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Scattered Thoughts: Greatest Hits Vol. 1

2009 was an all around amazing year. For its final blog, I wanted to collect my favorite lines of 09. Enjoy!

I think in white noise.

When did doctor's become nothing more than drug dealers with degrees?

I'm starting to prefer being at work. How the hell did that happen?

Fuck me. I'm gonna get stabbed tonight.

“You can go ahead and save your prayers.” The creature says as it licks its lips. It then looks up and stares me dead in the eyes. “God’s not here.”

“No, Kurt was a martyr that all the little pissed off kids out there could pass off as their own voice. Now his image is nothing more than a T-shirt that's used as rebellion through conformity.”

"Don't fade out on me yet, boy. I want you to stay awake while I bust your Goddamn head open!" Belith screams.

We know who you are. Better than that, we know what you are and we know where you hide your bodies. We have a proposition for you.

But now here I am, things aren't perfect, but they are the best they've ever been for me. It's kind of nice having something to work towards and a future worth looking forward to.

I'm gonna drown my lonliness in alcohol!

"Well, couldn't you have at least hosed him off first? I mean, look at him. He's covered in blood! And...and is that vomit? There's vomit all over my fucking interior! That's going to take forever to get out."

“Technically, angels don't belong anywhere. We can go where we want. So can demons. There are hundreds of them on Earth getting into all sorts of shenanigans. That's where we come in.”

Sudenly, all that required knowledge is reduced to nothing more than mere afterthoughts.

I feed them each a bullet to make sure this little scene stays our secret forever.

This is where I want to hold her. Tell her that I'm OK, that we'll be OK. I want her to know that I'm more in love with her than ever and that a future without her is just not one worth having. But I don't.

How about family reunions, where you pass through an ocean of people, making small talk with strangers that only pass as relatives because of a few similar strands of DNA?

The whole thing only lasted roughly thirty five minutes and it ended just like we did; bittersweet.

My heart is stained, head is strained and it's not exactly the pain that's driving me insane. When did your feelings start to wane, swapped with such disdain?

The irony of it taking some psycho cutting an extra 18 pounds of of her to finally reach her dream weight is lost completely

“You're damn right! Belith is only they're second string. How do you think we're gonna do when they bring out the real heavy hitters?”

Thousands of wings rustle together in flight. Battle cries and screams of anguish can be heard from all directions. Then, there are the wet sounds of liquid splashing across the ground, always followed by a heavy weight. I open my eyes and gasp.

While things are nowhere close to perfect, I’m discovering happiness for the first time in my life. I hope you are doing the same. And that, love, is the truth.

We were only inches apart, yet you still felt so far away.

See? I don't feel a thing.

Wait...why am I naked?

I'm the scab you pick until it bleeds.

I can’t hang on your every word anymore because it all stopped making sense a long time ago.

I've become determined not to let it turn into a 300 dollar device just to watch porn, but into something a little more productive.

I do believe our wills shall never acquiesce to our desires, always leaving us a heartbeat away from total bliss.

No, the grass is always shaded, because the obese block out the sun.

And we'll need a prize too. Hmm...just throw a condom wrapper in there and ship it out.

Being a writer is pure madness.


It serves as the perfect ending to an awesome year, one that offers hope instead of prolonged, self induced misery.

First Impressions

When it comes to dating (or the start of any new relationship), first impressions can either be the perfect foundation to building something amazing, or can burn down that bridge and piss over the ashes.

I have been known to make some some very good ones, but they are never as spectacular as my failures. Here's a few of my favorites. Oh, and if you're the type of girl who gets angry just reading about an ex, you can just go ahead and fuck right off. You and me? Yeah, we're not gonna work.

The way I met one of my ex's mother, was when she walked in on her daughter and I mid coitus. I had to stand up and introduce myself to her, naked. Good times.

This is the first thing I said to a girl, who I started dating less than 24 hours later.

Her: (Looks around) Cool, I used to live at that apartment right down there. (She points in a direction and my eyes don't follow)

Me: Really? Because I live right here! (I point behind me) Small fucking world, huh! (big gasp of exaggerated excitement)

She later told me she thought I was the biggest asshole she'd ever met, but was completely wrong.

That's because first impressions don't always give you the best, or worst, representation of the other person. Just something to keep in mind while out in the trenches.

And Yet Another Stewart Family Moment

I love my cousin, Christy, like an older sister. However, we are two very different people. These are our plans for New Year's Eve.

Christy: I'm gonna go to my church and eat and have fun and we're gonna do foot washing!

(After a long disgusted stare from me)

No, we don't scrub them or anything. We put the feet in a bucket of water and pray over them. It really is a lot of fun.

Davlin: I'm gonna get loaded and find a way on stage where I talk about things like suicide and all my all my other fucked up little thoughts.

The End!

Great Moment on OK Cupid 3

girl: i cryalot

Meandering_Poet:it's ok to cry

girl:like now

Meandering_Poet:you're crying right now?

girl:yea

Meandering_Poet:why?

girl:cuz i want to do it right now

Meandering_Poet:you want to have sex? is that what you're saying?

girl:cutting

Meandering_Poet:oh thank god,i'm sorry, i didn't know where this was going

Great Moment on OK Cupid 2

Girl:He's so effin cute

Girl:makes me want babies...

Meandering_Poet:sorry, all these sirens just went off in my head

Loss Pt. 1

On Christmas Eve...it actually snowed.

I stand on my patio and watch it while smoking a cigarette. You would have enjoyed this, I think. It would have reminded you of home.

I listen to the song "Hear you me" by Jimmy Eat World and I can't stop crying. I'm trying so hard to be strong, man. I really am. I know Christy's worse off than me right now and I'm trying to be her rock. She loved you so much, just as you did her. That kind of love is rare in life and I'm glad you both had the chance to experience it with each other, even if it never does last quite as long as we want it to.

I remember when I first got to your apartment last night, everyone was so quiet. She was just walking around trying to tidy up, her face devoid of any emotion. Her eyes met mine and her face does that scrunchy thing it always does when she's about to break down. I dropped what I was carrying, went over, embraced her and she just unloaded. She asked the questions I didn't have answers to, so I just held her tighter and let the tears come until there were none left to give.

She's lost without you. You were everything to her and I don't think she's strong enough to handle this.

My Brand New Coat

More than anything, I want an X-Box 360.

A couple of weeks ago, my adopted big sister from work, Pat, called me over to her place so she could give me my Christmas present. She told me to sit down and I obliged. She then looked me dead in the eyes and said,

"Now, I'm your big sister, so I know what you want and I know what you need. Now, I know you want one of those MP360s, or whatever, but Pat can't afford that." God, I love her. "And your car's heater doesn't work, so you NEED something warm."

She goes into the back and returns with a Macy's garment bag. I gaze at it in confusion as she places it in my hands.

"Merry Christmas, little brother."

I slowly peel the bag from the hanger to reveal a long, black, wool overcoat. It was now the finest thing I've ever owned.

The next day I wore a nice shirt and tie to really show it off at work. Not once on the way there did my teeth chatter. I was now able to brave to cold comfortably. Julie gave me some black leather gloves and Melinda gave me a very nice scarf. Everyone else at work gave me a family where caring and kindness always worked both ways. Dunsy gave me a Deadpool shirt and Deadpool kicks fucking ass.

The newfound confidence I had found followed me to my life on stage at Tucker's Blues. Dianne, the club owner and all around artistic sweetheart gave me two things I had always wanted; support and an opportunity.

My father took me out one afternoon and bought me a suit jacket and two shirts. He gave me something more important, though, he gave me an amazing memory of just him and me. I know had something to work towards.

My mom gave me some cash, with implicit instructions to, "Spend it on MYSELF this time." Her's has always meant just as much, I just never realized it before now.

On the sixteenth, a co-worker I really liked passed away. It hit me because it was so unexpected. I wrote a letter to her family, telling them how much she met to me and expressing sympathy for their loss. I found out later it was read at the funeral. In some small way, I was able to give a small comfort to those in need.

All of these things are what Christmas is all about for me.

It serves as the perfect ending to an awesome year, one that offers hope instead of prolonged, self induced misery. I've gotten more than I ever thought possible. It's the best Christmas I've ever had and the day itself is still three days away. And it all started, with a brand new coat from my big sister.

You want honesty? Then check out this rant! 100th Blog!

I don't like other writers.

Seriously.

See, I'm a narcissist. That's because I'm a writer. For some reason it bugs the piss out of me when someone else claims the same thing. I didn't know this, but apparently every person I'll ever meet is also a writer.

I think it's too easy to just say you are, because it is something everyone can do. I can run when I'm being chased, but that doesn't make me an athlete. I think the same rules should be applied to writing. If all you do is jot down some stuff in a journal every so often when you get really upset, that doesn't make you an author.

It's not something you become. It's something you are. It lifts you up so high, only to throw you into the pavement, just to mindfuck you into a wealth of new material.

It's an addiction. It's not like smoking pot at a party once a year so you can feel cool. It's like heroin, making your veins burn for that next big fix.

It's the most painful and rewarding path one can walk, though few can bear the intensity.

Being a writer is pure madness.

I read about three hours a day, but it's all my work. I don't like reading other authors. I just like my stuff. That's because, first and foremost, I write for me. I love that I have readers and fans (few that I do), but I'd still do this if they weren't there.

The instant I first went on stage was the moment I had been reborn. I finally found my home. And I've been working at it. Every day I prepare my sets, plan every second exactly. I come up with alternative takes and backups. It's something I take very seriously.

