and then it just kind of turned around. God abandoned me but then he came back. I was confused for so long and then I got answers.
I wrote this for 2 reasons. One, maybe if I could tell my story, the things I say would not seem so stupid. There's an obvious reason why things went a certain way. There's an obvious reason I hold on to things.
But I wrote this for you. I have many things left to write and tell you, but this is actually your story. You are the writer of this long ass story. This started because I met you. But the crazy stuff started also because of you, because of how you are, and because of how much I loved you. That's what started the crazy, but that's also why I survived the crazy. And it didn't end when you left. I loved you so much, and the things that happened between us were so meaningful. Dreaming of fixing this and seeing you again some day kept me going through the worst parts. That silly dream is what kept me focused on surviving and fixing this, without you this experience would've destroyed me. In fact, the one time I truly tried to kill myself, you saved me. It was after you left and I cannot go into details. But your direct intervention prevented my literal suicide. And then the memories, and who you are as a person, and what you left me with, created the new me. It wasn't God, or crossing the abyss, or me, or anyone else. It was you. The memories I had of our problems and our good times, and me trying to figure out who you are as a person, held the answers to every question I've ever had. Through that I was able to completely unburden my soul, I was able to change things about myself that hurt me 10 years before I even met you. I was able to become a completely different form of myself by sitting around having a mental psychedelic experience and thinking about YOU.
I owe you everything. Despite the absolute harshness and difficult of that phase of my life, despite how lost I was, and despite how bad it got after you left, the time I spent with you was the best time of my life. So much of it went wrong, so much of it hurt and I missed out on so much and I hurt you so bad. But all that aside, that's the only time in my life I have ever truly been happy.
If you hadn't been there, I never would've even started the journey I went on, I never would've ended up where I am at today, and I never would've survived it if it wasn't for you. I didn't learn a damn thing that wasn't something you taught me. I am more of a wizard than I have ever even dreamed of becoming because of you. You caused and helped me survive the darkest and hardest peaks of the occult experience. I can't imagine what's next.
I owe everything to you. My entire existence. The fact that I'm alive. Every thing that I have now is because of you. The price was not worth it. The way I hurt you, the pain we both felt, none of it was worth it. I rather would've died before I met you and avoided all of this. But what is done has already written. And because of you, I have everything. It would take an eternity to repay you and I beg every day to be given that opportunity.
I'm not done yet. I'm at the end though. My life has always felt like this super hard journey. Now, it just feels like a life, and the first time ever I feel like a person. I'm just a person living a life. How fucking weird. Not something I ever expected to happen.
My life is not perfect, and I'm not done working on it, or fixing the stuff from the past even. But its a life now, not a crisis, not a test, not a journey. Just a life. Normal ups and downs, normal struggles.
It's also very much a non-life. I am a blank canvas. I know what I will be working on next. First of all, I am absolutely still driven to write this down and maybe even give it to you, but probably not. But after all this craziness and change, there really only one thing left behind. My memories and love for you, and my urge to write about it.
I'm also low key living a non life in hopes you somehow show back up.
But truly I'm not done, just at the end. I want to stay consistent and practice what I've learned for a while, solidify it, get stronger before I start the next thing. And I really am blank, very empty. So many things about me I don't even write about, because while they were memorable parts of me, they kinda just fell away during this, so I guess they weren't real. But I did lose some good parts of me.
For the first time in a while, I think about my self more than you. I'm starting to remember the good me, the real me. I'm kinda getting an idea of all the things that got destroyed along the way. Like, what would I be like, if just way back, 20 years ago, I felt like I do now, a real person, without that dark weight on his soul. Who would I have become if not for all this shit?and I really really like the idea of that person. So that's who I am trying to figure out now. I will not become him, but I have a lot to learn from him. I think that's the end of my journey.
There is something else that's incomplete. Our story is incomplete. See, there at the end, I had a revelatory experience. 2 years of trying to figure you out, figure out lives out, without answers, and then boom the flood gates opened and it all made sense. That's what transformed me. But then I understood the structure of it, why it happened, what it meant, what it really was, and what to learn from it. Learning that information is the true thing that fixed and transformed me. But it didn't fit together. It all obviously pointed back to you. Like when I had my spiritual transformation, the input I was getting wasn't just relevant to me, it was about BOTH of us and seems relevant to both of us. You're inextricably tied to this. I also owe you a lot.Apologies, explanations, money, pain. I owe you big time. I also worry about what has happened to you and what I did to you and if there's anything I can do to help it. I'm also entirely lacking your side of the story, I only know what I've been able to investigate, guess, and what God has told me.
But it all made a lot of sense finally. 2 years with no results and then over the course of a few months I busted the case wide open. I did discover one thing. It doesn't mean its true, but I found a missing puzzle piece that I had long searched for. It fits. It fits so snugly. I will reveal it later. But that was the concrete end of this journey, putting that piece in its place gave me the last few answers. And it points directly at you like a big spotlight.
I don't know what to do about it. Nothing I can do or say seems like it would be an option, I believe it's out of my hands. And I don't know whose hands it's in. Explaining myself, showing that I fixed myself, or writing this long ass book, clearly not the solution. Contacting you or something, not the solution. I don't know what to do. All I know is I must write this down, and I don't know who for. Journaling and writing to you has helped me a ton through this, and all this book really is is my final journal. So idk.
And the love for you won't go away. No offense, but I actively tried to avoid any answers that led me back to you, I have actively tried to forget you and move on, I have pursued every avenue that leads away from you and its a dead in. Again no offense but this is obviously not where I wanted to end up. This is the worst possible outcome, for me. I love someone who I have no chance of ever talking to again. Beyond that, I became not some super wizard perfect version of myself, I became the person I wish I was when I met you, the person I needed to be to avoid all this and keep us together. Further, I have come to an extremely deep deep deep understanding of you, and have doubly reinforced that you're my perfect girl and one true love. So all I've done is create a new and even worse hell for myself, the only caveat being is that I have become such a better person that I really don't give 2 fricks if I live in hell. It's just me and Ron and we ain't give a FUCK. But yeah, I fucked myself pretty bad in the long run, but I probably deserved it.
And that's the end of my story. It ends here, for now. This is how the past 3 or so years happened through my eyes.
All I have left to say is that I love you, I'm sorry, and thank you. If I said thank you every second for the next 100 years, I still wouldn't have said thank you enough times. If I screamed that I love you at a decibel level that matches how much I feel it, the earth would shatter like a champagne glass. If I could possibly express how sorry I am and how much punishment I deserve for the ways I hurt you, the entire universe would turn into a single drop of molten lava, with my orbiting it like a moon, and my balls dragging across the surface of it, melting for eternity.
