A strange and random world...

[Lyle]

the fragility of life, the world and existence gets to me sometimes. this is not one of those times. After work tonight I walked to the car whistling 'raindrops are falling on my head' because raindrops were in fact falling on my head. I thought that was kinda neat.

this one time when my dad was driving me some place or other I remember feeling weird for a second, watching all the cars, people, buildings and things pass me by. then seemingly out of nowhere I began getting visions of all of it...burning. Great walls of flame consuming everyone and everything. People becoming instant skeletons, one brief, throat wrenching scream alotted them before the fire turned them to ash. Cars exploding in a cinematic way, the wreckage soaring into the sky and glass shattering everywhere. Buildings like monuments of flame, fingers of hell clawing at an unreachable heaven. the sky itself was blackened in my vision, huge billowing clouds of smoke as far as the eye could see. the odd thing, the interesting thing was that the blazing inferno was expanding, rushing alongside my car window so that there was always something new and different to see. Burn. as fast as the car could go-was how fast the city burned. It was a weird day.

I often get visions actually but they aren't usually quite so...violent. I say visions but what I mean is unscheduled fits of intense over-imagination. Writing seems to help but I haven't been able to lately. too much work, too tired, too many pointless drunken escapades. In a few weeks though when I've had some rest I'll write something. I have like a dozen ideas floating around, all of them strange and queer seeming. should be interesting to see what I can come up with. what else, what else?

Oh yeah, there's a work piss-up tomorrow in riverton. Jamescountry. I'll shoot around for a visit I think. Before I completely obliterate the guy you know as lyle for a few hours. thing is this girl who I've mentioned before might be there. Might I say. If she is I think I shall have to restrain my puzzling self destructive binge a bit. say hi and how you doin. If she's not though...

I'm tired now. I'll see you guys later.

[Lyle]

There a lot of similarities between Spike off buffy and me. Of course I'm not so cool or funny (sadly I don't have a team of writers supplying me with material. Although it must seem that way sometimes ) nor would I suit wearing a black leather trenchcoat.
I mean though, the basic ideas behind the character. If you take Spike when he was still 'william the bloody' (named that originally because of his bloody awful poetry. he changed the reason for the nickname later on though) you see that
he was an over-sensitive mama's boy. Much like I once was and much like I suspect, I'll always be in one way or another. He was overlooked and generally made fun of a lot. Then of course he ascended in the food chain, he got killed and reborn as Spike. cocky brash and deliberately unpleasant. self-indulgent.
I don't really want to harp on the much-used metaphor of the dying procees right now, the correlations between repression and denial as relates to personality traits and/or tendencies. So I won't. Nor can I be bothered pointing out the glaringly obvious similarities between spike getting vamped and becoming an asshole to me getting older and becoming...well, this. So I won't. However vampires are evil naturally, and evil is never good. Spike didn't get a choice in this as his soul was taken during the whole live/undead transformation. And in the world of buffy no soul means no capacity for good.
so you can't really blame spike, or any vampire on buffy for their vile and destructive actions. they can't help it; it's who they are...

I on the other hand have no such tidy and convenient excuse, no soul stripping trauma for lyle. Only life, which I guess if you think about it is the most soul stealing thing there is.
Whatever. the point is I am not all I can be. I know that, you know that, everyone knows that. On buffy spike went in search of his soul, in the hopes that this would help buffy get over her unwillingness to bonk a dead guy. She did it before after all. what was her problem!? After he got it though, buffy's love took a backseat for a while as spike came to terms with all the horrible nasty things he did when he was souless. he went through a very bad patch, mucho guilt and even a little madness. after which of course he became the not-as-funny, not-as-cool spike. the house trained spike. No fan likes that spike of course, I don't either much come to think of it. Still for the story there was no other way spike could go. He had to come to terms with who he was, who he was originally and he couldn't do that without a soul.

As for myself I've never savaged the land, rampaged across continents or partaken in impromptu massacres (although sometimes I'd like to ) I have though, done things I'm not proud of, entertained ideas that were unworthy of me. Cultivated attitudes that were unhealthy. it is only right, I think to feel a little guilt about these things, to spare a half hour every few days for a good, long brood.

