Monday, January 31, 2011

"Bad day. Started bad, stayed that way."

Woke up at 4:55 am. Arrived at work at 6 am. First break was lunch at 12 pm. Left work at 5:18 pm.

In between: hours and hours of massive tedious work that needed to get done right that very instant.

Is this all life is? Boredom at breakneck speeds? Watching the seconds flash past like the pages of a calender in one of those cheesy "time is passing" montages?

Is this hell or is hell the exact opposite, where things become too interesting? Is it possible for a life to be too boring and too interesting at the same time?

There was a police car outside my work. It might have been checking drivers for how fast they were going. It might have been watching me. I don't know. I don't know if I'm still on the radar of those SMSC people or if they were really FBI. Do you think they know I have the package? Well, if they read this blog, they certainly know now.

"May you live in interesting times" is a curse, but "Hell is a place where nothing ever happens." What about when you don't know if your life is interesting or boring?

The package isn't for me, but am I supposed to deliver it? Or just pass it on? Am I just a way station for random weirdness never to be explained?

And is it better to have no answers than to have an answer you don't like?

Fuck it, I'm getting too philosophical. I need to sleep now.

Friday, January 28, 2011

Paranoia: it's what's for dinner

I'm sitting in an IHOP right now trying to gather my thoughts. I have half-a-cup of hot chocolate left, but I don't want to drink it.

This whole week, I've had a feeling of someone watching me. I could feel eyes on me wherever I went, taking the bus from my parent's house to work and back, going back to my apartment, even buying new bedding to replace the cut up ones.

Turns out I was right. They might be outside my work today: a man and a woman, both wearing casual business attire. She wore a tie and had dark red hair, while his clothes were crumpled. He was lanky and tall and wore sunglasses and seemed to be thrumming to some imaginary tune. She was slightly shorter, but had a kind of half-smile to her that seemed like she knew something no one else did.

They said they were from a division of the FBI called SMSC. I didn't catch what the acronym was for. She introduced herself as Special Agent Liza Jane and he was Special Agent Aladdin Sane (yes, writing it here, they sound like made up names, but I didn't question it then). Then she asked if we could go someplace to sit down.

Thus: IHOP. I had them show me their badges again and then they asked me some questions, mostly related to the break-in. Some were weird though; one question was about my dreams, the other about my childhood. I declined to answer either one. Finally, I asked why they were here, what the FBI had to do with anything.

Special Agent Liza Jane answered my question, "There were prints in your apartment that belonged to fugitive we've been tracking. We need to know what he's doing here and why he was inside your apartment. If you received anything recently - a gift, a package - something that he might be looking for, it might help us determine where he's going to be next."

I asked, "Is he dangerous?"

"Yes," Agent Jane said and then paused. "He's killed quite a lot of people. So, have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Received anything? Through the mail, given to you, or maybe just left on your doorstep."

I hesitated. "No."

"Okay." She and her silently thrumming partner got up. "Here's my card. If you do receive anything unusual, call me. Or if you remember something important."

"How likely is the possibility," I asked, "that this fugitive will come back to my apartment?"

"Not very," she said. "He hasn't been back in the last week, so we think he's moved on from here." Suddenly, there was a squaking on their radios and I heard the phrase Tango Whiskey Delta spotted. "We've got to go. Remember: any unusual packages." And then they left.

I was sipping my hot chocolate when I realized what had been bugging me. Liza Jane. Aladdin Sane. SMSC. Scary Monsters and Super Creeps. And then I realized something else:

Tango Whiskey Delta. TWD.

The Thin White Duke.

Monday, January 24, 2011

The illusion of safety

When I came back from work tonight, I saw that someone had kicked in my apartment door. The lock was completely broken. I called 911 and then waited thirty minutes until the police arrived. After a cursery ten minutes of looking around, they let me back into my apartment.

It was in shambles. Every single pillow or cushion had been cut open, all my books and DVDs were scattered across the floor. Boxes of comics that had been kept in my closet had been emptied (the geek in my wailing 'Near mint! Near mint!') and my bed had been completely flipped. In the center of the floor, someone had spray-painted a big circle with an X through it.

