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Went to Rogers to pay my cell phone bill, came out with this...

My Journey Pt 7: Backtracking, my first time.

I can remember the first time I smoked pot as if it was yesterday, it was March 2003, my dad had just been diagnosed with cancer and I was at my sister's house with Bryan and his friends, we sat around the kitchen table while her boyfriend lathered a rolling paper from a jug of oil, he then broke up a cigarette, gathered up the tobacco and rolled it into an oil joint. I didn't realize that it was oil joint; I wasn't paying attention to the process I just hauled long and hard on the joint when it came my way. I don't smoke cigarettes so needless to say the smoke hit me like a mother fucker and everyone in the kitchen laughed with wildly, my eyes watered, my chest was on fire, the room started to spin. I thought I was going to puke so I bolted to the washroom just in case. Nothing ended up coming up so I left and went back into the kitchen to see that everyone was now in the living room watching a special about Tank Abbot on pay-per-view. My sister's boyfriend was busy rolling up another joint, this time it was pure pot, they lit it up and we began to pass it around.

My world was turned upside down earlier that week, I can remember the doctor calling our house while my mom was out, I asked if I could take a message and he just asked me if he could get her cell phone number. I blurted the numbers out, hung up the phone and went back to watching television in the living room with Chewi. When she got home a couple of hours later there was a look in her eye, she asked our friend to leave the room, I knew something was up then, because she never asked our friends to leave the room while talking to us. She sat down on the couch in her coat with her purse still slung over her shoulder but resting in your lap.

"The doctor called," she said.

We all knew that he had called, we were waiting on pins and needles about Dad's condition, he went into the hospital with a sore back, they had to run tests and so we had to play an unbearable waiting game.

"You're father has cancer," she said with tears in her eyes. "There's a tumour on his lower back and in his lungs, and they can't operate."

It took a second for that first nail in his coffin to hit home, when someone tells you that the man you have most admired for your entire life is going to die, you want to reject what they say, and you want to push the words away as if not hearing them would make them untrue. A massive lump began in my chest as if someone had knocked the wind out of me, it climbed up through my trachea and tried to escape in a moaning wail, I swallowed the grief down to the deepest pits of my stomach but it surged forth anyway, tears and snot flowed and I howled until my throat was raw. What I remember from that night the most is my friend's shoulder as he held me and let me cry.

Sitting in my sisters living room on the floor just in front of a wooden coffee table and just below their television set I hauled on the joint, it burned my already scorched throat but not as bad as the tobacco, I inhaled again and then once more for good measure. It was the first time I sensed the euphoria associated with weed, I laughed at every little joke, my cheeks hurt and my eyes were pied. A happiness washed over me that I thought would never come again it blocked out that soul wrenching sadness of the horrible news that my father's death loomed just beyond the horizon. I lie down on the floor and let my body and mind do its thing, my legs jerked and hands twitched sending vibrations of colour dancing and twirling just before my eyes.

I went home that night, said a quick I love you to my mom and crawled into my warm bed, all of my sensations heightened to the extreme and when I woke up in the morning, that devouring sadness crashed back into me like raging wave upon a coastline as I remembered that my father was still dying.

Love yourself, be kind to yourself.

J-

My Journey pt 6: Valuable Lesson on Loving Myself.

Happy Halloween folks! I hope you all get a good haul this year and are safe at your parties and whatnot. If you're staying in check out AMC, a new zombie television series premiers at ten o'clock tonight. The Walking Dead, I will not be able to watch for I am working, so I`ll have to wait until morning to check it out, nonetheless, check it out.

There wasn`t much to do at Homewood in the downtime but read and smoke cigarettes, so I did the former, however when my eyes were crossed from focusing on hundreds of words for hours on end I fled to the sanctity of the smoker`s pit. The sun beat dazzlingly down on me as I sat next to a woman named Shauna, who`s laugh I can remember to this very day, it was like a titter of a small bird and I tried to draw it out of her as often as possible. It was there while I held and caressed The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, shooting the breeze with Shauna while she smoked that she taught me to love myself. Crows chase one another through the clear skies and I was prattling on about how one cannot truly love someone if they did not love themselves, (advice I picked up from the Buddha book) and she agreed with me. It was then that I declared that I did not love myself, she was the first person I told that I could not bear to look at myself in the mirror for I did not like the man that looked back at me. He was haggard, sunken eyed, mean, and most of all sad, and when I looked into his blue eyes I often wondered where his smile went.

She told me the secret to loving myself was every time I saw my reflection in a mirror, a picture or puddle on the ground, wherever, to tell myself that I love myself. Soon enough that man that you didn`t like to look at would find his smile. She said no matter how foolish you feel, just do it and after awhile you`ll notice a difference. And so I tried it, why not, I was in there to get better and I was willing to do anything, so the next time I had to take a piss, while washing up instead of avoiding my own gaze I looked into my eyes and said "I love you jay." I cannot begin to describe how silly I felt, I was embarrassed and felt like a true knob, however I pushed on with this test and in a few days time I felt an ember of love light in my heart for myself. I walked around the hospital with a smile on my face, people smiled at me, most of all women, I wasn't afraid of what people thought anymore because I was happy with who I was for the first time in a million years! To Shauna, I say thank you for teaching me this valuable lesson, I'm glad I met you and you will always have a spot in my heart.

Be kind to yourselves, love yourselves, you're worth it.

J-

My Journey Pt 5: Lunchtime Mishaps & Grief and Loss

Had a rough week, decided to call it quits with Ashton. Out of respect for her I won't go into detail about it let me just say that I think I need more work on myself. And no, I'm not just brushing the matter aside it is the right thing to do. On a brighter note I submitted The Ward to Apex Book Company earlier this evening, it got to the point where I've read the story over and over and drilled it into my mind and can't think of how to make it better than it is. I am very proud of this one; I put a lot of work into it. It is about a young kid who wakes up in a psychiatric ward to be assaulted by zombies. Cross your fingers and pray that they like the story enough to publish it in their Zombie Anthology. If not though, I'll just have to write something they will take next time.

Anyway back to the summer.

The first day I was allowed to eat in cafeteria was a bit of a mix up, I awoke with my stomach yelling at me to fill it with some breakfast, see I was supposed to head down to the cafeteria however no one told me so I ate one of the breakfasts that was set out on the dining room table, when I finished and my belly was content a nurse told me I was supposed to be down in the cafeteria eating breakfast and at that exact moment a woman in curlers walked into the room and wondered what happened to her meal. Turns out I ate it...well honestly, how the hell was I supposed to know? I went to groups and eventually lunch rolled around, I entered the cafeteria feeling very much like a new kid in high school. I stood nervously in line and waited for a smiling lunch lady to fill my plate with Mediterranean salad and walked away to sit by myself. Ever cut up a piece of chicken with a plastic knife and fork? That shit's tough, the chicken scooted out from under my fork and fell straight into my lap, my face flushed and I looked up to see if anyone had witnessed my buffoonery, a blond girl not three seats away snickered into a napkin. I finished my meal in a lonesome silence and got out of there as fast as possible. I told Matt the story of my woe and he told me that I'd never eat lunch alone again, after that I made new friends an older gentleman from England, his name was Tim, he was tall and had a long purposeful stride. One day, shortly after starting my medication I was eating something that was supposed to be spaghetti and meat sauce, supposed to be! Anyway half way through the meal my stomach started to gurgle, my anus started to pucker up, I had to take a massive shit. I excused myself saying that my medication's side effects were kicking in. Tim laughed and told me to go, and so I did, I ran out of the cafeteria holding my ass in hopes that it wouldn't explode in my pants, the first public washroom that I made it to be locked. Fuck me running I thought, so I hightailed down a long corridor where I knew there was another bathroom, sweat broke out on my brow, my stomach was roiling and the poop was threatening to spill out. I reached the bathroom, it was unoccupied, I slammed the door shut, fumbled with my belt, ripped down my pants and we had touchdown. At that very moment I had never felt such joy, let me tell you. I went back and Tim chuckled as he asked me if I made it, to which I replied barely.