I guess my point throughout this decidedly long-winded ramble is that I feel like I'm on my own quest. My own search for the soul I had stolen a long time ago. So that with a lot of work, a lot of luck and a lot of help I can someday, as spike has reclaim myself. relearn myself. Shed the snake-skin of ego and be in touch with everything. thats the plan anyway.

What a mission though!

[Lyle]

the song I'm listening to at the moment is like a sonic intoxicant. It streams smoothly into my ears like a pervasive, ever-present waterfall of sound. Weirdly Jungian lyrics conjuring images, sensation, emotion all effortlessly. The guitar chords, incomprehensible and all encompassing. the drum beat like a heart beat. heart of the universe. heart beat of God.

...how his naked ears were tortured by the sirens sweetly singing...and when your fingers find her, she'll drown you in her body...

Again! Play it again! All the world slipping away faster and faster. the cares and trivial concerns of time and timely events, spinning, spiraling down the sink of immortal bliss. Brought forth by the shouted words of an ecstatic madman.
the temptation to believe in some divine intervention, the urge to dismiss the thought that some mere human could orchestrate such psychedelic revelry is strong. It is only through constant and unrelieved repetition of the song that all concepts of the Mystical and all musings of the so-called limitations of humanity are shown to be one and the same. The never ending potential for joyous celebration and intellectual discovery poured from the past, speeding into the present via two minutes and forty five seconds of pure, audio inspiration.

you thought the leaden winter would bring you down forever, but you rode upon the steamer to the violence of the sun.

Poetry only not really. Word pictures inserted directly into your psyche, unlocking and unveiling things you've always known and feelings you've never forgotten. the music serves as the vessel, the carrier and gently covers the mind with numbing, thrilling melody. It brings me up. It reveals there is no down. The song makes me want weep and laugh and dance and die.

for the sparkling waves are calling you to kiss their white-laced lips, and you see a girl's brown body dancing through the turquoise, and her footprints make you follow where the sky loves the sea

the missive, the revelation is Tales of Brave Ulysses. The poet, the madman, the Holy fool is Eric Clapton. excuse me...I must play it again.

[Lyle]

I am too heavily influenced by Jim Morrison. a friend told me that once. we were both roaring drunk at the time. I think I'm too heavily influenced by music in general. I am not roaring drunk at this time.

...when I was young, I smoked drugs with all the bums, and making love was just for one...those days were dumb-jamesyboy.

But I don't know. Obviously influence or inspiration is all about how one interperets it. Like everything else. which implies that relativity is all powerful. that all things are relative. except of course the statement that 'all things are relative'. thats an absolute statement, obviously. a relative absolute? I think I'm going off track. I think that music may be just about all the wonder, mysticism, glory and spirituality that I need. Is that weird? probably. I don't actually care whether that's weird or not. what an exceedingly odd question to ask.
I am, as it happens in an exceedingly odd mood at the moment. this has been happening more and more frequently of late. a uh, backlash perhaps to all the smugly asserting salesmen of 'normality' who surround me constantly with their unknowing preaching, all their unrehearsed sermons. perhaps. I like backlashes. the sky-rocketing stupidity rate in the world, as a backlash obviously to all the smart, dead people. my obsession with vintage music as a backlash to all the pop being relentlessly churned out of recording studios, faster than we can digest even if we wanted to. like the guy in that movie, who got his asshole sewn up and some sadistic bastard kept feeding him. and feeding him. and feeding him. recording studios are sadistic bastards. and our assholes are sewn as if by a seamstress. A master seamstress.
I look forward to the inevitable, the unavoidable backlash against backlashes.
when I tire of reacting to everything and actually do something for once...

my dear old ma told me today, that she could have a job opening up for herself but she'd have to lie to get it. lie about never being injured in the last two months. my advice was unasked for and terribly confused. I hope it helped though. Lying is something I'm against in the same vague way that I am against growth hormones in chickens. I think to tell a lie is wrong but that doesn't mean I'll never eat another chicken...wait...ahh you know what I mean. Mean. Mean old witch with a funny eyeball twitch.moving on...

passion. I have passion. I have alot of passion about alot of different things.
people who think they know me pretty well claim that I am obsessive about the things I like. They're not wrong but I still hate that they think they know me. right now my obsessions include the notion of apollo/dionysus, Radiohead, the Rolling Stones and this place I discovered called the Enchanted Quill. some old favourites that are still hanging in there despite this influx of newcomers are the concept of Evil as a neccesary part of the human psyche, philosophy in general, reading/writing and noodles. yes thats right. good, hot, juicy noodles. what of it?

