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Hey, everybody. I’ll mostly post poems on this thread since they tend to be below the R-rating more often than my proses. Plus, I plan on releasing another e-book on Smash Words, this time a collection of recent poetry. Those of you who follow the “Getting To Know Your Character” thread will remember a character I used named Hige Tetsuya. This is the eponymous heavy metal song below. Please note that if you plan on critiquing me, keep it friendly and sensitive. Thanks!

VERSE 1
Is hara-kiri really the solution
To end a crippling delusion?
To silence the angry words?
To make your soul fly like a bird?
Hige Tetsuya never made it past 18
Because he never achieved his dreams
A samurai slice to his bare stomach
Aim for the light and then gun it

CHORUS
It’s a coming of age that ended in rage
Now he’s no more than ink on the page
Of an obituary that read like a manual
Hige Tetsuya is a slaughtered animal

VERSE 2
Everybody kept on asking why
He chose the dark side over life
He chose a coffin over the bed
Of a lover that exists in his head
Dreams have never been so far
True romance and an expensive car
One slice to the gut spilled his intestines
Blood and sorrow covered his weapons

CHORUS
It’s a coming of age that ended in rage
Now he’s no more than ink on the page
Of an obituary that read like a manual
Hige Tetsuya is a slaughtered animal

VERSE 3
It came crashing down in a moment’s notice
Hige Tetsuya wrote his magnum opus
Nobody stayed long enough to care
Except for when decay filled the air
Such a heartless world Hige lived in
No wonder he chose to easily give in
I wish I’d given him the time of day
Maybe then he would choose to stay

CHORUS
It’s a coming of age that ended in rage
Now he’s no more than ink on the page
Of an obituary that read like a manual
Hige Tetsuya is a slaughtered animal

HOOK
NFL stands for Not For Long
In a world that only favors the strong
NBA stands for No Boys Allowed
Not even in the comfort of his own house
TNA stands for Totally Naked Actors
Such shallowness made the world blacker
Just one slice, just one slice
The oozing out never felt so nice

This one's called "The Truth" and it's in three separate acts. It goes like this...

ACT ONE: THE LIES
“Just tell the truth and it’ll set you free”
Then why are these chains wrapped around me?
I already know my trials and traumas
I already know the tales and dramas
If I’m honest with myself, it’ll only hurt more
All of this pain, what’s it all for?
The last thing I need behind my brick wall
Is sympathy and cuddling from them all
All I’ve ever wanted was for life to go on
Despite me being in pain for so long
I want to write books about mystical wonder
About barbaric rage that brings the thunder
No interference from hugs and kisses
Even less interference from swings and misses
No early stoppage from a stream of saltwater
No interruption from a telemarketing caller
Just me, a pen, and a big imagination
To ask for more is mental masturbation

ACT TWO: THE TRUTH
“Stop lying to yourself, let it all hang out”
Be there to catch me when I start to fade out
I don’t say “Hi” to my fellow human being
Because I’m scared it’ll lead to teasing
I don’t ask for dates from beautiful women
Because I don’t have a heart to give them
I don’t drive cars for millions of miles
Because I’m afraid of fiery auto piles
I don’t smile to reflect my inner emotions
Because I’m not leaving myself out in the open
I don’t have a job because I hate doing wrong
Especially when I’m not in the system for long
I don’t talk about my deepest dilemmas
Even though they cut through my toughest defenses
I think I’ve said all that needs to be said
All that remains is a soul full of dread

ACT THREE: REPERCUSSIONS
“There are children starving in third world countries”
There’s no justification that can make that funny
I may not have a visible ribcage
But I’m still just a footnote on the page
I may not be at war with foreign nations
I may not be quaking like hungry Haitians
I may not be in a radioactive radius
But I’m still in a position to say I’m hating this
I may mock the tears of those around me
But I’m still living a hypocrisy
If I could just let it all flow out
The rain would drop without a single doubt
Do what you wish while I try to cope
It could be that there was never any hope

At the suggestion of Leslie, I'm going to post my short story queue for this group in my own personal thread. Including Rabbit Tricks, there are at least ten different ideas on this list. One of them is called Age Against the Machine and it goes like this:


CHARACTERS:

Marcus Crow, Talk Show Host
David Charles, Ageist Guest
Leslie Cain, Parent Blogger

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Marcus does an episode of his show about the “brat ban” phenomenon sweeping the nation. His two main panelists, David and Leslie, get into a heated argument in which David condones slapping children who misbehave. It gets so personal between the two panelists that security has to separate them.


And just so you guys know, the fact that the female character in this story is named Leslie is a coincidence. Also, in these synopses, it will always say "To be announced" where it says prompt conformity (since the prompt hasn't come out yet).

Great job, Garrison :)

Thanks, Ryan. :)

You guys want another one? Sure, why not. This one's called Bear Your Soul and here's the deal:


CHARACTERS:

Uriah Dent, Street Preacher
Erica Mullen, Little Girl

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Erica goes to the park to play with her new Rob Zombie-themed teddy bear when Uriah sees her and assumes that the bear is possessed by the devil. Try as he might to take it away from her, little Erica isn’t going down without a fight.

Garrison, I like your imagination. And your dedication to write so consistently. However, I think you should proof read some of your stuff, and be critical. There's some clichés here and there that I think you can avoid, and as a result your writing will be more effective.

What kind of cliches?

I currently have writer’s block when it comes to completing my main project Debt of Pain. Until I can work the plot holes out in my mind, I’m going to be working on short stories from my queue without waiting for next week’s prompt. Needless to say, the series of stories I will post in my personalized thread have no prompt conformity. One of the ideas for short stories that I just came up with a few minutes ago is called “Wishes in the Night” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Terrance Coffey, Grocery Bagger
Danielle Keyes, Gas Pumper

SYNOPSIS: Terrance acquires a new roommate named Danielle to help pay the rent. When the latter stays in her room all day, Terrance wonders what’s going on in there. Upon entering, he sees a candle-lit shrine to the metal band Nightwish. Terrance doesn’t know whether this is supposed to be beautiful or creepy, so he presses his new roommate for answers.

A wise grandma in a twenty-something’s body once told me that one way to defeat computer addiction while satisfying creative needs is to keep a diary. Ever since listening to that advice, I’ve been writing down ideas for creative projects in said journal while listening to classic alternative music. I’ve come up with a lot of lists for a lot of things, one of which is ideas for reviews. I’ve been particularly vocal about wanting to get some activity going on the “Movies, TV, and Book Reviews” thread and now I have a gigantic list of things to review. My only question to you guys is, which one of these items would you like to hear me talk about the most? Your choices are…

Obselidia
The Perks of Being a Wallflower
Short Term 12
Danger Mouse
NCIS Hostage Episode (Ari)
Clue
Tales From the Hood
Dragon Ball Z
NCIS: Ziva vs. Ellie
Real Time with Bill Maher
The Shield Oral Rape Scene
The Jeselnik Offensive
Tosh.0
George Carlin: It’s Bad For Ya
Wheel of Fortune
Jeopardy
Family Feud
Raw 1,000th Episode
WWE: Chris Benoit
Monsters: The Finger
Tales From the Dark Side: Basher Malone
The Simspsons Treehouse of Horror
Dr. Phil
Cheaters: Joey vs. Clark
The 206 vs. Almost Live

I wrote this blog entry on Deviant Art and thought it would be good enough to post here on Good Reads. It goes like this...