It was weird and wild and fun and good and bad and I love you get over it.
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Part 1, Chapter 7
Or: Lameth the Suburbanite Schlub
Blood War: Masquerade of the Red Death Trilogy Volume 1
St. Louis—March 11, 1994
When we last left Dire McCann, he had three problems: the mystery of the Red Death and what connection he could have with the rising Nictuku, Flavia figuring out that he’s secretly an ancient and powerful Methuselah possessing a human body, and Rachel Young, the singer from The Club Diabolique and suspected assassin of Tyrus Benedict, stealing his mail from his office while he was out. Now he’s leaving his office and going home to have a drink, think about those problems a little more, and hit the hay.
For the first two pages, the narrative further establishes how the World of Darkness is a Harsher, Crueler Version of Our World, and how cautious, suspicious, and prepared McCann is as a result. He waits ten minutes and spends more money for a security guard to get his car out of a city-run underground parking lot.
Despite security cameras and motorcycle patrols, muggings, rapes, and murders were common occurrences in these parking garages. Rumors had it that the security patrols were the ones responsible for many of the crimes. No one knew for sure, as dead men told no tales.
Evil rent-a-cops aren’t the only plague on the city.
McCann didn’t mind spending the extra money if it avoided unnecessary confrontation. The city was a dangerous place. Urban America was increasingly becoming a jungle in which only the strongest and smartest survived. More people died these days from gunshot wounds than from any disease.
But don’t worry. Our government’s hard at work making sure preventable illnesses come in at a close second.
The government claimed that crime was under control. But nobody believed the politicians. The truth was on the streets.
Survival depended more on recognizing the perils that haunted daily life and adjusting to them than on superior firepower. A fact of life in the nightmarish world of modern society was that someone else always possessed superior weaponry.
Good to know in the Stark, Desolate Landscape of the World of Darkness, with all it’s vampires, werewolves, and wraiths, gun violence is still the bigger problem. ‘Murika!
McCann lives in the suburbs, instantly losing some cool points. I bet you thought, after all that talk about Urban America being a jungle where only the strong survive, he’d live in a shitty apartment in the city where you need to have street smarts to survive just getting to your floor. Nope. Suburbs. It makes all the stuff about how dangerous the city is sound like a sheltered suburbanite repeating something Tom and Susan told them in hushed tones at the Nelsons’ yard sale.
But McCann doesn’t want to live just anywhere. He wants somewhere private and secure.
McCann lived in a small brick home in a new development a few blocks off Highway 80. Located on a wide lot at the end of a quiet street, it was surrounded by a wrought-iron security fence, isolating the building from the rest of the block. Which was exactly what the detective desired. He wanted to be left alone. In these troubled times, no one considered his security measures the least bit unusual.
One of those homeowners, huh? There’s at least one house on the block that has security cameras or a pack of doberman guard dogs or something, even in the safest neighborhood. Who knows, there could be an “urban” person a few blocks closer to the highway just waiting to case your home.
He had bought the house for cash less than a year before, when he first decided to settle in the St. Louis area. He knew none of his neighbors and had no interest in meeting them. He worked at night and slept during the day. The few times he had seen anyone he had raised a hand in greeting, but said nothing. McCann considered his home a safe place to rest and relax. His office served as his base of operations. He socialized in neither of them.
Someone’s never watched The ‘Burbs. Buying a house with cash, surrounded by a wrought-iron leave-me-the-fuck-alone security fence, working and sleeping at odd hours, and never speaking to anyone? All while living near people often stereotyped as gossipy rumormongers who never mind their own business and spy on anyone “unusual”? A private person like McCann should never be able to rest and relax. He’d live in fear that somehow, someday, Tom Hanks would break into his house and discover all his World of Darkness secrets.
Alright, enough talking about suburbs like I don’t comfortably live in one. McCann parks his car in the garage but before he enters his house, he checks on his real security system by placing his hand on the wall.
Certain arcane rituals from the dawn of civilization imbued a home with the personality of its owner.
McCann’s house is also a smug secretive jerk who thinks it’s the greatest and wisest schemer ever. Aww, look, he’s comforting the sexy white house across the street whose neighbor burned down. Oh no, it accidentally gave away its biggest secret!
A master magician, and McCann was among the greatest ever to walk the Earth, could immediately sense any disturbance in their dwelling.
I know I said McCann only knew simple parlor tricks to barely pass as a mage, but I might’ve downplayed the true extent of his powers. A bit.
There was none. McCann was safe. At least for the moment, neither the Red Death nor the mysterious Ms. Young had discovered his hideaway.
Shame. It would’ve been funny if he went inside and scary ol’ Red Death was casually relaxing on his couch like Darkseid.
Later, McCann’s sitting in his sofa, drink in hand, listening to Billie Holliday on the stereo. We get a description of the room, and it’s nothing special. Sofa, coffee table, no TV. McCann believes in “simple comforts” but the real point is that he doesn’t have many valuable possessions because he moves around a lot, never staying in one place for long. Reminds me of a friend of mine. He said he had wanderlust, but I suspect he just didn’t know what he wanted to do in life, chasing one passion before getting distracted by another. Lost track of him somewhere down in Florida. McCann moves around for a very different reason, though. His wandering was necessary for his “complex scheme.”
But as he relaxes, he wonders if all his moving around and plotting is even worth it anymore.
At times, he wondered why he still bothered playing the game. So many of his kind no longer struggled. Some had plunged into the great unknown from which there was no return, while others had retreated from cruel reality into a dreamworld of their own creation. He was among a handful who continued fighting. In truth, the prize hardly seemed important any longer. It was the diversion that kept him amused.
The detective shook his head and finished his nightcap. He had engaged in this mental exercise a thousand times and never arrived at a satisfactory conclusion. He was like Ol’ Man River, ‘tired of living, but scared of dying.’ For those like himself, there were no easy answers. Just more questions.
McCann finishes his introspective episode and thinks about the group he learned the Red Death was part of thanks to his bullshit telepathy power; The Children of Dreadful Night. He’s never heard of them before, but the “Dreadful Night” part makes him suspect they’re a Gehenna cult. They’re typically groups of vampires who either want to prevent Gehenna or find a way to save themselves from the Antediluvians when it begins. Then there are the ones who want to help bring it about, but the narrative is focusing on the ones who fear Gehenna for one reason or other. Technically the Sabbat is one huge Gehenna cult, but they’re much more powerful and influential than the smaller groups the term usually refers to. More cults have been springing up lately.
As it did many mortals, the approaching end of the millennium frightened them.
Oh right, the Y2K bug. I doubt that’s calming the Kindred down either.