I started a group called Grief and Loss, and yep you probably guessed it, it was a group to show me how to work through the grief of the loss of my father, how to deal with the all of the misery I let build up like rust on the hull of an abandoned ship. I met with the facilitator the same man who ran Spirituality, he was the type of guy you could let all of your walls down and just talk to, an amazing man full of serenity and peace. He told me to show up at group with a letter written to my father, telling him where I was at, at that point in my life and he gave me the permission to become unglued. So I did, he told me that it was going to be one of the hardest groups I've attended and boy was he right, I wasn't ready for the agony that my letters to my dad would dredge up. I've been debating this for some time and decided to share with you my first letter to my dad. I still write to him to this day every once and awhile.

( To Chewi and Bryan if you read this, that anger and resentment I felt toward you is gone and I hope that you aren't mad, but this was how I felt at the time. )

Hey Dad,

It's been awhile since you left and well it seems that I've become lost. I know that you were going to go yet it still hit me like a ton of bricks. I've been buried in depression and have tried to self medicate myself with drugs and alcohol. I guess it didn't work because here I am, seven years later with a habit and in the Homewood. I don't know that I know how to let you go. I think that I have but your sweet face just keeps creeping, front and center into my mind, bringing with it this great sadness that I cannot shake. I still carry anger and resentment towards Chewi and Bryan because as you were passing they were hardly there if at all and I was left to take care of you myself. Don't get me wrong, the last eight months that we spent together I would not trade for anything in the world, for I feel that they brought us closer. I am working on my demons and am hopeful that one day I will be able to remember you as you were, the loving man who swore around a lit cigarette and smiled as you untangled the lines on our rods, not the bag of bones you became at the end. I do miss you with all my heart and soul, for your voice was always one of support and encouragement. I hope that you are happy where you are and I'll see you when I see you.

All my love

Jay.

Be kind to yourselves; love yourselves, thanks for reading.

J-

My Journey Pt. 4: Family Visit and Spirituality

Well Happy Thanks Giving ladies and gentlemen, had a pretty awesome long weekend so far, went to a friend's birthday party got pretty drunk, and came home with wet floor sign and a random Halloween decoration. As I write this the sun has started its decent into the night and ignited the already fiery trees. I want to say thanks to all of you who have emailed me or commented with well wishes, your encouragement and kind words give me the strength I need in these hard times.

Anyway, back to it.

I was granted privileges I was allowed outside for an hour at a time, however every hour on the hour I would have to check in and sign back out just so the nurses knew I hadn't split on them. I began to read, I picked up the Complete Idiots Guide to Understanding Buddhism. It was an interesting concept; it showed me the art of breathing, meditation taking control of situations. The best thing I took away from the book was that nothing is permanent, to the leaves on the trees, to the new born baby, all shall wither away. So I looked at the depression I was fighting and the anger that consumed me in that manner as well, in hopes that those too, would one day go away. From the day I finished that book I started another called Night Watch by Terry Brooks, instantly my love of reading came back to me, I was lost in stories, I devoured novel after novel, it was rare that you'd see me on the grounds with no book in hand.

I started going to groups, although surrounded by a room of people that I had started to build a connection with, I still felt utterly alone. I didn't want to go to groups, because I didn't think I was good enough to participate nor had anything of worth to say. My first group was spirituality, it wasn't about telling me which religion to believe in, it wasn't about brainwashing me into believing in an all powerful God, it was about letting me find out what spirituality meant to me. I walked into the chapel, a tall black man sat on the middle of a table next to a burning candle, and he was bald and had a serene smile on his face as he welcomed people in. Other than a soft "hello" he waited quietly as people filed in and the room filled up. Tranquil music filled the room along with the quiet murmur of people talking amongst themselves. When there were no more seats left, he turned down the music so that it was barely above a whisper and began to talk.

"How many of you," he stood and held up a cell phone. "Have sat at home doing nothing, the phone rings and your friends call you, you answer it and they ask you to do something. And though you aren't busy you tell them you are because you'd rather be alone?"

I looked around the chapel, afraid to raise my hand for fear of being thought odd, however when the entire room put their hands in the air a piece of my heart cried with joy. For the longest time I thought myself alone in my illness, it was right then and there that I came to the realization that there were other people going through what I was going through. I began to share and every time I wanted to share something in the group, I took a deep breath to quiet my pounding heart and spoke, my face flushed and my ears turned hot. Then the oddest thing happened after I spoke; no one laughed at me, no one said that I was a "loser", "dumb", or an "idiot". Relief went through me in waves as I found what I had been searching for, a little piece of my confidence and acceptance.

My brother and Cherice showed up with Lydia along with my mom a few days after that revelation. They came through the front door with smiles that lifted my heart, Lydia climbed out of her stroller and I picked her up, she clung to me with the massive hug only toddlers can give and we walked into the ward. I passed the nurse's station and stopped in the middle of the door way and said "I found a baby," one of the nurses jumped up with concern on her face, she was ready to take Lydia from my hands as if I shouldn't be holding a small child. I laughed and announced that she was my niece; the nurse looked at my brother and began to laugh along with the rest of the staff. Their visit left me cheered, it was the first interaction I had with my big brother where I didn't snap at him, where I didn't blow up and say hateful things, and it left me feeling hopeful that maybe getting better was something that wasn't so far out of my reach. That maybe we two could carry on like we once were, brothers.

It wasn't long after that I met someone who stole my heart, who made my breath catch in my throat with her every smile, it wasn't long after that, that I met Ashton.

To those of you that do, thanks for reading, I finished this at one-thirty-three in the morning full of turkey and pumpkin pie, I took a few breaks in between I guess. I hope you all love yourselves because no matter what, it's what you deserve. Much love to you all.

J-

My Journey Pt. 3 First Days.

So no fancy dance introductions, I'm well, checked out the new vampire movie, Let Me In and am planning on going to do some glow in the dark mini golf today. Okay with that all said and done let's go back.

From here on out the dates get fuzzy so I'll try my best to keep everything in order.

My first weekend in Homewood was uneventful and boring as hell, I thought many times that I'd preferably drive rusty nails into my skull rather than sit around in the lounge with people I don`t know and watch movies, or sit in my room all weekend long and look out the window at a boring brick wall. I was on lockdown, I didn't have privileges and I found out really early on that privileges were like gold. I played backgammon with this young kid, he was shy and soft spoken and I had to get him to repeat everything he said so I could understand what he was saying. The sun shone almost mockingly through the windows as other patients came and went freely with smiles on their faces. The only things I had to look forward to were meal times and visits from my mom.

She was amazing; she showed up everyday tears and all. At first I couldn't talk to her, I was embarrassed by the way I acted, ashamed because I wasn't stronger and heartbroken when I watched tears spill down her cheeks. I had no idea what was going through her mind, I didn't know what she was feeling, she, like me was a tough nut to crack. Yet she came everyday and slowly we made plans to rebuild the relationship bridge that I'd burned down between us. She was my one constant thing I could depend on there and I love her with all of my heart for that.

I wasn't allowed my cell phone; that was cut off from all of my friends, I asked my mom to call some of my peeps and let them know what was going on. No one came to visit and I fell further into depression, I thought that they didn't care; I thought that they had given up on me because I had alienated all of them. The thought that some maybe just didn't know what to do or say never crossed my mind. I received a call from my brother Chewi's (my brother) friend John, and that was the first time I broke down in there, he told me he was where I was at one point in time he told me that it would get better if I listened to the doctors and nurses and did the work. Though my soul was gloomy and I despaired; my heart was lifted.