***BIG MISTAKES***

On our way to visit our dad, my brother gave me a pep talk in the car about how I should use my spare time to try new things instead of being bored all the time. My answer for why I haven’t been jumping at life’s opportunities is simple. Every time I tried something new whether it was a job, a hobby, a destination, or otherwise, it ended up being a big mistake. When I had somebody holding my hand and taking me to these various places, I was less likely to make a mistake. I have examples of both scenarios. An example of a big mistake comes from when I applied on Craig’s List for a job as a product reviewer. The rules for writing these reviews were so restrictive that by the time I wrote something, it was bland and boring instead of my usual entertaining style. Nobody told me to apply for this job, I found it myself, and that was the result of it: another big mistake. An example of someone holding my hand was when my old job coach at Peninsula Services, Lori, recommended that I volunteer my time every Wednesday at the Kitsap Historical Society. It’s been a little under three years and the people who work there think I’m God’s greatest gift to the museum. I have another example, one for each scenario. I thought signing up for Evergreen State College would be a good idea. Turns out it was a bad one because I would have been stressed out and my time would be completely occupied with that same stress. My mom recommended Western Washington University and now I have a degree from there. I’m not saying what I learned from these experiences is right, I’m just saying it’s what I learned: that every time someone was there for me, I was successful, and every time I tried to branch out on my own, I was a failure. So now I’m asking you, my helpful audience, if there is any way this lesson I’ve learned can be wrong. If it is, how can I branch out on my own and be successful at the same time? Of course, asking for help would defeat the purpose, but it’s all I know.


***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Children are not our future, because when the future comes, they won’t be children anymore, so blow me!”

-George Carlin-


***POST-SCRIPT***

It seems odd to have a comedic quote at the end of a journal about codependency, but that’s the nature of the beast when you use Random.org’s number generator.

I wrote this entry on my blog and thought this group would be a good place to post it as well. The entry is called "Rest in Peace, Ned Vizzini" and it goes like this:



It seems rather odd that I would do a rest in peace segment for a man I didn’t know of until he died. The man in question is young adult author Ned Vizzini, who this past December committed suicide due to complications from depression and anxiety. He was only 32 years old. There are two reasons why I’m paying tribute to him despite never having read his books. One, suicide holds a special place in my heart. Two, mental illness also holds a special place in my heart. These two aspects of Ned Vizzini’s death are special to me because I’ve lived through them. When I was being bullied in high school in Chehalis, I contracted PTSD and felt like dying. When I was hearing negative voices in my head in my senior year at a different high school, it turned out I had schizophrenia and I still wanted to die. People consider suicide as an option because they see no other way out of their hardships. I didn’t know there was a treatment for PTSD (pills and EMDR therapy). I also didn’t know I had schizophrenia until I took a class in psychology and the symptoms became familiar. Ned Vizzini probably knew what he was dealing with inside his head, but he probably couldn’t take it anymore and saw no other way to relieve his mind other than suicide. Ned’s story should serve as a cautionary tale to anybody out there who’s dealing with a crippling amount of stress. The lesson here is that there is always help if you seek it out. Awareness plays a huge part in the recovery process as does a network of support whether it’s from friends, family, or professionals. Nothing is worth dying for, especially when you have something special to offer the ones you love. In Ned’s case, he had his writing to offer the world and I’d say he did quite well for himself. Kurt Cobain had his music to offer the world and he’s a cult figure. I know this isn’t a popular thing to say given how he died, but Chris Benoit had his wrestling abilities to offer the world. With so many things to live for and even less things to die for, why would suicide be an option? For every problem going on in your life, there is a solution of some kind. Finding that solution is hard work, I’ll admit. Sometimes it’s not immediately within reach. But the harder you fight for your heart and soul, the closer that solution will appear. I’ll close this blog entry by using a phrase the anti-abortion wing nuts have perverted over the years: choose life. When I say that to you all, it’s not a strike against abortion, it’s a strike against suicide. Together, we can fight our demons and win. Rest in peace, Ned Vizzini.


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Once upon a time, I swore I had a heart long before the world I knew tore it all apart. Once upon a time, there was a part of me I shared years before they took away the part of me that cared. I’ve been a thousand places and shook a million hands. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know just where I’ve been. I’ve flown a million miles and I’ve rode so many more. Everyday, a castaway, a vagabond, battle born.”

-Five Finger Death Punch singing “Battle Born”-

Really enjoyed your story this week, Garrison.

Stress, depression and all mental illnesses would be easier to bear and recovery would be faster if everyone finally realised these are not taboo subjects. They are illnesses, not signs of weakness or abnormality. Don't let Victorian attitudes leave the sufferers feeling they are on their own in trying to deal with it. In these cases it really is true that a problem shared is a problem halved.

There's also another aspect in being prepared to talk about it: very often someone close to a sufferer realises what is happening before the sufferer does. So talk to them, help them to get help, help them to recover.

Well said, Jay. Just like that song says, "We all need somebody to lean on."

And thanks, Daniel. I'm glad you liked it. :)

Have you ever felt like you should speak out but you can't because of the consequences? This is called "Gag Order".



VERSE 1
I keep angry words bottled inside
My loving words have nowhere to hide
My sorrowful words have no one to confide
Another conversation, another white lie
When can control be mine all mine?
When can I reclaim my twisted mind?
Freedom isn’t something I should have to find
I shouldn’t seek refuge in the hands of the kind

CHORUS
A wing and a prayer for my cross to bear
My deepest feelings can never be aired
My lips are moving, but nobody cares
Everything is just, but nothing is fair

VERSE 2
With a pounding of the sledgehammer gavel
The judge says “guilty” with a witch’s cackle
The gag order is in place for seemingly eternal
While my darkest feelings remain infernal
Breaking down the walls takes too much effort
It’s much easier to play the role of defender
My knuckles hurt too badly to fight
My secret wishes fade softly into the night

CHORUS
A wing and a prayer for my cross to bear
My deepest feelings can never be aired
My lips are moving, but nobody cares
Everything is just, but nothing is fair

HOOK
Sooner or later, it’s going to take place
The battle of the century, face to face
I no longer need your deepest permission
To set fire to these suspension bridges

VERSE 3
Love isn’t cutting through American noise
Because it’s time to be men instead of boys
If I can have your attention for just one second
I’d like to use my words as lethal weapons

CHORUS
A wing and a prayer for my cross to bear
My deepest feelings can never be aired
My lips are moving, but nobody cares
Everything is just, but nothing is fair

I didn't have it in me to pump out "Blood Vulture" during Ghost Town week, so I should at least post something to make things square with you guys. Here's a blog entry I did for Garrison's Library and it's about "Heaven" by Otherwise. The entry goes like this:




As I’ve said in a previous blog entry about Skillet, I’m not a religious person by any stretch of the imagination. I don’t believe in God and I wouldn’t follow his demanding rules even if he existed. Even so, the concept of heaven has always been special to me. To my way of thinking, heaven isn’t a place we go when we die. It’s an idea. It’s the perfect utopia. My idea of heaven doesn’t necessarily have to do with clouds and harp lessons. It has more to do with a place where I feel like I’m not only welcome, but also wanted. I’ve tried to find heaven in lots of public places. I’ve looked in college classes, bus stations, bars, grocery stores, concert halls, bookstores, and not one of those places could ever be called heaven because nobody even knew I existed. I even tried to look for heaven on the beach. The cool blue water, the gorgeous pink skies, the lovely ladies in bikinis, the fluffy puppies running around, it seems like the perfect place to look for heaven. Even the beach thought I was just an invisible ghost. Could it be that my awkward behavior is keeping devil horns on my head instead of a halo? Or maybe it’s true that heaven doesn’t exist in such shallow places. The only real place I’ve been able to call heaven is my home. At home, I’m free to be myself without any limitations. I can tell as many offensive jokes as I want, I can toss around my liberal beliefs without backlash, I can speak in a monotone voice whenever I’m not feeling energetic, and I can write my stories as frequently as I want to. What does this have to do with literature, you ask? It’s simple. Every character I write about should have their own version of heaven (even if they don’t find it until the end of the story, which is usually all the time). For example, I recently wrote a short story for Good Reads called “Prozac Nation 2”. Dustin Spears is an insensitive boyfriend in a time where sensitivity and love are both needed to cool down his sorrowful girlfriend Morgan Penn. By being a jerk as a last resort, Dustin has taken away Morgan’s version of heaven and she is forced to bear her soul to him in order to get it back. Maybe I was secretly saying negative reinforcement works. I hope not. I hope it doesn’t contradict my reasons for boycotting a TV show called “Friday Night Tykes”. In any event, the story was met with a warm reception, so I’m happy about that. You know what else should be met with a warm reception? The song “Heaven” by Otherwise. Band members Adrian and Ryan Patrick’s idea of heaven was their mutual brother Ivan, who passed away a few years before the song’s release. What can they do to bring Ivan back? Keep his memory alive through their gorgeous song. With Ivan Patrick’s memory alive, the imaginations of Otherwise’s fans will be alive as well. Those are two things that will save us as a society: imagination and love. Rest in peace, Ivan Patrick.


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I never believed that your soul could be stolen from me. Who can save me from the monster that I used to be? So if you hear me now, won’t you just send me a sign? Do I make you proud? Tell me that I’m doing fine. If I could, I’d fly away. I’d talk to the angels and beg them to please let me stay. ‘Cause heaven, no heaven, I’ll never see. What can I do to bring you back to me?”

-Otherwise singing “Heaven”-

I wrote this for a group called Writer's Asylum and I don't see why it shouldn't be here as well. It's called "Another Brick in the Wall" and it goes like this:




Sid McDonnell’s US History high school class was in full effect. He was going on and on about the Civil War and his students took diligent notes as he spoke. Not the most entertaining way to run a classroom, but it was the only way Sid McDonnell did things. Nobody knew that better than his favorite whipping boy, Sam Keith, who entered the classroom fifteen minutes late.

“Well, look who decided to show up today. That’s your second strike, Mr. Keith. You’d better start showing up on time or else you’re getting detention. Understand?” Sid McDonnell was already an intimidating figure with his lanky build, shaved head, and thick rimmed glasses. Add to these features those scary words and he was on his way to becoming slave master of the year.

Sam Keith was anything but intimidating. He too had thick rimmed glasses, but also shaggy black hair and all black clothing. Not the most cheerful way to dress, but then again, Sam wasn’t a cheerful person and he wouldn’t be after hearing what he just heard. He tried to counter with, “I don’t want to hear it right now, I’m not feeling good today.”

Sid wagged his finger at his semi-rebellious pupil and said, “No, no, no, no, no! You don’t get to choose what you hear today. If I’m angry with you for showing up late, then the best thing to do is to show up on time. It’s that easy. If you don’t like the way I’m treating you, then get some thick skin or something.”

The rest of the students took their eyes off their notes and watched the dramatic dialogue bounce between Sid and Sam. The latter of the two was a powder keg ready to explode at any minute. He spoke in hushed anger at his teacher when he said, “I don’t need a thick skin. You just need to shut the hell up. And whatever you do, don’t be under the impression that I need you for anything. In fact, I need you just as much as I need testicular cancer!”

That alone was grounds for detention, maybe even a five day vacation compliments of the principal. Sid wasn’t going down that road. Instead, he fired back with, “It’s funny how you compared me to testicular cancer just now. Trust me, Mr. Keith, you don’t have to worry about getting testicular cancer. In order to have testicular cancer, you have to have testicles. You have neither testicles nor a backbone.”

Sam growled at his overbearing teacher like a wolf, prompting Sid to intervene with, “Don’t get mad at me, little boy. I’m telling you the truth. You want to know how I know you don’t have testicles? Because time and time again, you’ve proven that you’d rather use my criticisms of you to cast hatred on me instead of improve your performance. I’ve always said that a kid who can’t be taught is an adult who can’t be employed. Respect for authority is a valuable job skill, Mr. Keith. You’d do well to know that.”

Sam maintained his angry demeanor when he said, “I only show respect for people who show respect for me in return.”

Sid raised his eyebrows and giggled at Sam’s blatant insubordination before saying, “That’s great and all, but there’s just one problem. Most of the time, your bosses aren’t going to show you the respect you think you deserve. You have to earn it by being a good employee. You can earn their respect by getting along with them. You have to get along with authority even though authority doesn’t have to get along with you. It’s an unfair relationship at best, but if we didn’t have those kinds of relationships, we’d have no order.”

Sam’s hushed anger turned into a loud boom over the sound waves when he yelled, “Order?! You want order?! The only order I want from you, Mr. McDonnell, is a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese and a large unsweetened iced tea! If you keep insulting your students like this, you’re not going to have anymore students and you’ll be out of a job!”

Sid fired back with, “I’ll always have students, Mr. Keith. The students don’t get a choice as to whether or not they come to school. It’s the law. Kids have to go to school or they can get their education in the juvenile penal system. Again, it seems unfair, but it’s necessary. School prepares you for the job market and lord knows we need workers in this country. You don’t want to be a welfare king for the rest of your life, do you, Mr. Keith?”

Sam tucked his chin to contemplate his teacher’s point for a moment then lifted his head to say, “If me not wanting anymore of your bullshit means that I have to be a welfare king, then I have only one thing to say: thank you for your tax dollars, Mr. McDonnell. You’re an overpaid taskmaster anyways, so I’m sure you’ll pay quite a bit in taxes this year. I’d rather be on welfare for the rest of my life than be part of a system that claims to be about growth and development. Shit, school isn’t about growth and development, it’s about pain and suffering. It’s just one task after another while the bullies and teachers talk down to you.”

Sid took a small sigh and shook his head “no” as he prepared to say, “You do realize that welfare only pays you just enough so that you can survive, right? You can buy things like food and medicine with state benefits, but you know what you can’t buy with that little money? A car. A home. A wedding ring for your fiance, though you don’t have to worry about that little expense since you’re also too immature to hold down a relationship.”

Sam took a few steps closer to his teacher and put his face close to Sid’s, almost in a mocking fashion. Sam said, “Like I was saying before, thank you for your tax dollars, you overpaid, overrated, no good, lousy son of a bitch!”

Sid blew a fuse at that point. He grabbed Sam by his shirt and pulled him even closer so that Sam could have an even deeper view of the fire in Sid’s eyes. Sam was so scared of this anger that he barely managed a, “Dude” before Sid finally let go.

The overbearing teacher said, “Sorry about that. A teacher should never put his hands on a student. The days of whipping canes and ruler smacks are over.” Sid took a deep breath and said, “However, all the things I’ve said about you are true. I apologize for the physicality, but I don’t apologize for telling you the truth you deserve to hear.”

Sam smiled a sick smile at his teacher as he said, “I don’t want you to apologize for your actions, Mr. McDonnell. I want you to apologize for who you are!”

This could have resulted in even more physicality between the student and teacher. But Sid thought better of it. Instead, he went over to his desk and pulled out a principal’s note. After scribbling a few things on it, he handed it to Sam and said, “Go to the principal’s office and don’t leave until you’re told to do so. You’re not my problem anymore, Sam. You’re her problem now. Get the hell out of my classroom, you immature little shit!”