McCann used to think the cultists were just a bunch of fringe crazies, but now, with the Red Death...
Speaking of, remember when McCann used his brain probe on the Red Death and learned that he both recognized him and had a pretty awesome counter for his psychic powers? He’s worried about that too. It means that Red D. knows his true identity somehow. He’d kept a low profile the past few decades, presumably while separating his Dire McCann identity from whatever one he was using just before that, and preferred “to forward his schemes through unsuspecting agents.” Whatever those agents were doing, no one should have suspected McCann was involved.
He felt certain no evidence existed associating the human detective, Dire McCann, and Lameth, the Dark Messiah of the Kindred.
Wow, okay, so that’s one of the floweriest wannabe impressive not impressive fucking 90′s Image Comics titles you can give a shmuck like McCann. Not to mention redundant. We already had ~*~The Dark Angels~*~, did we also need ~*~The Dark Messiah~*~ too?
The funny thing is, I think Weinberg knew that title was over-the-top. Back when McCann was thinking about the Children of Dreadful Night, there’s a line about how “Kindred possessed a bizarre fondness for nicknames.” Like he thought that if he didn’t show at least a hint of irony, every nerd, geek, or corporate suit that worked on nerd and geek franchises would rise as one, like a perma-virgin hivemind, and institute a cross-genre ban on “The Dark” as part of a character’s title, rank, or nickname. And then where would vampire fiction be?
Shaking his head, McCann wondered if Anis was behind the attack. She was one of the few Kindred who knew many of his secrets. And, like him, she continued to plot, undaunted by the centuries.
Hold up. I know what you’re all thinking. Anis is a perfectly legit Arabic name. Quit giggling.
McCann considers the other weird things that happened last night. Ms. Young was genuinely terrified of the Red Death, convincing McCann that they weren’t working together, but he still believes she killed Tyrus Benedict, stole the Baba Yaga photos, and later stole his mail from his office. And there was that phone call he got, the one warning him of the attack before it happened, made from an out of service phone booth, whose information was erased from McCann’s recording devices the moment it ended. Or, as the narrative puts it:
Reality had twisted immediately after he received the warning, which hinted that an extremely potent mage was at work.
Oh great. Actual mages.
Then there’re the assassins. We already know that Makish hired them on the Red Death’s orders, but McCann doesn’t yet.
He still has the billfold he pocketed from one of the assassins.
Except for the money he had removed earlier, it was absolutely empty. However, that didn’t mean that it couldn’t reveal secrets.
The detective rested the leather billfold on the coffee table. Placing both hands on it, he let loose the full power of his mighty will. The air wavered with titanic energies. Squeezing his eyes shut, McCann concentrated on a solitary word. Find.
Despite that whole thing about the air wavering with titanic energies, what he’s doing is most likely The Spirit’s Touch, a power from the third tier of the Auspex discipline, which let’s you use an object’s “resonance” to learn things about it and its owner. Pretty basic, and you don’t have to be a Dark Messiah from the dawn of time to use it, but handy for detective work like this.
This is also the second time that a Kindred discipline being used is described as someone using their “mighty will.” I know some powers were namedropped earlier, like Fires of the Inferno and Body of Fire, but it makes me wonder how many listed disciplines actually have names in-universe. If a player has their character activate Awe, in-universe does the character think “I’m using Awe, the first tier Presence power”? Or “I will extend my mighty will to get everyone’s attention”? Like how Superman’s laser vision is just called laser vision and not “Burning Gaze of Rao.”
Not that Weinberg should’ve used the discipline name every time. “The detective used Auspex” would be much duller writing.
The detective learns that the billfold’s from Washington, D.C. It was stolen from a government file clerk by the assassin, just so he’d have somewhere to keep the money McCann found in it. We learn about the Kindred’s political situation in Washington. The part of it that doesn’t involve the spreading gang wars.
The nation’s capital had long been a source of friction between the Camarilla and the Sabbat. Though the Camarilla controlled the city, both organizations had agents in the suburbs.
Must be like a cross between Desperate Housewives and Cannibal Holocaust out there. A bit of Weeds, too.
The constantly shifting population also brought in new Kindred. Each sect controlled politicians and lobbyists.
I always had my suspicions about the Long Pig Lobby.
However, the frequent changes in government officials thwarted their ambitions for absolute domination of the government.
That darned democracy, making life in Washington for the vampires inconvenient. Someone should do something abou- Actually, no, that joke doesn’t work. Certain officials come and go in the capital even faster nowadays.
The city was a potential battleground between the cults. The Camarilla held it, but Sabbat forces surrounded it. Sooner or later, warfare between the two groups was bound to explode.
McCann had carefully avoided the city. He disliked being too visible anyplace where the balance of power was in flux. He worked best when in the shadows. However, this assassination attempt hinted that perhaps he had made a mistake by ignoring the metropolis.
After much time spent thinking and thinking, the detective’s all thunk out and decides to go to bed. He mentally checks his magic defenses on the way to his bedroom. And one other thing.
With a wan smile, he rested one hand on a small, detailed sculpture resting on the end table in his bedroom. Carved from sandstone, it depicted a man’s face remarkably similar to his own. Not particularly large or impressive, the statue originally came from Egypt and was over four thousand years old. It had been with McCann for a very long time.
Did you get that Dire McCann is super old? Need it hammered in a little more? You dumb bastards?
If you got rid of that last sentence, this could be a nice little moment for McCann’s character. Him looking at the statue, briefly allowing himself to feel nostalgia for an age and people gone by. A moment where he drops the master schemer act and let’s the old man out. A little heartwarming. A little sad. But the last sentence turns it into another reminder of something we already know.
Eh, maybe I’m being too nitpicky. Looking too hard for flaws.
The detective grinned, remembering Flavia’s tale of Masqueraders. It was an entertaining fable. He wondered how she would react to the truth. Maybe, someday, he would tell her.
No, fuck it, this one I have something to say about.
Back when Flavia was explaining her “tale of Masqueraders,” this was how McCann reacted:
McCann laughed, trying to appear amused. “What utter nonsense.”
and
McCann forced himself to remain quiet. He had said too much already.
And when he’s back in his office, reflecting on his conversation with Flavia:
McCann, sitting behind his desk in his office an hour later, sighed heavily. The detective folded his arms across his chest. For all her grief, the Dark Angel had not stayed in mourning very long. He trusted Flavia not to reveal her suspicions to the Prince for as long as it suited her purposes, and not a second more. If not handled properly, the Dark Angel could prove to be as dangerous to him as the Red Death
Those aren’t the actions and thoughts of a guy who a few hours later would be thinking “Silly bitch, what an amusing fable. Maybe one day I’ll tell her what I really am.” That’s someone whose intimidated by what she knows, and wary of what she’ll tell her fifth-generation vampire boss.
