Monday, August 31, 2009

More Inebriated Profoundness

No, I'm not as blitzed as I was the last time I blogged drunk, but I'm still a bit loopy. So, in light of the fact that a friend of mine just passed out while on the phone with me, I'm going to attempt ten profound thoughts again.

Or, rather, not-so-profound thoughts.

We shall see what we see, won't we? (somebody please tell me what movie that's from... I can't think)

1. I do not sing. I cannot sing. I don't care what you heard or from whom.

2. One plus one equals two.

3. Blood is definitely thicker than water... and leaves a bigger mess when spilled.

4. I had two cigarettes in the past week. I think this makes me a bad person.

5. Whoever said "there's no place like home" never went anywhere.

6. Don't axe me a question!

007. James Bond is the shit.

8. Friends you've never met are less likely to judge you.

9. Damn you, Barefoot! Cheap Merlot isn't supposed to be good!

10. Jaclyn Smith and Cheryl Ladd were way better Angels than Farrah Fawcett ever was. Yeah, I said it. Got a problem?

Meh... I didn't drink enough, I think.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Battlestar Enterprise, Part II

Okay, I must admit, Part I of this elicited minimal response, but there are apparently a few more BSG fans following me since that one went up, so I'm gonna give Part II a shot. This one was originally posted on January 10, 2009.

Read the first part here: Battlestar Enterprise, Part I


David Adama hated flying. He was, as many have pointed out, a whiny little bastard and the very thought of an aircraft crashing into the ground scared the living shit out of him. Never mind that in space there is no gravity, and he needn't worry of such a thing, but he did anyway. Suddenly in need of a security blanket, he checked his 4 o'clock and made sure the accompanying Raptor was still where it should be.

Naturally, it was, but as David was a whiny little bastard, he keyed his mike and queried for an audio response.

"She-Boomer, you there?"

"Yes, Apollo."

For a moment David thought he could actually hear She-Boomer's eyes rolling. "Just doing my job, She-Boomer. Just checking in."

"I'm fine; you're fine. Would you like to ask Helo and Crashdown if they're fine?"


"My crew, Apollo. The Raptor is, you know, a three-seater, and despite the propensity of other writers never taking advantage of all three seats, this one does, so I have a co-pilot and an ECMO."

Ek-mo, Apollo thought to himself. Ah! It suddenly made sense.

It really wasn't fair that everyone gave him such a hard time. He wasn't a military man by trade, after all. That honor belonged to his twin sister, Davida, and his little brother, James T. Junior.

He didn't like thinking about those two, especially given their histories. He was involved in an incestuous relationship with Davida before finding out she was his sister, and that little fact had made recent family gatherings a little awkward, particularly since he still wanted her. And don't forget the little business that his brother, James T. Junior, who had died during an atmospheric reentry, was also in a sexual relationship with Davida. Davida, in a strange twist of fate, had been one of Junior's flight instructors, and is the only reason Junior passed flight school. Junior, apparently, had no feel for the cockpit, but had a ton of feel for Davida's cock-pit, and Davida willingly screwed every other flight instructor at school in order to secure Junior a passing grade. She'd be damned if she had to tell dad that she failed her brother.

"Apollo, She-Boomer. Come in."

Apollo shook the thought out of his mind and held down a puke. "What's up?"

"Er, the anomaly. We're here."


Saturday, August 29, 2009

His Final Lover

He could never understand what it was about strange, new places that reminded him of home. Or, rather, of her. He had no home, per se, but he often thought of her. No matter how far he ran away, there was a memory chasing her down. Someone had told him that it was simple matter of survival instinct: men faced with dying need reasons to live. Not that she was his reason; only that he had nothing else. She was a carefully written fiction of the book in his mind, and he only turned the pages to see what she would do next. A movie… read more @ Panoramic Mindscapes



*Find out who she is... in You're Beautiful

Thursday, August 27, 2009

A River in Epirus

Her kiss was sweet in a way that it has never been before. The man smiles at the woman and gently places his thumb on her chin.