Now, everyone is deciding they can do it. They get up there, treat it like a joke and say, "oh, anyone can do it." And yes they can, but not well. That's the difference between most who say they are writers and the real deal.

I said earlier that I don't like other writers and that still holds true. But if you're actually serious about it, I will respect you. That's the most you can get from me.

I don't think true writers are supposed to get along, because, after all, who really wants to share that spotlight?

The greatest licensed product. Ever.

The greatest licensed product. Ever.

Some of you have read "Scattered Thougths" the blog.
Even less have read "Scattered Thoughts" the novel.

But are any of you prepared for the total fucking awesomness that is...

Scattered Thoughts...


The Breakfast Cereal!

Yes, now you too can "Start your day the Emo Way"!

With the vaguely suggestive Ambien shaped cereal pieces. These have absolutely no flavor and you'd throw them away if it wasn't so much fun to stage your own half hearted overdose!

PLUS!

Miniature marshmallow pieces in several fun shapes!
Broken Hearts!
Razor Blades!
Suicide Notes!
And the all new Unpublished Manifesto! (technically the same as the suicide note, but it's cheaper to call it something else than to make a whole new one)

And the whole toxic mess turns the milk red! This way we can put it Hot Topic so all the goth and emo fucks can buy em up.

And we'll need a prize too. Hmm...just throw a condom wrapper in there and ship it out.

In stores soon.

Great Moment on OK Cupid 1

Meandering_Poet: Trust me...there's no sympathy for the skinny.

Girl: haha yeah like i said, the grass is always greener.....

Meandering_Poet: No, the grass is always shaded, because the obese block out the sun. So, how are you?

I just got my balls back.

I don’t believe in fate. See, to me, the people that say “if it’s meant to happen, it will” are weak. They’re too scared to go after what they want in life, so they just leave it up to chance as happiness and opportunities pass them by. I believe that if there is something out there you truly want, it’s up to you to grab it, risks and consequences be damned. Unfortunately, I’ve never been brave enough on the follow through.

I don’t believe in soul mates, that there’s one perfect person out there for everyone. The people that do are unrealistic and end up alone because of too high standards or settle because the fear of loneliness is more than they can bear. I don’t even believe in love, at least not in the traditional sense and I don’t believe in Hollywood endings. I also don’t believe that anyone else can ever inspire me the way you can with only a subtle shift of your eyes

Here’s a couple of things I do believe in…

I believe my MP3 player has a sick sense of humor. It always knows how to pick just the right song to make me think about you, even if I haven’t talked to you for days. The whole way home was that way today. Or, maybe, I’m just finding you in every single thing I do or hear. I don’t know, could go either way.

I believe that 12 years is an awfully long time to hold a torch and my arm is growing tired. The sleeves of my shirt are filthy and stained from the heart that’s been resting on them for so long.

When I borrow a book of yours and read it, paying special attention to the passages you have highlighted, I believe I can see the world through your eyes. It’s beautiful and never fails to surprise me.

I believe in drunken conversations that last until four in the morning and milking every last syllable, because we’re never sure when we might get another chance.

I do believe our wills shall never acquiesce to our desires, always leaving us a heartbeat away from total bliss.

You pointed out to me recently that as long as you’re around I don’t date anyone. This is true, but it’s only because as long as I have your friendship, I don’t need anything else. It’s almost enough for me. Almost.

Davlin's Life Lesson #206

To know what it is you'll have to visit beatsashrink.blogspot.com

Oh, yeah. We're still doin that.

And until you start asking some questions, this is what you're gonna get.

Enjoy.

If you can hear this...

Jennifer Batter



Marry me.

One of the most poignant scenes I have ever witnessed

Ok, I am currently 6 minutes and 10 seconds into the film "ink". I was going to write a full review of this movie, but I had to do this now.

The film opens with a guy getting into his car, suddenly freaking the fuck out and then getting hit by a truck. Fade to black.

The same guy wakes up in bed with his 6 year old daughter poking him in the face. She simply says, "I have an appointment." He tells her to call his assistant, but she inform him that "Mom says you're not allowed to cancel." Brilliant.

We next see them walking across the train tracks. She's running ahead, ecstatic to be spending time with her dad, while he tightly grips a thermos full of coffee and barely has the energy to stumble his way forward.

They stop at a tree, surrounded by objects the daughter has already gathered for the day's play. She instructs the father to help her build a wall which will protect them from the oncoming monster. He just stares at her.

"Whatever happened to tea parties? Don't girl's like tea parties?"

She then hands him a stick to build a moat to slow down the still oncoming monster. He tells her that he doesn't do this kind of thing and let her mother play this with her. She looks him dead in his eyes with tears and hers and just says, "please".

After much hesitation on his part, she announces that they're too late and the monster is now here. She picks up the collar of her shirt and begins to pull herself away. She inches herself closer and closer to the train tracks. The father looks down. The daughter's voice cracks as she pleads for her father to save her. She's almost at the tracks.

The father looks up, grabs a stick and charges for his daughter. He screams at the top of his lungs, fully immersed in the game and much to her delight. He lunges forward and says to the monster,

"Yaaaaaaah. Get away from her ya big...asshole!"

I applaud.

"Yeah, get 'im Dad, get the bastard!"

My head explodes.

He then takes her back to the fort and they collapse in laughter. He was able to have a truly beautiful moment with his daughter. One he would have missed out on if he had stayed in bed.

The scene is beautiful. It touched me so much I had type it the second it was over. Seriously, I'm still watching the rest the flick right now. Holy fuck there's telaporters in this, apparently.

Chickenshit

I wrote a new piece today...but I don't think I have the balls to post it. But, hey, least I'm writing again!

Sex and the City, Starbucks and My Latest Infatuation

So, my room mate's got his kid over at our place tonight. Not that that's a big deal or anything, but I just needed a little alone time. After a long drive in the car, I finally settle on going to a Starbucks near my apartment. I've always tried to avoid being one of those guys in a coffee house that sits alone typing on a laptop, but here I am. I also cringe as the knowledge of my life being reduced to living out plot lines from Sex and the City sinks in. But, tonight, I have a mission.

Sitting on my lap in front of me is a brand new netbook. The only reason it's in my possession right now is only due to the generosity of the previously mentioned room mate. I've become determined not to let it turn into a 300 dollar device just to watch porn, but into something a little more productive. So, I'm sitting here until I can come up with something halfway decent. I figure I'm gonna get carpal tunnel either way, might as well get something out of it.

At work today I had a conversation with a friend about my latest infatuation. (Awesome band name) She told me not to hold back from telling her how I felt, because if I wait around too long, she might move on. There's a lot of irony here, seeing has how these new feelings are mirrored by ones I've had for her several times over the course of our friendship. Unrequited love sucks.

A little later I started talking to a co-worker about some of the depression he's been feeling lately. He lamented over being a single, gay man at his current age. I tried to give advice when I could and we compared both of our situations and the obstacles we'll have to overcome. I told him we should hang out sometime and he invited me to go to a gay bar with him. Not that I really feel the need to clarify, but I'm completely straight, but I'm comfortable with my sexuality and told him I'd gladly go. When that happens, be sure that it will be chronicled here. To be honest, it'll just be nice to go out and not have the bullshit pressure of trying to get a date.

I'll be heading out to Tucker's Blues tomorrow, and I'm starting to get excited. I've figured out two pieces I know I'm going to do, just gotta figure out the last one. I'm hoping I'll make a big enough impression this time and they'll want to hire me on for a gig or 30.

I've been fucking off way too much and I'm ready to start getting serious again. My laptop died back in May, which is why posts have been scarce. Now that I've got a new one, I plan to change that. Lily and I are starting a new blog, not sure of the name, but it will be dedicated to reviews of books, movies and other such shit. Also, I'm going to be working on getting my full website up and running here in the next couple of weeks. It will be bitchin.

I think that's about all I've got in me for right now. Gotta get back into practice. I haven't seriously written anything in months, so it'll take time to get back up to get back up to where I was. Hang in there with me though, a whole lot more is on the way.

Davlin

Crazy Story...

I went to the open mic at Tucker's Blues last night. It was one of the most amazing experiences I've ever had. I filmed my first guerrilla "stand up special". Witness it in all it's youtube glory.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qVOAekubAw

I was gonna write about it, but I might just let it speak for itself. Hope you enjoy.

Hey everyone....

Sorry it's been so long since an update. Been in kind of a funk lately, it's not important. I'm about to start getting out there again. Hitting up a new open mic and, if it all works out, get some new video up. It's gonna be different, playing to a crowd that has no idea who I am. I'm just excited again.

In the meantime, go to youtube and search Davlin Stewart to see some of these performed live.

Davlin

Bemoan

I hear what you’re saying. Really, I do. Well…more or less, anyways.

I can hear the sound your tongue makes when it hits the roof of your mouth. Your tones, your inflections are loud and clear. Sometimes there’s laughter in your voice. Sometimes it’s stern, but now it’s more irritated. You’ve been going on for awhile now. The words aren’t making any sense. It’s all blah blah blah, fucking blah. Silence. Must be my turn to talk, now.

I say something passive about the weather. The look on your face tells me that’s not what you wanted me to say. I don’t know how this happened. I used to be able to say all the right things. Whatever it was you needed to hear, I had that along with a smile that would let you know it was all going to be ok. But it’s not like that anymore. WE’RE not like that anymore.