Mercifully the weekend ended and on Sunday night I met a guy my age that would teach me the way of looking at life positively. He didn`t sit me down and say listen man you have to stick your thumb up your butt and wiggle your tongue just so, or anything magical, he was confident and it rubbed off on me. He walked in like a thunderstorm, his voice was low and straight as a razor and everyone cheered up at the sight of him. He was a bull; and walked like a baseball player. To be honest, at first I was intimidated by him, however as I was walking down the hallway feeling sorry for myself I saw him unpacking his bags, I took a breath introduced myself and learned that his name was Matt.

The next day I was taught a skill invaluable that I still use to this day, journaling. My doctor, the same man with the turban, showed me how to thought journal, every time an event happened and I felt down or angry or happy, I was to write it down and we would discuss if my anger or sadness was justified or whether or not it was all just bullshit. At first I didn't buy into this, I thought it was all malarkey, but I remembered John's words, do the work. And so I did, I chipped away at my mental illness with my pen and note book, I filled those pages every day and I walked around with smile on my face even though I still felt like dying. Some folks had a saying 'Fake it till you make it.'

That was what I was doing faking it, but I longed to be as happy as Matt, I wanted to be the reason everyone smiled again, I was that guy at one point in my life and I don't remember when I strayed from that path. All I know is that it became increasingly difficult to hang out with my friends, I was always stoned, I always worried about what they were thinking about me, thoughts raced through my mind and clogged in my throat so that I couldn't breathe. I must have looked so lost, and I wondered as I realized this, how could no one see it? And if anyone did see this happening, why did no one do a damn thing about it? Yes I was extremely bitter; yes I hated the world and seriously thought about running off and taking my life. However that all changed the day my mom Chewi and Cherice (Chewi`s wife) came to visit with Lydia.

That`s all for now but I`ll be back next week, remember to love yourself and it all will fall into place.

My Journey Pt. 2 Into Rehab I Go.

Freshly showered, sprawled in my bed with Maggie snoozin' beside me I am content. Hell I'm more than content, I guess you could say I'm happier than a pig in shit and it all has to do with the weekend I had. It started off with a long night of work that never seemed to end; however when the sun began to lighten the sky my heart rose because I knew that in just a few short hours I would get to see my love. When I got home, I raced around, showered and urged Maggie to shit as I took her for a short morning walk. With all that done, I hopped into a cab and caught a train to Brampton where Ashton met me and we took off to Orillia for the weekend. It was a weekend full of games, PBR (Pabst Blue Ribbon) and fireside adventures. I ate so much food that my ass filled with a gas that smelt of sewage and had people gagging.

June 23, 2010, I was about half way through Jurassic Park when a man walked in dressed in blue jeans, a black polo shirt and a navy blue turban. He had a big black beard that bordered a sweet smile and kind, understanding eyes. He was a doctor; he sat across from me and asked me the same questions that I had answered at least ten times before. So I fired off the answers verbatim, my story didn't change, I still wanted out, I still didn't think I was fit enough for this world. He asked me what I thought about admitting myself into Homewood on a volunteer basis. My heart jumped into my throat and for a second I couldn't breathe. Homewood, the building has a nasty stigma attached to it. "It's for crazies; you only go there if you're insane." He must have saw my hesitation and explained that Homewood was filled with a different variety of people, and where I would be going, the people would be going through the same things that I was.

I was sceptical, I was terrified, and I wanted to cry. What would my friends think? What would my family think? What would I think? I let everyone down, including myself and I think that is what hurt the most. He could see me struggling with the decision, and said, "How about this, how about you go in, check it out, and if you don't think it's for you, you can leave." I let the suggestion hang on the air for a few moments before I answered and he didn't seem to mind, those kind eyes assured me that this was the best thing that I could do right now, and I thought that since I had come this far I may as well go the whole way, so I agreed to admit myself. I didn't know it then but it was the smartest decision I had ever made in my life.

Even though it was only a couple of blocks to the institution we had to cab there. I walked in, I thought that everyone was looking at me; my heart was a jackhammer. The walls were green a woman with greying hair and glasses gave me a tour of the ward, showed me my room and told me that dinner would be served in a few minutes. I was in a room by myself; I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling. Tears filled my eyes and spilled down my bearded cheeks. I had never felt so alone in my life, the woman came back to let me know that dinner was served, I walked into the lounge where a bunch of people gathered around a table. I sat at the only chair left, introduced myself to everyone and ate in silence while the movie: The Colour Purple played on the television set to my left. With dinner finished I went back to my room to write. Poetry flowed through my pen.

TEARING APART MY INSIDES

It's no surprise these tears are in my eyes,

grey clouds envelop the skies,

my soul is being pulled from all

different sides.

 

It's tearing apart my insides

 

No matter how hard I try,

can't help but cry, my heart

washes away with the ocean's tide

all I want to do is die.

 

Its tearing apart my insides.

 

The wind howls low and morose,

steals away all my hopes

I'm left clinging to thread-

bare ropes, trying desperately to float.

 

Its tearing apart my insides.

 

I slept in that room alone, when I woke the sun was trying to break through the blinds. My mind was sore from a fitful sleep and I lay in bed wondering what to do next. Well the answer came when the door opened, a small woman announced that breakfast was waiting for me and my stomach cheered. I quickly got dressed and hauled ass to the lounge.

I just loaded my stomach with pork chops, mashed potatoes and cauliflower. I'm listening to the new As I Lay Dying album and enjoying the memories of the weekend. Eggs' exploding everywhere, water balloons cannoning through the skies and bellowing swears at bocce balls didn't quite do what they were commanded to. Memories I will cherish always and that will keep me going through hard times. All through the weekend I grew to know Ashton's family and am so happy and glad that they welcomed me with open arms. I look forward to the next one! As for now, this bear hears a couch calling and the current book I'm reading. Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. Take care to whomever reads this and love yourself, I'll be back next weekend, I'm sure of it.

My Journey.

I'm sitting in Ashton's Toronto apartment as the traffic whiffs by on the Don Valley Parkway feeling rather reflective right now, and want to write about my two month stint in rehab and my battle with drug abuse and mental illness. Right now I am stoned, my throat is on fire, and my ears are throbbing little waves of heat. Do I feel good? Well yeah, but I know that in a few hours the euphoria will have vanished like a fall morning mist. My heart is racing with the onset of a panic attack. I say to myself that this is the last time that I smoke weed! It's the third time that the same thing has happened while smoking, and albeit it was less as intense it still fucking sucked. Asthon's friend said something tonight that really resonated with me, "Third time's a pattern." And you know what? She's exactly right, so I'm going to let that soak in to my very marrow. I'm done with weed; I know, I know! I've made the claim before. The temptation was too strong; my heart yearns for this shit. Well I'm going to work very hard at learning how to ignore that silver tongued Devil's voice; I think meetings are in order, because I have to be honest to myself. Somewhere along the line this wonder weed; has become vile.

Let's go back, June 21, 2010 to be exact; I was lying in my bed, just finished a greasy breakfast of eggs and bacon, my mind full of wretched voices. They suggested that I hurt myself; they had been sweet talking me for some months by then.

"Take a knife,"

"Go to the pond,"

"You know the one,"

"The one with the ducks."

"Slit your wrists."

An acrid smoke clogged the air; it dragged my soul down into the blackest depths of despair imagined. An image so vivid stole into my mind; it was of me on a cold slab, draped in a white sheet and my mother stood next to it. Her eyes were red rimmed and swollen from crying and as the coroner pulled the white fabric back she crumpled, there I was, dead and as cold as can be. I sat up in bed, bewildered, furious and devastated. I didn't know where to turn; I didn't know who to call, most of my friends I had alienated in my depression. I pulled my lap top close to me, checked my email for what had to be the twentieth time in as many minutes. When there were no messages in my inbox, something inside of me just snapped and I hammered my fist into my laptop screen. There was a crunch, and then I picked the thing up and threw it across the room. For all intense purposes, the laptop was kaput. I stormed out of my room, kicked the dog crate and it cart-wheeled into the sky, thankfully Maggie was already in the living room by then.