In any case the Girl at Work, as I have just decided to name her totally wants me. Or maybe she's disgusted by my appearence; hence the staring. I am not sure and that's okay. the point is my constant, stealthy and completely baffling habit of sneaking glances at, wait for it...the Girl at Work heh...anyway...has if nothing else revealed her penchant for sneaking ninja, like glimpses at me. yes at me! what a fruit-cake she must be...I have asked myself occasionally whether my constant err, avoidance of people in general has had an unforseen consequence of causing me to have this crush. cause I sure as hell have never had one like this before. I'm not sure as I like it but I don't hate it. it occurs to me that maybe she has noticed my glances and is only glancing to see if I am still glancing so she can tell the cops. and they will have a gay, old time beating the crap out of me. cause cops are like that.
ungrateful bitch! see if I ever grace you with my eyeballs ever again. fine! be that way... Girl at Work.

...I am so stoned, I think of all the weed I've grown. no don't answer the phone...let's all have one more cone...-james.

My own mama says I'm thugged out. well she probably would, if I was in fact thugged out. or maybe she wouldn't. to avoid stating the obvious.
did you know that at one point ninja were training samurai? no really. It was all to do with codes of honour and other amusing concepts. like a wise and loving government. ha! oh I kill me sometimes...
so anyway I need to sleep. haven't been there in a while. wonder if I've forgotten the secret password. or is it like riding a bloody bicycle. hmm what a frightening thought...a bike riding down the street, slowly, no driver in sight...all covered in blood. ~shudders~ oh I freak me out sometimes...
I shall leave you with this:

when I was young, I never needed anyone.
and making love was just for fun,
those days are gone
-eric carmen.

[Lyle]

'Not to be taken seriously' was tatooed on my forehead at birth I think, forever dooming any thought or idea to instant dismissal by all around. This over the years begins to register on the subconscious so before you know it I began dismissing my own thoughts before they were even fully formed. A pre-emptive strike against any incarnation of rationality or sense. Good Times.

Not that my own particular malady or condition is any harder to bear than that which seems to afflict the general population. A kind of hard-headed will to Grim Acceptance. people, it seems to me mope and limp from tragedy to tragedy, allowing the world, other people and their own loud-mouth insecurities to have sway. to call the shots. never really experiencing hope or joy. Never really seeing or grasping the point to Being, many not even bothering to invent one. The hard, cold world swallows the meagre spiritual potential of the very young. Smashes fledgling idealism with consumate ease.
Tortures optimism by holding up it's dark mirror, allowing the individual to wallow in his own limitations. What is it, this insidious agency, this unseen force working always to turn us. to break us? Is it the postmodern era with it's crass commercialism and gluttonous materialism? many would lay blame at this great dragon's feet without hesitation but I remain unconvinced. Is it the widespread loss of God following the Age of Enlightenment? Voltaire's mpassioned plea ringing out over time "remember the cruelties!" and Science, the murderer slinks away, bloodied dagger in it's hand. Maybe.
Or perhaps, after all is said and done we have only ourselves to blame. Wrapped in all those social skills we've learned, buried beneath all the concerns and fears and beliefs. A grimly accepting attitude. A take it on the chin mentality. "ra-ra! Good over Evil, do what must be done, hang in there kitten it's almost friday..."

And so on. I seem to be immune to this virus, this dreadful seriousness that is most everywhere you care to look. Wondering about that one day, I forget the name-I came to a reality shaking revelation. That the dark shaman who held me down, newborn and screaming at the injustice of it all, the mysterious benefactor of my tatoo was trying to impart some philosophical wisdom. "Not to be taken seriously" I had always assumed was my fate, my label. Forever more.
But what if instead the Shaman was instructing me on the proper attitude to everything else. yeah...