Now, it’s like you’re speaking in tongues. I feel like a small child, his mother scolding him in a language he hasn’t yet fully grasped. I can make out the “nos” and some of the more colorful words. You’re going on another one of your tirades while I just get lost in my own head. I think about work, anything at all really, except the things I should be thinking about. Like this conversation. I can’t hang on your every word anymore because it all stopped making sense a long time ago.

It makes me wonder if we really ever got each other. Now all I do is go through the motions, whatever I can do to get myself a little peace, a little quiet. You get so loud.

I think I finally realized what's wrong. I don't want you now. No. I want you then. There's a lot of things about my life I don't remember. Most of the truly traumatic events have been erased from memory. But not you. Not us. Not how it was in the beginning.

I remember how it started, with stolen glances and quiet pleasantries. You were shy, a challenge. That was one thing I always liked about you. Every single inch I got with you was hard fought and meant more to me than anything else I had ever obtained.

Like I said, that was then. Before the most selfless act I ever made was made ugly. Turned into the venom that poisoned the very core of us.

Do you remember that night? When you told me what you had? It was one of the only times you were ever vulnerable with me. It was that exact moment when I knew I loved you. Do you remember what I asked? I asked if you still talked to the guy that gave it to you. Chalk that one up to the frail male ego. You told me no, it was a one night thing and you didn't speak to the guy anymore. I hugged you tight and told you that it wasn't important. That was all in the past. All that mattered is where we went from there. I told you I wasn't going anywhere and we would handle it together. You hugged me back and simply said, "thank you".

I was there for you, like I told you I would be. You were having a rough go of things and I tried to help as much as I could, though I don't think I did much good. But I tried. Flash forward a month or so. I found out I had gotten it, too. We were in your bed one night and you tried to instigate some action, but I told you why I couldn't. You just rolled over on your back and said "that sucks." You also let it slip out that it was your room mate that gave it to you. That brought to light two very important lies at the worst possible moment. I was now scarred for life...and I didn't want it anymore. You've still never asked me if I was ok about it.

The next couple of months were rocky. We weren't the same anymore. We never would be. I wanna go back to before it all went sour. There's a memory that still haunts me. We were laying in your bed, getting ready to go to sleep. That's when you took my face in your hands, looked me in the eyes and said "I love you so much." I still hear those five words every night before I go to sleep.

I think what I miss the most was that it was our problem, you know? It felt like the two of against the world. Nothing could touch me because we were facing it together. Now, it's not our problem anymore. It feels more like my curse.

But I don't blame you for any of it. That's the truth. It just sucks. It shows me just how alone I really am.

I've only tried dating once since you. It ended about how you'd expect. All the feelings she had for me vanished when she found out. I don't want to go through this forever. And that's the thing...whether or not a relationship with me lasts, the consequences of dating me from this point on are forever. It leaves me terrified. I'm scared to death I'm going to be alone forever, that no one else will ever want to take a chance on me. But I'm even more afraid that someone will.

And that's all I really have left to say.

The search for inspiration

I've hit up every open mic for the past month now. All I want more than anything is to churn out something amazing, hit the stage with it and leave them all speechless. But I haven't been able to write anything lately. Not one word. It's gotten to the point that I'm writing about my writer's block, simply due to the complete lack of any other options.

I've been combing through memories lately, searching for inspiration. And maybe that's my problem. I've devoted countless blogs, as well as an entire book, to the woes of my past relationships and my current disdain of being single. Pharmaceuticals? Done it. Family dysfunction? Oh, yeah. Got that covered as well. So where do I go from here?

I do know that I don't wanna bitch and complain about my problems anymore, but I haven't had a new relationship in I don't know how long, so I'm not getting any fresh material from the stagnant well my love life has now become. I can't shake the feeling that I'm on the brink of my next big project, but it always seems to elude me, somehow.

It doesn't help that the lap top I now use is damned near broken. I have to type one handed, because the battery cable won't hold a charge unless I'm holding it. Frustrating. It wasn't six months ago when I could just sit down and type until I was too exhausted to keep my eyes open any longer. I want that spark back.

My secret?

I just found out I have a soul...

and I'm fighting it.

Boundaries

I'm still not sure where you got all these notions. Who's been telling you these lies about me? You should really learn to start checking your sources. Whoever gave you these romantic ideas about me being sweet, honest and loving was way off the mark. I was all of those things at one time...but that was in another life. It's not who I am now and it's not who I'm going to become. If you've come here trying to find your soulmate, you better search elsewhere.

That's not my whisper in your ear, my taste on your lips, hand on your thigh and I'm not the one that's beating in your heart. No. I'm the salt in your tears, the smoke in your lungs, the shit on your brand new shoes and the prayer best left unanswered. I'm the scab you pick until it bleeds.

Your first mistake was thinking I needed to be saved. I was like you a long time ago. There's nothing like tending to the wounded to make yourself feel needed and confusing that for being wanted. Don't fight your demons by trying to take on mine, you're not ready for them.

I know it all sounds harsh, but reality checks need to be. This is not me pushing you away; just letting you know the boundaries. 

Wake Up Call

"I chime in..."

I open my eyes as Panic! at the Disco screams from my cell, trying desperately to wake me up. I throw a hand at it and hit the snooze button by nothing short of dumb luck. Had it been Blue October, I'd need to move a lot faster and with New Found Glory I'd have to call my boss with a damn good excuse. My head feels murky as if I had spent the evening binge drinking and my muscles ache like I just ran a marathon.

Wait...why am I naked? All these cuts and bruises weren't there last night when I first hit my head on the pillow. Shit, I can't even remember anything that happened an hour prior to doing that.

The room has been haphazardly rearranged. My pill bottles have been removed from the bathroom and placed on the floor next to my bed. I pray to God I didn't take any more while I was sleeping.

This is the weird thing. I wasn't drinking, smoking, snorting or shooting anything last night. I just took a little white pill that's legally prescribed to me by a medical doctor. This shit ain't supposed to happen.

My stomach is empty, but I feel like I'm going to throw up. I should probably eat something, but I'm scared to have it locked and loaded. And people wonder why I'm only 135 pounds.

In the shower, the water is so hot it makes me grit my teeth as my skin almost blisters. This is the only thing that can somewhat shake the chemicals from my head so that I can have a single thought that is truly my own. A blast of cold water to shock my system and I'm good to go.

With a towel around my waist I make my way to the mirror. I wipe the steam from the glass with my bare hand and stare at myself. The eyes looking back have dark bags clinging under them like parasites. Cheeks appear to be sucked in, paper thin and revealing cheekbones. I can see the 13 carved in ink on my left pec, which sits perpendicular to the sunken mess my right one has been for as long as I can remember. Both are framed my collar bones and ribs that shouldn't be this visible. Fuckin body issues.

I throw on a shirt so I don't have to look at my chest anymore and rub glue in my hair. That, along with a brush of the teeth and a few swipes of deodorant make my daily ritual complete. Wait. Almost. I forgot the three pills I'm supposed to take every morning.

From my room I can hear "Razorblade" blaring from my phone. It's about that time. I look at the bottle in my hands and pour its contents down the sink. Maybe that last alarm was the wake up call I've been aching for all this time.

A Surprise Visit.

(Knock knock)

Oh...hey.

No, it's not that, exactly. I just wasn't expecting you to drop by. It's been so long...

Yeah, I guess you can come in. Have a seat. How have you been?

Look, stop right there. I was just trying to be a good host, I don't really care.

Don't take the hostility so personally. I'm not really a fan of anyone these days.

(Silence)

So, what are you doing here?

You missed me?

Yeah, it is a little hard to believe. I hate when people say that to me. That's all I ever hear from anyone. "I miss you". But then they never call. Never stop by. Then, just when I get used to not having them around, to handling things on my own, that's when I'm missed. So take the longing or whatever you want to call it and shove it up your ass. I don't need it.

Don't bring that up. You have no right to talk about the good times. Not anymore.

Yeah, I do sometimes.

Well, I miss how it felt to be around you, when it was still good. I felt like there wasn't a thing in the world that could touch me. Turns out you could. It took me down hard. I'd give anything to feel invincible again.

It's fine, really. I am over it. Doesn't mean I wanna try to make a run with anyone else. I think that part of me is gone.

I don't know how to care anymore. I just feel so fucking numb and I don't know how to stop it. Don't look at me like that. It's really not as bleak as it sounds. I'd have to feel something to be depressed, right?

(click)

(exhale)

I did for awhile. Just started again last month. Ok, what have been up to? I was an asshole earlier, I really would like to know.

Oh. Did he treat you alright?

I guess that's why you talked about him in the past tense. When did it end?

Wait. It just ended three days ago, and now you're here? What's this really about?

You've said that already. I didn't believe it then. You just miss being with someone. Especially someone that didn't do what the other guy did. Well, fuck you. I'm not picking up the pieces this time.

Oh, it's not? That's how we got together in the first place, remember? Some guy dumped you and I was the rebound that just stuck around long after your use for me was over. I'm not going through that again. I wish you the best of luck and all, but I want no part of it. It's probably best if you'd leave right now, it's going to take a long time for me to get over this again.

Yeah, I know. You never do.

Alright...one last time.

(an embrace)

(lips meet, tounges explore)

(faces linger an inch apart)

See? I don't feel a thing. Have a good night.

(slam)

After The Tone...

Late night phone call,

you don't answer so I'll talk to your machine.

I rehearse what I want to say,

the cell shakes in my hand as I wait for the...