I called for my mother, I told her that she needed to take me to the hospital because I was going to kill myself; her face was full of fear. Somewhere along the line I had punched a hole in the wall. I walked defeated, back into my room, sat on the floor in front of my bed and cried until my mom came in and told me she would take me to the hospital. We rode over in a miserable silence my mind was full of one thing and one thing only, that image of me on that cold slab that could be tucked away into that giant refrigerator.

I think the worst part about that day was sitting in Emergency and talking with the nurse who filled out a suicide form. I had to lay it all out on the table in front of my mom, who stood with her arms cupped in her hands and tears in her eyes. I told about the nurse my plan, I told about how long I had been feeling this way and I couldn't look my mother in the eye. They took us to a small room with purple couches where I fell into a fitful slumber until a doctor came in and fired of pages of questions at me. When he felt like I was no longer a danger to myself he sent me home and hooked me up with something called transitional care. I went and met with the nurse there set up meetings and signed up for groups and then went home.

That night at work was the most worthless I had ever felt, I couldn't keep up with the flow, I couldn't talk to my friends and I treated my big brother as if he was dog shit on the souls of my rubber boots. When I got off in the morning those malicious voices started to croon once more. That evening I was back in the hospital, sleeping in green pants, my shoes, belt and any other sharp object had been taken from me and placed in a white plastic bag. Around one in the morning I was awoken, and taken, sleepily, to a room. I called it the fishbowl, for there was only a bed and a chair, giant windows lined the wall and a video camera was set up in the top left corner. Those days were desolate, I had to piss and shit in a steel toilet, I had to ask to shower and I had to ask for the use of my belongings. I read, played solitaire and listened to someone wail from down the hall every time a visitor came to see her. Was I glad that I was there? Not on your life, but I was glad that I wasn't dead.

With the rising sun I have been pulled out of my stupor, I'm no longer stoned, and I feel in a good place. There is a sense of shame in myself right now that I couldn't be stronger, but I can fight that off with a stick. Every once and awhile I need to remind myself that I am a rock, part of a mountain, therefore I am a mountain. Meaning I'm much stronger than I give myself credit for. I finished this blog first thing in the morning with clear thoughts and the sun beating on my back. I should wake up and get my ass out of bed for I miss my Love's company. They said in treatment to fully recover you need to share your story, so, that is what I'm doing here, I will be back next weekend with more of my journey, until then, love yourself, because you are worth it.

 

My Spirit Soars

I'm sitting here on my bed, my steaming coffee is now just lukewarm, my dog is snoring away and I'm listening to the legend Johnny Cash live in San Quentin. I'm loving life right now, this summer has been hell, and I don't know if I'm ready to put it here, on my blog perhaps one day. I've been doing a lot of reading lately, over ten books in two months, and while reading these fantastic stories I kept thinking to myself that I can do that, I have the creativity to do that. And so I started planning a novel, I outlined it, treated myself to a laptop and began writing it two weeks ago. I am now ten chapters in and I love creating this world and tearing it down any way that I can.

But that's not why I'm here, I'm here to tell you all about a dream I had a few nights back. In the dream my girlfriend, Ashton and I were in this old rickety elevator, it was made of steel mesh and carried us down into this deep darkness. When it finally stopped, we were in this huge cavern, jagged daggers of stalactites hung down from the ceiling. A massive red roped bridge reached out before us over a yawning expanse of a bottomless pit. My fear of heights kicked in, my heart raced; immediately I thought that the bridge wasn't quite up to snuff. There was no way I was getting on that thing, however on the other side, there was an opening where I could see the sun, and if I wanted to get out of the darkness I needed to traverse this wretched bridge. I took a trembling step onto the first plank of wood, the rope creaked and my heart gave way to fear, it pumped the terror throughout my veins. I wanted to be back, however when I turned around there was Ashton, her arms crossed and a look of determination etched onto her beautiful face. She didn't have to say a thing, I knew that she wouldn't let me off of the bridge, so I closed my eyes, turned around, took a deep breath and walked, there we were, suspended over a never ending height, my heart raced and every time that I wanted to stop she encouraged me with a soothing hand on my back. I plodded on determinedly, tears leaked out of my eyes, I was scared shitless. And then, we were across, we were out in the beautiful sunshine, with rolling fields of green and bubbling ribbons of cerulean blue rivers.

I woke up, turned and looked at my sleeping girlfriend, she had stayed with me when the fear was at its apex, and it took the dream as meaning that she would stay with me until I was old and grey. And I in turn will stay with her, and help her over her bottomless pit when she needs me. I fell into a deeper love this weekend, a love that I have never felt before and I never want to end. I will hold her until the sun burns out; she is everything to me and has told me that she feels the same way. My spirit is soaring and hers is right there with me.

Bad Company 2 & Gas.

It's a beautiful thing, having my Word back. Last time I used this it was March the 23^rd and I felt completely lost without it. However I'm back, it's back and I can now continue on with the story that has been going on inside of my head for days now.

Let me just go off on something for a second, Battlefield Bad Company 2. I mean wow, holy shit and sweet-fuck. This game is so fast paced and action packed that sometimes my mind doesn't know which direction to turn. It's been slowly sucking out my soul since my Word went down, who couldn't help but be fixated on all of the beautiful explosions? Who wouldn't be amazed at the fact that you can blow a building to Hell instead of going around it? There are epic helicopter, tank and sniper battles going on at all times. Absolute craziness!

That's my geek moment of the day I believe.

For the past three days I've been assaulting my co-workers with my ass. Maybe it was all those pizza-pockets that I ate, maybe it's all the fruit I've been eating, or maybe, just maybe they mixed and created a little monster in there whose belches through my sphincter a smell so horrible, so foul that even I choke. I would be working, going through the monotonous actions of scraping totes while blowing ass and then I'd give it a few seconds while chuckling to myself as I await their reactions, I'd casually look at one of the guys, and he'd have a grimace on his face, and I'd laugh. They called me a sic son-of-a-bitch, but it's not like I can help it, because I had the feeling that if I held them in much longer, the gas would expand and I would explode, now we wouldn't want that happening, would we?

Happy Easter folks!

J.

Pork Chops.

I woke up this morning and it felt like someone set fire to the inside of my chest, swallowing hurt, and my breath came in ragged wheezes. It has given me time to catch up on some much needed reading; I went to the library yesterday to return my books that were a day late. I figured I was there so why not grab another book? Picked up a Terry Brooks novel and I had to pay a twenty-five cent fine for the late book, I read Brooks all through high school, his works take up a lot of my bookshelf, and just like in high school I can't put this one down, the book is called The Elves of Cintra in the Genesis of Shannara series. Okay if any of you out there reading this right now are looking for a really amazing fantasy series check out the Shannara series.

I took some cough medicine for the first time since I think childhood, and it still tastes like complete shit. However it has quelled the forest fire in my chest to a dull glowing ember and now I'm lazing around watching The Chronicles of Riddick on the Space Network as I type this. I can smell a mixture of coffee and pork-chops, it smells amazing. On the one day off that I had this weekend I took in the new Alice in Wonderland, all I can say is that Burton took us back, if you haven't seen the movie yet, I may or may not call you lame, but in all seriousness, check the film out.

I've been discouraged as of late in my writing, well for the past two days anyway. I don't know what it is but when I sit down in with my Lappy and bring up the word document that is called Medea at the moment, it is always as if the cursor is mocking me, daring me to break out the big guns, I know I can do it, hell I've done it before many of times, I just can't seem to make myself write anything of substance and I don't know why. Maybe it's a case of me not believing a character? Could that be possible? Perhaps I need to build him more before I can write him; if I'm questioning this character does that mean he should be kicked out the fucking story? Oh shit, the pickles that come with the craft. Maybe I just need to close my eyes, stop worrying about everything and just write the fucking story.