Flavia said that Masqueraders are Methuselahs who possess mortal bodies while in torpor in order to experience life like a mortal again, while giving them some Kindred powers to protect them. McCann is secretly a Methuselah named Lameth, over four thousand years old and notable enough to earn a title like “The Dark Messiah.” We’re also told that his current body is mortal, aside from a few Kindred powers. A detail we’ll learn in a few chapters may complicate things, but for now the similarities are spot on, and back in Chapter Five McCann knew that.
Flavia may be the very definition of what feminist media critics call a Strong Female Character (i.e. a character whose presented as a well-written woman because she’s physically strong and capable of *gasp* holding her own against a man, but in the overall narrative is a satellite character revolving around a male character, often used as fanservice, a love interest, or a prize to be won despite her “strength”) and maybe it’s a leap of logic to get “secret ancient vampire” from a human who can stop one of her attacks, but she more or less figured McCann out, and he knows it. The detective shouldn’t get all haughty or dismissive now because she might not know every detail. Or because she doesn’t know he’s actually ~*~Lameth, the Dark Messiah of the Kindred~*~ and not Sven, the Socially Awkward Apostle of the Kindred. She got your number, dick.
Anyway, the smug bastard goes to sleep and the chapter ends.
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Wasting Time
The following is an excerpt from The Lund Loop Newsletter. To learn more click here.
It was an interesting week.
Sunday was Father’s Day and I didn’t get in a fight with my wife. That’s a major accomplishment because it seems like right before every holiday – both major and minor – we get into an argument.
The blame is mostly mine for not being mindful of the stress these holidays give her, and thus treading lightly in the 24 to 48 hours before they begin.
I made the same mistake (again) this year on Mother’s Day – though I was oblivious to it at first.
Rising early, I got everything set up to celebrate the day, but by 11:00am, my wife had not come downstairs. A text inquiring if she was up yet went unanswered, so I decided to run out and do a few errands.
Being a heroic husband, I texted again around noon to see if she wanted me to pick her up something for lunch.
Ding!
“No, thanks” was the response.
Whew, I thought. I’m in the clear.
But I wasn’t. Not by a long shot.
Ding!
“By the way, I’m mad at you.”
That was followed by a series of “dings”, each indicating that a new one-line text had come through, none of which were very flattering towards me.
“I’ll give her a minute to cool down,” I said to myself. But a few minutes later, the dings were still coming in hot and heavy.
It reminded me of playing slots in Vegas and hitting 7 – 7 – plum – cherry – 7. It’s a winner but not listed on the payout chart, so you don’t know how much you’ll get or when it will stop.
At five texts I thought about defending myself, but before I could think of something to say, we were at ten texts, and at that point, even I knew better.
After strategizing a bit, I decided to reply with “I hear what you’re saying.”
But before I could hit “send” my wife must have seen the three floating dots indicating I was writing because she preempted me with “don’t even start texting right now.”
Backspace, backspace, backspace…
At fifteen I thought it’d be safe to use the emoji version of “I hear you,” and begin giving every fifth text the thumbs up symbol.
Suffice to say, there was a lot of venting going on, and though I was fully prepared to let it run its course, she could have at least taken some etiquette from Twitter and let me know how long the textstorm was going to last.
“1/432 You’re an asshole.”
But on this Father’s Day, I (finally) learned my lesson. Though it is my day – in theory – I tiptoed around the days leading up to it and made sure I didn’t do, say, or even think anything that would get me in trouble.
Tuesday found me wrapping up another year of my kid’s scholastic career. It’s always a painful day for me.
My father liked to work with his hands and always had a project going on. When he died, he was in the middle of building an old-fashioned children’s sled -which was rather odd as we lived in Southern California and there were no children in the house.
His process was meticulous.
The garage workbench was the nexus of the project. It was there where he kept the plans, tools, and materials needed to build the sled, as well as the custom-made hardware, decals, and ornamentation, each stored and labeled in their own specific pullout drawer.
Each piece had significance. Each piece had import. And losing just one of them – even a single stainless-steel screw – could stop the project in its tracks.
But the moment he died, the project – and the pieces that made it up – lost their meaning.
The hand-carved runners. The polished blades. The rose and thistle stenciling. Every part of the sled suffered a terminal loss of what made it important.
A small death brought on by a larger one.
Fully aware of the dramatics the statement carries, the end of the school year is a small death of sorts for me.
The backpacks and lunch boxes so deliberated over just nine months prior are cast aside, tattered and torn.
The required folders for each subject, decorated with doodles of boredom and superheroes of inspiration, have no more part to play.
The science project we stayed up until midnight to finish, the lines for the school play we memorized, and the 36 grammar and spelling packets we stressed about weekly no longer mean a thing.
And my kids could care less, so it’s up to me to sift through the ephemera from their final day to determine what things – if any – I should save.
Lecture notes, quizzes, and homework assignments are easy – trash, trash, and trash.
It’s a toss-up with the art projects, term papers, and report cards, things they might look back on with fondness – or at least curiosity – 20 years from now, but then again, may not give a damn about.
I used my best judgment and saved about 2/3rds, while the rest went into the trash.
But the backpacks and lunch boxes aren’t as clear cut.
In my mind, I envision mounting them chronologically – trophy hunter style – along a highly lacquered piece of oak, with appropriate grade level and teacher’s names on brass plaques under each.
I will then present these totems – with great pride and tears in my eyes – to my children at their respective wedding receptions.
To which they will, if I’m lucky, respond with a gentle hug and “there, there” pat on the back, while winking at the crowd behind me. But more likely, will just stare in shocked embarrassment, then give the DJ a frantic head nod, meaning, “quick, play some Bruno Mars so we can get out on the dance floor.”
So, I put them in the “we’ll see” pile.
Finally, I come to the gut punch pieces. The “Why I Love My Mom/Dad” type pieces. The easy pieces.
When I turned 20 my mother kicked me out of the house – rightly so as I was an insufferable A-hole. But when I left, boxes of my belongings – packed by her – came as well.
In those boxes were years of art projects, term papers, and report cards, but also “Why I Love My Mom” projects. To this day I can’t figure out why? Why didn’t she want to keep those for herself?
I made them for her.
When it comes to my kids there’s no question about those types of items – I want them all. And so, I hoard every single one of them.
Friday found me lying in a dimly lit room as a technician moved warm gel around my abdomen with an ultrasound wand.
No, I’m not pregnant.
Two weeks ago, I went in for my annual physical. For the most part, everything checked out okay.
