Today is Monday, October 29th, 2007

Right now I am listening to the premaster of The Tie That Binds, by Stray.

It is 8:59AM, and I gave decided that today is a vacation day. Ever since I got an XBOX360 I've basically spent 99.9% of my relaxation time playing Oblivion, so today I am not going to (nor the next several days) so yeahh.

I really need time just to sit back and relax, listen to music, and write. As well I feel like shit today, and I'm just generally tired, so as a student I feel it is imperative to take a day for physical and mental recuperation for the sake of my education, which is of the utmost importance.

 

Thursday - Accidently Skipped ( 5 periods missed )

Friday - Skippage ( periods 2, 3, and 5 missed)

Today - All will be missed

 

Game plan?

Tomorrow, I shall get alllll the work I missed in all my classes, excepting art unless we received some sort of work sheet; and philosophy, today we should be starting a new unit so all he'll do is hand out a new set of articles&questions, then talk about it for the entire class.

The philosophy teacher also has my hackysack. I'm not quite sure how it came to be in his possession, I'm guessing it fell out of my pocket last year. However it wasn't any time near the end of the year at it's disappearance, and no mention of such a possession being lost was mentioned to the class. So either someone else gave it to him, or he purposely appropriated it. This makes part of me really angry, but why do I give a shit? It's a sack with a bunch of blue beads in it, it's prett much worthless and old. I did have that hackysack since like grade 7 though, I think I got it at my first concert, so it has some memorial value to me. I think thats why it makes me angry to think it's been stolen by some crusty old fucker to toss around a room every friday with his classes. I used to respect Mr.Morrison, but in my honest opinion I think he's become a senile asshole.

Maybe thats why I'm not interested in philosophy as much as I used to be? The way he engaged the subjects within it and talks about them, it sounds more like he's proving something to himself rather than to the class, their purpose is to agree and justify his ideas. He doesn't seem to like me because I care about my appearance. He's quite irrational for someone who claims to be minimalist/determinist. Rather than bother to seek an answer as to why I overly care about my appearance, he will instead go on a tirade in class about how people believe others are looking at them, and how no one gives a shit about anyone else.
He never says anything directly, but I can tell it was directed at me. I have my reasons I guess, if he's enlightened enough to make those sorts of judgements without knowing anything about the subject matter then what the fuck do I supposedly know, right? He always made those sorts of remarks to me and justin in grade 11 philosophy so I know, and I'm the only person in the class his tirade was applicable to, and he was staring right at me, before the tirade, when i was moving my part over because it was blocking my vision.

I'm not arguing he was wrong, he's just an ignorant prick at the same time. I know people don't give a shit, I just can't help it. If for most of your elemenary years you were mentally beaten into thinking/believing that you're ugly, you would find it difficult to forget about. I guess thats my way of providing a Freudian cause.

 

I went to see 30 Days of Night yesterday and Saw 4 with Amy yesterday =D it was awesome ^^ on the ride home I fell asleep a couple times lol.

30 Days of Night was definitely the best vampire-based gore film I've ever seen. I thought it was really well done, but I didn't like the ending =\ sorry lol, I just don't like movies where the main character unnecessarily kills himself in the end. If he'd survived or something, as a human or a vampire, then there could be a conceivable story for a sequel? Then again there were loose plot endings, so there still could be. Interview With The Vampire is still my favorite story-vampire film.

Saw 4 was really well done as well, but it didn't have the same feel as the other movies. The ending didn't overly surprise me either. Sure, it was unexpected, but it just didn't have the mind blowing impact like the other movies. It wasn't exaclt clear either, I had to spend like 10 or so minutes just going over it to understand what happened lol.
I think if Saw is to possibly come back again with a 5th movie, they need a refreshed theme. Cops chasing a killer/people getting killed gruesomely/big'big surprise in the end is getting slightly old. The storyline is fine, people getting killed/learning a lesson and possibly survivng is all good, but every movie so far though seems to have had the same atmosphere. Lol, I wonder how well George Bush would do in a Jigsaw game. Random, I know.

 

"Hello, George. You've spent your life lying to those around you to attain your desires, and squandered the lives of the men and women loyal to you; you have used them as a means to the ends of your personal agendas, resulting in either the permenant maiming of their bodies, the breaking of their lives, families and dreams, or resulting in their deaths. To this day, your heinous crimes have gone unpunished. Today, George, we will learn if you will sacrifice your body to for one whom you care for, or sacrifice their life to spare your body. Across the room from you is a door, with 12 locks. On the other side, your daughter is unconscious. You will find the numbers 1 through 12 branded onto different parts of your body. On the tray beside you there is a medical scalpel. I think even you can guess what you must do. The locations of the keys in your body, through numeral succession, will become harder to access.

In 37 minutes, her room will fill with mustard gas, and the door's locking mechanism will bar entrance to it. At that time, the door behind you will unlock, and you will be free to go.
The clock is ticking George. Will you make the ultimate sacrifice for the ones you love?  Reach deep inside yourself, and you'll find the truth."