A short police officer asked me a few questions about any valuables I may have had. Asked from some X-Men comics from the '70s, I have nothing of value. Which was probably why the burglar didn't take anything, the police said. All they were confused about was the x-ed out circle, but they figured it was a new gang sign.

I know why nothing was taken and I know about the symbol, but I didn't tell them. What would I say? "Hey, by the way, I received a mysterious package in the mail a few days ago and this is probably what they were looking for. I probably have to deliver it to a tall, thin man with no face who kills nearly everybody he meets, too." I could probably follow that up with, "Yes, I would like to be locked up in the looney bin."

My parents insisted I stay at their house until the landlady gets a new lock installed.

My only consolation is that I know the burglar didn't find the box. It's somewhere I don't think anyone would look.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

The illusion of reality

While walking to the library today, I saw a little kid playing with a remote controlled mechanical spider. From far enough away, however, the spider looked real. And my mind went Oh that can't be real.

Until another part of my mind said Oh yes it can. If He is real - and I know He is (I don't know why I know, but I know) - then who knows what else is real. Giant spiders. Sewer alligators. Pop rocks and soda.

When I got closer, I saw that the little kid was controlling it with a remote, however, so my mind rested easy. Until the bit of my mind that sucks said Isn't that like life? We think we're in control, but someone else is holding the remote. We're all mechanical spiders.

I ignore this part of my mind most of the time - if I didn't, I think I would curl into a ball and never leave my apartment - but today I just got this bad feeling in my stomach, like I was going to throw up.

At the library, I got something called The Book of Cant. Don't know why, just picked it up. For some reason, this makes me more nervous.

Friday, January 21, 2011

I've got mail

I came back from work to find a package on my doorstep. It was a plain brown box wrapped in brown tape. My address was scribbled in black marker on the front and there was no return address. There was, however, a note:
                               YOU ARE THE RECEIVER.
                               FOR ALL THE THINGS THAT ARE TAKEN
                               SOMETHING MUST BE RETURNED.
                               THIS IS NOT FOR YOU.

Reading the last post, I really don't know what to make of this or what it has to do with, you know, TSM ( yes, I believe in him, but I've never seen him - I don't know why, I just believe).

I'm putting this someplace safe now. I'm not going to open it.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

open this ghost with millionary knives of wind

i am not a fool i know about the code
the code of conduct the code of chivalry
the cipher code of (STORYTIME IS OVER).

                     nothing is out there don't look
there are no shadows on the walls arms slowly growing
he is not waiting for me
                                                               (i am waiting for him)

i am not a fool i know about the box
the one left on the doorstep
like so many orphans
                       do not open it
                                 it is not for you
                                   it is for him
                           it is clearly marked
                       RETURN TO


All Quiet

Been pretty normal these last few days. No weird, random outbursts.

I've been pretty tired lately, though. Not getting enough sleep, I think. I'll be back with some more poetry next week. Need sleep now.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

nursery rhyme

Hush, child, sleep now,
No need to be fearful
We are safe up here now
No need to be tearful.

He cannot see us up so high
Higher than He is tall.
He cannot find us up so high
Just be sure not to fall.

You've fallen now, child,
Don't move, don't make a sound.
You've raised His attention, child,
Now you He has found.

He's taking you away now, child,
Don't look at his face, oh so pale.
Close your eyes, don't worry, child
Now you're a cautionary tale.

Monday, January 17, 2011

Work Weirdness

I work in the accounting department of a dept collection law firm (I know, supremely boring). Today was MLK Day, so the post office, the banks, and the courts were closed, so it was a pretty slow day.

Then this happened. I take calls from debtors who wish to make payments on their account, setting up checks over the phone. This lady sounded around thirty and had just set up a check by phone for $50 for today:

Me: So what check number would you like to use?
Lady: Nothing is ever lost within him. He remembers all that he has consumed - people, places, dreams.
Me: I'm sorry?
Lady: No need for that. His eyes are closed, but his mouth is open, you see. And his arms, oh yes, his arms out outstretched.

I immediately hung up. This is getting beyond weird now. I'm not sure what I should do about it.

an elm rends

when will he wake up
up when will he wake
wake up when will he
he wake up when will
will he wake up when

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Laundry Day

So, it's Laundry Day today. Which meant that as I dragged my basket of clothes to the laundromat, all I was wearing was a pair of worn jeans and my "Whatever Happens in a Black Hole Stays in a Black Hole" t-shirt.