I can hear the sound of rattling plates and clattering silverware, pots are being moved around on the burner, I can just see the mouthwatering pork-chops coming out of the oven. Mashed potatoes….with butter….oooooohhhhhh!

J.

Free Write.

Alright so basically what I'm going to do is, time my self for five to ten minutes and during that time I'm going to write, whatever comes to my mind will go down on this blank word document. I'm trying to work on my story but I am stuck, almost as if I'm in a bog and need to fire up the ole imagination machine. Okay are you ready? Strap in tight, were going to go on what may potentially be a bumpy ride…

Where hanging from the ceiling, monstrous bats slumber peacefully, swaying slightly back and forth. At the heart of the Cavernous room sat a small machine, no bigger than a toaster, wires flowed from it like tentacles some were see through others were just pure black like audio cables, and some wires were nothing but particles that fed the power straight into the little machine.

We flee from machine and start to proceed through a long cylindrical tunnel, zooming through it so fast that I think my eyes are going to be mashed into my brains. I shut my eyes tight and cry, when I open them I'm in a small room with navy blue carpets and white walls, the room is only big enough for a bed, and I could hardly turn around inside of there. All at once a loud alarm started to blare, a blue light started to pulse so brightly that I had to shield my eyes so that I wouldn't go blind. There was a hissing noise and then steam billowed up from the door way, a small man cut through the fog, he looked at me with a face that was filled with hundreds of eyes.

Something entirely different:

He looked her straight in the eye, hers dropped to her cell phone that began to chime and a frown creased her lips. He stalked over to where she was sitting on the couch, tore the phone out of her grasp and when he saw who was calling threw the phone against the living room wall.

    "How many times do I have to tell you? Never speak to that boy again!" He snarled and his eyes glowered.

    "But Daddy," She said with tears flowing down her slender cheeks. "That's not fai—"

    His hand snaked out and slapped her before she could finish the sentence; she stood and stared at him in shock, and reached up to ease that stinging sensation just above her cheek.

    "I'll tell you what's fair and what isn't fair." He growled, as he unbuckled his belt, slipped it through the loops of his pants and then wrapped it around his fist. "Your mother would be rolling around in her grave right about now!"

 

Lets get out of that frame of mind and close this little experiment with me saying thank you for reading and I hope you all are well!

J.

What happened to Tuesday the 9th?

I'm sitting in my smoke filled room, my lungs are burning and Sports Center is on. There is a plate of cheese and crackers sitting on my computer chair that is being eyed inquisitively by my droopy faced dog. My life is topsy-turvy right now, okay, so my days are my nights and my nights are my days, fucking graveyard shift. Yesterday night while waiting for the bus, I looked at my cell phone, and saw that it was Wednesday the 10^th, and I wondered what-the-fuck-happened to Tuesday the 9th? I had to text my friend just to see if it was actually Wednesday, she said that it was and I was so lost that I wish I could have seen the puzzled look on my face.

I've completely misplaced Tuesday, I have no recollection of it whatsoever, and could it be possible that I walked around the entire day in some sort of daze that prevented any memory of the day? Or has someone snuck into my room while I slept the day away, and erased the day from my mind? Maybe something so significant happened on Tuesday and I can't remember it, that would suck. However I'm more apt to lean toward the former assumption rather than the latter. All joking aside, it has been a weird couple of days and I'm rater flummoxed about it.

Found out tonight that we had a mandatory overtime shift dumped on us on Friday night, so the plans that were made to go see Alice in Wonderland are completely out the god damned window. I'm so pissed off, one of other main reasons I took the job was so that I could have weekends off. On the other hand it is $17.50 per hour and I can make a pretty good hunk of change. So I'll just have to grin and bear it.

Alrighty, I'm hittin the ole hay, until next time friends.

J.

Silver Lining

This morning, we took our last break as the sun was climbing the sky, the clouds rippled orange and purple as The Guys I work with stood and smoked cigarettes and I sat in a chair and took in the masterpiece that is the sunrise. I can't explain why I love the sunrise more than I do a sunset? Is it because seeing such beautiful imagery in the West has become dull to me? Maybe, I really don't know the answer.

The morning air bit at our exposed skin as we sat in our rain paints and rubber boot, but we didn't mind because in just an hour, we'd be on a bus and out of there for the day. When that time came we jumped out into the chilly morning and walked the long road to the bus stop, bullshitting our way there. When it arrived we hopped on and claimed our spots at the back of the bus. But there was an interloper; she was a small girl with gray University of Guelph sweat pants on, pretty cute too, she just sat and listened to her ipod as we talked about Tommy Lee's autobiography and how talks from the perspective of his dick, if she minded, I guess she would have left.

The vibrations of the bus sent me in and out of a doze, I could have slept right there but for the fear of my snoring. There are only the three of us left from the original six who were hired on two weeks ago; I guess the turnover rate at this place is quite high. But I don't understand it, what is so hard about straightforward work? What do people have against working their asses off to make money? Are they lazy? Perhaps they are, at least that is what I think. I don't know about you but after working a tough eight hour shift, I love leaving work feeling the satisfaction that I worked as hard as I could, I threw more jerk-off jokes the fellas than they did at me, and that I get to go home when the morning guys are just starting their eight hours.

I remember in grammar school, this girl read a speech about finding the silver lining in everything, and I remember thinking the whole idea of it was stupid, fuck the silver lining. However I've grown up since then and realized silver linings when I see them. Maybe the one around this new job was meeting these guys that I'm now working with, so that they could teach me how to open up just a smidge more. Or if you want to look simply at it, it could be the fact that I now have a job to put a roof over my head and food in my and my dog's stomachs.

J.

Pancake Interruption

What's new with all of you? Well With me? I got a new job! I'm jacked, I mean to forty hours a week at eleven dollars an hour, I missed the opportunity last time, I and like Sydney Crosby against the Swiss I wasn't going to miss this one, Crystal the woman who hired me, calls just as I was sitting down to a great big ham sanwhich, toasted and everything and asks if I want a job, I said yeah and started Wednesday night. Who knew that I'd be back in a factory sweating my balls off in big yellow rain slickers and blue steel toed rubbers? Who knew I'd be happy to be so?

Now I can actually go out and have a life, hang out with my friends and who knows one day I may even drag my ass out of my mom's house, I want to enjoy the taste of independence again. Although it may be a little scary now that I pull myself free of this mountain of self doubt I pulled down around me, and awkward as fuck, because as some of you out there know that I can say some really weird shit some times, I'll get through and I'll be my old self in time, but now with a purpose.

I can buy more shit for my dog and cat, a new winter coat for Maggie or something, last night I took her for a walk, and so much snow had fallen that it reached up to her shoulders, so she was doing this kind of hop-run thing, I walked her down to the pole, (a light pole with a yellow wire guard) I know that I should take her on a proper walk, but lets face it, it's was snowing and blowing and we both wanted to get out of the cold. So we turn around and start walking home, I'm only in my broken down Element shoes and she shoots off without warning, I almost corn-dog it, but at the last second I pulled out of the swoon. She looked up at me with those guilty bug eyes of hers that make me think, she's so ugly she's cute. We get in out of the cold and she tears around the house like she does after being out in the cold. I went into my room and then, my mom comes in after awhile and says "I made pancakes." And think oooh pancakes. So I go in get a stack, butter em' up and drench em' in syrup.

I sit down and start to eat, I can hear Maggie's tags clinking together out in the hall, I always think that when she's not around she's up to no good, that's not normally the case, but I can't help but think it that she's up to something, so I stand up and walk out into the hall where she's taking a shit, and looking up at me with happy eyes. I bellow her name "Maggie" and she shoots off, I set my plate on a counter as I grabbed a square of paper towel and picked up the single log laying on the hall floor. With that done I went back to my pancakes.