Sam took the note from Sid’s hand and slowly walked backwards on his way out of the door. Along the way, he sang a very familiar tune to his teacher. “We don’t need no education. We don’t need no thought control. No dark sarcasm in the classroom. Teacher, leave them kids alone. Hey! Teacher! Leave them kids alone! All in all, you’re just another brick in the wall. All in all, you’re just another brick in the wall.”

Sid yelled, “Congratulations, Mr. Keith, you just murdered a perfectly good Pink Floyd song. Now get the hell out of my classroom!” After Sam did as he was told, Sid buried his face in his hands and breathed in and out to try and calm himself down. Though it was hard to be calm when the entire class was staring at him with disgust and disdain.

“Does anybody here feel the same way as Sam Keith? Do you feel like you don’t need an education just because I lack social skills? Yes, I’m a hard ass, but I also get results. The ends justify the means, people. So suck it up and get back to work! Otherwise, you can join your little friend in the principal’s office.”

After a brief hush fell over the classroom, one by one students were leaving Sid McDonnell all by his lonesome. Like Sam, they too sang “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 2” by Pink Floyd as they left the classroom. Soon enough, the room was empty except for one man. Sid could do nothing but sit down at his desk and bury his face in his arms.

“What the fuck is wrong with this generation? Is this even worth it anymore?” Nobody was there to answer Sid’s burning questions, except for maybe Mr. Jack Daniels. That’s right. Sid pulled a bottle of Jack out of his desk and began drinking his blues away. He had a revolution on his hands, one that harshness alone would never be able to quell.

Sam’s hushed anger turned into a loud boom over the sound waves when he yelled, “Order?! You want order?! The only order I want from you, Mr. McDonnell, is a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese and a large unsweetened iced tea! If you keep insulting your students like this, you’re not going to have anymore students and you’ll be out of a job!”

Oh, how I wish to say that to some of MY teachers... :D
Awesome, Garrison! I really enjoyed that, and VERY cool song incorporated in there. Really well written, fascinating, and I really loved that discussion between Sam and Sid... there were some killer comebacks in there :)) Well done!

I'm very happy you enjoyed it, GEG! Thanks for the wonderful feedback! :)

No worries :D

I wrote this blog entry for Deviant Art and thought this forum would be another good place to put it:



***LOVE LETTERS TO THE DEAD***

The other day, I open my email account and see that I got a “personal recommendation” from Good Reads author Stephen Chbosky, who’s famous for a book that tore my heart to pieces called “The Perks of Being a Wallflower”. I should have every reason in the world to believe the letter he sent me was forwarded to other people like a chain letter. Aside from the greeting, it reads a lot like a chain letter. But when I hear the words “personal recommendation”, I automatically assume that our contact was one-on-one. That’s what personal means, between two people. If you want to read the letter yourself, here it is:



Dear Garrison,

I have never written a letter on Goodreads before, but there is a book out there that I love so much, I had to start now.

The book is Love Letters to the Dead by Ava Dellaira. It begins as an assignment in English class: Write a letter to a famous dead person. Laurel choses Kurt Cobain for two reasons. First, her sister, May, loved him. Second, Kurt Cobain died young -- just like May did.

Before she knows it, Laurel has a notebook full of letters to everyone from Janis Joplin to Amy Winehouse -- though she would never dare give a single letter to her teacher because they are becoming too personal. Each letter falls deeper into confessions about starting high school, making friends, falling in love with a mysterious older guy (who just may have known her sister), and dealing with her fractured family after her sister’s death.
In beautiful, lyrical prose, Ava Dellaira tells Laurel’s story in a way that will break your heart and put it back together.

I really loved this book. So, if you have the time, check out Love Letters to the Dead. It will make you feel alive.

Sincerely,
Stephen Chbosky



Now here’s the million dollar question: is this a chain letter or is he actually speaking to me as a human being? If it ends up being the latter, then I’ll eventually have to send him a thank you of some sort. If not a thank you, then some kind of personal contact. Here’s the thing: “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” ripped my heart to shreds. He probably knows this in some capacity. Something else that should be reiterated is that I’m extremely shy. I’m shy around my own girlfriend Brianna, so why shouldn’t I be shy around celebrities I idolize? When I was talking to Tuomas Holopainen on My Space five years ago, it took every ounce of courage and a lot of mental rehearsal to ask him the questions I wanted to ask. Can you imagine the willpower it’ll take to talk to Stephen Chbosky? But I’m getting ahead of myself here. First, it actually has to be confirmed that he really wrote this to me only and not to everyone on his contacts list. So that’s the question of the day: did he write it exclusively to me? If you don’t know the answer, how can I find out for myself? That last one wasn’t rhetorical, I actually need the answer. We’ve got ears, say cheers!


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“It’s a long road when you’re on your own. And it hurts when they tear your dreams apart. And every new town just seems to bring you down. Trying to find peace of mind can break your heart. It’s a real war right outside your front door. Out where they’ll kill ya, you could use a friend. Where the road is, that’s the place for me. Where I’m me in my own space. Where I’m free, that’s the place I want to be. The road is long, yeah. Each death is only the beginning. No breaks, just heartaches. Oh man, is anybody winning?”

-The end theme from “First Blood”-

While I won't enter anymore contests, I still have the synopses around in case I decide to return. Here's a synopsis for a story called "The Bacon Assassin". It goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Eduardo Tejada, Cop Killer
Mark Bastion, Corrupt Cop
Denise Lara, Corrupt Judge

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: After Mark is found not guilty of fatally beating Eduardo’s schizophrenic brother, Eduardo wants revenge against the corrupt officer and the judge who got him off. He waits for a perfect moment to get Mark and Denise alone with him and gets it when the two of them walk down the streets together after celebrating the verdict in a bar. For purposes of an alias, Eduardo Tejada calls himself The Bacon Assassin (because cops are pigs).

Garrison wrote: "I wrote this blog entry for Deviant Art and thought this forum would be another good place to put it:



***LOVE LETTERS TO THE DEAD***

The other day, I open my email account and see that I got a ..."

Oh, wow! I'm reading The Perks Of being A Wallflower at the moment- I've heard some really great stuff about it, and I'm enjoying it a lot so far. It'd be incredible if Stephen Chbosky really HAS written to you personally... I don't know, if he's recommended a book to you then he must know you somewhat reasonably well? I'm not sure. But I'd take a look at the book he recommended and if it ends up changing your life like Wallflower did, then you'll have no choice BUT to send him a thank-you email. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to look up 'Love Letters to the Dead' by Ava Dellaira... it certainly SOUNDS promising.
Good luck! :D
OH, and what's this about you not entering in any more contests?!

Happy reading, GEG! I'm sure both books will tear at your heartstrings like "Wallflower" did mine. It's a beautiful experience nobody should miss.

And if you want to know my reasoning for not doing anymore contests, go to the thread for "Clerical Error" stories and read my open letter to the group.

Oh, Garrison! That's awful! I'm so sorry that things are so crazy for you right now. I'm really going to miss reading your stories every week, but it's great that you're not ditching us altogether. :D I really, really hope stuff starts looking up for you soon and you get the success you so rightly deserve.
*Massive huggle*

Squishy huggles to you as well, GEG! Thanks for the awesome words! :)

Here's a story idea I've always wanted to do, but couldn't fit the prompts to. It's called "Floppy-Eared Puppy-Duppy" and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Biscuit, Homeless Bassett Hound
Alan McDowell, Biscuit’s Dying Owner
Diego Ruah, Portuguese Restaurant Owner
Michaela Grove, Pizza Parlor Owner

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Biscuit’s best friend and owner of many years on the streets is dying of untreatable cancer. When Alan finally passes away, the sorrowful Biscuit must wander the streets of the big city in search of a new caretaker. Despite his infinite cuteness, the people of the city continually give him the cold shoulder, including a cranky restaurant owner named Diego.