Weirdest thing happened at the laundromat, though; I was putting my clothes in the washer when an old lady tapped me on the shoulder. When I turned to her, she said, "Fear is as unknown a concept to him as wonder is to the night sky."

"What?" I said.

"I said, can I borrow some of your detergent?"

"Um, okay."

So, either I'm losing my hearing, or I've been reading too many scary stories on the internet.

Below: I'm still sleeptyping I see. Must be some wacky dreams, but I can't remember them.

his names

so many names slim suited man rail thin man skin-and-bones man rawboned man angular faceless long limbed man operator mister gaunt

ses bras tendus

Saturday, January 15, 2011

In the Gloomy Woods

Ah, I love the smell of used books in the afternoon. Went to the library today to check over their used books section and came back with a paperback copy of Doomsday Book and a nice hardcover of Dante's Inferno, complete with reproductions of old prints.

I flipped through Inferno and came across this picture:
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This print is supposed to be "Dante in the Gloomy Woods," but that doesn't really look like Dante does it? Strange.

Weird Dreams

Woke up around noon, my mouth as dry as the desert. Got a glass of water and chugged it like there was no tomorrow.

Weird dreams. I can barely remember it. I was a kid again, watching Saturday morning cartoons while my mom graded papers like she normally does. I could see each paper she graded (even though I wasn't near her - that's the way dreams work I guess) and she was failing each one - but not with a F, but with a big red X, circled.

The cartoons ended and then that weird show I used to watch came on. The one with the pirate and the skeleton man, what was it's name? It was so creepy, I used to have the strangest nightmares about it.

Then it was dark and my mom was gone and the papers were scattering like leaves and I could hearing something, like the grinding of teeth, the scraping of stone, the sound that when you hear it, you know Hell is near.

Then my phone rang and I woke up.

By the way, the post below? No idea. I must be sleepwalking again. Thought I stopped doing that a long time ago, but at least it's just typing. I'm not walking into traffic or anything.


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"Carved symbols in a mountain hollow on the bank of an inlet irritated an eccentric person."

his eyes closed his mouth open his eyes closed his mouth open his eyes closed his mouth open
his arms outstretched his arms outstretched his arms outstretched

The Pale Prince and his Wan Wife

I don't usually write prose stories, but I couldn't get to sleep and this just popped into my head. It's kind of a weird, dark little fairy tale. I'm not so sure about the ending - I think I was very tired and started to nod off while typing.

The Pale Prince and his Wan Wife

There was a kingdom ruled over by a prince whose skin was as white as a sheet. He
ruled things justly and fair, but was always nervous around women due to his
particular skin condition. Then, one day, he had a visitor, a woman from a far
away land whose skin was as pale as his was. Looking into her eyes, he found true
love and soon they were wed.

Their story doesn't end there, however. The Pale Prince's wife was suddenly
stricken by an ailment, causing blood to stain her precious white skin as it
poured from her nose and mouth and eyes. The prince brought forth doctors and
alchemists and wizards and witch doctors, but none could help her.

Finally, the prince called upon the very Devil himself. "Please save my wife," he
pleaded, "and I will do whatsoever you ask."

The Devil nodded his head, for he always wanted the prince as his puppet, and
said, "Very well. Do what I saw exactly and your wife will get better." The
prince listened to the instructions and then rushed to his wife's room.

The first thing he did was place a cauldron of water over the fireplace. When it
was boiling hot, he took it and placed it near his wife. He took one of her
delicate hands in his and, with only a small amount of doubt, plunged it into the
water. She moaned once, but didn't seem to feel the pain. The water, however,
boiled and swirled and some spilled over the edges, catching the prince's leg and
scalding him (though he was careful not to let go of his wife's hand).

Finally, after six minutes had passed, he took her hand out of the cauldron and
laid her back down to rest. Then he took the cauldron and spilled the water down
the privy.

The very next day, the prince's wife was feeling better. She no longer bled from
the mouth or nose or eyes. But once the prince held her hand, he noticed she felt
very cold. When he asked if she wanted another blanket, she said she had no need
- she didn't feel the cold at all.