"Will you miss me?" she asks.

"I always miss you."

Behind them a limousine pulls up, for the man was a wealthy man and his payrolls control much of the city. No driver exits, but the… read more @ Panoramic Mindscapes


Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Tuesday, August 25, 2009


No, there are no guarantees, just like there are no answers. Logic is not sovereign here. Magic should be, but it isn't. No one is sure either exists. Intention matters only to the one intending, the rest will judge execution, and rationality has been executed. Suicide seemed so exhilarating until waking up in the arms of a dead lover.

Heads roll, not from the guillotine, but from the thoughtless purity of lust. Love is little more than justification for brash decision, and this… read more @ Panoramic Mindscapes


Sunday, August 23, 2009

Drunken Thoughts

I'm blitzed (yes, from cheap Merlot) and I've decided to conduct an experiment, and in this experiment I will try to write no less than ten profound thoughts that come to mind, and hopefully these ten profound thoughts will make perfect sense when I read them in the morning.

It is currently 11:30 PM, Eastern time, on the 22nd of August, 2009.

Let's roll.

1. I finished a book tonight and am wondering if I'm going to remember doing so when I sober up. And if I remember doing so, am I going to remember what the Hell the story was about?

2. A friend of mine is expressing an irrational attraction for Kellogg's Special K Red Berries. I have no fucking idea what she's talking about. Hopefully I can refrain from using the word "fuck" or any of its variants for the rest of the entry. I wouldn't want to earn an "R" rating, now, would I?

3. Speaking of ratings... the MPAA is full of shit. We need a new rating system. Do I have an idea concerning this? Oh, yes, I do. Some other time, however. Just know that the MPAA is full of shit.

5. Whoops, I forgot 4, didn't I?

5. Just pretend that last 5 was number 4.

6. I am a fool, an idiot, a misanthrope, and a hopeless romantic. And guess what? I like it that way.

7. I have 30 pieces of 2 milligram Nicorette left. Confucius say: that's not enough fucking nicotine. Aw, shit... I used the "F" word again.

8. Why do all "bad words" pertain to sex and/or bodily functions? Oh, wait... religion. How's that for arbitrary?

9. To all those whom I offend: I humbly offer A) my humblest apologies... and B) that I don't give a shit.

10. Bo Derek? Are you kidding me? Not even...

Saturday, August 22, 2009


You're carried in the direction you're already going, spinning out of control since you lost control. It's human nature to flinch. Nobody would fault you for letting go of the steering wheel, but you let go simply because you like the way it looks as it turns. Body crashes forward through cold, hard glass as everything else starts rolling to the left. This is going to leave marks, and most will never be seen. Why you're smiling as the world starts tumbling is beyond me… read more @ Panoramic Mindscapes


Friday, August 21, 2009

Yeah, Well, Why Not?

On Drinking

So, apparently I need to lighten up (not to mention sober up). Why I've developed an addiction to cheap Merlot recently is beyond me... probably has something to do with not getting hangovers from it. I mean, shit, I quit smoking (not a single cigarette since July 18) so I should be allowed one vice before I have to give them all up, no?

And I've decided that beer sucks. Yeah, there are some microbrews that are good, but mass-marketed beer sucks. Tom Collins and Merlot only from now on. Oh, and some Spumante (funny story behind that one... tell it later).

On Writing and Editing

People out there are starting to realize I'm a dick when it comes to writing and editing. Well, sue me. I work as a professional reader and publish the occasional critical analysis. Hate to sound arrogant, but when I suggest something (or point something out), it's with good reason. If you're not in the game to be published, just ignore this. But if you are... get used to dickheads like me. We're always looking for reasons to throw your work away, you can believe that. Yet we so very much want to love what we're being paid to read.

And, no, I don't think I'm God's gift to writing... far from. My talent is well below those of many writers I've worked with or continue to work with (Michael, you reading this??? Get off your ass and submit some shit!). I'm just here to be a curmudgeon. I like being a curmudgeon.