I wrote this for Garrison's Library. It's called "Burger King Dreams" and it goes like this:



Regardless of what city I’m visiting in my dreams, there always seems to be a Burger King right up the street. I wouldn’t even have to ask for a ride, I could just walk and that Triple Whopper with Cheese is as good as mine. There was even one dream where UFC fighter Chael Sonnen gave me a cut of his post-fight bonus to go eat at Burger King. He said it was the closest thing to socialism that I would ever get in my lifetime. Nice guy, huh? But let’s talk about this strange archetype for a moment. Why Burger King? Why not McDonald’s, Wendy’s, or Sonic? Could it have something to do with the fact that going to Burger King was a weekend ritual for me during high school? I’ve had lots of high school dreams, so Burger King might be the link I’m looking for. Every weekend during my junior and senior years of high school, my dad would give me a ten dollar bill and I would walk to Burger King to get a Triple Whopper with Cheese. This was obviously before I was eligible for social security, so I needed that ten dollars. When I was packing on weight in a big fucking hurry, he stopped giving me ten dollar bills. It wouldn’t have mattered anyways, because now that I’ve been receiving disability benefits since 2004, I spend most of my money on restaurants and convenience stores. That’s right, folks. My life is so lackluster that the only source of entertainment I have is chowing down on processed meats and cheeses. I take one bite of a greasy hamburger and all my depressive pain goes away. But once the meal is over, I have to find another fix and dinner won’t be for another few hours. Then what? It’s funny that I have all of these writing projects to do and all these books to read on my shelf, yet eating at a fast food restaurant is more fun than doing either of those two things. When someone asks me to read a book, I’m conveniently “mentally exhausted”. But when my step-father is going out for a grocery run and asks me if I need to stop anywhere, my mental energy suddenly comes back to me. In a way, cheap food has become my painkiller, which is funny, because when I started writing this blog entry, I was listening to “Painkiller” by Three Days Grace. But you know what else is a painkiller for me? Writing and reading. The feeling of accomplishment I get from both of those activities will last me for at least the rest of the day. The difference between creative activities and eating is that eating is readily available when I need it. Creativity takes more time. I’m not a patient man, so I choose fast food over writing and reading. This is obviously the wrong path to choose since I have a saggy tummy and big cheeks. But you know what? Until somebody provides me with a solution that’s more permanent than a pep talk, I’m going to keep going down this road. It’s sad and unfortunate, but this is who I am. Food has become a part of me in more ways than just eating it.


***DOMESTIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Garrison likes his books like he likes his food: fast and cheap.”

-Susan Wilson-

Back in March, I did a review exchange with an author named Marie Krepps. I gave her four stars for her modern erotic novel "Irish Squeeze" and she gave me four stars for my heavy metal song book "Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage“. Of course, four stars isn't the set limit. The only part of the deal was that we both had to be honest in our reviews. It's only a coincidence that the four-star love was mutual.

And now I'm asking if there are any independent authors here at the WSS that need reviews as well. I’ll give you a digital copy of an e-book of your choice (from my Smash Words account) in exchange for a copy of yours. We’ll review each other and hopefully gain more attention for our works. I have to warn you, though, I’m not exactly Quick Draw McGraw when it comes to reading. It’ll take a while for me to read through your book, but I’ll get it done nonetheless. So…any takers?

Here’s the link to my Smash Words profile: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/vi...

Here's a story I wrote back in 2012 that I edited the hell out of a few minutes ago. It'll be included in American Darkness and the story is called "Come What May". Enjoy!




I seriously didn’t know where people got off comparing me to Justin Bieber. Unlike him, I actually had a good body and musical talent. I guess the only thing the two of us had in common was that we both had legions of smoking hot female fans wanting to slip a wedding band around our fingers.

That’s all well and good, but in order for that wedding band to mean anything, my relationship with my future wife had to be about something other than my fame and fortune. A lot of these girls fantasized about certain musicians while not knowing exactly what they were getting into.

Just try to imagine being Martin Kesici’s wife. If you don’t know who Martin Kesici is, look for him on Google images. He would look like a piece of man meat to a potential wife, but how did that girl know he wasn’t a total psychopath? Or an asshole? Or even worse…(gasp)…broke!

Was it because he wrote such soulful ballads that spoke to the heart? Please. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not taking anything away from Martin Kesici, but if these female fans want his body so badly, they better do a little research first. Otherwise, their alimony battle will make World War II look like a cakewalk. It was for that reason that I decided a long time ago that I wouldn’t marry any of my fans. But when I first met Ronda Michaels, everything changed.

I had just gotten finished playing a gig at the Mega Dome and all in all it was a pretty successful night. Tons of money coming in, the fans were happy, I even got to take a few bras home with me after they were tossed on stage. Some of them looked a little too small to belong to someone legal, but whatever, a bra’s a bra.

The very next day I had an autograph session at Jordan’s Bookstore. When I sat at the table between the bookshelf full of Twilight copies and the rack of CD’s that said “Jeff O’Neil: Come What May”, security had me well guarded in case anybody decided to get violent. Big beefcake men with bouncy bellies and gargantuan biceps that would win them an arm wrestling contest against fifteen strongman champions….at the same time!

If I was going to be well-guarded, it would have to be against the legions of fan girls who once the door opened came swarming in like a biblical flood of estrogen and fake love. They actually came running through the door screaming and I believe a few of the women were trampled mercilessly.

The ten security guards broke rank and bulrushed the crowd of women in order to get them contained in a line. I had to hand it to the little squirts: they were hardcore hellcats. Some of the bouncers got nail slashes in their arms so deep that they would probably need an entire sleeve of surgical staples.

But after being overpowered in a matter of one minute, the raving lunatic girls finally formed a line that led up to the table. The security guards, knowing it was safe once more, formed a circle around me as each individual hellcat came up to get a $50 autograph. One by one, they came and went, each of them squealing like a chipmunk and jumping up and down with their hands in the air like a squadron of cheerleaders.

I had signed about ten or fifteen autographs when suddenly, the paragon of calmness and collectedness approached my table. There she was with her raven black hair and shadow-black lipstick. She also appeared to have somewhat of a despondent look on her face. She was carrying a red rose that had been clipped of all of its thorns.

This was getting a little strange. I leaned over slightly and asked her if she wanted an autograph. When she nodded, she was finally able to form a sweet, lovely smile on her face. I think I even saw a tear flowing from her eye. She gave me the “Come What May” poster and I signed it “Jeff O’Neil” just like I did the others.

As I handed the poster back to her, she finally found it within her to give me the flower and say, “We should get together sometime” in a somewhat medicated, yet sultry voice. Yes, she was attractive. Yes, she was calmer than any of the other fan girls who visited my table. But I was certain at that point that it wasn’t meant to be.

I explained it to her as best as possible. “Listen, uh…do you have a name?” She introduced herself as Ronda Michaels, still keeping that medicated tone. Once introductions were out of the way, I said, “Listen Ronda, I know that my music has had some kind of effect on you, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. But I don’t know you that well. For all I know, you could be hitting on me because I have nice hair or nice abs or a shit ton of money. I’m sorry, Ronda, we can’t do this.”

She had more love in her eyes than salty fluids as she held my hand in hers. Her skin was very soft to the touch and very milky. I even had a thing for her long red fingernails. Yes, she was a hypnotizing woman, but she needed to know that “Come on, stop it” wasn’t just an empty slogan. And then, I was forced out of my hypnotic state.

