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: Z: TBH: Morning, Day 14
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Feb 10th 2008
Good morning, WhiteChapel.
It's 1:20 where I am.
Going to sit here a bit, try to feel tired.
* * *
Indecision. Screw in the lightbulb, see clearly into the furthest dark corners or unscrew the damned lightbulb and throw it at the closest wall- hold it in my fist and ram it against the closest wall until the shards are embedded in my palm. Indecision leads to neither. Indecision causes the lightbulb to remain in the socket, loose and in danger of causing a spark that ignites and burns brightly for a short time, a nice bright show with smoke and flames.
Get your stick, kids, roast some marshmallows. It's all over soon. Fires don't burn forever.
This time of day, this time of ... the morning, the night, what have you.. makes me idiotic. Makes me babble stupid random bullshit. I remember this one night, years and years ago, I stayed up too late answering e-mails and making phone calls, and at 2am a small stone struck the window next to me and they were calling me out. It was late and dark and I figured it was about money or about knives, someone's knife got swapped with my knife or my knife was left in someone's car and won't you come down and sort this all out since you're underage and less likely to get rightly fucked for having such a thing in your possession. Right right, be right down, down I went like an unthinking dumbfuck, out into the snow where the whole bunch were standing around in dark coats, me in mine, figuring we'd get things sorted and I could wrap up a few more things before going to bed. Wasn't the case, it was about sending a message, it was about making an example of me, and before I'd paid close enough attention to who's sleeve they fell out of or who's arm had been behind their back there were bats and pipes and heavy blows and my nose was gushing blood and my fingers were clutching the crown of my head. Went down hard on a concrete patio curled in a ball, kicked in the ribs wind knocked out of stomach, waiting waiting for it all to end with unconsciousness or spittle in the face or whatever dramatic result would convince them the work was done and there was nothing more for it. Bit of a black out. Woke up torn up went up to the second floor of the house, staggered into the bathroom, shoeprint on my cheek blood drying over my lips. Tried to rub the blood off with the back of my hand, could smell the metal and sweat on my palm from grabbing at one of the pipes aimed for my face. Breathing through my mouth I could see two teeth had been chipped, still are matter of fact. People like me, we don't bother getting a bucket of paint, an ounce of liquid porcelain, quick fixes and cover-ups. What's the fucking point. It'll never cover up all the scars, and you can't mask the scent of what's been defeated broken and beaten. The desperation, the running, the fear, the guilt, the disgust, the loathing, the anger, the frustration, the <em>sickness </em>has a stink.
These are the things I'm reminded of at this hour.
I'm tired now. Again.
Good night, WhiteChapel. Good morning, and good night.
Feb 10th 2008
It's the earliest hours of the morning when sleep isn't coming that we are at our most reflective and sometimes at our most vulnerable.
I hope you slept well.
Feb 10th 2008
Was rude on forum boards instead.
<blockquote>"With Spider-Man [..] free again, Quesada says, he'll be able to have new adventures, get into new dilemmas[..]"
In other words, recycling whatever he was doing pre-marriage, prior to him getting remarried (to MJ, or BlackCat, or BatGirl, or whoever the fuck). Then he'll strike a deal with the Sandman (who will suddenly be in need of a tan and feature a number of sidekicks, including a sickly looking chic with big hair and a couple of birds), who'll tell him the whole Mephisto thing was a dreeeeam. </blockquote>
Going to have a cupcake for breakfast now.
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