On Hair

Most of you know by now that I cut my hair yesterday. Pictures of what went down are on the Internet, and despite the fact that that I despise photos of myself, I'm going to "lighten up" and send you to the blogger who decided to expose me. She's a hag, but here it is: Not For Jellyfish: He Who Refuses To Be Named's Shear Insanity.

I miss my hair. And even though there have been many, many reassurances to the contrary, I think my new hair looks like crap. Another reason why I prefer blunt to polite... can't ever tell when someone's being honest.

Ah, well...

On the Army

Seriously, I was bored. And, yes, I really do want to rejoin; necessity has little to do with it. Can't quite put my finger on it, but there's definitely a need for change combined with a sense of things left unfinished combined with proving to myself that I can still do it.

There are, that I can think of, only two reasons that I considered not going back... the first reason is my pets. The separation should be temporary, but I'll miss them dearly just the same. The second reason is more... obscure... and my close friends know what that's about. Hell, clever readers here can probably piece it together... I have been a bit obvious about it, I suppose. How unlike me.

Yeah, I'm weird. And I've never said I wasn't crazy.

More On Writing

To answer a surprisingly common question: Yes, I can continue to post stuff while I'm in the Army. If a few months pass without a post, I'm probably dead. Or in prison. But probably dead.

How's that for ending on a high note?


Thursday, August 20, 2009

Blink; Whisper

It was obvious that trachea crushed beneath elbow, but no chances are taken. Silencer jams into throat and teeth scrape gun-sight a millisecond before sinew and fluid from spinal cord splatter onto the wall behind. The shadows were perspective, and no enemy would share the view.

Hands move in silhouette, speaking a language known only to the blurred outlines signaling acknowledgment. Dark shapes of what… read more @ Panoramic Mindscapes


Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Shear Insanity: Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

As of this moment, I am scheduled to get my hair cut on Thursday at 3 PM, Eastern time. A pretty banal statement, I would admit, were the situation not an unusual one. You see (well, no, you can't see, and I'm not about to post a photo, so you won't be seeing, but now I'm getting beside myself), I haven't had a haircut in over two years. July of 2007, if my memory serves me right (it often serves me wrong, which is why I don't play tennis. ACK! Bad joke, I know).

So that's... two years and one month? Give or take. The last time a hair on my head fell to the ground for reasons other than natural. Wait... I was in a couple of fist-fights this year... I probably lost some hair in those engagements. Anyway...

Why the haircut? Well, the unthinkable is about to happen: I'm about to rejoin the United States Army.

Those of you who need to change their pants, feel free to do so. I'll put some Zeppelin on in the meantime. A little "intermezzo," if you would.

Yes, I'm about to rejoin the Army. For no less than three years, at that. Only this time I'll be getting paid a Hell of a lot more money. But I digress. It is for this reason that my extremely long hair has to go (it really is a bit long... I can reach my arm behind my back and grab the ends of it).

Now, those of you who might have happened to have served with me already know that I am notorious for being that soldier... "the one with the long hair." But what I have at this moment really is ridiculously long. I kinda like it... some women I know kinda like it (and some don't, but I won't mention those hags)... and my cats kinda like to mistake my head for a scratching post.

A little while ago I was, in all honestly, just going to shave my head bald as some sort of misguided rebellion, but I really had nothing to rebel against so I decided against it. An even shorter while ago I was, in all honestly, going to go in for a bit of a trim, but one of my hag friends berated me for not donating my hair to a cancer wig organization (or something like that), so I held off.

But now things are coming to a head (hah! A pun! I fucking hate puns), and it's time to prepare myself for a few years of regulation-short hair and to donate my shower companions to a good cause.

Yeah, I'm rambling. So what? I had some cranberry vodkas for lunch. Eat me.

Someone just remember to remind me to take before and after photos.

Pointless Musings

I finally saw Watchmen today. I quite liked it... a very good adaption of one of the greatest graphic novels (read: glorified comic books) of all time, if not the greatest. The actress who played Silk Spectre II was pretty horrible, and a lot of the nuance found in the comic was left out, but I thought it was pretty good... maybe even brilliant.