(Beep)

Hello, I know,

I haven't talked to you in some time.

And so you know,

things are ok, yeah, I guess I'm doin fine.

Even though it's one sided,

we desperately need to have this conversation.

I've been holding my breath waiting for some closure,

I fear I'll die soon from lack of oxygen.

Were you aware that you're just like me,

with all the secrets you've kept for awhile?

Now I'm ready to tell you the truth about last summer,

and all those dark months I lived in denial.

We never could agree on anything,

sometimes I think we thrived on the conflict.

Half hearted apologies,

could never repair the pain we'd inflict.

You always claimed that you were too damaged,

and didn't see how I could feel the things I felt.

But self deprecation's just another way,

of saying "I hate myself".

I think of all the times I layed in silence,

as I watched the the night bleed into the day.

We were only inches apart,

yet you still felt so far away.

Look...just call me back when you get this,

it's something I think we both need.

Let's get some closure from this,

can we just clear the air so I can breathe?

And now for something completely different.

I've always said that I wanted to help people with my writing. That's one principle I've wanted to keep and I'm hoping I'm about to take another step in the right direction.

I don't remember exactly how the subject came up, but a friend and I were talking about working on something together. We decided we wanted to do something that could ultimately get us in a local paper, magazine, etc. We kicked ideas around for a couple of days and decided on an advice column. I'm going to start working on the blog for it tonight, so it's gonna look like shit for awhile, but it will be functional.

I'd like anyone that reads this blog to send me an email about a problem they have, something on their mind or just something random for us to ramble against. If you've read enough of this, then you should know what to expect. So seriously, send me something at disenchantedyouths@gmail.com. It'll all be completely anonymous and entertaining.

Hope to hear from you soon...

To The Girl Who Taught Me The Art Of Letting Go

When I decided to write you, I didn’t know what it was I wanted to say. Even now I’m not sure what words will flow from this pen by the time we reach this letter’s end. Let’s just see where it takes us.

I do know that I wanted to tell you how much I miss you. To tell you how your absence has left a very important part of me empty. I fill your side of the bed with clothes so the empty space doesn’t feel like a chasm, seducing me into a fall that will never end.

I was going to let you know I still haven’t forgiven you. Every single day I hate you a little more and the hatred is wrapped into a painful ball inside my stomach. Now I can’t eat, sleep or anything else because all I see is your face and it serves as a constant fucking reminder of what you did.

You should also know that everything in my life is going great. I’ve met someone else who is everything I had made you out to be. I go out every night, surrounded by friends and family and I never feel that familiar ache of loneliness.
But not a single word of any of that is true.

I hardly ever think about you or us anymore. My life is a lot better and easier without you in it. That wasn’t supposed to come off as harsh as it sounded.

I’ve put our past behind me and forgiven you (and myself) for everything. I’m not going to hate you anymore, because to say that I do would give some sort of implication that you still mean something to me…but you don’t. Every day your scent grows fainter and your face more blurry.

It’d be pathetic to tell you that everything in my life is amazing when it’s not, strictly with the intention of hurting you. I’m still single, but I’m OK with it. Honestly, I stay in a by myself more often than not. I do still feel alone, but it’s different because it lacks the razor’s edge. Sorry, I know I shouldn’t have brought up that last part.

While things are nowhere close to perfect, I’m discovering happiness for the first time in my life. I hope you are doing the same. And that, love, is the truth.

Without a single regret,

Davlin

Bitter Meanderings of an Agoraphobic.

It's five o'clock when I finally get home, the extra traffic from the memorial day weekend rush pushing my arrival back a whole thirty minutes. I've lived in this apartment for two months. My art is on the walls, my books and nick nacks on the shelves, but it has yet to feel like home.

My roomate comes in an hour or so after I do and goes through the motions of getting ready for the night's date. We make small talk for a bit while I watch an old episode of The Tick before he leaves. Shortly after, I pick up some smokes and Whataburger so I wouldn't have to leave the apartment again.

Over the next several hours, I watch a couple of movies and smoke...that's about it. It's late when he shows back up, unexpectedly, with his date in tow. I'll give him some credit, she's beautiful. Now, picture this. You're on a date with a guy and you decide to go back to his place. When you get there, you see his 23 year old roommate (me) sitting all alone on a Friday night in torn jeans and a old, faded shirt (I was doing laundry) playing X-Men on Super Nintendo. I felt so fucking pathetic. He then gave her the tour and took her back to his room so he could bang the hell out of her.

I finished what I was doing, decided on not having a smoke because his window is connected to the balcony and went to bed. I took two ambien to cut the time I'd have to listen to her moan in half.

I wake up a little early, because Saturday is the only day I really get the place to myself. Upon going into the kitchen I see the sink full of dishes he's created and has yet to wash. He'll move them around place to place and I refuse to pick up after him.

My aunt gives me a call around two to invite me over to lunch, which I somewhat reluctantly attend. Whenever there's a get together with my Dad's side of the family you can feel the tension in the air like the static before a thunderstorm. No one likes each other, but we all put up with one another because we've all been told we have to. My little cousin rambles on incessantly, desperate for some positive male attention that he never receives. I leave when I start to get the shakes.

I'm not back home two minutes when I get a call from my roommate asking me out to dinner with him and his mom to celebrate his birthday. I try to kindly decline, but he lays down the guilt trip.

"Come on, man. You won't even do this for my birthday?" Goddamn that's low.

"Alright I'll go." When I hang up I consider calling up every ex-girlfriend I've ever had to ask them if they've still got my balls. When I find the one who does, I'd ask her to fed ex them back to me. First class, though, they're fragile.

The first thing he says to me when he gets home is "Sorry, if we kept you up with the noise last night." He was smiling, signifying that he's not really sorry, he just wanted to make sure I knew about his conquest. I did and I didn't give a shit.

We hop in his truck, pick up his son and head over to his mom's. I don't say a single word the whole time and it's him that breaks the silence.

"So...have you talked to _____ lately?" I know he didn't mean anything by this.

"Well I told her about it a few weeks ago, then I didn't talk to her again until last Monday."

"And?"

"Some guy was coming into town to see her and see said she was too busy making everything perfect for him to talk to me. That was the last."

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

Ok, let me explain a (very) little about this situation. I'm not an unattractive guy. I'm witty, somewhat intelligent and I could probably get a date with just about any girl I want to, but that's as far as it will probably ever go. I'll only hint at the rest because some secrets will remain mine.

We meet up with his mom and ride to the restaurant together. It's one of those Japanese teppan-yaki style places where they cook the food in front of you while doing fancy tricks. I sit on the end and don't say much. I've found that I don't have to say a single word for 75% of the conversations I have to exist. During the performance I don't show the slightest bit of emotion. I don't know what's worse, the fact that I'm becoming completely stolid, or my total apathy towards it. I do manage to entertain myself with the notion of Mcdonalds cooking their food this way, though.

After the meal, we go back to his mom's house, put his son to bed and all sit around her fire pit in the backyard. I apologize to him that I forgot about his birthday, that I honestly thought it was the 28th."

"Oh, don't even worry about it. I got all the birthday presents I need LAST night." Push the knife deeper asshole.

His mom asks him how many girls he's dating and he tells her he's only seeing the one. She then turns to me.

"So what about you, any repeats?"

"Repeats for what?"

"Dates."

"Oh...I don't date."

"Going out?"

"Nah, I gave up on it."

"Take it from someone who's been there and done that, things do get better." This is a very sore subject for me. Everyone thinks they've been through everything, especially certain things I have.

"I gaurantee you, you haven't been here or done this." She decides to not talk to me for awhile, so I stare into the fire before me. Several thoughts float through my head.

I think about this time when I was younger, pretty sure it was while I was in middle school. My mom, step dad, little sister and I all went out to Possum Kingdom for a vacation. We rented a boat and were cruising around the lake. I've always been the weird one in my families. I'm usually constantly in thought and when this happens I might as well not even be there. On this occasion, I was pretending to be a secret agent who just sabotaged a major villain's diabolical plot and his soldiers were chasing my boat in helicopters. My mom broke my train of thought...

"You're always in your own little world aren't you?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Why? Do you not like it in our world.?" My answer I gave her then remains the same as it does now, no. No I don't.

Back in the present, I'm consumed with the fleeting, albeit overwhelming, desire to stick my hand into the flames before me.

I look up into the sky to see a massive cloud in the shape of five digits. It's almost as if the hand of God is reaching down to either take me up to heaven, or strike me down.

My roomate asks me what's wrong, I tell him I'm just fine. Truth his, I don't feel like him playing therapist tonight. Long story.

And this is about all there is to write about. After that we hop into his truck and come back home. I sit down in from of my laptop, to be safe inside my own little world.

Harbinger Chapter 9: A Very Rude Awakening (Michael)

It always starts out exactly the same way, with total darkness. I can't see anything, but the dins of war are overwhelming. Metal scrapes against metal. Thousands of wings rustle together in flight. Battle cries and screams of anguish can be heard from all directions. Then, there are the wet sounds of liquid splashing across the ground, always followed by a heavy weight. I open my eyes and gasp.

For millennia, we've lived in peace. There was never so much as a harsh word spoken between any of us. That's all over, now. After tonight nothing will ever be the same again. The fighting stretches far beyond my eye's capabilities to follow. The sky fills with the sounds of heavy sobs.

Father is crying.

Something heavy strikes my right temple, sending me to the ground. I drop my sword and my assailant kicks it away before I get a chance to retrieve it. My head is filled with a blinding white light that makes it impossible to see who is standing above me.