Or as a very wise and brilliant man once was known to say:

"Always so concerned with the human condition. It's no big mystery man, they suffer, they die. That's what they're there for"

meh. it's your crossword puzzle. you fill it out.

[Lyle]

So I got home a mess, two bottles of rum and I don't know how much weed having been consumed by yours truly. yarg, as someone here would say.

Now, a mere handful of hours later I sit here before you , attempting to string a few meaningless musings together. A necklace of musings. hmm.
I am pleased that work is over, may I say. Pleased as punch. No more unhelpful lunches of dubious nutritional value. No more godawful stench as I travel to the meatworks and best of all...no more fucking sheep. Ah yes...

Of course it's not all bleeding gravy on the bleeding gravy train.

I could have, if I wished continued on for another week on dayshift. But, as alot of angry people have said over time 'fuck that'. I'm tired. I'm drained. I'm really sick of sheep. Bring on the couch I say.
Now I sit here listening to Pink Floyd amd wondering where the hell four or so months went. whoa...Life is fucked. Don't you think?

yeah I really do think...

[Lyle]

So I have only the vaguest recollection of posting that last one. And look at it! No spelling mistakes or anything. What a man this boy has become...

I woke, say ten minutes ago my head angrily protesting my decision to get wasted the night before. I stand by it though. What better way to end a hellish period of death and torture than drinking a great deal? Exactly. I remember thinking last night (after about the fourth or was it fifth glass) that I should have been drinking since the beginning. I could have stopped at the bottle store on the way out there, have a few in the locker room before heading over and giving a very half-hearted attempt at doing my job. heh you should have seen it. the blatant lack of interest in doing anything that might possibly be construed as work. Not just me. The other two guys on my chain were out there in the ether as well. One guy was supposed to be keeping count on some mob of sheep. This is important though I've never bothered to find out why. So the Boss was less than impressed when on asking this guy how many we were up to he recieved a slurred and incredulous "why the fuck would you ask me that!?" hehe. Many stories of the good, old days were being thrown around. Tales of how cheap everything used to be, how much greater the drugs used to be and so on. I felt obliged to contribute but I had no real stories so I just drank alot. I was already swaying slightly by six. we only start at quarter to five.

It is around lunch time that my recollection gets a little hazy. I can remember running out of rum and so we appointed some guy to go fetch us another. We sipped on jack daniels while we waited and occasionally killed a sheep. The rum got to us about twelve so we tore into that. It's amazing how quickly two or three determined individuals can go through one of those.
My boss at one point came over and we all thought "oh shit" but no. He was just expressing his envy, how management didn't get to do anything and what did we think about that? We commiserated and offered him a Jack Daniels which he politely declined. We continued to drink. At one point I remember seeing the girl who works there. Talking briefly with her. Although I have no clue what was said. I think she too was envious and who could blame her...How I managed to find my way out of the yards (the yards of death) and out into the carpark. Around the massive thing and into our van-I'll never know. The miracles of alcohol I guess.
One thing I do remember is around ten, a conversation of sorts between a co-worker and I. it went sort of like: "People, you know. People should work this way all the time..." I slurred, gesturing expansively.
"Like how do you mean? Fucked up" he responded.
"yeah, you know...altered"
"haha! altered. I like that."
"chemically altered. mentally altered" I clarified.
"hahaha...you have the words, lyle. you always use the unusual words."
"fuck yeah, I do"

that was about the gist of it. Long story short. Work=Over. Finally

[Lyle]

I'm at my mother's house which is out in the country. Away from town and all the...people. Don't you just hate people? Yeah I know what you mean..
I'm kinda in a weird place emotionally speaking. I could go on about it but there are more important things to think about.
Like University and how it seems to loom in an oppresive and melo-dramatic way. What with all the things I've neglected to get, all the money I've foolishly spent. meh-what do I care? the truth is I'm really looking forward to "higher" education and all it's various grotesqueries. I'm looking forward to eating foodstuffs of dubious nutritional value. I'm looking forward to being three weeks overdue in my rent and frantically scrambling to avoid eviction. I'm looking forward to spending the majority of my time in sleazy bars talking to worn out and cynical prostitutes. you know-kid stuff.