My friend J is getting sick of helping me throw out my trash (long story; don't ask).

I recently reread 2001: A Space Odyssey. Stanley Kubrick's film was visionary, sure, but the book blows it out of the sky. Score one for Arthur C. Clarke.

In case anyone hasn't noticed, I love the movie Stardust. Watch it if you haven't already. It's The Princess Bride for the 21st century. Yep, I just made a hefty claim.

I still need someone to take my German Shepherd and/or my two cats for a few months. Any volunteers?

Leaving sucks, but traveling is the best thing in the world. I love irony.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Calm; Stay

What should have been deafening roar is uncannily absent. Even a terrified voice counting to four cannot be heard. Only rapid heartbeats assaulting a mind moving too slowly to comprehend can even be felt. Feet scramble for purchase, but are met with only the horrifying, and wonderful, sensation that the sidewalk had ended. Finally, a sound... jumpmasters on the ground barking orders for the first-time paratrooper to quit screaming in the air. A look skyward reveals a parachute wide open and gods not believed in are silently thanked… read more @ Panoramic Mindscapes


Monday, August 17, 2009

Incredible Journeys Home

The Appalachians just west of Asheville are already getting get cold. There is no risk of snow just yet, but the autumn chills are settling in and familiar aches returning. Weather isn't the only reason for the aches, of course, as the memory of a tired and hungry body's journey from the Atlantic coast is still fresh in bones and muscles. It has taken five weeks to get this far, and a desire to return to a Californian mountain lake once called home ensures that aches and pains will be endured for another few months. If, that is, a body no... read more @ Panoramic Mindscapes


Saturday, August 15, 2009

The Face in the Water is Not Mine

Remember the saying? The one about the flapping butterfly starting a hurricane a world away? It's hard not to appreciate so poetic a philosophical sentiment, but it's clearly full of shit. The one about ripples in a pond, though... that one's pretty accurate.

I can't recall the exact way Zen describes it, but it basically amounts to humanity being a pond, and the actions of individuals creating ripples. Ripples that traverse the width and breadth of that small body of water that is the world, affecting others along the way. Of course, we'll never see the distant changes we may cause, but they're there. A bad mood leading to words of anger leads to someone else's sad mood leading to tears, and so on.

And those are just the ripples we can see. Never mind the undercurrents.

I am not, by nature, overly sympathetic to humanity as a whole, but I do understand that everyone is connected somehow. That we are all six degrees apart is no simple drinking game. Or maybe it is, should one be drinking from the pond. I also tend to be overly sympathetic to friends in need, or friends who think they're in need. I've been rock bottom myself, both emotionally and pragmatically, and it's a shitty place to be... even if you're head is still above the water.

For whatever reason, and even I'm at a loss to fully comprehend why, I've been a "go to" guy since early in my Army career. And not just for technical or occupational reasons, but for emotional reasons, as well. Strangely, I usually found myself needing some sort of support from others, but people would still come to me for the simplest of things. The most complex, too, including things that I quite plainly had no experience with whatsoever. But, they came, called, whatever. And I was there. Even if I didn't really care, but don't tell anyone that.

Today, a rather odd thing happened. One of my readers confessed that a blog I wrote helped this person's relationship. I don't think there was any real danger of this relationship breaking up, but it was admitted that they were in a sort of a rut. Honestly, it never occurred to me that my writing had an effect on anybody, much less friends of mine. Sure, I've written things in order to try to cheer people up (see "Other People's Fires"), but they never seem to work. And, to be honest, such pieces were probably only written so I could make myself seem more important than I actually am.

Then again, maybe it's because my writing waxes poetic a little too much, and people take to that. I used to be able to write a fairly sterile piece, but lately I haven't felt like it. Hell, I haven't felt like it ever, probably. There's always some sort of anger, melancholy, false hope, etc. poking its oft-dishonest head into my work. I've been called melodramatic, despicable, crazy, stupid, inane, insane, arrogant, narcissistic, and foolish because of my writing, and while there's certainly some truth to those adjectives, I am most certainly not my writing.