"Do you want to live?" The voice asks. It's him.

My vision kicks back in. His blonde hair flows in the wind behind him. His light blue eyes gleam with hatred. His golden armor and perfect face are stained in red. The point of his sword is at my throat. He started all of this.

The Morning Star.

"I'm only going to ask you this once more, Michael." He says. "Do you want to live?"

"Yes." is all I can say.

"Then denounce Him."

I was more than thankful for the thunder that brought me out of my nightmare. We have them every night to serve as a reminder. I sit up in my bed that's soaked in sweat and wipe the sleep from my eyes. The glowing red numbers on the alarm clock read 9:17 pm. Just as well, I needed to get up anyways.

I stand up, stretching my arms and wings as I make my way to the window. The rain is coming down hard. It mixes with discarded motor oil before it reaches the storm drains. It's getting to the point that I can't even remember what this world was like before it became sick, back when it was still clean and untouched. Before men.

A harvest moon hangs in the sky, never a good sign. My cell phone rings and I answer it. Gabriel's on the other end.

"Uriel?" He sounded panicked. He never gets that way. Another bad sign.

"Yeah?"

"There's been another attack. Man, they're getting more brazen."

"Calm down. What happened?"

"They got a convenience store this time. 9 people were inside when it went up."

"What kind of demon was it?"

"No. That's just it. It wasn’t a demon. It was..." his voice cracked, " the Fallen, man. They're here."

"That's impossible. They're not allowed to come up."

"Yeah, well, apparently things have changed. We saw them and they blew us all to hell."

"Them? How many were there? And do we know which ones?"

"There were two of them, Naomhan and Alya.."

"This is insane. First the cop and now her? What's going on, Gabe?"

"I don't know. Something bad is coming. Can you meet us at the usual place?" He sounds like he's on the verge of tears.

"Yeah. I'll be there in thirty minutes."

I hung up the phone, got dressed, grabbed my weapons and was out the door in five.

Harbinger Chapter 8: Of Broken Rules and Shaken Faith

“You’re really quiet, Gabe. What are you thinking about?” Michael asks after almost an hour of driving in silence. Gabe sits in the driver seat with his right hand on the wheel, while he bites the thumb nail on his left hand. He only does this when he’s worried. Michael let the question hang in the air for a couple of minutes before he presses further. “Come on, man. Talk to me.”

“I had a conversation with Jerry earlier.”

“Yeah, what about?”

“He just asked the questions any other human in his situation would.” He replies after spitting a piece of nail out the open window.

“And what’d you tell him?”

“I answered them to the best of my ability. It’s funny…”

“What is?”

“Just fifty years ago I could have answered them all and be sure of what I told him. Now it’s all changed. I’m starting to feel like I don’t know anything at all.”

“It’s not like that, Gabe and you know it.”

“Oh, it isn’t?” He takes his eyes off the road to stare at his partner for a few beats. “We’ve been down here off and on since, what, the beginning of time? How can you look me in the eye right now and tell me it’s the same? The last forty-eight hours alone should have open your eyes.

“You just need to have faith.” Michael says in the softest tone he can muster through gritted teeth.

“And you need to be realistic.” He hides his anger with nervous laughter. “I guess there really is such a thing as blind faith. You need to look at the facts. This has gone far past what it all used to be. See, it used to be just a contest of influences between us and them, more or less. Now they’re turning it into a full blown war. Humans have gone from chess pieces to casualties of a fight they have no place in. Jerry’s life is over now just because he walked into the wrong house.”

“It's not as bleak as you're making it out to be.”

“That's because you're assuming that we're all still following the old rules when, really, it's just us. That's why we got caught with our pants down.

They've got Belith running around killing people. Why? Because they're not scared of us anymore. You didn't fight him, I did and he took me down like I was nothing.”

“So that's what this about, isn't it? You lost a fight and you don't know how to cope with it.”

“You're damn right! Belith is only they're second string. How do you think we're gonna do when they bring out the real heavy hitters?”

“It's impossible. They can't come up here.”

“And humans can't see us for what we are either, right?”

“I'm trying real hard to be positive here, Gabriel. So I'd really appreciate it if you'd...” Their hood catching on fire cuts Michael off in mid sentence.

“Beatrice!” Gabe screams as he slams on the breaks and jumps out of the car. He takes off his jacket and proceeds to swat at the flames. “It's gonna be alright, girl. Stay with me.” He puts the flames out in seconds, with only some minor damage. “Oh, man...just look at her.”

“Would you stop worrying about your fucking primer and look at this?” Michael screams in panic as he points to the gas station across the street.

“So, you believe me now don't you?” Gabe says as he joins Michael's side, where two figures stand on the gas station's roof.

The first was a woman, who is strikingly beautiful if you looked at her at the right angle. Otherwise, she's just striking. Her brilliant red hair is flowing in some places, singed patches in others, while scar tissue fills the gaps between the two. Her nose had been melted off, with burns covering the top of her face on the left side. The left eye milky white, the blindness being a result of the trauma she had experienced. Her right harm nothing but burned flesh which ended in a ball of fire engulfing the hand. Her left arm remained unharmed and carries an extravagant golden shield. She once had wings, but now there are nothing but a few bones jutting from her shoulder blades covered sparsely with blackened feathers. The flowing gown she wears covers up any horrors that may lay beneath.

He companion is a male about a foot and a half shorter than her, putting him just under five. His body horribly emaciated, making the baggy pants he wears hang off of him even more. Nothing covers his torso, revealing criss cross patterns of cuts that covers most of his bare flesh. His eyes have no lids and an endless stream of tears flows from them. The expression on his face is enough to break your heart. Sticking out of his back are two, long reeds. They both just stared at the angels in silence.

“It's the fallen...” Michael can only gasp.

“What do we do now?” Gabe asks, desperate for some kind of plan.

“I...I don't know.”

It's hard to tell how long this silence lasts, but it makes Gabe uncomfortable. “Hey, Alya!” he yells across the street, pretending to ignore the glare Michael is shooting at him. “There's something I've been wondering for a long time.”

Alya's body remains stoic.

“Did it hurt?”

Her eyes sharpen with malice.

“I'm serious, did it hurt? You know, when you fell from heaven?”

Her right arm raises, making her grimace in pain. The ball of fire engulfing her hand grows larger. Once it reaches the size of a basketball she hurls it in their direction, but it's going to come up short.

“She's a terrible shot.” Gabriel chuckles.

“She's not aiming for us, she's going for...” The ball of flame collides with the gas tanks 20 feet from them. The whole station goes up in one massive fire ball, the concussive blast sending Micheal slamming into the rear door on the driver side of their car and Gabe goes sailing through a store front window. Then nothing except for the sound of a few dozen car alarms.

When Michael finally managed to stand and look at the flaming store, there are no sign of their attackers.

“This sucks.” Gabriel says as he climbs out of the store, wiping glass off his shoulders.

“You were right, Gabe. Things have gotten bad and we never even saw it coming.”

“Yeah...I don't wanna play anymore.”

Harbinger Chapter 7

Previously on Harbinger: A bunch of shit happened.

Chapter 7: One for the Road


“Why do we do the things we do? Does anyone know what it is that drives us, the true motivations behind our actions? I know most people don't tend to give into their more...animalistic urges. The majority of them have a conscience that helps them stay in line which, unfortunately for you, is something I've always lacked. Are they just better at keeping their demons at bay? Oh...don't worry. These are all rhetorical questions, I'm not expecting you to answer through all that duct tape.” Cade tells the young woman he has bound and gagged in the bathtub of his basement. Then as an afterthought, “I guess you'd need your tongue too, huh?”

At one point she had been beautiful, but the months of torture she has been put through have reduced to nothing more than 120 pounds of meat. The irony of it taking some psycho cutting an extra 18 pounds of of her to finally reach her dream weight is lost completely. It's gotten to the point where she's starting to forget that she once had a life outside of these walls. Everyday a little more of her humanity is stripped away, leaving only pain and the desire for him to just finish the job.

Cade has been doing this for a long time and he's gotten it down to a science. He acquires two victims a year. He sometimes goes shopping in other states to keep the disappearances from appearing to be related. Thousands of people vanish without a trace, what's two more a year?

When he gets them back to his place he shaves them completely, giving him a clean canvas to do his work. He spends days with them; cutting, burning, removing parts, whatever pops into his head at the time. He will then patch them up using information he obtained from old medical journals, yielding sloppy results. They're given a few weeks to heal before the whole process starts over. This will usually last for a full six months, but he's growing tired of so much time with one victim.

Which brings us to the now. After he received that note this morning, everything changed. He stayed home all day, not sure what to do next. He paced back and forth for hours, growing increasingly impatient for his instructions. Then, he received another letter through the mail slot just before noon. Her read over it a dozen times, called his boss to tell him he quit, withdrew all the money in his bank account, rented a car and came home. Ever since then, he's been sitting with his guest in silence. When he does speak it's not directly to her, but not just to himself either.

“I have to say, I am a little disappointed. I was expecting another gift like the one the first came with. A letter through the mail slot is just kind of...anti-climatic. I'm almost hesitant to go through with this, but they're going to turn me if I don't. Way I see it, might as well have some fun in the meantime. Just thinking about it all makes every nerve in my body tingle at the possibilities.