But when the labs came back, there were some minor issues.
My cholesterol was slightly above normal. This is a semi-regular occurrence since turning 40 and means I’ve been too sedentary. I start riding my bike, running on the treadmill, and limit my Double-Double intake to once every other week, and like clockwork it goes back down into the normal range.
I also had slightly elevated liver enzymes. And when I say “slightly,” I mean “slightly.”
Google “normal liver enzyme range” and you’ll universally get a range of between 10 and 40. However, for some reason, my doctor/labs say 10 to 35 is the normal range – and I came back at 38. Last year I was at 37.
To me, this was not very worrisome. Lot’s of things can raise your enzyme count. Alcohol. Check. Prescription medication. Check. Tylenol. Check. Let’s just say, it was no mystery to me as to why my levels might be slightly elevated. But my doctor suggested an abdominal ultrasound.
I’ve got great insurance, so why not?
Lying on the table, I tried my best to avoid playing “game the technician,” but it was unavoidable.
The rules of the game state that the technician will know exactly what they are looking at on the screen. Kidney stone, swallowed car keys, stage IV cancer, they can discern them at a glance.
And so, I watch the technician for telltale signs.
A furl of the brow. A twitch of the eye. The almost imperceivably quick frown which says, “WHOA! THIS MUTHER FUCKER HAS CANCER.”
But my tech had a poker face and wasn’t giving away any clues.
No problem. I have a fallback plan.
She was taking a lot of time on my right side. And one spot – just under my ribs – seemed to have a particular interest for her.
Back she went to that same spot, over, and over again.
“SHIT, SHIT, SHIT…SHE’S FOUND SOMETHING,” I screamed to myself.
Okay, calm down, I thought. You don’t know how this is done. Maybe this is part of the standard procedure?
Desperation breeds genius, and in a stroke of revelation I came up with a plan. If she spends the same amount of time scanning my left side as my right side, then everything is normal.
The right side had taken about 5 minutes, so when she started on the left side I began counting.
“Okay, we’re done,” she said.
It had only been two minutes.
“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, I’M DYING. I’M A DEAD MAN!”
The report came back fine. Everything is fine.
But laying on that table it occurred to me that everything could change in a moment. You go along in your life thinking everything is great, then you get hit by a car, your child gets ill, or they find a tumor on your liver.
And it also occurred to me that if that happened, I’d be so mad at myself for having wasted time arguing with my wife, or stressing out about keeping worn out backpacks, or worrying about getting sick while I was healthy.
As I said, it was an interesting week.
Wasting Time published first on your-t1-blog-url
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'Gorilla and The Bird': Inside New Memoir About Being Bipolar
New Post has been published on http://gossip.network/gorilla-and-the-bird-inside-new-memoir-about-being-bipolar/
'Gorilla and The Bird': Inside New Memoir About Being Bipolar
Zack McDermott wrote the first words of his new memoir during his first stint in the psychiatric ward at New York City’s notorious Bellevue Hospital. “It was quite a blessing for material,” he says drily. Though he’s joking, he’s not exactly wrong. His new memoir, Gorilla and the Bird, chronicles McDermott’s bipolar disorder and the extraordinary ways his sharp, stalwart mother (aka “the Bird,” who once dubbed him “Gorilla” because of his hulky chest and excessive body hair) helped him live through it. But McDermott is at his most fascinating when he’s describing the odious routines and everyday indignities experienced during his handful of stints in locked psychiatric hospitals. As he writes, “Regaining sanity at a mental hospital is like treating a migraine at a rave.”
At the time of his first descent into mania-induced psychosis, the then-26-year-old McDermott was in his first year as a public defender at the Legal Aid Society in New York City. An ambitious, do-gooding Midwestern transplant, he’d wanted to be a lawyer since childhood, in part to help folks like “the dregs, the castoffs, the addicts, and the Uncle Eddies” he’d grown up among in “lower-middle-class” Wichita, Kansas. (“Uncle Eddie” was McDermott’s mother’s brother, who spent the final 15 years of his life institutionalized for schizophrenia.) McDermott’s mother, teacher Cindy Cisneros-McGilvrey, has no doubt that her son’s upbringing helped fuel his passion for social justice. “We’re all pretty much bleeding hearts,” she tells me from Wichita.
A sometimes-single mom who raised three kids on her own while working full-time at a grocery store, Cisneros-McGilvrey eventually got her PhD in urban education. She became a beloved local fixture in the Wichita school system and regularly worked with disadvantaged kids in her home after school. “The fact that I wouldn’t turn kids that other people called ‘bad’ away helped expose [Zack] to the philosophy that everyone deserves equitable treatment,” she says.
In his job at Legal Aid, McDermott worked with some of New York’s most disenfranchised populations, and many of the people he represented were severely mentally ill. Despite his commitment to the organization’s mission, “I was dying there,” he says. The systemic injustices McDermott witnessed each day were soul-crushing, and his grip on reality became tenuous as his job-related anxieties compounded. “This is not a fucking game, you know?” he says. “These are people’s lives.”
One day, McDermott woke up convinced that he was being filmed for a Truman Show-style TV pilot audition, with his entire East Village neighborhood – indeed, the entirety of New York City – in on the joke. “I walked out of my apartment on the corner of St. Marks and Avenue A… and I knew we were rolling,” he writes in Gorilla and the Bird‘s opening chapter. “I knew the people on the sidewalk were actors…. Even the homeless people were a little too attractive.”
After narrowly avoiding getting hit by more than one non-actor-driven cab; disrupting a soccer game by shrieking in a Scottish accent and sprinting across the field; and challenging a group of men to an impromptu corner rap battle, McDermott found himself barefoot, shirtless, and sobbing on a train platform. Two NYPD officers handcuffed him and hauled him to Bellevue, where his delusions persisted. “Is it possible that we’ve secured permission to shoot in an actual psych ward?” he recalls wondering in the book.
His mother, whom he’s referred to as “the Bird” since adolescence due to “her tendency to move her head in these choppy semicircles when her feathers were ruffled,” as he writes, flew in from Wichita to help. “He did not recognize me,” she says. “He was so emaciated, and he was wearing a mohawk. The hardest part was looking through that locked psychiatric ward door… and [seeing] a man who resembled my son, who reminds me of my son, but was so different in the throes of his episode.”
Things were never quite the same for McDermott or the Bird after that. “The pain that mental illness inflicts on the person diagnosed and [the people who] care about them – it’s extremely costly, both financially and psychically, ” he says. McDermott lost his apartment, moved home to Wichita, gained 30 pounds from the Depakote he’d been prescribed, and slipped into a months-long suicidal depression in which he did little but sleep, smoke cigarettes and pound Miller Lite as a means of escape. “I’d been flying high, and then it all [collapsed] into nothing,” he remembers. “I was in the garage smoking a pack of cigarettes and crushing six to 10 beers every night, not knowing what the fuck my life was supposed to look like.”