That stated, this is not to claim that pieces of me aren't in my writing, and it's fairly obvious that I've been uncharacteristically "open and honest" in some recent works, but I do try to write in another pond, so to speak. Or, at least, I think I do. Perhaps my lack of sympathy in persona finds its way through fingertips into the gentle tapping of letters on a keyboard. More likely, perhaps I'm just full of shit.

Who really knows? The possibility remains that none of this is for me to decide. There's a point in writing when a piece begins to belong to its readers and no longer its author. Maybe that's what's happening here, maybe not. All I know is I'm staring at ripples distorting the reflection of a stranger.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

North Countries

To the young, the death of youth seems a cause to celebrate. In the summer between graduation and whatever happens next, there's an endless festival of singing and dancing away adolescent inhibitions. A wait begins for the freedom of adulthood that will never come, ultimately replaced by the recognition that the death of youth is cause to mourn.

For one, there is another wait, but of this he is unaware. He remembers its beginning, a day secured in memory. Winds from northern… read more @ Panoramic Mindscapes


Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Lost In Transcription, Part II - Running Away

*Lost In Transcription, Part I - Returning Home

Well, what a year this is. Not two months ago, I had come to the conclusion that I was meant for a life of solitude. I probably still am, mind you, but at least I'm finally aware that "she" really is out there. Long-time readers might roll their eyes at seeing that old use of quotations, but those in the know are aware that the previous use was simply an attempt to hurt someone else... a fool's errand from a childish state of mind.

There have been more than a handful of significant women in my life, and all have made indelible impact. Most negative, naturally, but positive as well. Mistakes were made, huge mistakes, that will undoubtedly never be made again... at least not by me. Earlier this year (last month, actually), I finally pushed through the single greatest obstacle I've ever had to push through in my entire life. No, I didn't make it to the other side unscathed... rather scarred, actually... but I am finally on the other side. And unequivocally so.

My closest friends will describe each of my relationships as unusual, and unusual is as accurate a word as there is. Then again, I'm not exactly usual fare. I've known, without doubt, the kind of woman I've wanted since high school. That may read like melodramatic nonsense, but I've known it to be true for a very long time. Anyone who's been around for the end of one my relationships probably couldn't pinpoint exactly why most of the relationships failed, save for that by the end of them, I wasn't really trying.

Indeed, even with the seven-year travesty that came to close recently, I knew within the first year that I had made a serious mistake. It was only ill-timed travel and reluctant financial interdependence that kept that soap opera on the air six-years too long. I had my sights set on a goal and a dream, and I had been willing to run over everyone and everything to get to it... even my own sanity.

Clearly, such an attitude doesn't work. People need to be accounted for, and I failed to do that. No, I'll be honest, I just didn't want to account for anyone else. And while I don't feel I have much to apologize for, I do apologize for that.

But I don't regret the lessons learned. Every mistake I've ever made brought me to the point I'm standing at now, and I must admit, I rather like the view.

Again, those who know me and know my writing the best already know what, and who, I'm heavily implying here. After all, they've all had to listen to my stories about how we first met years ago, and have all noticed a refreshed attitude and an ultimate desire sneaking its way into my writing, all the way back to "Just Scream." And as I am unabashedly blunt, I don't even care that everyone can see my cards on the table. Life's too short for things to be left unsaid.

Put simply, she was my motivation to break through that obstacle and is my motivation to get the Hell out of stagnant waters. Unfortunately, I've been around the block enough times to know that here is likely where our lives will once again diverge, and my only fear is that I'll never see her again. She's too smart and valuable to share such fear, but then, I doubt I ever crossed her mind as much as she crossed mine over the past 14 years. C'est la vie, and my karma isn't exactly deserving of something so wonderful at this moment in time.