 

10$ says he would sit down, wait out the clock, and leave. Then he would declare the War Against Jigsaw! and use the death of his daughter as a catapult platform, maintain he knew nothing about it, and of course the flag-waving cousin fuckers would rally, elect him for another term, and go marching off to war for some crazy conservative who says that god talks to him (he did say that btw). Wow, that doesn't parallel the crusades at all. If I say Clifford the Big Red Dog talks to me I'm apparently crazy, but when a conservative president hears voices it's not considered a symptom of some type of psychopathy or mental disorder. Who gives a fuck though right? In the US all you have to be is a social elite with 25 million dollars and skill in rhetoric to run for president.

 

It's getting cold again =\ gr I hate winter so much; buttt I'll survive. I just hate how everything looks dead... it's kinda depressing. On the plus side my acne always seems to get better during winter lol. & I have Amy so Winter should be fine ^^. My worst drama's always seem to take place in winter though, but those are all over and done with so I will not go into detail on them lol.

 

I now have no way to get to school! My brother just left lol, so it's out of my hands =\ thats a load off lol.

 

I'm gonna go relax and drink chocolate milk or something.

 

 

Well, I'm just sitting here at my ocmputer, tired, sick-ish, and trying to remember if I took my anti-biotics. I was on myspace, and I decided to look at alllll the messages in my inbox. Myspace doesn't delete them... and it was very weird. Its like, catalogued my history since grade 9... its covered lots of my anger and my happiness, as well as some sadness mixed in. I look back, and I feel very fucking sad. Like... depressed.

I feel like my life has sunk... whenever someone looks at me, its indifferent, a dirty look, or just looking at me like I'm some kind of leper. I used to have so many things going on... well not so many things, but enough.

Now I just feel isolated... its depressing. Is it my fault? or has the labeling and categorization process caught up with me again. I feel so fucking angry while at the same time not really knowing why. People are strange, more often they just make me feel depressed because of our incongruities. Is that my fault? Or is no one to blame and it just is. I need to get a larger handle on my life... so I'm going to make a resolution list which I haven't done in quite a while.

 

THE FUCKING LIST*

 

-Get your fucking licence.

-Get a fucking job.

-Get a fucking hair cut. (well thats kinda been a priority for a while..)

-Start hanging out with friends more often.

 

This place just feels weird. It feels like theres no one left to meet. Theres no more opportunities or possibilities. I feel trapped and I want the fuck out. Nothing here is exciting... nothing big ever goes on, this whole area IS A SINK HOLE IN EXISTENCE. I just feel... ugh lol. I'll feel better by tomorrow. Lol, maybe the world is ending? Now I'm too depressed to write onto a depressing novel.

 

Besides all that, I have an awesome gf called Amy =].

This is a new horror story I'm writing. Well I guess it could be more accurately defined as dark/horror-ish in the terms of text. I find writing horror requires literary skill to inspire fear or other emotions, so this will be more eerie and i'll put as much work and detail in as I can. It's a shame a lot of horror-movie directors do not have the same philosophy in terms of the content of their films... which are becoming more and more of the generic group survival theme. They strip the art from their movies and replace it with shitty, raw shock. Making people puke and soil themselves because of disgusting scenes or sudden sounds/images IS NOT HORROR. That is shit. Anyone can excrete, its not hard to gross people out when you're stupid and talentless enough to try. Where did all the art go? Anyways I'll stop bitching, this is an H. P. Lovecraft tribute. This isn't going to be a happy/good guys win/happy-ending story, but I'm hoping to deliver something interesting. There will be some weird/fxcked up content, so if you're uncomfortable with sexual/violent/socially raw content then don't read it, much less read it then leave me some type of rude input. I know thats an unlikely possibility, but theres always some self-reighteous asshole out there who might do so.

 

I've modeled the main character's personality after my own kind of.. such as likes, dislikes, speech, but thats it lol. It's always hard for me to think of a main character, so I find this is easier. The weird/psychotic/delusional aspects, I can safely say, are not derived from such O_o.

 

I've decided to keep the content of this story to myself, since I've recently determined that in the future I will wish to make this into a novel. Since Canadian copyright laws extend the copyright for the author's life +50 years following, all of Lovecrafts idea's and works are in the public domain here, thus fair game. As well most of his work is in the public domain anyways since most of the copyrights were never renewed by his estate or any of the usurpers of his work... and a lot of the other copyrights are debatable since most of the records were non-existent. With the muckiness plus my existence in Canada, someone would have a very difficult time carrying out any kind of litigation against me. Plenty of authors and film makers have used his material as a basis or for ideas as well, and while he lived Lovecraft encouraged others to use his work and to expand on the Cthulhu mythos.

The reason why I'm keeping it to myself is that by posting this online it would be more than easy for someone to scoop the material out from under me and copyright it without my knowledge.

 

If you're a friend though and you wish to read any of it feel free to ask =]
I'll be putting as much work into this as possible, but for now I'm gonna go and get ready to hang out with Amy. later!

 

"Honey, you're blocking the fucking screen!"

 

He didn't move.

 

"Your wife is dead, she's on the floor over there. There is nothing on the tv screen, only static." This was the only way to deal with minds lost in their own demented realities; justify their surroundings by identifying them, and the their would often be forced to see through it's own illusions."