One of the younger members of my fan base alongside her obnoxious friend started calling Ronda a bitch as they told her to “Get off their man”. They pulled Ronda’s hair and kicked her relentlessly until security finally grabbed hold of their waists and pulled them off.

The bitchy women may have been skinny little things, but the security staff was better off wrestling alligators and grizzly bears. They had nasty-looking gashes just from being bitten and clawed by these tiny zealots.

Meanwhile, the ultra-sexy Ronda laid on the floor crying with her makeup staining the floor after every drop. The other fan girl lunatics pointed at her and laughed the entire time. At this point, I didn’t care if I was going to get ripped to shreds worse than sausage in a grinder.

I flipped the table over in a burst of anger and ran up to Ronda before positioning myself over her like a shield from these disgusting taunts. I yelled out, “That’s it! Take your posters and go home! The autograph session is over! Get lost! Go home! Grow up! You don’t deserve to listen to my music!”

The fiery she-devils suddenly turned into silent statues before turning their arrogantly huge noses in the air and walking away from Jordan’s Bookstore. Yes, I was going to lose a few CD sales, but if those were the kinds of people who bought my music, then I’d rather go hungry.

I offered my hand to Ronda and she used it to pull herself up. I wrapped my arm around her as the two of us walked out of Jordan’s Bookstore and into the parking lot. At this point, I didn’t need my security team since the rabid fleabags ran off into the night. It was just me and Ronda and she seemed to find her sweet smile again we walked together.

We finally got to her car and that was when I wished her a goodnight. But before that, she wiped the tears and smudgy makeup from her eyes before leaning in to kiss me on the lips. It wasn’t anything serious, but only because I wouldn’t allow more than a peck. When she started to break the limits, I gently held her away and said, “I’m sorry, Ronda. Get home safely.” I turned around with my head held low and walked over to my own car before driving away an empty and tortured soul.

And then we went from an episode of WWE Smackdown to a soap opera that people actually cried over. My final stop for the evening was the local hospital, where my mom was dying of cancer. I parked my car and with a sorrowful slowness approached the front door and took in the smell of nasty hospital food and even nastier death.

I couldn’t imagine my mother dying in a place like this. I always figured that since I was a rock star that she would at least have the pleasure of being in a well-kept hospice with fresh laundry and empty bedpans. But as it was, this country still hadn’t gotten out of the dark ages when it came to medicine and insurance. The reason why this place smelled like death took a diarrhea dump in the middle of the room was because, guess what, people were dying.

I didn’t even bother asking the desk clerk for permission to see my mother. I went right back to her room with the same depressing slowness as before. I finally made it to my mother’s room and she looked awful. Not a single hair lied upon that head of hers. Her bones were the only thing visible about this poor woman. Her skin was so thin, yet so saggy. Her bedpan smelled of virtually every bodily fluid that doctors knew of.

This might have been the last time I would see her. I called out, “Mom?”

She was able to form a weak smile on that brittle face of hers. “Jeffrey. I’m glad you could see me. How’s the music business going?”

Despondent, I chose to give a reply as weak as my mother’s body in her cancerous state. “I don’t want to talk about it, mom. I had a long day.”

Honoring my wishes to change the topic, my mom asked, “When are you going to get a girlfriend? You’re a handsome man, Jeffrey. Women would be crazy not to want you.”

I was about to carry on the conversation in my normal sluggish voice when suddenly, I heard Ronda at the front door saying, “Tell me about it.”

I nearly jumped out of my boots when I heard that. My heart was racing and for multiple reasons. I asked, “Ronda, what the hell are you doing here? I told you that we can’t do this!”

She asked, “Why not?”

I said, “Because you only love me for shallow reasons. You love me for the same reason you love every other celebrity on TV.”

Ronda smiled at me through her soft, wet tears and said, “You’re nothing like the celebrities on TV, Jeff. You’re amazing.”

I tried to call for a nurse, but my weak, decrepit mother cut me off when she said, “Damn it, Jeff! Just take her out on one date! I’m not going to be here much longer. After I die, who’s going to be with you? How will you fulfill your need for love? Are you just going to be a recluse for the rest of your life? You can’t do to this poor young woman what your father did to me so many years ago. He left me alone. He never gave me the chance I needed to love him back. Please, Jeff, don’t do this to her. She’s obviously nothing like those obnoxious brats who show up at your concerts. You’d be blind not to see that. Just give her a chance, Jeff. That’s all you owe her. Don’t die as lonely as I am right now.”

Her burst of drama had finally given her the deathly peace she had always wanted. Her heart seized and then she flat-lined. My mother had just sacrificed herself to pull my own head from my ass. All I could do was slouch over her bed and soak her in tears, probably more water than if she had her final sponge bath.

As I cried over my dead mother’s body, Ronda, with her soft snow white hands, began to squeeze my shoulders and ease the tension I had carried with me for so long. Mom was right: she wasn’t like the others. Ronda Michaels actually made me feel good. I didn’t need security detail to monitor her all the time. I felt as safe in her arms as I once did in my mother’s arms as a baby. There was nothing shallow about any of this. Come what may at the break of each day. We all begin anew once more. We all begin anew…

Whenever an extreme bout of mental exhaustion hits, finding things to do for fun is harder than it seems. This time around, I put together a poem using preexisting song lyrics. Don't think of it as an original work, but a meme instead. Here are the songs I've used:

“Always” by Killswitch Engage
“Beautiful Goodbye” by Amanda Marshall
“Heart of Gold” by James Blunt
“Heaven” by Otherwise
“I Burn For You” by The Police
“My Heart Beats Pain” by Martin Kesici
“Never Coming Home” by Crossfade
“Out of Love” by Toto
“Remember Everything” by Five Finger Death Punch
“Someone to Talk To” by The Police

And here's the collage I put together:

I am with you always from the darkness of night until the morning
I am with you always from life until death takes me
When I see you now, I wonder how I could have watched you walk away
If I let you down, please forgive me for that beautiful goodbye

I want to know what love is, but it seems to come with so much pain
If no one wants to show me, it seems easier just to run away
If I could, I’d fly away and talk to the angels and beg them to please let me stay
‘Cause heaven, no heaven, I’ll never see, what can I do to bring you back to me?

Now that I have found you in the cooth of your evening smile
The shade of your parasol and your love flows through me
My heart beats pain ever since that day
Life’s taken you away, but one day I will be with you again

I’m planning my release, tonight I’ll speak the words I
Never thought I’d ever have to say to you
When I see your face, my heart cries out for you
I guess that fools never learn how to fall out of love

If I could hold back the rain, would you numb my pain? ‘Cause I remember everything
If I could help you forget, would you take my regret? ‘Cause I remember everything
Now it’s too much to just sit here and cry, I can’t be seen with a tear in my eye
Why am I standing right next to the phone, when I kept on saying I must be alone?

Hi Garrison,
That's very clever!
I love the Police but I don't think I'm familiar with those tracks - which albums are they from?

OOh, I just thought - have you heard 'I likes to eat my friends' by Andy Summers? it's on the B side of 'Don't Stand So Close to Me' (I think?!- my records are at my Mums so I can't check)but if you haven't heard it I think it would appeal to your sense of humour.

"I like to eat my friends and make no bones about it. I like to eat my friends, I wouldn't do without it." Sounds delicious, Mr. Summers!

As for the other two tracks, they're from the Message in a Box collection set. I'm sure they're on You Tube and iTunes as well. Look them up, they're awesome songs. :)

The creative urge came back, this time in the form of two-sentence horror stories. I have a whole list of them saved on my computer. Here they are:



Susan’s alarm clock went off at seven in the morning and she was slowly sitting up in her comfy beddy-bye. When her eyes finally adjusted to the glaring sunlight, she saw the Burger King mascot sitting next to her in bed where her ten-year-old daughter normally was.