Oh the debt is worthy of mention. How I'll still be paying it off when/if I get elderly. like fifty or so. YAY!
I fully intend to do my best though. Don't be fooled by my traditionally flippant way of speaking. To the best of my capability will I study. It'll be a little weird at first, naturally. I haven't used the old grey matter in some time-the world seems designed in such a manner that it isn't really required. which is nice if your a little challenged like me. So my first semester which will really be the second, for everyone else will be like a warm up period. And if it seems clear that I belong in the musty halls of academia...so be it. And if not...I'll think of something. never panic.

I have only the vaguest conception of what I'll be doing-it almost seems incidental at this point. My course aspirations can be summed up in three words. Philosophy, Philosophy, Philosophy. ( )
It isn't a matter of preference nor is it needful for some job I have my eye on.
Although those things sound important...I remain unconvinced. It's difficult to explain but I'll try. I need philosophy. It isn't a question of choice at all. I wanna sink my mental fangs into the Great Wisdom traditions and drain out their essence. that I might thrive. I wanna wrap my intellectual tentacles around all the Theories and Critiques and crush them. With all the vital desperation of my queer and unknowable obsession. why? I dunno really...
Life, it seems to me isn't all that great. Even with my meagre handful of years and my glaringly obvious mental handicap ( ) this seems clear. nevertheless it is the only game in town. I would play something else but...So this leaves me with a conclusion of sorts. If your gonna do something you may as well do it right. which leads one unexpectedly and with a lurching jolt-into philosophy. One of the central concerns, some would say the central concern is the question "what is the right way to live?"

I don't feel certain enough to put forward the answer, if in fact such exists and it isn't all a matter of opinion. I do have several theories which are rather involved and probably not all that interesting anyway. thats only one question among many. I want to learn other's thoughts on these questions. Some answers would be nice too but I wont hold my breath. In comparism any other subject just seems a little trivial but I guess I'll have to pick a few. If only to keep some office clerk somewhere happy.
My family aren't exactly thrilled with my choice but I suspect my mother at least, of just being glad I'm doing something. Anything.
yeah but I don't think I could go back to that anyway. the inactivity, the mind-rotting boredom I used to wallow in. I strongly doubt I would be able to handle it these days. If only for the sake of my already decomposing "sanity"
reading books, listening to music and that are great but I need more. maybe even just the social interaction which I have so avidly avoided up till now.
Going to bars and talking to people about this and that.
Going to lectures and debating with smug, young know-it-alls. my kind.
Going somewhere other than here and being something other than this.

I don't ask for much, really. Ok that'll do for now.

[Lyle]

So it's finally happened. the Mysterious Benefactor who has been providing me with free internet has been nabbed! either that or some other equally amusing occurence has...occurred.
I tried to get on the internet this morning (to come here. that's all I really use it for besides music and such) when some unwelcome and fiercely authoritan message bleeped up. "the user name and/or password is not registered on yada yada etc."
I had to laugh. Something was going down, that much was clear. But what?
Did I care? No...no not really. then slowly my brain caught up with my viciously unbiased sense of hilarity. Oh wait-this means-no quill!?

argh balls.

