FFXIAH Linkshell Ni

In this world of light and darkness there are shining examples of purity and wholesome goodness that we hold up on high too try and to bring light to the dark places...

How many millions were sucked into the swirly black hole vortex of evil that was Grandma Dog, we will never know. Her evil power and dedication to evil had no equal in this world. Her icy stare could shrivel a grown man's genitalia from a thousand yards, maybe more...

And oh, how she hated me... I could fill so many of these pages with tales that would chill your blood below freezing... until your veins cracked and you pulled your own eyes out just to stop seeing... But we don't have enough time for that now...

Try to imagine a room without light or warmth or hope and you are four or five years old sitting naked, blindfolded in a dunk tank and the last thing you hear is an old woman cursing the day you were born, professing her hatred of you that will never be swayed and then, without emotion pushes the target and you are dropped into vat of liquid nitrogen....

Her home was so very cold, you could stand next to the coal burning furnace and never feel it's warmth. That sickening cold that creeps up your legs from your dying feet, burning pain, freezing to death.
The entire house was a torture chamber. No chair offered comfort only misery, yet the adults vied for them like trophies while they watched us whelps wrestle on the floor for their amusement banging our heads on the unyielding stone coffee table.

But.. She did have the most amazing collection of empty butter containers I have ever seen. Maybe thirty thousand or more. The basement held eighty years worth or everything she had ever purchased. Day after day I would stare at the empty butter containers wondering in vain as to their hideous purpose... Why all these empty butter containers? What diabolic plan did she have for them? But she would not say, not even in death.

These and all of her other secrets went with her to the grave. I was there many came in disbelief to witness the end and not one tear was shed that day. I remember... It was raining and her tomb filled with rain almost as fast as they could pump it out. As they lowered her into the grave... I felt it... The rain stopped and I felt the warm kiss on my cheek of sunlight... You are too young to remember the day the sun shined a little brighter, the birds chirped without fear of reprisal and the cold black clouds finally gave way to the light of day and the whole world breathed a warm sigh of relief...

And that is how global warming began not with a billion car exhausts...no. With the death of one hideous creature so foul her black soul strangled and stole warmth away from the whole world.

Dear God. What hideous lengths must I go.. to hold that kind of power?... All the evil things I have done in this lifetime pale, only in comparison..to her. Here I still stand at the foot of a mountain of evil, taller than everest before me, even after climbing for so very very long... my only prayer is there is still enough time.

Like all things it's almost impossible to explain... which is also what makes writing so difficult... But if I take pleasure in people enjoying my work then conversely I would also have to accept criticism and feel bad when they don't, it's one of those yin yang dealies a lot of writers either shut themselves off from the world (JD) or settle with a shotgun (Mr Way). The only thing we as americans love more than elevating people to god like celebrity status is crushing them into hopeless oblivion afterwards.

How long is M. Night going to keep the barrel out of his mouth? It's tough to say really, but I find it hilarious that we are unable to appreciate him making a good movie and then just LET IT GO. He doesn't have to make another great movie. Let's just accept that and allow him to move on?

Maybe I have one really great idea and maybe I don't because it's all a matter of perspective etc... anyways and blah blah blah.

I think we are all artists searching for a medium to try and express ourselves in. And all of them have one fatal flaw which is they are interpreted by the people that witness it, whether it's performance art or a poem or a painting you splash your soul up on the wall for everyone to see and then what? wait for someone else to appreciate it and understand? Does herman melville feel better now that his work is appreciated or not?

WELL it's too *** bad either way because he is dead and we can twist his work into whatever meaning we feel like at that point in time and we can all agree that it sucks and nobody buys it and he dies penniless and then we can all agree it's great long after he is too dead to reap any of the benefits, if there are any.

So I say, let's just jump to the end of the story where fourteen slack jawed locals gasp in awe at the pyramids and wonder what could possibly make someone want to build something like that and never understanding.

At the core of the pyramid is a simple desire by whoever created them to live forever. I was here, this is what I thought, I want to live forever, I realize I probably can't... so at least I want to always be remembered....

The pyramids failure to convey this simple message to all but a handful of people clearly illustrates my frustration

I suppose I could build one, but it has been done before and nobody GOT IT so I would in fact have to build a better one that people ten thousand years from now would understand, maybe.

And in all likelihood probably no one will ever understand what I am trying to say. They weren't me then and even if they were me they may have reacted differently so it's hard for them to understand and the truth is I still have a difficult time explaining it to myself and I was me and I was there and reacted pretty much as I would have expected most of the time.

And I got over needing any kind of validation or acceptance a long time ago because I hate people for the most part and love them at the same time, it's complicated.

So I write for me mostly on this weird electronic bulletin board exposing myself anonymously to the handful of unsuspecting people.
Hopelessly drowning in the knowledge that I probably should be applying what little talent I have to the higher purpose of making money because god knows I have bills to pay but it's really really difficult to avoid all the obstacles I have made for myself.

I realized long ago that my perception was probably flawed right from the jump. I don't see things normally and it's impossible for people that do, to understand. You are not alone. I used to post weird short stories on Myspace too, for no apparent reason. And so what happens sooner or later is the NOVELTY of me wears off and people realize during one of the performances that the comedian is just warped and demented and evil. Like Kramer from Seinfeld who broke down into a blithering racist idiot. But he always THOUGHT that way, you see?, We just never picked up on it before, and the truth is we LOVE Kramer but we hate Michael Richards. So you can imagine the difficult position this puts him in...

Like him, I'm probably one of those guys that is ok in small doses but after a while you feel relived to be rid of... and that is ok with me. What I learned to do was enjoy both sides of the argument. People liking my stories and people hating everything I stand for. I enjoy the reaction and I enjoy no reaction. It's weird, I'm weird, enjoy the weird while you can supplies are limited act now see your local dealer for more details.

Will my brain one day crap out the major statement of our time? will it be lost when the ffxiah servers go down? will we ever find out what happens at the end of one of his stupid stories? Stay tune for the next turgent episode!

And so Magnuss can type "carpet square" and it triggers memories of kindergarten and wild dreams of flying around on said small carpet square but try as I might, I can't force the carpet square to take flight. And it probably should fly on it's own, some sort of whimsical fantasy that infringes on the Disney copyright for Aladdin or something... carpet bombing puns, I don't know.. SOMETHING.

But it didn't and I don't know how to make it and I may spend the next seventy two hour in catatonic despair trying to force a connection...

Or just leave it at this post.. Tell myself "That'll do pig" and call it day...maybe get some work done.