My life here is over. Once I leave this house I can't come back. After this I'll be walking along a beach somewhere, on the run, or worse. That means I've got to put everything here to rest. I'm very sorry to tell you, that you're one of the things I've got to leave behind. I do want you to know how much I've enjoyed our time together. So much so, I've decided to do the right thing by you and not cause you anymore harm. You should be dead of natural causes in a few days.” He stands up and makes his way to the door. Just before he crossed the threshold, he stops to face his guest. “Goodbye sweetheart and if anyone calls, tell them I'll be in Columbus.”

Ok, I've kinda been putting this off...

A couple of weeks ago I attended a writer's conference in Grapevine. The only reason I wanted to attend is because I was allotted ten minutes with an agent to pitch my book. The one that was chosen for me had a PHD in literature and I knew that was a strike I had against me. The day before I wrote out the speech I was going to give and practiced it over and over. Finally the Saturday came and I made the hour drive out to the convention center.

I got there several hours early and there was nothing up there. A few booths where people were trying to sell their books and seminars that were already full. I just took the time to make some phone calls, practice my speech and just try to be as mentally prepared as possible.

When my time came they corralled me into the dining area where the pitch sessions were to be held. They told me to pick someone else to practice on in the meantime, but no one would speak to me because they needed to be alone. I know how this is going to sound...but I fucking hate writers. Almost as much as agents.

So my name is finally called and I head back to where the agents are seated. When I approached mine, he didn't stand up for the handshake. He just sat back and said "What d'ya got?"

I knew in that instant that nothing I could say or do would convince him to buy my book, he'd already written me off. This threw me off guard and I mangled the speech I had tried desperately to memorize. He just sat back and stared through me. It was embarrassing.

After a few minutes of that, he began to tear everything down. He said I was too young, inexperienced. Nobody knew who I was. There's nothing about me that's particularly special, or stands out. He also said that if I wanted to help people, I should just go speak at schools. Then the handler tapped him on the shoulder, signaling that our time was up and I was ushered out.

The first 20 minutes I was utterly devastated. Then I got lost on my way home and had time to process what had just transpired. This guy has never read anything I have ever written. He took one look at me, heard me talk for two minutes and decided I didn't have "it". Last time I checked, writers tend to let their works speak for themselves. Yes, at some point I will have speak in front of a big group of people and I can always prepare for that when it comes. I am green at the business aspect of my craft, but that, last time I checked, was their fucking job. And I'm not known...yet, but I will be. I'm used to rejection, in more ways than most have even considered. But every single one of those is leading me somewhere that I want to be. And when I finally reach that plateau, I'll look down and yell proudly, "Suck it PHD boy."

Flow

The arrival of a new face leaving feelings displaced. Was I trying to replace, or maybe just erase this distaste from events of the waste that i began in haste?

Was it all in vain? My heart is stained, head is strained and it's not exactly the pain that's driving me insane. When did your feelings start to wane, swapped with such disdain?

So now i'm on the defense, which only leaves you on the fence, unsure what to do next leading us to this current mess. If it's all just a test then we failed and I'm bereft, short on breath, just completely out of my depth.

Even though I'm left burned, it's another lesson learned, the next page turned, one more day that I have earned.

Closure.

It was two years ago that I started this job, the day I first saw you as well as your birthday. That's a lot to squeeze into twenty-four hours. I haven't talked you in six months, but letting the day just pass by unnoticed didn't seem right to me for some reason. So, I went out, got you a card and left it on your desk first thing in the morning. It read...

------,

I thought for a long time,
about what to put here.
I wrote many drafts.
So many thoughts and feelings,
I wished to convey.
But none of them,
seemed appropriate,
written by the hand,
of the stranger that I've become.
So I think instead,
I'll just keep it simple,
and tell you that I truly wish you the best.
Have a wonderful birthday,
but above all else,
no matter what,
please...
don't ever change.

Still not quite sure what to put here,
Davlin


You wrote me an email thanking me and told me it was very sweet. The conversation didn't really go far from there until a couple of hours later. You asked me how I liked my new place and we tip-toed around topics we wanted to delve into, but were too scared of the answers we might find.

I grabbed up enough courage to ask you if you were dating anyone and you told me that you weren't, because it wasn't high on your list of priorities at the moment. You never asked whether or not I was seeing anyone and that could be taken either way. Then, for some reason, I asked you out for lunch. You accepted and we made tentative plans for the upcoming Saturday.

You took the rest of the week off, so I didn't see or hear from you, not that I was really expecting to. Saturday came and I was running errands, watching the time until our rendezvous. I got the text message asking if we were still on and we decided on a place we used to frequent back when...well, you know.

I arrived first, as is usually the case, my mind still reeling because you didn't cancel. I look up in the rear view mirror just in time to see your car pass by, making a knot twist inside my stomach. Suddenly, I wished I had cancelled.

We unceremoniously meet at the door and are seated at our table in less than a minute. We place our order before I let myself look at you. Your hair was worn casually and you had on a white wife beater. I couldn't believe you were actually sitting across from me. It's so weird how things play out.

We make a little small talk, a lot of small, awkward silences and you don't look at me the whole time. Your eyes dart above my head, at the table, the screaming baby across the restaurant, anywhere but into mine. Again, this can be taken either way.

The food arrives and gives a little more reason for the silence. The whole time I'm not sure what I think or feel about everything. I had pictured a hundred thousand different ways a situation like this with you would go down, no sexual pun intended. This just wasn't one of them.

The waitress brings us the check and after it's paid we just kind of sit there. As always I'm not sure what you're thinking. I don't know if you want to spend more time together, or if you just want this little adventure over and done with. I hate how you always make me second guess myself and everything around me.

I open my mouth as all the words I rehearsed escape me. Instead of easing my way into it, I simply say, “I'm sorry things got weird between us.”

“It happens.” You shrug nonchalantly.

“Yeah, but it shouldn't. I've changed a lot, now.”

“I can tell.”

“The irony of it all is that this is the guy I should have been the whole time. It took losing you to become that.

“Usually how it works.”

Silence.

“I was angry with you for a long time.”

“I could tell, but I never figured out why.”

“Because it was easier.”

“Easier than what.”

“Admitting the truth. It was easier than admitting I missed you, never got over you. I just didn't want to be hurt anymore and anger filled that gap quite nicely. I want you to know that I don't harbor any of those negative feelings anymore.”

“Good, then let's just move forward.”

“Move forward?”

“As acquaintances, friends is kind of a strong word.”

“Jesus, that's a little harsh.”

“Don't you think it'd be weird if we tried to be? Don't you think there'd be problems?”

I nod, “Yeah...probably.”

I tell you I don't want to keep you and I walk you to your car. We don't say a word as we hug and go our separate ways. The whole thing only lasted roughly thirty five minutes and it ended just like we did; bittersweet.

I think about all of it on the drive home. Everything from two years ago to now. You weren't the monster I made you out to be. All I ever saw was my side, I'm sure I was just as nasty from yours. This was the first time in a year I left you with my head held high and that's gotta count for something. I hope that if you aren't happy now, that you be. A part me is also sorry that I couldn't be the one that helped make it happen for you, but I know I'm not. For the first time I'm OK with that. It's time to move forward.

The big news

I'm attending a writer's conference next weekend and that comes with one amazing benefit...I'm allowed ten minutes with an agent to pitch my book. I know it's a long shot, but I can't shake this surge of excitement. It's also made me realize that I really need to get my name out there. This is where I'm asking you for help.

If there's anything on this blog that really spoke to you, made you feel something, I'm asking for you to print a couple of copies of it out. Somewhere on there, put this blogs address http://www.davlinisnotyourfriend.blogspot.com/. Now, fold it up and on the outside of it, write a note to a stranger. Decorate it, make it your own. Then, just leave it in a public place. There's not a lot to it, really. I'm starting it this weekend and I want to see if it will spread. It would honestly mean the world if you would help me out with this. I can feel something big is going to happen, it just needs a little push. Guerrilla marketing...keep an eye out.

A moment of your time?

Ask yourself this question, who am I? If you've already answered it, then you haven't thought about it long enough and your answer is incorrect. Now, let's delve a little bit deeper.

Are you the person that people see while you're sitting in a classroom? How about family reunions, where you pass through an ocean of people, making small talk with strangers that only pass as relatives because of a few similar strands of DNA? How about the version of yourself that you see while you daydream, the fantasies that you live when life just doesn't fit the way that you want it to? Are you more yourself when you are getting lit with some friends at five A.M. on a Saturday, simply because society tells us that it beats the alternative of sitting alone at home on the weekends? Speaking of being alone, do you feel and act differently then as opposed to how you are around others?

The point I'm trying to make with all this...well, there isn't a point. Not really. I just want you to think about it. So many of us are content with the image we have of ourselves. We don't want to grow, to question things about ourselves, because we might be afraid of the answers that we may find. There are so many expectations, set on us by ourselves and others that we believe we must live up to. What makes us successful? Is it the amount of money in our bank accounts, or just the satisfaction we feel when we lay our heads down at night. That is, if we're able to even find enough peace to dream.

I don't think any of us can know everything about ourselves. We will never really have an idea about who we are and that's a scary concept to grasp. However, it doesn't have to be. Asking all of these questions about ourselves is one of the most beneficial things that we can do. Break away from the emotions, all the bullshit really, and get down to the core of it all. This is where we grow and make strides towards the people we'd like to be.

We're all going to have bad days, that's inevitable, but if you find that the majority of them are that way then something is wrong. It's just one of the cycles that needs to be broken. Comfort, while divine, is also detrimental. You don't have to be what you think and others expect. A little introspection never hurt anyone. Just something to keep in mind.