When asked whether it was difficult to revisit such dark days in the course of working on his memoir, McDermott demurs. “There were a million difficult things about writing this book, but recounting it wasn’t [one of them]. The hard part was living it.” Though he claims to remember most of what happened to him, even when he was drugged or psychotic (“just because you’re psychotic doesn’t mean you have amnesia,” he notes), he enlisted his mom’s help in remembering specific details from his manic episodes. “Every time I went to see him I took notes,” says Cisneros-McGilvrey. “So he used me a lot for dates, names, locations, things like that.”
After a period of months, McDermott stabilized and returned to his job in New York. (After experiencing two subsequent psychotic breaks and hospitalizations, he eventually left Legal Aid to pursue writing.) He found ways to manage his bipolar with the help of a compassionate psychiatrist who altered McDermott’s meds and convinced him to give up marijuana, which had exacerbated his mania. “This disease, my condition, it’s not a mystery to me,” McDermott says. “It’s actually pretty simple. My maintenance procedure is to get enough sleep; don’t party too hard. If you feel like you’re going to an unsafe or dangerous place, take the proper medication and get some rest.”
McDermott with his mother, Cindy Cisneros-McGilvrey, a.k.a. the Bird.
Courtesy of Zack McDermott
But it took him years of trial, error and painfully lived experience to fully absorb that knowledge, and he accepts that his illness isn’t going anywhere: “Bipolar is something I have, not something I had,” he says. Though he’s thrilled at his writing success and says he feels “great” most days, he acknowledges the uncomfortable truth that there’s no absolute remission with a condition like his. And that lesson hit home again recently when McDermott experienced his first manic episode in six years. At the time, he was in Wichita with family, shooting footage for a forthcoming documentary project to complement the book. “A great deal of [my manic episode] was caught on tape,” he says. “I thought I was auditioning for the role of myself, in the TV series based on the book. That’s psychosis. It took me a couple of months until I felt totally safe, sane and straight again.”
But the episode also served to remind him how critical mental health care really is – and how woefully misunderstood most mental illnesses are by the bulk of the population. “I think it’s absolutely insane, so to speak, that we are not as familiar with the symptoms of bipolar disorder or schizophrenia as we are with the common cold,” McDermott says. “We too easily look past or step around homeless people who have severe untreated mental illness. For some reason, that’s [considered] OK, it’s just kind of what we do.”
To help counter that, McDermott is in the preliminary stages of launching a nonprofit called the Gorilla Bird Foundation. “It’s going to be a mental health reform and advocacy organization with a huge educational component,” he explains. “My grandma sold her farm and has pledged $99,000 to be our first donor.”
McDermott’s ultimate aim, with both the book and the foundation, is to help normalize the conditions that a whopping 18 percent of Americans grapple with every day. “I hope we can erase the distinction between normal and crazy,” he explains. “I’m normal in some ways. I have friends, I have a really cool job. But I’m also quite literally a raving lunatic sometimes. And that’s kind of okay.”
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Short Story #84: Freedom.
Written: 4/2/2017
Frank had a problem that he didn’t know how to deal with: he was an unbearable asshole. It didn’t help that he wasn’t very attractive, either, because, to him, that seemed like the easiest way to solve the problem, people would be more willing to deal with or reason away his shitty behavior, and that would be that. However, he would often complain to people about this, saying, “Its not fair that I have to be treated worse because I’m not attractive, girls should be lining up to hook up with us ugly guys, its just not fair” or “I bet those pretty boys couldn’t, they couldn’t beat me in a fight, I would show them what for, they couldn’t handle me”, and these would often turn into rants that would piss off whoever he was talking about, whether they were close friends, family members, local bar flies, homeless people, cashiers, delivery men, or girls that he had somehow been trying to hit on. When these people would inevitably walk away or tell him to fuck off, he would just accuse them of only hating him because he was ugly, then he would saunter off somewhere, thinking that he was better than all of the people who thought he was an asshole.
The confidence only appeared in public. In private, he hated himself for always seeming to say the wrong thing, for driving people away, a self loathing that would lead to him looking in the mirror and berating his reflection until it had become late enough for him to drink without any guilt about it. He always drank alone, because he was terrified that people would really hate him if they had to deal with a drunk Frank, who he thought was the biggest asshole on the planet.
One night, when Frank was drunkenly dicking around on the internet, he stumbled upon a news story about a celebrity who had recently gotten cancer, and he was surprised by all of the sympathy the man was receiving. The man had been notorious for being a gigantic asshole, the drunken kind that would get into fights, tell fans to fuck off, drive his car into gas stations, etc, and was almost like a soap opera villain, since it seemed like everybody had loved to hate the guy, hating him so much that he would always be relevant, because people had to hear more stories about him being the worst kind of person, just so they could hate him, pat themselves on the back, and think that they were superior to the man whose bad actions they had rewarded, due to their addiction to toxic emotions. And all of the sudden people loved the now-bald-bastard for dying (even if everyone is dying, and can die at any time, it is somehow a sad thing to know a rough estimate of when you’re going to die, instead of having to wander from day to day, not knowing which will be your last), it was like they wanted to hoist him up on their shoulders, parade him through the streets, there was comment article after article, comment after comment, trying to explain why the guy was misunderstood, why he was actually misunderstood and should be treated sympathetically, why society was wrong for trying to shame a man who had been trying to get his life together. The kicker, to Frank, was that the man wasn’t attractive in any way, his face looked like somebody had stepped on it when he was an infant, it was sort of squashed inward, but people still loved him even as he still beat strippers, yelled at random dogs on the streets, pissed on the floors of public restrooms, and was a general dick to waiters, who he also didn’t tip, and Frank took it as a sign, a message from the big man in cloud city.
Frank knew that he should try to get cancer.
Before he decided to do research on his new goal, the thing that would make him likable, he decided to leave a comment one of the articles, which was: “Bald bitch”.
His first attempt at becoming terminally ill was to place his microwave on the floor, remove his pants and underwear, straddle the microwave with his legs, making sure that his scrotum was hugging the glass door that allowed you to watch your meal move around in circles, and he just kind of let it run for a while, hoping the radiation would do its job. The attempt ended with him polishing off a bottle of bum wine, and then falling asleep as he hugged the machine and cried, his tears pooling on the top, because he had to resort to such desperate measures, because the world was such a cold and unloving place for people like him. Not once did he consider changing his personality, trying to become a better and more likable person, because his parents always told him to be himself, and to never change that for nobody.