Little Maria was playing in the sandbox by herself with her lovable stuffed rabbit and her Winnie the Pooh Pillow Pet. The shadow of a perverted old man in a trench coat appeared over her as he whispered the words, “I can’t wait until you turn 18!”

Stephanie McMahon’s relentless slaps across The Big Show’s face were stinging with orange hot pain. Big Show retaliated by clutching Stephanie’s throat, not to give her his patented choke slam, but to shove a date rape drug down her throat.

Mario ran as fast as his chubby body would carry him as he pilfered the golden key from the evilly grinning Phanto. The sinister mask finally caught up to him and with one monstrous chomp bit Mario’s ear off like Mike Tyson.

The baldheaded and bloodthirsty Calcobrena puppets came to life and started dancing like they were performing in the world’s scariest ballet. The urine stain in Cecil’s pants was so damp that he would need a Sham Wow to soak up the stale fluids.

Rosa curled in the corner and shivered as the disgusting and perverted Dr. Lugae slowly approached her. He leaned his disfigured face close to her tear-soaked face and said, “Are you wearing a Milk Duds bra?”

Wanderlei Silva was flipping through the pages of the ultra-sexy Ronda Rousey’s ESPN photo shoot magazine with Matt Brown looking over his shoulder. Wanderlei said, “Ronda sure looks good.” and Matt Brown replied with, “Tastes good too, bro!”

Tarja Turunen received her 501st letter and it revealed a picture of her naked and butchered husband Marcelo Cabuli bound with chains and ball gagged. Below the picture were the words written in Floydian font: “Leave him for me…or else!”

G-Switch had been stripped naked and sprayed with a cold hose as his prison cell awaited him for what would be a life sentence. When it came time to give him his uniform, he didn’t get an orange jumpsuit, but a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader outfit instead.

The frightened and defenseless Tina huddled in the dark corner while her attacker slowly approached her with a club in his hand. The lights flickered on to reveal the assailant as Drew Carey in a black banana hammock, who went on to say, “Welcome to Who’s Life Is It Anyway, where everything’s made up and the points are as useless as your cries for help!”

Todd knelt and sobbed over the bloody remains of his butchered wife. The torturer put a hand on the poor husband’s shoulder and gave him some good news: “I just saved a bunch of money on car insurance by switching to Geico.”

Gail was called into the massage therapist’s office for what was sure to be a relaxing and joyful experience. That all changed when she found out her massage therapist was Jeffrey Dahmer, who just got off of his “lunch break” and was back on the clock.

Charles had just devoured a delicious Chinese meal of fried sole, egg drop soup, and creamed broccoli. When he opened his fortune cookie, the little strip of paper read, “Thank you for eating at Hannibal Lector’s Golden Grill.”

Dave had just been served a scrumptious plate of Chinese fried rice and pork chow mein by the lovely smiling waitress. When he asked for a fork, however, the waitress pulled one out of her apron and stabbed him in the hand repeatedly until the metal utensil went all the way through.

Staci was tied to the street post with sharp steel chains and gagged with a horse mask. The only people who would come to her rescue were religious protestors who were holding up rainbow-colored signs that said, “God hates gags.”

In case there's ever a prompt where I have to get dark and dirty, here's a synopsis I wrote for a story called "Never Hit a Lady". It goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Seth Franklin, Abusive Boyfriend
Emma Williams, Battered Girlfriend
Laurie Bryan, Social Worker
Desmond Andrews, Laurie’s Enforcer

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Laurie and Desmond are summoned by Emma to help her escape Seth’s house while the abusive bastard is out grocery shopping. During the attempted fleeing, Seth returns home early from shopping and demands that Laurie get out of his house. Desmond won’t allow either of the two women to get hurt if he has to die protecting them.

I just posted this a few minutes ago on my Deviant Art account and thought it applied here as well.


***VISIT TO RACHEL’S OFFICE***

I’ve talked about my depression a lot over the past few weeks. I’ve even confided in DA friends who I jokingly call my “depression buddies” because we’re battling the disease together. Now I’m confiding in all of you. You’re probably wondering why and are right for asking. This actually does have bearing on my activity here on Deviant Art. This coming Friday, I’m going to see my therapist Rachel. We’ve got a lot of shit to talk about together. Namely…


1. Depression. She already knows I’m schizophrenic and autistic, but I’ve never actually entertained the idea of adding on a new disease until now. I’d even dare say it’s the reason why I lack so much mental energy and am not getting as much done in the present day as I used to back in the old days. It used to be that I could write a 60 to 90 page movie script in the span of two days if I wanted to. Now I’m lucky if I get a blog post up and running. Something has to be done about this and it’ll be the first thing I discuss with Rachel.

2. Boredom. Despite living in a gloomy place like Port Orchard, there actually are things to do around the house that I’m not exploiting right now. Aside from the obvious activities like reading “Holes” and writing “Fireball Nightmare”, I could also practice songs on the piano, watch On Demand movies, draw funny pictures, even play a few videogames on the Wii. Again, I blame depression for not being able to pursue these hobbies as actively as I want.

3. Happiness. This is going to sound cheesy, but I literally do not know what makes me permanently happy. I have temporary fixes like food, writing, getting in the hot tub, stuff like that. If I’m looking for something permanent, it probably has to do with beating my depression and thinking positive thoughts.

4. Travel anxiety. This Tuesday, I’m going on a week-long vacation to California with my family. I’ve got to be honest about something: flying on airplanes and riding around in cars for long periods of time bore me to insanity. It’d be one thing if I could get up and move around as much as I wanted to. But instead, I have to sit on my ass for a long time and have soreness afterwards.

5. Medications. I’m probably going to need some new ones for my depression and I might have to remove some for mental durability. She’s a psychiatrist, after all.

6. Sleep schedule. I wake up at noon and go to bed at noon. Sometimes, I wake up and go to bed later than these times. I know I don’t have any obligations to the world, but something still seems messed up about having a late sleep schedule.

7. Diet Mountain Dew. I drink three liters of this stuff every day. Could it be affecting my mental energy? I know there are internet articles out there that confirm this with every ounce of their being, but I don’t believe everything I read on the internet. Otherwise, I’d be a Nigerian millionaire right now.

8. Sensory deprivation. I’ve talked a lot about this over the past few weeks and I’d like to run it by Rachel to see if it’s legit. It might be a way to find out what all of these weird dreams I’ve been having mean. Have I mentioned lately that I keep having dreams about going to school?


Wish me luck, my depression buddies. Talking about my feelings isn’t easy to do, but it just may be what saves me when May 9th comes around. We’ve got ears, say cheers!


***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Paul Heyman can eat at Taco Bell and 30 minutes later shit better television than Vince Russo can write.”

-Jim Cornette-

Garrison, do you mind me asking....aside from your family, do you get to be with people face to face at all? I just wonder as you don't mention it and I think it can be harder to focus on all kinds of things if you don't have people around to bounce off. I know you have a lot of friends on line but they don't tend to turn up at your house and say 'get your coat on we're going out'

I don't have any friends here in Port Orchard. I used to have a girlfriend in Bremerton named Brianna, but we're not dating anymore. So no, I don't get to be with anybody face-to-face aside from my family.