I tuck in, I eat the pancakes with relish and rather pissed off that the dog just shat in the house, and then she comes in and just starts staring at me. I look at her and she groans in her throat. I firmly believe that this is her trying to communicate, I mean she does this shit all the time, I break the stare down and go back to my stack of delicious pancakes, I see her get up out of the corner of my eye, and then I hear this sound. A sound that probably grates on everyone's nerves in different ways, it was the sound of Maggie puking. I looked at what was just regurgitated by my dog and then I looked at my pancakes and thought yum. I set the plate aside, for the second time that night and grabbed a wad of paper-towels, because if my fingers touch that shit I'm going to puke. I grab carpet cleaner and on my hands and knees I scrubbed dog vomit out of my carpet, while she looked at me with sorrowful eyes that you can never stay mad at. When I got back to my pancakes they were cold and I was saddened. Not really but cold pancakes suck.

I'll be back soon, talking about other random shit, maybe I'll post some work on here next time, I did just finish the fourth draft of this story called Silent House, who knows?

J.

Love of Writing

Alrighty then, where to start?

First and foremost, I posted a story on here titled "In the headlights of an '87 Buick", and I just want to say to all of you who actually read the piece of shit that I'm sorry for posting it. I read over the first few pages the other day and was aghast at how terrible it was. Some might say "it's really good though." And I'd probably just laugh, the story was alright, but the characters were lifeless as hell. I wrote it last year, apparently when I didn't know much about writing. As of late my nose has been buried in books and my fingers have been dancing across my keyboard in hopes of getting better, and I feel that I am. I now attack writing with such ferocity that it exhilarates me. I've been working on making my characters more three-dimensional and different ways to structure my stories in hopes that one day I will be the best. It's really true what they say (whoever they are) that you really only do get better by writing.

Failure is another way of learning, a couple weeks back I opened my email just before bed and there was a message in my inbox from Weird Tales, telling me how sorry they were that they couldn't accept my submission of '87 Buick. If you think I was devastated you're wrong bucko, I was overjoyed my first real rejection letter, that's one under my belt, I remember thinking that I can only get better and the next day I sat down at with my lap top and attacked the story I had been working on at the time with a viscous determination that the this one would be a feature story somewhere.

My love for writing? Where did it come from? Well I think it was rejuvenated this Christmas when I opened up a gift from my mother; it was Stephen King's new tomb Under the Dome. I mean this thing is the size of a fucking doorstop, it started out fast and I felt my heart racing while I read the damn thing. It started out one-hundred miles an hour and I remember thinking there is no way that he could keep the pace but he did. I had nightmares of being trapped inside and dealing with all of the crazy shit that was going on in the book. If you haven't read that book, go out and pick a copy up. It has come close to being one of my favourite King novels. (The Stand is still my favourite by far!) Anyway while I was reading Under the Dome I realized something, I want to do that, I want to make your hearts race while reading my stories, I want to send you to slumber land, have my monsters take over your dreams and make you wake up screaming at night with sweat on your brow. I realized something else right after that; I will do that one day.

So I went about doing it, I opened a note book I had and started to write stories every morning and haven't stopped. I feel that I'm finally getting the knack for the craft and really enjoy weaving the story lines together. I used to want become a great story teller and had this hope in the back of the mind that with some sort of magic it would get itself done, but then it dawned on me the only magic in story telling is the way your fingers tell what your brain is seeing. I'd get discouraged way back when and would give up after thirty minutes of writing, now however I will write until my fingers cry for a break and my coffee turns cold, I'll walk my dog and then go back to it. One day when my books are on the bestseller's list those of you who read this can say, "Hey, I read his blog from when he was just starting out" Or some shit like that, anyway I'm outta here my dog is crying at me and crossing her legs, I guess that means she needs to piss.

Thanks for reading friends.

J.

In the Headlights of an '87 Buick -conclusion

Ladies and gentlemen, here is the conclusion to In the Headlights of an '87 Buick. I hope that you like it, let me know what you all think. Please feel free to post any comments you like, bad or good, I'm looking to grow here.

Two men peeled out of the small parking lot in front of the Dollar Store. One of them was fat with a walrus mustache.
He wore a black leather vest and his arms were spattered with faded tattoos. The other one was a skinny guy that bore a ugly scar on his face. It started from his forehead and ran over his left eye and stopped just above his jaw line.
They were feeling on top of the world--they had just robbed the old Chinese man that owned the Dollar Store. They walked to the entrance door and Skinny pulled a gun from his waistband and held it slyly at his side.
He walked into the Dollar Store calmly and walked up to the front desk. A man stood there smiling and was about to ask him if he could help him in any way--that’s when Skinny raised his gun and shot the man between the eyes. A woman screamed in the back and Fatty ran towards the cry. He came back with an old Chinese man and woman, his gun pointing at the man’s head. He made them stop in front of
Skinny, jammed his gun into his waistband and punched the old man in the gut. Fatty pulled out a knife and rested the blade on the woman’s throat.
“Fatty, if he tries any of that crazy China shit on me,” Skinny said pointing at the man on his knees, “tear her throat out.” He walked behind the register and stepped over the dead cashier and tore the loot out of the till. He
jammed it into his pockets and walked back to where the man was kneeling. “Do it, Fatty,” he said.
Fatty savagely ripped apart the woman’s throat with a rusty blade and streams of red jetted up in bloody gouts spraying the Doritos stand. She gurgled as crimson surged and fell to the floor.
The man started screaming hysterically in Chinese and bent over his dead wife. He covered the gaping wound in her throat and attempted to stop the bleeding. He didn’t see Skinny pull the pistol from his waistband, and he didn’t see the bullet that shattered his brains all over a bag of Ring O Lo’s.


*


The rumbling that was an echo at first grew louder and louder as two bikes approached. Gertrude snatched at her bra and quickly put it on. All that Guy could make out at the moment was the vastly different sizes of the men. His heart started to quicken as they parked their bikes next to his old Buick. He saw the skinny one look into his car and
then he watched as the fat one tapped the skinny one on the shoulder and pointed to where they were.
“Say, Fatty, look at these two love birds.”
Skinny sauntered over to where they were sitting hand-in-hand on the blanket.
“What do you guys want?” Guy asked.
Skinny’s scar shone in the moonlight. He kicked Guy square in the face. Lights. Pretty little lights--pink, purple, and white. He opened his eyes and was shocked to see that he was face down on the picnic blanket. Sharp throbbing pain erupted above his right eye. He tried to get up but a motorcycle boot hammered his ribs. White hot pain flared as his ribs splintered and punctured his lung. Fatty pounced on Gertrude and ripped her bra off and groped her breasts with his grimy hands.
“You better not do that,” Gertrude said calmly.
“Shut your hole, bitch.” Fatty backhanded her and sent her reeling. She doubled over dizzy and she heard the sound of a zipper. “I’ll shut up real good,” he said as he grabbed a fist full of her hair and forced her down to her knees.
He didn’t see Gertrude’s fingernails turn into claws and he didn’t see her teeth turn to fangs. He tried forcing
his engorged hairy manhood into her mouth. She jumped and fixed her razor-jagged maw on his throat. She clenched her teeth as hard as she could and tore it away. Scarlet erupted in a geyser. Fatty fell to the ground and tried to stem the flow, but it was too late, his life blood was spilling out onto the dirt road beneath him.
Her face was spattered red, and she walked slowly to where Skinny was trying to gouge out Guy’s eyes.
Skinny began to rain blow after blow down onto his victim; he enjoyed how his knuckles dug into the skin of people’s faces. He raised a fist, ready to send the kid into next week, when a hand clenched his wrist from behind and with one swift motion it hoisted him in the air and chewed his throat away.
Guy couldn’t believe his eyes. The thing started slurping the blood flowing from the neck, and when there was no blood left in the body, it tossed the corpse away as if it were a rag doll. Guy sat up; every breath he took tormented him and ended off in a lame wheeze. He looked at the dark form standing above him.
It was Gertrude. Her eyes shone like headlights on a long forgettable highway. Blood flowed down from her mouth, down her throat and over her exposed breasts. The moonlight
bounced off her golden locks and the blood shone chillingly in the light. Fat tears fell down her cheeks; it was then that he realized that he would never see someone as beautiful again.
“Gert…” he gasped
“You better run, blood has been shed. I will not be able to contain myself,” she said.
“But…”
“Run!” she screamed
Guy stumbled to his feet, and began to run as fast as his feet would permit. He vaulted the twitching body of the fat biker and ran to his car. He turned the key in the ignition, and with a cough, it started. He stomped on the gas pedal and gravel flew from his back tires and pelted Gertrude as he sped away.