When he woke up in the morning, he saw that the microwave had become unplugged at some point, possibly during his pity party, and he figured that the plan would never work anyways, it wasn’t worth bothering with. So, after lying, pantsless, on his living room floor, watching the morning news until it was time to show up for work, he saw a very annoying ant-smoking commercial, and suddenly got his next idea, which was to smoke his way to cancer. It made him feel like a bigger asshole, just because he hadn’t thought of it before. All he had to do was spend most of his extra money on cigarettes, and try to smoke as much as he could, until one day he would cough up blood, have to lose all of his hair, and could finally find his place in society, so he could finally be loved and accepted, something that he desperately needed.
———————————————————————————————————
In his adolescence, Frank was often thought of as the golden child in his family. His parents spent most of their time doting over him, praising him for every little thing, always telling him that he was perfect, that if anyone didn’t like him it wasn’t his fault, that they were just probably jealous or it was societies fault, that he should always be true to who he was. Sure, when he got halfway through college he realized that there was something fundamentally wrong with who he was, especially after an incident where he had claimed that a rape victim was “asking for it”, right to her face, during a women’s studies class, and he was almost expelled from the school, and instead just transferred, claiming that they begged him to stay, even though the feeling of exile had stuck with him for some time. When he came home for Thanksgiving, and had to explain the situation to his loving parents, they just told him that he had done nothing wrong, and it was the way the system had been rigged against him. He was just a free spirit, society was just against that, and he shouldn’t change because he was living in a backwards country, because he might as well have been a Jew in Nazi Germany (their words). Even though he still felt like he might have been a problem, no matter what he said, he knew that he would always be loved by his parents, that they would do everything they could to keep loving him, and as long as he had that support, it was easy to keep going through life, because, to him, the only people who mattered were the ones that loved you.
Around the time he had graduated from college, Frank had received the news that his parents had both killed themselves, and were found in their garage, spooning in the back seat of their car, with the engine running and a rubber hose had one end attached to the exhaust, and the other end had been placed in the crack of a car window, filling the inside with deadly gasses. The only note that they had left had been for Frank, and it never served any explanation to why they had chosen to end their lives, which had remained a mystery (until there was nobody to remember them, or wonder why they had done so, causing them to have become forgotten and uncared about, one of time’s favorite jokes), and their note had read:
Dear Franklyn,
This doesn’t mean that we have stopped loving you.
Love, Your Loving Parents
Frank had kept the letter in his wallet, folding it up until it was just a tiny square, and kept it as a reminder that somebody out there loved him, although after a year it started to become a reminder that the only people who could have loved him were dead, had abandoned him, and he was all alone in the world, with no chance for anyone to care about him. He made several attempts to join religions, just so that he could believe that his parents were living on in some sort of way, but every attempt would just make him angry, causing him to leaved, flustered, yelling, “This is just fucking nonsense. You fuckers wasted my time, this is a scam! I hope you become brain dead, and have to live life eating through some tube, I hope rats eat you you fuckers.” That was also his response to his first AA meeting, and the same response he had whenever he was asked to donate to charity.
His loneliness and desperation to be loved could have caused him to change his ways, but he wanted to honor his parents death, so he stuck with some of their teachings, and didn’t change for nobody.
———————————————————————————————————
After getting off of work, Frank went straight to the smoke shop, bought as many cartons as cigarettes as he could carry, brought them to his car, put them in the trunk, and then, being too exited to waste any time, he sat in the trunk, and began to chain smoke. At first he decided to only do one at a time, mainly because the smoke didn’t go down very smooth and it left him coughing, drooling, and generally uncomfortable, but after his third one he had started to get used to the feeling and decided to smoke two at once, one cigarette in each hand, taking a puff of the left one and then a puff of the right, as if he were lifting weights. As this went on, he saw people giving him dirty looks, and he started to believe that he had looked cool as he smoked in the parking lot, he wanted to believe that he had looked like the classic bad boy, so he started to believe that as he tried to fill his lungs with enough smoke to mark him for death, out of desperation to be loved. In that moment, he wished that he had sunglasses, he considered buying a denim jacket.
As he transformed that section of the parking lot into a cloud of smoke and littered it with cigarette butts, a large man had angrily approached him, holding up a rag to his face, and started yelling, muffled, “What the hell are you doing over here?”
After trying to respond cooly, and then coughing for twenty-three seconds, Frank replied, hoarsely, “Smoking dick-head, what does it look like I’m doing? There aint’ no laws against smoking.”
“That shit will give you cancer, it will rot out your lungs, why would you do that to yourself? Don’t you know the risks you’re taking with that, are you fucking insane.”
“If being hip is insane,” tearing up from smoke in his eyes, “then you better lock me up buddy, because I’m 51/50.”
“Yeah, no shit you are, that shit is going to kill you, and any person who walks within a miles radius of this area. You’re worse than a fucking coal factory with those things, with all of the air pollution you’re giving off.” Frank tried to flick his finished cigarette away from him, to show that he didn’t give a shit about anything, but he dropped it on himself and freaked out to make sure he didn’t light on fire, leaving him with a burn hole in his button up shirt. “What if a child walks by, how about that buddy, what if you gave some child second hand smoke.”
Patting himself out, Frank thought about that, “That would be a shitty thing to do, wouldn’t it?”
“No fucking shit.”
“So what you’re saying, is, it wouldn’t be okay if I gave other people cancer? People would hate me if I did that?”
“I’m saying that you shouldn’t give anyone cancer, you fucking lunatic.”
“Fuck off, don’t tell me what to do! You don’t know what I’ve been through,” tapping his chest with the filter end of a cigarette, dropping ash onto his lap, “You don’t know the struggles I’ve been through, you fucking, who the hell are you to talk to me? You know how much trouble I have to deal with, with people like you, always calling me an asshole? I can’t get my fucking views across, because everyone thinks its alright to reject me, to not want to have a discussion with me, to not say my fill. Societies going in the toilet buddy, and you’ve got your hand right on the, what’s it called, the part where you press down and it flushes the toilet.”
“What are you talking-”
“LET ME FINISH. I have a thing that backs me up, its called the FIRST AMENDMENT. Ever heard of it, pal? You fucking swamp creature, you fucking look like if two bigfoots committed incest, had a baby, and then you came out, you fucking shit man.” This confused the large man, who was generally hairless, but for some reason the insult crossed a line, even if it didn’t apply to him. So, he let the asshole have his speech, he waited to show the guy what was what. “God damned, you look like a possum was put in a sock and then bashed against a tree. First amendment buddy. Lots of people can’t understand what that is, so they think its alright to call me an asshole, they think its alright to get at the words I say, or walk away from a discussion, when really the constitution protects everything I have to say.”