Garrison, I don't know you very well and I know you have various things that make it hard work to deal with social situations but don't you think that you might enjoy it if you tried to participate in something outside of your home that might give you some friends near by. Maybe a family member would like to go along to - maybe a book group or community cinema group or something like that - I don't really know your interests are but where there might be some like minded people to chat to now and then? Just a thought, I think it's much harder to tackle issues such as depression if you are in your room a lot - the world can get a little small, even if you don't want to be with other people maybe just go outside - grow something, you know? Just a thought. Take care, N

Hi there, Nicky. Sorry I took so long to reply to your post, but I wanted to find a delicate way to say what I need to say. Port Orchard isn’t exactly a place where Generation Y members thrive. It’s more geared towards Baby Boomers and small children. Port Orchard has a lot of grocery stores, body shops, and restaurants, but not much of anything else. There’s a library and a used bookstore downtown, but there isn’t a whole lot going on in either of those two places. I tried Googling writers groups and book clubs in my area, but my search turned up virtually no results. If I wanted to hang out with people my age, my safest bet would either be Seattle or Bellingham. Both cities are a pain in the ass to get to since they’re so far away and nobody in my family has that much money for gas. Trust me, Nicky, I’d like to find places to go to meet people, but they don’t exist in my town.

Ah, that's 'a bit of a bummer' as they say round here, we always imagine America to be quite hectic.If you live somewhere quiet like that it would be difficult, no wonder you feel as you do. Hope you are doing ok at the moment. I'm quite lucky really, when we moved here I felt a bit like I'd beamed in from space leaving my friends behind but fortunately I have my husband who is my great friend and a colleague here who has become a friend really and he tends to keep me sane - he reads, listens to music, likes films has a sense of humour... all the things that no one else here seems to be interested in!

I'm glad you have a wonderful husband you can share your life with. :)

OOC: Until the next short story contest comes around, I'll treat you all to a journal entry I wrote for Deviant Art. It's about human contact.




***HUMAN CONTACT***

In all this time you’ve known me, you’re probably wondering why I keep posting journals asking people questions rather than looking up the answers on Google. There is a lot of truth to the fact that I don’t use Google often enough. I could use it to defeat my mental exhaustion, that’s for sure. I could find an alternative to Risperdal, I could find the symptoms of depression, and I could find out how to “force myself” to do things.

Would you like to know why I ask people on DA rather than use Google? Because I long for something that I don’t get a lot of beyond my internet friends and blood family: human contact. No amount of writing, TV watching, or jamming out to heavy metal will ever be a replacement for simply talking with the people I love.

I’ve mentioned my immediate family, because I’m currently living with them instead of maintaining independence. Here on DA, I’ve got people like Sophie-Pie, Zero-Hero, Kissy-Lyssy, and the latest addition to that list, Poisoned Oracle, who featured “Gag Order” in a journal of hers and I’m eternally grateful to her for that. On Good Reads, I’ve made quite a few friends in the form of Angie Duenas, Ryan Stone, Jeanne Voelker, too many to mention.

The thing about humans is that they can’t attend to your needs 24/7. Therefore, in order to attract their attention, I have to keep our conversations fresh. With DA, that means posting another philosophical journal. With Good Reads, it means participating in their WSS contest. With home, it means having meaningful conversations with Susan at 1:00 in the morning, which I did last night. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to keep the conversation fresh with any of my Fireball Nightmare chapters. That’s okay, though, because not everybody enjoys watching seven foot tall giants getting their scalps cut off.

The reason I’m writing this journal is to remind everybody how important human contact is. Without it, we would go insane. Think of all the people in our prison system who are sitting in solitary confinement for god knows how long. Being alone for that long causes extreme depression that not even Prozac is capable of balancing out. There are times when I’ve become extremely depressed because I had nobody to talk to. Part of it was because of my shyness, but another part of it was because Port Orchard isn’t exactly a social Mecca for Generation Y members. That’s why I spend a lot of my time on the internet: human contact without giving into my shyness.

To everybody who made the internet a cool place to be, past, present, or future, I want to personally thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I love you like family. I encourage you all to tell your loved ones the same thing. If you have an opportunity to break your shyness, do it. Life is too short to be all by yourself. It’s one thing if you’re an introvert who enjoys downtime, but it’s quite another thing to block everybody out completely and turn yourself into an army of one. Don’t be an army of one. It’s not worth it. Come to think of it, that’s probably why Squall Leonhart and Rinoa Heartily became a romantic couple by the end of Final Fantasy VIII: they too needed human contact. We’ve got ears, say cheers!


***GARRISON’S LIBRARY***

By the time I get around to writing an entry for this blog, it’ll be about a dream I had where Mickey Mouse was my new step-father. That’s right, folks. A fucking cartoon character from a children’s cartoon replaced the very real and very fatherly Dale Stevens. Good thing it was only a dream, or else that would have really sucked.


***A MILLION LITTLE PIECES***

Ever since finishing “Holes” by Louis Sachar, I’ve started reading the very controversial memoir “A Million Little Pieces” by James Frey. The reason why this drug addiction memoir is so controversial is because there are parts that are, how shall we say this, exaggerated beyond hyperbole. But with a riveting story and an ultra-fast writing style, who am I to complain about a little fiction?


***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

HOMER: What do you have to wash that awful taste out of my mouth?

VENDOR: Mountain Dew or crab juice.

HOMER: Glah! Ew! Geez! I’ll take a crab juice!

-The Simpsons-

Here's a blog entry I wrote for Garrison's Library called "No Romance in War". It goes like this:



I was going to do a blog entry about the almost impossible love between Robotech characters Rick Hunter and Lisa Hayes. I’m not going to do that anymore. The first reason is because my memory is extremely fuzzy when it comes to TV shows I’ve watched during my life in the 90’s. I have a Roku and I could very easily watch Robotech on Hulu, but I’m not feeling up to it right now.

The second reason is because I’ve found a different topic to discuss altogether. If you’re going to sign up for an occupation where violence is involved such as the police, the military, the FBI, the WWE, or the UFC (wow, that’s a lot of acronyms), make sure you’re doing it for a reason other than finding a soul mate.

If you think signing up to be a federal agent will get you a smoking hot wife who looks like Ziva David, Eleanor Bishop, or Kensi Blye, you’re sadly mistaken. If you’re going to participate in a season of The Ultimate Fighter where you have to share the house with chicks, you’re not walking away with Shayna Baszler or Raquel Pennington.

Romance in war is a fantasy that’s explored in canons like NCIS, Robotech, and even The Shield. The thing about fantasies is that they’re only that: fantasies. Truth be told, if you signed up for the police and started getting it on with a coworker, the commissioner could fire you.

Authority figures seem to have it in them that relationships among coworkers will breed poor job performance. It can happen, but not all the time. I don’t agree with the idea of not having relationships with coworkers, but then again, just because I don’t agree with something, doesn’t mean there isn’t a rule for it.

This rule is heavily enforced when it comes to combat occupations, because if there’s even one moment where emotions run high, it could cost lives. Then again, combat costs lives whether people decide to fraternize or not. When you step on a landmine, it won’t matter if you’re shacking up with the captain or not, because you will either lose your leg or you’ll flat-out die.

Death is the winner in any war. John Lennon always said that it’s legal to show people dying on TV, but people making love is suddenly disgusting. We live in a world where violence rules and love is a second class citizen.

Case in point: don’t join a combative occupation for all the wrong reasons. The romance between Rick Hunter and Lisa Hayes stood the test of time. Your romance will not. The line between fantasy and reality is there for a reason.

Hi, Garrison! I didn't know you were on Deviant Art too! Hang on, here's me http://greenelephantgirl.deviantart.com/

Hi there, GEG! I just added you to my watch list. :)

Oh wow, thanks! I'll add you right on back. :))

Yay! ^_^