So I calmly, with that aura of disdain for worldly concerns which I have pain stakingly cultivated over the years arranged a ride to town. To civilization.
they have computers there, I reasoned. I must inform my enchanted comrades of recent happenings. And so I have.
all this means, in the cosmic scheme of things is that my Mysterious Benefactor must be sent a pigeon (or perhaps a dove. pigeons are so yesterday) with a tiny scroll attatched to it's foot, informing him of this dread conspiracy. He will, I trust immeadiately spring into action (first de-coding my missive via an ancient transcript; which was written in goat's blood and penned by blind, tibetan monks) leap with wild abandon atop his shiny steed, and gallop to the rescue. However he is only one man and my enemies are legion. Should he fall (I won't care really. I am like this) I will pick up his sword and fling myself headlong into battle.
Or translated into the King's english: I will have to begin paying for my own internet. I know. I know.
already I hear your cries, from across whatever oceans you live beside " Pay!? the devil you say. Surely, noble Lyle who is paramount among us, thou canst stoop to the level of an ordinary man! Our glowing image of a carefree and poetic soul must not be tarnished by something of this kind",
I hear you, I hear you my indignant friends but my hands are tied...If the Mysterious Benefactor falls...I will have no choice. This foul conspiracy must be revealed for I sense that the trials have only begun. The Dark Side clouds everything...
" Enough of your meaningless rhetoric!", you interupt furiously, leaping about, pulling out clumps of your collective hair. "Is it not written; Yea and Lyle shall be placed at the forefront of the Enchanted Quill and all shall make way for him. No payments shall ever bear his name and all will be provided for him?" Religion has no place in this discussion. I don't care what some frothing madman wrote about me centuries before I was born! I have to live my own life goddamnit!
come come, let's not fight. all will be well you'll see. Perhaps some time apart will do us good. You'll forget about my tendency to Egoism and Grand self-serving rants and begin to believe, contrary to all the evidence that I am a Good Person. And I? I will forget the mind-numbing sense of inadequacy I feel whenever I am logged on. What with all your techno-mumbo jumbo and me being a mere country bumpkin. If a devilishly handsome, stylistically gifted bumpkin-still a bumpkin. I guess time will tell.
To summarise: 1) have been shafted by seethingly jealous no good plonker/s. 2) have asked for assistance from Mysterious Benefactor. 3) May, despite this have to get my own Internet account 4) May, in view of recent events be absent for a while.

Is that all clear? read it over if not. One good thing has come from all this (always look on the wild side) Mine enemies have revealed themselves. Now I just have to wait for the old man at the local dairy to announce that he is a communist as I have long suspected, and all will be right in the world.
Over the next few days I am going to keep an eye out for unusual events and enigmatic people. And though I may not be reflecting here...you know in my heart I will be.

Until next time be cool and remember: Don't take any Guff from these Swine.

*nods*

[Lyle]

I like to write, you know. Nothing in particular just...words. stringing together and forming sentences which go on to form paragraphs which themselves-
well actually I don't think I've gone much further than a few paragraphs at a time. No stamina. Thats the problem with my generation.
yes, I like to write. various people have told me I have a knack for it. a knack for words in general actually. They imply with their words and their looks as well that I should set about getting some sort of financial reward for my arguable gift. But see these silver tongued advisors, these uninvited life-critics are missing the point. Much as 9 people out of 10 miss the point when they ask "what does it all mean?" but I digress.
Money sounds grand and dandy but I like to write. Pure and simple. it doesn't particularly concern me whether anyone else likes it. it's for me. Not you. or him or her either. It is wonderful if the few family members and friends I write get tickled pink from my literary ejaculations. it is truly something if my meaningless (and often deliberately so) blurbs here at the quill give someone a momentary happy. That's nice. I'm glad to hear it. But it was never about you...

Something pure and clean comes over me as I concoct my turbulent, virulent word-potions. I am happy in a simple and profound way which I hardly ever experience at any other time. When I'm with my friends, my chums, my compatriots or brothers in arms I'm happy. I put forward my generally flawed opinions and have them accepted more or less. I can make a stupid, thoughtless comment and not be hated or thought less of. I can make a complete mockery of dignity by my words and deed-yet always be welcomed the next day. As just another shit-kicker. Just another droog. I have some good friends. When I'm with my family I'm happy. the care and concern from my mother. The helpless resignation of my assorted queerness, from my father. The ceaseless niggling from my siblings. It makes me happy.
And when I'm here at the quill, amidst all the various intellectuals of differing disciplines, despite my occasional fear that I will be discovered and revealed as an imposter (this one isn't smart!) I am happy. But all of these, all of them don't quite give me the feeling of peace and serenity that I feel as I string these humble words together. One after the other.
And I think if I were to take that step, to pursue some career writing something or other-journalism or magazines or short stories or whichever- it wouldn't be the same. My utopia would be violated. Cold and greedy commercialism and materialistic dogmas would intrude. I don't think I could do that to myself.

Which is ridiculous of course. I mean I, we, all of us do self-destructive things don't we? from time to time. what makes this one unique? I don't know
I suppose I shouldn't say that I will never write for my living (leaving aside the obvious question of whether I even could, for now) only that I have grave reservations about it. As I do love. And life too for that matter...