“You know how many people call me a piece of shit, just for thinking that some women should be entitled to sleep with me? And what’s wrong with thinking that? They never give me an answer, they just refuse to talk to me, and its because they can’t think of anything good to say, I just know that. They know that I have it hard, and I should be comforted, but they don’t want to accept it, because society has to be politically correct or whatever, its all a bunch of bullshit, they’re all a bunch of stuck up bitches.” He tried not to show it, but he was just happy that the stranger was still listening to him, “And with you, you see me taking advantage of my rights, trying to smoke my way to cancer, but you’re to dumb shit stupid to realize that I have a point, I have a right, and if I want to smoke my way to terminal illness, I should, and you’re whats wrong with America because you’re unhappy that I choose to live my life this way. So what,” blowing smoke into the man’s face, “So what if I get some kid cancer, why should people hate me if I did that, huh? The kid could have just walked around my smoke or whatever, its not like I’m doing it on purpose,” a family, nearby, was trying to load in their groceries, coughing from the smoke cloud, “they could just not come to this parking lot if they don’t want to risk cancer. Fucking retards.”
“So tell me, why is it so bad that I want to smoke myself to becoming terminally ill, what is it about me that makes people like you hate me? Because I know you’re going to talk about how I’m doing harm to others, or whatever, but you’re trying to take my rights away in the process. You just claim that its about the dangers of smoking, but I know that first its the cigarettes, and then they take away our right to free press, and then next thing you know we’re basically in Nazi Germany, because you fuckers want to control everything, that’s what this is all about. You can’t stand to see that people like me, real Americans, have the rights to live our lives in the bad ass and free way that we do, because you want to control everything.” Closing his eyes, trying to smile while holding back a nasty cough, “So tell me, why shouldn’t I smoke, why am I wrong? Why is it okay for you to steal my rights and give them to others? Why do you hate America?”
Hands shaking, seemingly calm, the large man asked, “Are you done?”
“Yeah”, nodding slowly, pausing to cough, “And I would love to hear whatever propaganda you have to spew, just so that I could point out how wrong you are.”
The patient man replied by punching Frank in the mouth with enough force to cause him to swallow his cigarette, and then the man walked away, without a word. After trying to make himself throw the cancer stick up, since it felt hot in his stomach, Frank had wanted to pat himself on the back for having one upped that guy, for proving how right he was and how other people can’t handle the truth. Yet, when he got home, he cried to himself and considered calling the police about the man who had assaulted him, he just couldn’t understand why somebody would be so mean to him, how society had become so barbaric. First, he considered looking up the guy online, but then he realized that he had no information on the man, and hadn’t even seen his face.
Eventually, Frank slumped around in his couch, and thought about killing himself, just like his parents did. This world just wasn’t made for him, it couldn’t handle people like him, the system was rigged against him. Yet, when he got bored and flipped through the news channels, and he finally found a speech that had caught his eye, he realized something that he had never realized before: politics could make any asshole likable. He had been looking at the situation all wrong, he wasn’t an asshole at all, society wasn’t completely rigged against him, he was just dealing with the wrong people. He thought of this as he watched the presidential debates, as he watched one opponent childishly yell over the other as they tried to talk, and then, when he had the chance, accuse his opponent of being childish, and Frank had found his hero, this was the type of person he had aspired to be. Then, while surfing around the internet, it was easy to find people who were just as like minded as him, people whose entire careers were built around being shitty people, around saying things just to make people angry, people who yelled and yelled and refused to listen to what others had to say, people who believed that when other’s were given equal rights, it was somehow unfair to them, people who believed that they could say as many racial slurs as they wanted, and it was the other people who were the real racists, and Frank saw all of this and cried for the second time that day.
Wasting no time, Frank decided to film himself with his cell phone camera, he had to do what he must have been born to do, he must follow his destiny. “Today,” looking into the camera, “I had been minding my own rights, smoking a cigarette in my car after a hard days of work, and some asshole came up to me and punched me for smoking. I tried to tell him that I was smoking peacefully, but he wouldn’t listen to me, he just kept screaming over me and told me that I shouldn’t have any freedom, that I was what’s wrong with America, but I want to say something, I’m what’s right with America. There’s this little thing called freedom, and that allows me to chose to smoke myself to death if I want to, and nobody has a say about it. I should be able to say what I have to say without people shitting down my throat every time I challenge their fragile little views. Those fucktards shouldn’t be able to call me an asshole whenever I state a fact, like how 99% of women are entitled bitches, and shouldn’t vote, or how” it just went on and one, becoming more confused and hateful, until he decided that he had said enough, and posted it on several political forums, where he would probably become an over night celebrity.
When he tried to sleep that night, he could only think about how he was finally going to have the love and adoration that had been missing for so long, how he was going to also get cancer, and would mix the two together, making himself a god damned hero, how he would go down as a legend. When he woke up in the morning, he ignored his morning piss and danced around as he tried to get his laptop up and running, desperate to see what the reactions to his video had been. As it booted up, he could only think about all of the comments that would inspire him to go tell the truth, he considered going into non-smoking areas and exercising his rights by blowing smoke into people’s faces, he thought about all of the girls that would probably want to bang him, he thought about the nods he would probably get from some of the biggest members of the movement, becoming a front page story, a cause that like minded people would rally around, a new force in the political climate, but when he finally saw the reaction, he was shattered.
Apparently nobody had even bothered to watch it, they just saw the thumbnail and talked about how ugly and fat he looked, and how he should have been punched a second time. Once again, he felt that if he was attractive, the situation wouldn’t have been different, people wouldn’t say things like “You’re the reason I believe in eugenics” or “Why didn’t your mother leave you in the woods, or is that where you crawled out from” or “Look at this whale cry about ‘muh politics’, go eat a gallon of bleach”. He had felt trapped, had felt that no matter what he would do, people would hate him no matter what, that he just couldn’t get by in this world of his. He couldn’t survive with normal people, because he wasn’t one of their kind, and he couldn’t survive with the assholes, because he was too low down on the food chain to be able to survive. For a second he considered trying to make himself more liked with the assholes on the other side of the issue, but the video of his was already out there, it was clear that he was a different kind than them, and he could never live it down.
In the end, he wasn’t upset, he was just tired of all of it. He realized that he didn’t have the right to be loved, there was nobody in the world who would ever give him that privilege, and why would they? Pulling the note out of his wallet, unfolding it, he felt that he should just be with the only people who could love him.
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