She would say I'm being far too melodramatic, and perhaps I am, but I would warn her not to mistake me for my writing. I am subconsciously aware that she'll be breathing a sigh of relief once I ride off into the sunset again (though she's far too polite to say so), and I've been convinced for some time that a day on the beach was the end of any time together, but none of that really matters.

I got to see her again. Fuel enough for an everlasting smile.

"And the morning would be so cruel when it came,
with sunshine and warmth to blame,
for announcing the end of my sweet dream." - Greg Laswell

Lost In Transcription, Part I - Returning Home

Well, what a year this is. Not two months ago, I expressed the following sentiment: "Don't see myself going active ever again, however, as I really enjoy not wearing a uniform every day. Funerals got a bit too much to handle, too. No more combat arms for me." Funny, then, that I'm now in the process of going back in.

Lying to oneself is a familiar game, I suppose, and nobody who really knows me is surprised at all by the revelation. One of my closest friends likes to point out that I never should have gotten out, since my conscience doesn't handle "not being there" very well. But, seriously, how the Hell was I supposed to know that at the time? It's not like I had a wealth of experience to draw from prior to the first time I joined the military... which was pretty much straight out of high school.

I'm fairly amused by the reactions of friends and family alike. Many former Army supervisors and subordinates responded to the news with unexpected encouragement. I hesitate to claim that I was usually among the best at my job, but quite a few will claim that for me despite my personal misgivings. Still, I wasn't the best soldier as far as adhering to the system goes, and even I'm not so blasé as to not feel a bit flattered by the response.

Naturally, my film/TV industry buddies are against the idea, as are many of my writers. There are a few with the misconception that I'm some artistic talent going to waste, but, let's be real... have I really written or produced anything worth a shit? As far as my writers, yes, there has been quite a bit headway in getting them published, but I'm pretty sure their fear in my returning to uniform lies in the idea that I won't be able to edit and distribute their writing. Sure, I won't be doing it 24 hours a day, but I'll still be around. Red pen and harsh criticism shall be standing by, I assure you.

All that stated, even I'm a big flabbergasted by the relative abandon with which I'm once again pursuing a military career. I'm doing everything I can to clear waivers (I need one for my age... go figure... and one for my oft-broken foot) and am trying to shed as many emotional attachments to my civilian existence as possible. One thing I did know when I got out the Army the first time was that I don't suffer deployment well if my mind is elsewhere.

And therein exists the problem. I have five wonderful pets, and leaving them (even if temporarily) is going to suck. But some things must be done, however undesirable.

There I go again... lying to myself. I'll be able to handle the pets; I've done that before. It's the woman I've been waiting for my entire life that's fucking things up.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009


A slumbering impatience burns away as falling star touches the crown of the world. Light begins to scatter as an aimless journey finally reveals its destination. Joy gives way to melancholy as ground quickly approaches, bringing the realization that this view is being captured for the first and final time.

An all too brief glimpse of beauty, blue and white, as friction melts away fear. Her body, once an imposing reflection in the distance, now… read more @ Panoramic Mindscapes


Sunday, August 9, 2009

Countdown; Carpe Diem

Constant motion is a human necessity. Not quite like a shark's, but without motion, somebody's bound to take a shot at you. Then again, somebody's going to shoot at you anyway. Those little rubber noises flying past the ears are proof enough of that. People like to compare being still to being at peace, and what a load of shit that is. Being still is being dead, and there's clearly a bit of death in the act of waiting. But, like constant motion, constant interaction is a human necessity, and today's itinerary is dependent on what they do… read more @ Panoramic Mindscapes


Friday, August 7, 2009


It's never the ones you suspect, particularly in this game. Decades of Hollywood influence, leading everyone to believe in a false archetype. But the muscle-bound action stars are rare out here, notably absent in the presence of reluctant endurance runners. The young and deceptively terrified whose equipment often outweighs themselves. They're here for whatever reason, or no reason at all. Still, they're here… read more @ Panoramic Mindscapes


Thursday, August 6, 2009

A Kiss by Extension

His hands move slowly, aware of her heightened sensitivities. Lips place themselves against lips, resistant at first, but gradually relaxing. There's a hint that he's tasting her, though she's not quite ready to return the sensation. A tongue rolls gently in circular motion, offering subdued exhilaration in its attempt to encourage. He wants more, but she's unsure.