For the best...

"What exactly is it that you want out of life?" If you couldn't hear the pleading in her voice, you could definitely see it in her eyes. She desperately needs this from me right now and she's fighting back whatever tears she may have left.

I pause for a long time, considering her question, before telling her that I just don't have an answer to it.

"What do you mean by that? It shouldn't be all that complicated. Don't you have any kind of dreams you want to follow? Do you want to get married? How about kids, do you want them? Do you want any of that with...do you even see a future with me in it?"

This is where it all gets complicated I tell her. She doesn't know how it feels.

"I don't know how what feels?"

I can't want something from life when I'm not even sure that I'm alive to begin with.

She just stares at me.

It's like this, I tell her, sometimes it's like I'm living in the past, present and future all at once. I can't look forward, because I'm stuck watching what's come and gone. The now is overshadowed by the later that I dream of having. As a result of this...I miss out on everything. Instead of feeling anything about the events that are occurring to me, I just feel like I'm on the outside. A voyeur. Just saying it doesn't make any sense.

"No...it doesn't." This is where I want to hold her. Tell her that I'm OK, that we'll be OK. I want her to know that I'm more in love with her than ever and that a future without her is just not one worth having. But I don't. I just look at the ground a lot, intensifying her insecurities. This all has to be done. I just tell her I’m sorry.

“You’re always sorry. That’s all you ever say. You apologize but you don’t change anything. I can’t keep going through this. I have to know that it will get better. I need to know that I’m not wasting my time.”

I don’t answer her. I just stare at my feet. I can’t look at her. Not now, not when it’s so close.

Davlin, please look at me.” I do and she meets my eyes, staring through them and seeing my intentions. “Please…” she implores, “don’t do this.” She stands up and goes to the door. “If I leave now, I’m not coming back. You do know that don’t you?”

I nod and take one last look at her. This could be the last time I see her face and I wish it wasn’t like this. I don’t want my last glimpse to be of her so heartbroken. She’ll be torn up about this for awhile. Over time, though, she’ll get better and find the person that she deserves and deserves her as well. She will be happy, but that can’t happen as long as I’m still in the picture. I know me. I know how I am. She wasn’t the first and won’t be the last. She’s right, I don’t do anything to change. That’s why things always end like this and I pray for this to be the wake up call that I’ve needed for so long. As the oncoming months pass, she’ll grow happier and I’ll only get worse until I hit bottom one more time. But if that’s the price for her to smile again, I’ll pay it happily.

“Well?” she asks, no longer able to contain the tears. I stare back at my feet and hear the door slam.

“I don’t want to be worthless. I want to be different. I want to be happy without feeling this compulsive need to sabotage it all. I don’t want to be hurt anymore, nor do I want to hurt anyone else. I do want to get married, I do want kids, all of those things we talked about and, yes, I want all of that with you.” I’m finally able to admit, ten seconds too late.

Blah blah blah

Been a rough week. I haven't slept much and I find some of my old thoughts and habits gradually coming back. Whenever I'm like this, I don't want to be bothered. I don't want to be around, or talk to anyone. The sad thing is, this usually happens when a lot of people have started to care and rely on me. This is when my stock drops, so start selling your shares as fast as you can.

I find myself on the brink of tears at work and to the point of violent rage outside of it. There was a time when I talked to people about this kind of stuff, but the reactions I recieved have made me shy away from doing so. They don't understand how it works. If I'm ok on one day, that doesn't mean that it'll stay that way forever. Relapses are inevitable, because this is a cycle that will turn in my head until the day I die. So, when I get low again, they give me that look that says "here we go again".

It just scares me. I'm terrified of things going back to the way they were last year. I barely survived it. That's another thing that people won't let me live down. A friend of mine will point out how unbearable it was to be in my presence. Says he has a right to joke about it, because he put up with my behaviour. Fuck that.

I've tried all week to write something down. I could only get about 2 1/2 pages of a short story. In these moods, blogs like this are all I can get out, but I'm sick of doing them. I don't wanna bitch or whine about my problems and it feel like that's how they come off. When I'm like this I have absolutely no confidence in anything that I do, especially writing. I'm not even looking for any affirmations, believe me, they wouldn't do any good.

One thing that has changed, however, is I'm no longer embracing these emotions. They're being kept back, but I'm not sure if that's because of me, the meds, or some combination of the two. That's what makes me uneasy about being on prescriptions; I'm not entirely sure what's real. Was that smile genuine, or chemically enduced?

But being off of them is also unsettling. Though it'd be nice to have an extra $150 every month, is that the price that must be paid in order to keep me from reverting back to my old self and succeeding where I've failed so many times before? It just sucks when every answer to these questions could result in a life or death situation due to a moment of weakness on my part.

"It's hard to be the better man when you forget you're trying.
It's hard to be the better man when you're still lying."
Brand New

Mafioso's Requiem

Just one more job. That's all I have to do before they let my brother go and we can put this whole thing behind us. There are three outcomes that can happen; either I'll be gunned down in the streets, my boss will do me in after I've completed my mission, or I'll actually get the happy ending. Either way, it all ends tonight.

The taste of Natalie and Grey Goose still linger on my lips and I wish I could keep them there forever. I switch the radio to an old jazz station as I take the on-ramp to I-90. The traffic is all but non-existent due to the early morning hour. This is when New Haven always looks the best to me; under a curtain of blackness and abandoned by all the people that make city living so unbearable to begin with. 20 minutes from my destination and I start to get anxious.

Over the last six months I've done some horrible things and not only enjoyed doing them, but profited off them as well. Hijacking a school bus to hold a rival drug lord's kid hostage bought my fancy loft uptown. And that's just one of the things I'm willing to admit to. I'm not even going to tell you what I had to do to pay for the car I'm driving right now.

Little beads of sweat start to fall down my forehead and sting when they land in my eyes. My nerves are completely shot. The soft music is doing nothing to calm me down, so I roll down the window to allow the warm summer breeze to wash away all these ill feelings. 10 minutes away now.

My breathing grows shallow as I take my exit. OK, I can do this. I HAVE done this. All I have to do is kill one man, that's all. It's no big deal.

Christ, listen to me...this used to sicken me. What have I become? With each squeeze of the trigger I've lost more and more of my humanity until I'm left cold, soulless. Will I even be able to go back to a regular life after this?

I pull up across the street of a nightclub that's owned by my target, put the vehicle in park and shut off the engine. Nothing left now but to wait. I could feel the cold steel of the 9.millimeter under my coat and it gave me some relief. After 45 minutes pass he comes out of the club. He's got two bodyguards with him. Alright...let's do this.

I step out of my car and reach into my over coat. I aim for the guard on the left and his brains rain out behind him before they even know I'm coming. My target's eyes go wide and he runs for his car that's been parked out on the street. I hear a slight whistle as a bullet misses my ear by centimeters. A second plugs me in the right shoulder and a third clips my left knee. I go down.

I'm laying in a growing pool of warm blood. The guard is laughing as he walks in my direction. I pick my up my gun and scream in pain as I raise it towards him. I aim for a gut shot but I'm a little off. It hits him in the groin, instead. He crashes to the ground and starts crying in the street. This makes me smile. I'll let him live.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a bottle of pills and take three. I automatically feel the effects as I get to my feet. My target is still standing outside of his car. One of his men has the keys. Due to lack of options, he starts to run. I hop in my car and take pursuit. He doesn't get too far, about a block or so, before I'm right behind him. At the last second he dives for the sidewalk and I only clip his legs. I can hear the sound of them shattering over the engine.

I stop the car and I hear the sirens as I step out. I walk over to him, he's already given up trying to crawl away, and kick him onto his back because I've grown fond of being the last thing people see. He starts to beg for his life and I put one between his eyes, cutting off his spiel.

A gasp brings my attention upward. Two hookers are staring at me with their mouths wide open. I feed them each a bullet to make sure this little scene stays our secret forever.

The job finished, I climb back in my car just in time to see 2 cruisers in the rear view mirror. I crank the engine, put it in drive and speed off. In my haste I forget to buckle my seat belt, which will only add to the ever growing list of offenses. My car jerks to the left as one of the cops tries to side swipe me from the driver side. I grab my gun, stick it out the window and unload until it runs dry before replacing it in my coat. In the rear view I can see their windshield explode and the cruiser crashes into a huge display window of a thrift shop.

The one on my right becomes more aggressive and starts to plug holes into my car's frame. I jerk the wheel in his direction and his cruiser gets pushed inches away from the curb. He's looking at me and yelling and if he was paying more attention, he'd have seen the pickup that was parked on the street in front of him. One second he's right beside me and a sound of impact precedes his disappearance.

I crank my neck back and watch in disbelief . I see the two vehicles have become one and I start to laugh. "Oh, my god! Ha ha! I'm gonna make it! I'm gonna..."

.....

I wake up in the street and it hurts to move. I cough into my hand and pull it back to reveal bloody mucous. Four shattered ribs, a collapsed lung, fractured skull and god knows what else. I take the bottle from my pocket and take the last four. I stand up, brush the glass out of my hair and try to piece together what happened.

Apparently, while looking behind me I didn't see the telephone pole. The impact threw me about 25 feet from the windshield. It would have been more had I not smacked that mailbox. I can actually see the indention of my skull where it collided with its side. Cool.

A bright light shines over me and stabs daggers into my eyes. I look up and stare at the helicopter hovering above me. I can't hear the rotors. I've gone deaf. I pull the gun from my coat and run into a nearby alley.