The small form of Gertrude stood in the rear view mirror; her hair shone in the moonlight. He drove until he could no longer see her, and when he could no longer see her, he drove some more. His breath was getting shallower and he was beginning to feel light-headed. Eventually he hit the city limits sign and it was only then that he allowed himself to take his eyes off the mirror.
And as he did, in the distant darkness of the ’87 Buick’s rear view, two silver eyes floated and bobbed in the air.

In the Headlights of an '87 Buick

Hey everyone, long time since I used this thing, I've been working on stories and well I just thought that I'd show you one of em. This one is called In the Headlights of an '87 Buick. This isn't the complete story, though I'll post the rest of it maybe tomorrow, or the day after. I did submit this one to a mag, they said no, oh well, one of many rejections I'm apt to have it I want to be a writer. Enjoy ladies and gentlemen.

In the Headlights of an '87 Buick
By: Jason Inglis

It was twilight; the sun was a bold orb and washed the neighbourhood in a bright orange. Red, blue and purple clouds blanketed the sky and the shadows of trees wrapped around buildings like fingers, trying to grasp and hold the
city in darkness. This would be the perfect time to take her out into the country, he thought. The mid-July day had been so hot that it melted candles in the apartment, and it wasn’t going to get any cooler in the evening. Guy Lapointe’s t-shirt clung to the heavy layer of sweat on his back. He looked out of his living room window anxiously, checking his cell phone every five minutes, just in case he didn’t hear it chime and missed a text message from her.
The sweltering living room consisted of a chair that sat by the window with cigarette burns and beer stains on it. There was a couch in the middle of the room with a fat guy on it; three fans ran at the same time, trying to cool the temperature down to a bearable level. His roommate John sat on the couch wearing nothing but shorts; he said that it was too hot for a shirt today. John was big--he had a belly of rock and arms of stone--and his chest was covered in what looked to be dark coarse fur. Guy often told John that the reason he was so hairy was because he was the shunned offspring of some wookie tribe.
John had a white headset glued to his ear and a videogame controller in his hands. On the television screen in front of him he was playing a shooter game and killing anyone that stepped into his sniper’sscope. Guy saw someone running
across the screen and watched as John led the guy with his crosshairs. There was a bang and the guy fell to the ground in a spray of blood.
“Holy shit, dude!” he cried.
“Pshhh, that ain’t nothin’,” John said laughing.
It was true; Guy had seen John make some really good shots, mastering the controls and all the while slurping a Dr. Pepper and clumsily shoving Cheetos in his mouth. John was paid to play videogames. He was part of a team that competed in tournaments where he would stand on a platform covered in neon lights while slaughtering kids from different teams on 50-foot screens.
Guy checked his phone again and John looked over and snorted at him.
“Dude, relax. She said she’d text you before coming over, so she’ll fuckin’ text you,” John said.
“Yeah I know, but she hasn’t texted me all day. I sent her a message this morning and nothing. She always takes forever to respond.”
“Dude,” John said looking at the television set and picking off another unfortunate soul online. “Like I said,
relax. You’re acting like a lost little puppy right now.” He got onto his knees and brought his hands to his chest,
bent them downward at the wrists, and panted like a dog. “Hey, when are you coming back, huh? Huh? Can I come with you? HUH? HUH? Girls don’t want that shit man.”
Guy laughed. How would you know what girls want? All you do is play videogames all day long and smoke weed and drink every night, he thought, but would never say.
“Okay, I get it . . . but I think I’m starting to like her,” Guy said, not able to look his friend in the eye.
“You’ve only been out on one date, and that was to a movie, and she had to go home right after. Dude, I’m going to say it again: relax.” Then John’s nose wrinkled into a snarl. “FUCK ME!” he screamed as a little kid with shaggy hair somewhere in Edmonton, Alberta, picked him off.

*

Often he found his thoughts wander to the night when they first met. He was out with John and a couple of friends at a bar doing a pub quiz, one where if you answer all the questions right you win a pitcher of beer. As they walked
into their drinking hole, a drunken girl staggered by with a pitcher and four pint glasses. She sat at a table with four other girls shrieking laughter. John looked over and tipped a chubby blonde girl a wink.
The bar was a maze of people, and Guy found himself doing crazy dance moves just to get by them all. He came upon a tall guy in front of him with tattoos all over his neck and arms. He tried shifting to the right but there was a girl with dreadlocks dancing to Boston’s More Than a Feeling as it rolled out of the speakers. He then tried the left but a bouncer was standing in front of a drunken dude who had a large wet stain down the front of his pants. John put a hand on Guy’s shoulder and stood behind the big guy with the tattoos.
He tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey man,” he said, patting the big guy on the back. “Mind if we get through?”
The big guy broke into a wide smile as soon as he saw that it was John and moved aside and let them through.
They walked out onto the patio; people were crammed into the tables that were sporadically placed around the spacious patio. There was only one seat left, right next to the back door, the door the bouncers threw people out of every once and a while. They grabbed a piece of paper and sat down.
Usually they only won a single pitcher of beer a night, but this night was going exceptionally well. They were three pitchers ahead by the time they decided to leave. John went back to the chubby blonde girl’s house and Guy headed off home.
Guy was walking down the street, his head swimming and his body vibrating. I’m drunk, he thought. No, I’m hammered. “No I jumped into a catapult and hurled myself way past hammered. I’m fucked up,” he said aloud as two girls walked by him giggling. He took his hat off as they passed him and he shouted “Merry Christmas!”.
He didn’t remember the walk being this long. He bobbed and weaved down the sidewalk, then stopped and wobbled at the curb. He made sure there were no cars coming and ran across in a jagged dash. There was a trail that Guy and John used to take home. When he came to the entrance, he stopped scared. He wasn’t scared of monsters or crazy people that might live in there during the night, rather he was afraid of the black that started as the orange of the street light faded. He looked down the path and at the end of the ink black trail he could see a faint orange glow of the street light that waited on the other side. Something inside him screamed this is fucking scary, dude. He laughed at himself for being childish and he entered the trail as darkness consumed him.
As he went deeper into the trail the light on the other end grew brighter and brighter. He raised his hand to his face and wiggled his fingers. He felt the tiny tufts of wind against his face but could see nothing. His heart started to quicken. He heard wind blowing and a twig snapping and jumped. Buddy it was probably just a squirrel or something. To which another replied, Squirrels come out in the day, jerk off, not at night!
“Oh man,” he cried and started to pick up his pace. At the halfway point, the trees grew thinner and the moonlight shone, brightening the path a little bit. Something in his stomach lurched and his mouth began to fill with iron-tasting water; he spat it out as he walked. He placed his hands on his head and tried to will the vomit that threatened to spew forth down. He thought he had it licked, and then he gagged and up came the Kraft Dinner he had for supper. The moonlight bounced off half digested wieners. He puked again, and just when he thought it was over he was
sick once more. He stood up and wiped his mouth with his forearm. As he raised his head, he noticed a shape in the middle of the path—a girl. She stopped in a patch of moonlight with a frown on her face.
“I puked,” he said.
“I saw,” she said, the moon illuminated her golden curls. Her lips were full and her eyes shimmered and twinkled silver in the moonlight. He had never seen silver eyes before. Must be contacts, he thought. He felt his knees unhinge and before he knew it he was looking up at her.
“Oh dear, you’re a mess. How far are you from home?” she asked.
“Five mishushts,” he slurred.
She bent over, grabbed him under the arm pit and hoisted him onto his feet. She was surprisingly strong for such a small girl.
“I won the three pitchers of beer tonight,” he said proudly.
“Yeah and you just puked two of em’ up in that ditch over there.”
“My name is Guy,” he said leaning on her shoulder.
“Gertrude,” she said.
“That’s different, idn’t it?” he asked
She laughed. “You’re wasted, Guy.” the rest was a blur. He remembered her standing with him at the front of the apartment, and he remembered hearing the fluttering of a moth’s wings against the street lamp above. He also remembered John’s voice in his head screaming at him to ask for her number, all that came out of Guy’s mouth was mumbling.
“Canihasf…number?”
She smiled and reached into her purse and produced a pad of paper and a pen, wrote down her digits, gave them to Guy and told him to call her any time.
Guy examined the number for a couple of seconds. “Well good night,” he said and turned around, opened up the apartment door and slipped inside. He was so drunk that he didn’t even notice the blood on her shirt.