The day after that she was well enough to walk around her room and the day after
that, she was talking walks through the castle and the courtyard. The prince was
so joyful, he almost forgot his bargain with the Devil.

The prince did notice something different about his wife, besides the cold.
Sometimes, when passing an animal, she would pet them with unease, as if the
warmth of their bodies disturbed her. She had not yet come back to bed with the
prince and he wondered what she would do when she did.

Finally, one night, he requested that they both sleep in the same bed. She agreed
without argument, but in the bed, she stayed as far away from him as she could.

When he tried to touch her hand, she flinched away and said to him, "Please, I
don't like the heat." He did not know what to make of it.

Then, about a week later, he awoke in the middle of the night to find his wife
gone from the bed. Searching the castle, he found her in the courtyard next to
one of the hunting dogs. She was kneeling next to it and he thought at first she
was petting it, but then he noticed it was not moving and there was a stain of
red on the ground. He called out to his wife and when she turned, he could see
that she had killed the dog and cut out its innards, heart and everything. "It
was too hot," she said, "I had to remove its heat, its heart, too much blood
makes too much heat."

The prince just turned and ran from his wife, ran from the castle and into the
woods. There he met the Devil again under an ash tree and asked, "Why?"

"You ask me why?" the Devil said. "You wanted your wife to live and so she will.
You never asked that she be warm or sane. You must remember that the cost of
asking for something is getting that which you asked for."

The prince cried out, "Then tell me what I must do for you. What else must I give
up in service to the Devil?"

The Devil looked at him then. "I'm not the Devil," he said. "I'm a story, just
like you. And we all play our parts in this story. Yours was just as the tragic
hero, while mine was as the tempter. It's but a morality play, you see, just look

The prince looked around and suddenly it was day and the woods seem foreign to
him. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Somewhere else," the not-really-the-Devil said. "In between. The woods here exist everywhere and nowhere. A liminal forest, you might say."

"And what are you then, if not the Devil?" the prince asked.

"I told you, I'm a story. An old story or a new story, maybe," the not-Devil
said, "or perhaps I'm a story you yourself are writing. Perhaps I'm real and
perhaps you're not." The not-Devil turned to the prince then and where his face
used to be, there was nothing. The prince jumped backward and then realized he
was looking into a pond, a mirror of his own face. He stood up then and stretched
out his arms and remembered who he was.

After I finished typing up the story, I found the notebook I kept beside my bed had another string of symbols on it. Maybe I'm a cryptographer in my dreams? Sleepciphering? Anyway, let's see if anyone can make heads or tails of it:

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Friday, January 14, 2011

New Poem

Okay, so here's one of my own poems. I wrote it a few days ago after a particularly weird dream. I don't have a title for it yet, so it's just "Untitled I."

"Limbs tired and sore
From running in place
Twist, trip on the floor
And fly down into space.

"I awoke then at midnight
Skin clammy and cold
Hands switched on the light
Then I saw him unfold.

"He was tall, as if stretched,
And his movements were graceless
But in my mind now is etched
His visage blank, white and faceless."

Now this is weird: on the page where I wrote this poem, there are some weird symbols underneath, but I don't remember writing them. Maybe I doodled them when I was dreaming? Any readers out there (if I have any readers yet) want to take a crack at it? I don't have a scanner yet, so I made a quick copy on MSPaint.

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Brand New First Post

So, this is an old journal that I wasn't using, so I refurbished it and now, viola! A place to put my poetry.

Who am I? I'm Tav, a twenty-five year old college graduate working as an accounting clerk. I know, boring. I live alone, don't drink, don't smoke. I do, however, write poetry (none published yet). I shall be putting all the poems I write here, along with any tidbits I want to share about my life (I doubt it, since it is quite boring).

And now, for the first post, one of my favorite poets, DH Lawrence. I don't know why I thought of this poem just now, but I like it. It's dark. It's called "Discord in Childhood":

"Outside the house an ash-tree hung its terrible whips, 
And at night when the wind arose, the lash of the tree 
Shrieked and slashed the wind, as a ship's 
Weird rigging in a storm shrieks hideously."
"Within the house two voices arose in anger, a slender lash
Whistling delirious rage, and the dreadful sound 
Of a thick lash booming and bruising, until it drowned 
The other voice in a silence of blood, 'neath the noise of the ash."