I don't realize it's a dead end until three cop cars have already blocked off my only way out. I eject the empty clip and look up with blurry vision. Ten officers have their weapons drawn and they're shouting words that I'll never get to hear.

I slam my last clip into the gun, look up at them and smile. One way or another...it all ends tonight.

A Transient Affair (A work of fiction)

I wake up disoriented in a dark room that I don't recognize. I try to assess the surroundings as my eyes adjust to the blackness. I hear quiet breathing coming from a girl lying on the bed next to me. Her blond hair, a stark contrast to the gloom, accentuates her features. God, she's pretty. I wish I could remember her name. I know she told me, but I couldn't hear half of our conversation over the raucous music in the club. I realize that I don't know any of the information that should be established long before you become intimate with another person. Sudenly, all that required knowledge is reduced to nothing more than mere afterthoughts.

I find my mind wondering about her. What's she really like? Is she smart, funny, honest? Does she do this kind of thing all the time? I know that this is my first one night stand, but is it a part of her routine? What's she going to think about all this in the morning? Will she feel cheap and used, or rush me out without even giving me the courtesy of an awkward kiss goodbye? I want to hold her, but I'm not even sure about the rules on that. Christ, when did everything get so complicated?

I glance over to the nightstand that's on my side of the bed and look at the plaque that's resting on the top. It's made out of clay, with two little handprints under the word "Mommy". This girl is somebody's mother. I feel even worse about this whole thing.

I sit up, throw on my jeans and walk out onto her patio hoping that the crisp September air will help to clear my head. It doesn't. The skyline shines brightly like a beacon over all it's denizens that are sleeping next to loved ones, strangers, or alone altogether. In my head I try to justify the events that lead me to the now, which only makes me feel worse about it all. Trying to blame it on the alchohol would just cheapen it even more, rob it of the passion that would make it seem somehow more acceptable. I don't know...

Is this what we've all been reduced to? Seeking solace in the arms of stranges just so we can throw them aside in the morning because we're all afraid to get attached? I don't understand how the people that do this every weekend live with themselves. I look back and watch her sleep through the window. I haven't got a clue what the morning will bring to us. Will we see each other again? Will this turn into something meaningful, or will we just try to force it so that we can feel better about it all and save face? I open the sliding glass door and enter the room, knowing that all these questions will be answered in time.

Chapter 6: Inquiring Minds (Jerry)

They took me to their place, a run down motel deep in the Bottoms. When I asked Uriel why they didn't pick a better neighborhood, he told me that they were more needed in places like this. By all reasonable accounts of logic I should be freaking out right now; jumping at the door and making my escape. But I'm not. I've been missing for almost sixteen hours now, my wife and everyone else on the force are probably going crazy wondering where the hell I am. That should bother me. I find myself more at peace than I've ever been before. Being around them does that to you. This must be what the faithful feel every Sunday in church.

We got to their rooms just before the sun rose. I had a shower and borrowed some of Michael's clothes and crashed until late in the evening. I stretched before going out on the patio to watch the sun set over the Columbus skyline. Gabriel joined me a few minutes later, carrying two beers.

“Hey, want one?” He asks, offering the one in his right hand.

“I didn't think you were allowed to drink.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Well, you're a creature of God aren't you?”

“Yeah, but so are you. And you guys are into all sorts of heinous shit.”

“Never thought of it like that.”

“The thing that you need to keep in mind, is that most of the rules the bible and modern churches follow were written by men, and we know how that usually turns out. Listen, you want to know what the real golden rules are? The best ways to get home?”

“It would make things a lot easier.”

“With the exception of taking his name in vain, Father doesn't really care about what language you use. They're just words. He also understands what it's like being in your bodies, he designed them after all, so he knows that you have urges and all that. Premarital sex doesn't bother him so much as long as there is love involved and you're not whoring yourself out for ham sandwiches. But the most important things to keep in mind are to love Him with all your heart and try to help more people than you fuck over.”

“That's it?”

“That's it.”

“Huh...So what about you guys then? You don't seem a whole lot different from us.”

“Well, I'm not. As far as personality is concerned. We were kind of like His practice dummies, his trial runs before He stopped with humans.”

“What do you mean?” I ask him as I take a swig.

“Uriel was the first being Father created, and was done so without a lot of major emotions,”

“I've noticed that.”

“He can feel love for our Father and, to a very small extent, every other creature. He was made this way so that he wouldn't get distracted from his devotion to Him. He was made just to serve. As more and more of us were created, Father became increasingly lax and we evolved as a result. I'm the second youngest. That's why I am the way that I am.”

“And who is the youngest.” This question makes him close his eyes and his face contorts with pain.

“The Morning Star.”

I change the subject. “So then what are you doing on Earth? Don't you belong in Heaven?”

“Technically, angels don't belong anywhere. We can go where we want. So can demons. There are hundreds of them on Earth getting into all sorts of shenanigans. That's where we come in.”

“So, you're like some divine police officer.”

He chuckles. “I like to think of us as a combination of Men in Black and Constantine, personally. We'll spend a few weeks in a town, patrolling every night, move on and start it all over again.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“What's this, June?” He starts counting on his fingers. “1,700 years, 6 months, 14 weeks, and nine days. Wow...I need a fuckin vacation.”

“So, are you going to take me with you tonight when you guys go out?”

“No, it's too dangerous for you. Uriel is going to stay here tonight. But, listen...” He reaches behind him and pulls a dagger out of his boot. It's about 8 inches in length and there are funny stains on the silver blade. Everything else about it is unremarkable. “There is going to be a time when you're going to have to fight. It's inevitable now. This will give you a chance.”

“Thanks.” I just sit and stare at it, unable to shake a sudden ominous feeling.

“Ok, I have a question for you now.”

“Shoot.”

“Um...” He starts to blush, like he's too embarrassed to ask it. “What's sex like?”

Harbinger Ch. 5: "Winging" it

I feel dizzy, like I'm on the verge of throwing up. I'm sitting in the backseat of a car that I don't recognize with no idea how I got here. Ok, focus. You were almost off when you got a call, so you and Dalton...it's all coming back and I start to panic. There are voices coming from outside the car.

"Whoa whoa whoa. What do you mean we're taking him with us? Have you lost your mind?" One of them says, definitely pissed.

"Gabriel, calm down. I admit this situation has gotten out of hand, but we don't have a choice." The second one is much calmer. "He knows what we are." Everything goes quiet.

Suddenly, a kid with shaggy blonde hair is looking through the window at me. It's a few seconds before he breaks the awkward silence.

"Well, couldn't you have at least hosed him off first? I mean, look at him. He's covered in blood! And...and is that vomit? There's vomit all over my fucking interior! That's going to take forever to get out."

"We need to go, now." A third voice chimes in. "We're kinda exposed out here."

"I'm not getting in there with him. He's gotta smell terrible."

Ten minutes later, the four of us are driving in silence. My three companions look to be in their mid-twenties. The blonde one is driving, gripping the steering wheel tightly and just shaking his head. The one that I had met back in the room is sitting up front. The wings that I thought I had saw are now absent. I pray that they were just a hallucination. The one sitting next to me is hanging his head out of the window, smiling serenely. All of their features are perfect; not a blemish, birthmark, or scar on any of them. Just... flawless. They radiate a light that can't be seen, but you can feel that it's there. It's a hard thing to describe.

"I guess you're wondering who we are." The kid riding shotgun says to me. "My name is Uriel," he points to the driver, "this is Gabriel..."

"Charmed." Gabriel spits out through gritted teeth.

"and sitting beside you is Michael."

Michael doesn't respond, he's clearly in his own world.

“Yeah, hi.” I say dismissively. “I”m officer Jerry Delange. Do you have any idea what that means? You just kidnapped a cop. I should be arresting you right now.”

“Ha!” Gabriel mocks. “You can try!”

“I'm sorry, but it had to be done.” Uriel's tone never changes. There's never any inflection...it's all just a matter of fact with him. “Now, what do you remember about what happened inside that house?”

“My partner and I were on a routine call. When we got there we were too late to help the woman that lived there. This...thing killed her and then it got my partner.”

“His name was Belith. He's a very high ranking demon. You're actually very lucky to be alive right now.” Michael adds from outside the window.

Uriel swallows hard. “Do you remember what you asked me back in the room?” “I asked you if you were angel. I thought I saw wings. I was hysterical.”

“You weren't hysterical. Wait, you said that you “had” seen them. Does that mean you don't anymore?”

“No, should I?”

“Well, no. None of your kind should. That's the point.”

“What do you mean, “my kind”? You're?”

“Yes, Jerry. And you knowing that complicates things quite a bit.”

“Look, I don't care, ok? I just want to go home.” My voice was becoming panicked.

“We can't let you go now.”

“I want to see my wife.” I tried my best to sound forceful and intimidating.

“I told you earlier that you weren't dead, but that's only half true. The life that you once led is over. You're a loose end as far as Hell is concerned. Ours too, quite frankly. You've seen too much and they're going to be looking for you. With us, you're safe. If you were to go back home now, they'd follow you and slaughter anyone you care about right in front of your eyes. Then they would torture and finally kill you.”

“So...what, I just ride around with you until they eventually get to me?”

“Or until we can think of something better.” Michael laughs, trying to lighten the mood. "We're kinda making this up as we go along."

“Think of it this way, stinky,” Gabriel adds, “you just entered Heaven’s witness protection program.”