Her breath is erratic and a gasp further elicits his arousal. She wants time to inhale, exhale, but he will not give it to her. Hands begin to… read more @ Panoramic Mindscapes


Tuesday, August 4, 2009


"Sit. And think." - Auguste Rodin

So sit and think
imagine voices, once calm and strong
but for now just calm… read more @ Panoramic Mindscapes



I'm in a mood. Sue me. And, no, Rodin said no such thing.

Monday, August 3, 2009

Time, Not Place

If you would, accept a little cliche and imagine your lifetime as a single day. Naturally, dawn would signify the beginning of it all, the confused wonder of seeing and doing things for the first time. First steps, first kisses, first mud pies. It is the morning that teaches you fear and pain, not the evening. Dogs have sharp teeth, the stove will burn you, falling leads to bruises and broken bones. If you haven't learned those lessons before the sun starts baking you from overhead, you're in for a world of hurt… read more @ Panoramic Mindscapes


Sunday, August 2, 2009

Reflections on Chapter One

This book is pretty wild, no? The one called Life, I'm talking about. I'm sitting here rereading many of my old ramblings and realizing that I'm reading about a different person. Strange...

A lot of people subscribe to the philosophy that writers should write for themselves. Yeah, fine. Nothing bad can be said about seeing it that way, but that's not what I do. I don't just write for others, I write at others. Or, at the very least, try to. We can avoid the argument about whether I'm successful or not for the time being.

But I do write at people. I'm finding several entries in which I'm being seriously dishonest (read: outright lying) about someone or something for the sole purpose of eliciting a response. Hell, there are a few cases where I use one thing just to piss off another. To be frank, I find those entries rather embarrassing, but at least I know which ones are true and which ones aren't. Several aren't total deceptions, merely partial ones meant to get someone overly nosy off of the trail I left. Though still embarrassing, I find those a bit hilarious, and take joy in my subjective cleverness, but again... I know which are true and which aren't. Can't say my readers do. Not without asking, anyway.

Of course, as most know (or will learn), being dishonest gets rather tiring. My writing has opened up as of late... since early June, I guess... and is definitely as honest as I've ever been. Maybe that's part of the reason I'm always awake: I no longer exhaust myself by maintaining deceptions. Seriously, I'm even having problems writing fiction, strictly for the fact that I know it's not true. Such a reaction is probably overkill, but I'm sure a few of you know what I'm talking about.

I've been scolded in the past for being "too honest" (usually by liars themselves), and so what? I'd rather be known for having secrets than for telling lies. And I have few secrets left, anyway. Why bother? Too many people seem to think their secrets are more important than they actually are and waste precious energy trying to cover them up with lies. Trust me, most of us don't give a fuck, and we're certainly not impressed. Hell, the more I go back and reread my own work, the less impressed I get.

Still, it's interesting to at least see my states of mind at given points of time. When reading a rant, rave, a lie, or a truth, I can remember where I was and what I really wanted to say, if even it was effectively left unsaid. Hidden messages for myself, in some sense. Perhaps I wasn't writing at others, after all. Who knows?

This book's been crazy, that's for sure. It's time for a new chapter... a reboot, in current hip Hollywood parlance. And despite all of chapter one's shortcomings, I can take heart in that I've never settled for second best. Almost did a few times... but never did. I've never followed anyone blindly, never copied anyone knowingly, made all of my own decisions and all of my own mistakes. And I've certainly never been been so dependent on others that I had to dupe a backup into waiting pathetically in the wings, just in case things didn't work out.

Still, I've definitely fucked up over the years. This chapter's ending pretty much how it began, save for a protagonist slightly wiser. Lessons have been learned. Time to turn the page. Maybe I will write this next one for myself.