I suppose time will tell, whether I find something else to replace doodling words and sentences, attempting to find myself through scattered notions and half-baked ideas. there are some fairly abysmal writers out there. Maybe one more wouldn't hurt. heh. in any case I think I'll find out in University where I'm headed. One way or the other. I'm aware of the dangers of placing too much emphasis on this or that occurence but I really do feel that the place will change me. Transform me totally into whatever the metaphorical butterfly equivalent is to an addled, young dreamer. As to if the change will be for the better...well. again, time will tell.

[Lyle]

Although we have never seen eye to eye, the two of us now is not the time to dwell on the past. Because change is coming you may be certain of that.
Where was I? ah yes. It is only natural that God has died. He had a good run-better than most. The inexorable stagnation of morality everywhere was too much though. The Old boy's heart couldn't take it. He's up in heaven now.
"God hell" my attorney exclaimed, "I think I see the pattern" Oh shit. I hope he keeps it together. Now is not the time for lunacy and incomprehensible raving. Which must surely follow the dark revelation of the closing doors of divinity. well there's just one thing for it. We'll have to buy a motorcycle and scream off into the distance, blood system's full of extremely dangerous chemicals and our souls' churning in righteous indignation. A worn out cliche I know, but cliche's become so for a reason. We must never lose sight of our primary responsibility. The temptations will be legion, now that our ever-present prison guard is spiraling down the mortal coil. However if we keep our bodies under control through liberal use of intoxicants and our spirits' docile through judicious application of rock and roll-I think we stand a chance. I am not without flaws. I know that. I have had up to this point in time a timid up-bringing. I am also ashamed to admit that I over-think things from time to time. These painful weaknesses however shrivel into insignificance when faced with certain socio-psychic truths. When you can feel the weasels closing in, sometimes it's best to buy an expensive machine, load up on heinous substances and turn up the music. heading west. in the company of like-minded warriors. glazed eyes insanely dilated behind tiny black, gold-rimmed greaser shades, screaming gibberish...a genuinely dangerous drunk, reeking of ether and terminal psychosis. Old elephants limp off to the hills to die. There are worse ways to go. Wait! Stop! what is this? My god did I just write that, or only think it. Whichever it was doesn't stop the urgent fact from bursting from our conciousness-that is wrong. We are only beginning our safari, our pilgramage of the mind. And yes we'll lose loved ones along the way (god being one of them) but we musn't allow our resolve to falter. dedication. perseverence. These words don't mean what they used to. One too many straws laid on the camel whose name is Humanity
One too many betrayals at the blood-soaked hands of our parents. Everywhere you look you see nothing. the thought of surrender sends out her siren call and the weak will answer. Much as they always have. But this is different! This isn't like those other times! Our trip, our journey to the heart of understanding is a classic affirmation of everything right and true and decent. Life isn't a pale and frightened maiden who waits for someone to notice her. She is a vibrant and fearsome wench who may deign to notice you. She may even take you in her embrace and love you till it hurts. But only the deserving. Only those with true grit. Can you hear me? Do you understand the words as I think them and show them to you?
I pray that it is not too late for you and me and everybody. I hope that the
placid mumblings of finely dressed slaves doesn't deter you as it has me for all these years. "As your attorney I advise you to drive at top speed".
Hypocritical whinings and self-indulgent whinges have no place in this brave new world that you and I are creating. Only truth and poetry allowed. No country. No opera. It is absolutely imperative that you understand this. I don't know how much longer I'll be marooned here on this island, on this mouldy, crusty back-water. So time is, as always of the essence.
I am not who you are used to, that swine with all his varied flaws and temperence. I am without the hog-like paramour he courts, that which we name; hesitation. Go some other place for him. lyle doesn't live here anymore

It's time for an Agonising Reappraisal of The Whole Scene.

[Lyle]

The Beast stirs, groggy and placid.
with awareness comes memory of
ancient wounds.
He senses her, even now.
Her once icy aura grows tepid with
times passage.
A shadowed mouth opens in a
reptilian grin. and old embers flicker
anew. a single thought thrums in time with
it's heartbeat.

this means war.

