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Cachedump
2008-02-17 - 1:23 a.m.
before/after
strangely
non-functional guestbook
 [ed. note: A note
about the picture.
The editorial desk here at Saintly Stories receives
a lot of
questionable images, and has accumulated a large store of image errata,
peculiarites, and basic flotsam. So in order to maximize the
potential
of this internet laden bonanza, pics will be posted randomly and likely
no real relation to anything being disclosed, ruminated, or otherwise
written. We here at saintly stories do not take any
responsibility for
the content contained in said images, much like we take no
responsibility for anything written or otherwise posted. You have been
warned.]
"I wanted
to be the first kid on my block with a confirmed kill"- - Joker
(Matthew Modine, Full Metal Jacket)
---------------------------
So many ways to say so many things,
All the thoughts that gambole and troll,
And we struggle for eloquence,
to express the vibrations of our soul.
=========
Herein lies the
random thinkcache' of my brain:
Passed the bridge where I believe I saw my first drawn twat.
It was under the bridge when I was very young.
I don't think it was the first twat I saw. That was likely in
a pile of magazines thrown by the side of the road. Those
magazines made me feel hot and guilty.
I stopped one time crossing this bridge out in the middle of the
michigan forest later in life, at least fifteen years later, looking
for it. A girlfriend was with me at the time.
I didn't, of course, find it. I'm sure time and the elements
erased that vaginal memory away. Thinking of it now,
I can only wonder what that girl thought as I pulled over in
the middle of nowhere to delve under the Pinnacle bridge in the middle
of the day, most likely high, stoned out of my mind once again,
impulsive.
So often with women I end up getting tolerance rather than someone who
wants to make me happy. Sometimes what I want and what she
wants ends up making me happy, too, but that isn't the same thing,
either.
-----------------
Drove up North the back way. Passed Sage lake, which is a
rather large inland lake.
Related the story of being entirely stoned out of my mind, and simply
driving around and around and around the lake for quite some time
because I was too stoned to look for the right turn to take me here.
I would pass the turn, get frustrated, make a mental note to
take the turn the next time around, get distracted on a thought
tangent, miss it again.
Over and over. And, of course, turning around was verboten as
that would only fuck me up more. Lord only knows where the
fuck I would have ended up had I turned around. Thankfully,
this state is bounded by water on two sides. (well, four,
technically, if you count the upper penninsula).
I tended to get pretty torn up taking the back-way up North.
Good times. Good times.
As a side note to this tangent: I also recalled the time I
tripped hard on shrooms and drove through here, having some paranoid
hallucination about someone hiding behind a sign to cause me some sort
of trouble. I think there actually was a car there, as my
friend saw it, too. This, of course, scared us off our axis,
our route, and sent me deep into the hinterlands. Eventually
I manned up and doubled back after awhile.
Later on, I hallucinated that a tree was a car that was merging into my
lane, and gasped really loudly.
It has always impressed my friends how I could drive so well several
shades of severely fucked up. Acid, pot, shrooms, whatever.
It was never a problem, really. For whatever reason,
hallucinogens and driving went together well for me.
Just a different part of the brain, i guess. Plus the
electric synapses of LSD made it a pleasureable experience for me,
generally speaking.
Ive put on a lot of miles under the influence of LSD.
And about a thousand times that on pot. There was the one
summer I was doing it specifically, and I put on enough miles to drive
around the world. My parents thought I was running drugs.
However, I was just getting fucked up on pot and cruising
around, looking....
Looking for...? Beaches? Girls?
Excitement? The secret of life?
More like just...looking. Escaping. Trying to numb
my severely suicidal thoughts with weed, and trying to get some
experience in life, I guess.
I always felt safe behind the wheel, although I had a nagging feeling
that, given the number of traffic fatalities and the increasing number
of assholes in the world, my death would come in some sort of
traffic accident.
=========
"Because I am hard, you
will not like me" Drill Instructor--Full Metal Jacket
I used to bark at my kids like a combo of the drill instructor from
Full Metal Jacket and Christopher Walken.
Big surprise: I was very good with violent convicts.
I have to imagine being a kid and seeing some asshole lurk
around with those kinds of references and intonations, more Walken in
quiet times, more Drill Instructor when things amped up, would be a bit
intimidating, and perhaps enticing, as I climbed up into their shit
daily. And this made them feel loved.
Because everyone was safe with Mr. Argentum.
=============
There's moar. Lots moar. Later, I guess.
Something is telling me its time.
Probably the same source that allows me to never feel alone.
/end cachedump.
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