*
That was a week ago, and now he waited in anticipation for her to get back to him. His heart was beating quickly in his chest, and he tried to do what John had told him. Relax. But it just wasn’t working; he didn’t like waiting so long to talk to her. His mind pictured her with another guy, kissing and stroking her sweaty body. Then another image emerged, one of her laying face down in a ditch,
pants around the ankles and blood covering her thighs. Maybe she is busy working, a voice inside his head said, blasting away the grotesque image in front of him. Maybe she has classes all day long, because she is working her ass off trying to get through med-school. His mind allowed him to think that was the case.
The sun was half way down. The shadow’s grasp of the city was tightening and still there was no reply from Gertrude. He stood up. The anticipation was like slowly driving a rusty nail into his skull. He grabbed a CD, threw it in the player and pumped up the volume. Robert Plant sang about a Stairway to Heaven out of the speakers of a sleek Sony CD player. The room filled with the sweet sounds of Led Zeppelin and Guy sat back down in his spot.
“Yeah, now we’re talkin’!” John said and began to sing, “When she gets there she knows if the stores are all closed with a word she can get what she came for.”


The sun was a small crescent on the horizon when his cell phone started to chime and dance. He snatched it up off the table beside him, he opened up her text. It read:

I’LL BE TEHRE IN 5,
CAN’T W8 2 C U

“She’s on her way, man. Put a shirt on, put a shirt on dude,” Guy said.
“Why?” John said looking around.
“Because man, it’s her first time meeting you,” Guy said.
“So? Who the fuck cares?”
There was a knock on the door. Guy walked over and turned the handle. There stood Gertrude. She was wearing tight-fitting jeans that were rolled at the ankles revealing Canvas sneakers. The light in the hall glowed off of her golden locks and her eyes were still that striking silver.
“Hey,” he said. “Come on in and meet my roommate.”
She came in and saw John sitting shirtless on the couch, sweat gleaming beneath his chest and shoulder hair. His brow was sweaty and he was focused intently on the videogame he was playing.
“Hey,” she said nervously.
“What’s up?” He bellowed and offered his hand to her, belly swaying as he did so. She shook his sweaty hand and he went back to killing people online. “Die you fucker,
how’d you like that? Sniped you from across the map, biotch!”
”Well,” Guy said. “That’s our cue.”
“Ok, well it was nice meeting you, John,” she said.
“You too, eh!” he said, brow furrowed in concentration.
He led her to his car, an ’87 Buick. The wheels were worn bald, and rusty holes appeared sporadically around the wheel wells. The passenger side mirror was someone’s old personal bathroom one that was duct taped on top of the original broken one beneath. It coughed and protested as Guy turned the key and with a couple more sputters and farts, it started.
“Well I intended to take you out to the country and show you the sunset, it’s amazing out there. But it’s a little late for that,” he said.
“Yeah, class went long today, I’m sorry. We could still go out there if you wanted to,” she ventured shyly.
“Yeah sure, why not?” he drove through the city of Guelph. Darkness had finally taken over. The street lights were lit in protest and the moon shone its white light on the tops of the buildings they passed. He left the city limits and drove down a deserted road. There was a silence for a while; all that could be heard was the noisy engine ‘
of the Buick. As an attempt to distract from the sound he asked, “What are you taking in school?”
“Well I’m majoring in art history and as of late I’m working in the studio a lot,” she said. “I mean, my days are always spent in that studio examining my own work, trying to find out how to make it excellent. I have this show at this gallery coming up. Really nervous about it. They want to feature all of my work. The thing is I am a huge perfectionist. I’ll tear up my work if I think it’s a piece of shit, but yeah.
“Hey, you mind if I smoke?” she said.
“Not at all” he replied. “So an art show, eh? When is it?”
“The beginning of August,” she said, inhaling her cigarette and exhaling the smoke out of her nose, shuttering as her nose stung. “This guy name Michael Dowling who owns this art store saw some of my stuff one day when I was shopping for some paints. He asked if he could look at my portfolio and I told him sure. Long story short, he came to my studio and loved what he saw. He offered to talk to the man in the art gallery about my work and the next thing I knew the phone was ringing and he said I had a show. I didn’t know how to reply, it all happened so fast, and now I’m working my ass off in the studio every day to get it finished.”
“That’s so fucking cool.” The Buick came to a rattling, jolting stop. He parked the car, turned it off, but left the headlights running and got out. She followed suit and got out, as well. He opened the backseat door and picked up a picnic basket and blanket. He walked out into the field lit up by the car’s headlights, unfolded the blanket and laid it upon the fresh grass. Something blocked out the headlights and when he turned around, there she stood silhouetted in front of them. Her silver eyes were the only things that he could distinguish on her. She walked over to him and they both sprawled out on the blanket.
The sky was black velvet. As they lay there listening to the crickets singing in the background, purple and pink streaks of lightening forked across the sky illuminating the tree line and clouds surrounding them. “Well at least we get to see some sort of show from nature, eh?” he said.
“Are we going to be safe here?” She asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Guy said.
She smiled and leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. His heart belly-flopped in his chest; his skin tightened and the hair on his arms stood on end. She brought a hand to his face. It felt as if it had been buried in snow for days. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. He could feel her cold skin through her clothes.
“Jesus, you’re freezing,” he said
“Well warm me up, Guy.” Her silver eyes screamed Come get me.
He kissed her again, this time hard, and ran a hand slowly up under her shirt to her breasts. His heart beat harder and harder with every inch of cold skin that he explored. He peeled off her shirt and kissed her neck, the icy skin melting with his every breath. She began to breath heavy and thrust her breasts into his face.
A soft rumbling sound of motorcycles echoed in the distance, but the two didn’t notice. They continued caressing under nature’s light show while two men on motorcycles approached them.

what's up with me!

Hey folks,
haven't posted much, kinda been burying myself in work as of late. I've been filling up notebooks and draining pens writing horror stories and I'm almost ready to send at least one of them out into the literary world. I've been having a lot of fun writing these and I hope whenever any of you read it, will have fun doing so.

So here is a sample of a story that I just figured out a title for today, hoorah! It's called Silent House. Please feel free to comment, it's only a small paragraph but if you want to read more get in touch with me.

Her once beautiful face was now a macabre mask; embedded with jagged shards of glass glistening red in the moon’s pale light. Revulsion hit him when he saw that one of the shards was lodged deep into her right eye, it oozed a pink jelly liquid that mixed with bloody snot and clung to her outstretched hands and fingers in long slimy ropes.

Like I said, a small sample, until next time friends.
J.