[Lyle]

I knew it would only be a matter of time before the admins turned on me. There are only so many glorious stars allowed in this constellation. Apparently.
One admin in particular has begun a vicious smear campaign with vague threats of sun glass confiscation throughout. I am not afraid. Wendy, I have long considered something of a token admin. She is really eye candy and nothing more. Not much going on upstairs if you know what I mean. I always tolerated her though, always strained to be polite even when she went on and on about how cool she is. Seemingly though the jealousy, the envy got to be too much. Her raging sense of inadequacy I guess, has supplanted whatever limited store of decency she once had. If you read her reflections (I don't recommend them personally. Very pretentious and self-involved) you will have noticed a seething notice of animosity in there and something about my sun-glasses. I am above this kind of thing usually but something about the girl gets my blood boiling. I think it's her general lack of any redeeming qualities. Or it might be something else I'm not sure.

Also she has stupid hair.

[Lyle]

A child's taunt with feral implications, the wild haunt of lost forgotten nations.
Truly.
serotonin trembling pulls the ego under, we love the wreckage left of divinity asunder. Our own dreams...of freedom; on wings of silver and chrome...are broken now and yearn for naught but home-segmented.
all your rights are wrong under the right light, we left all that was sensible, back three lefts and a right. our despots' days are fading now into liberations night...alright.
wise, old man he hoards his plan and seeks to find a way. with all his might and thought he searches for a way. oh aye, lad aye.

puritanic orgies occupy the meekened, rationale's stronghold is quietly being weakened-seek and sought-teach the taught-with the bible that you bought.
seek the teacher kill the preacher seek the preachers, preach to teachers. Vehement. righteous ranting of your self appointed shepherds will only work with lambs to slaughter...true of every son and heir, true of every daughter.

vantages' advantages are toppling around-we all wait with baited breath, we listen for the sound...the sound resounds all up all down.

the sound of music.

[Lyle]

OUT. purity. IN OUT IN. sacrament. IN OUT IN OUT. truth. IN OUT IN OUT. growth. IN OUT IN OUT. peace.
I reach my hand into the shadow/pull the pieces from the sand.
Try attempt to reassemble/suggest who I might have been. Shroud of ignorance around me, kill my enemies who found me. Doing what I shouldn't. Doing what you wouldn't...

I (if there is such a thing) am out in the country, with memories of a car which brought me here. It didn't seem so terrible on the way. There were people with their families, all smiling and occupied. Oblivious of my plight. The green country-side sped by, the sounds all muted by the sheets of glass. I mumbled distractedly out of politeness but I wasn't really listening. Even now as I type these things-I'm not really here. Which begs the question, "where are you then?" I am right here. Are you stupid?

it's not a war on drugs its a war on personal freedom is what it is, ok. keep that in mind at all times. thank you. there's no such thing as death, life is just a dream and we're the imagination of ourselves. Here's Tom with the weather!

IN, OUt, IN, OUT my own stomach is squirming, protesting something or other. Maybe it's too empty or maybe it's too full. I'm not sure. That, it seems to me sums up most everything that springs to mind, without undue effort or unseemly strain. I'm not sure. I'm not sure. I am what I am and I do what I must. I do what I must. the body, my body has too much influence I think. it never seems content with my gestures of placating and appeasement. So greedy, so needy, so Loud...

black as holes within a memory/blue as our new second sun. I do not recognise the vessel but the eyes seem so familiar. The loss of faith, the loss of self. this is what has me now in it's unforgiving grasp. the concept that is through me, more alive than I ever was...

I'll be leaving this place soon. Away from the country and back to where all the glass and concrete lives. I take fragmented memories and frenzied recollections with me, I'll speak of them to the people I meet but I don't know as they'll believe me. Doubt and fear are everywhere. A massive responsibility has been handed to me, though I don't know to whom or from.
Nevertheless I feel it in the marrow of my being, so much so that my entire life as it leads to this point fills me with self-conscious guilt. A wave of remorse like I've never experienced before. for being this instead of this.

you know?

...; you thought I had run away, chasing the tail of dogma ;...