 

"...No, Honey, move out of the way before I make you move!" The fat thing spat, though it was clearly incapable of moving. Things in the Chaos weren't dangerous because of what they might do... they were dangerous because of how they affected the chaos.

 

 

He had learned never to stay still. Never remain stationary in Chaos. Resting was abidable, but remaining in any one area for safety was stupid and suicidal. The risks of falling into insanity or false realities weren't the only things worthy of fear in these places. Things lurked the everending chaos of what was left of the world, devouring and twisting people and what footholds were left in broken reality.

 

He walked over to the disgusting thing, grabbing it's wrists and leaning down to look into it's face. The visage was ghastly and as whole whoever this once was smelled worse than his decaying wife. He could feel the insects crawling onto his arms, biting and skittering, sending chills through his spine, but he ignored them.

 

"You're gone, you've spent god knows how long staring at a screen of static, devouring the corruption you produce; you're a bi-product of your own disgusting excesses. You don't even care that your wife is dead. The world is over. The universe has ended. There is nothing left. Accept it and die!"

 

"No!" the mans face contorted, spasming in pain, he tried to look around the unwanted visitor at the screen to escape the morbid revelations.

 

He slashed the man's eyes, spraying the dirt-smeared flowery wallpaper with black blood, "Stop looking away! You have no sight! No life! No name! No family or friends, no goals or dreams; everything that made life worth living has been stripped from you, because we are no longer living life, we are damned in pointless and directionless chaos!"

 

From then on it became hazy, the man kept crying out, struggling, trying to stop the visitor, but the slashes and stabs kept coming.

 

There was no man, just a bloody, pulpy mass of flesh where his chest, neck and face used to be. The sick sound of air being sucked ininto multiple apertures filled the air. He himself was covered in blood, as well as a good deal of the room. The knife and his hands shone a glimmering, dark red in the gray-ish light cast by the tv screen of static.

 

"Why won't you stop fucking breathing??" he cried out, falling to his knees and holding the sides of his head, "just end.. stop, let go and fall into oblivion." The chest shook, heaved, and at last, ceased it's rhythmic movement.

 

 

He opened his eyes, "I know exactly what needs to be done! Whoever this once was would have thanked me for ending this thing. These are not peole!"

 

 

"Shut the fuck up!" He cried at the shadows, the corpse, the tv...

 

 

"Lies!" He screamed, tossing the knife and covering his ears, "we lost sight of eachother; we were separated! I looked for her..-"

 

 

"Hope doesn't exist."

 

 

"You're nothing!!!" he cried, rocking back and forth on the filthy carpet, choking back tears and trying to restore calm.

 

 

It was too much. He got up and staggered over to where his knife had fallen, dropping to his shaking knees again. The blade dripped with blood, flashing malevolently in the dull light, as if it hungered for more. These types of attacks had never been this bad.. he was cornered, there was nothing he could do...

 

 

"No!! I swear I'll open these veins if you don't go away!!!" he cried, readying the razor sharp knife above his bared wrist with a shaky hand.

 

 

This is the end...

Something touched his hand. Everything stopped, uncertainty was silenced, and two plus two equaled four...

Slowly turning his head, he saw the bony, decaying hand of the man's wife, trapped in undeath. Something stirred inside him, something he couldn't quite place. Distant images in his mind surfaced and sunk back into oblivion, dormant feelings and thoughts fought against their bonds..

He drew the knife away, and gripped her hand, feeling the cold flesh against his.

 

"It's going to be okay..." he said, feeling tears come down. What was this? It wasn't fear...

 

Her eyes looked into his, but he did not know what it was she felt at that moment. The decaying appendage gaving his hand a weak squeeze, then went limp. She stopped breathing.

 

He shook his head, feeling confused. Slumping against the wall, still holding the hand he placed the knife back into his belt.

 

"My name is Adam..." he reached into his pocket, and felt something. Withdrawing the object, he saw it was a polaroid photo. A man, about 21 years of age stood smiling, his arm around woman who was too smiling. It seemed like a cheesy scene from a perfect neighbourhood commercial. It was familiar...

 

Finally letting go of the corpse's hand, he went to the bathroom. The light flickered when he hit the switch, revealing a dirty bathroom, the tap spewing out a stream of reddish-brown liquid. Picking up an old cloth from the floor, he shook the bugs out of it and ran it under the tap. Careful to avoid getting any of the questionable liquid on his hands, he wiped the grime off of the mirror. A person stood there...  wearing a tattered black coat, addorned with many blood stains.. some old, some new. He wore a scarf around his neck, and oily black hair spilled down from his scalp and over his face and shoulders. Whoever this was, he bore very little resemblance to the man in the photo, except for their blue eyes.

 

 

His wrists were criss-crossed with dozens of white scars. Bags hung under his eyes. His face was smeared with blood. Raising his the cloth to wipe it off, he immediately noticed the person staring back at him did not mimic his movements. Without thinking, he smashed the mirror. Shards of glass crashed down,

 

 

His heart beat slowly as he raced out of the bathroom, tripping on the body of the dead woman. He heard several of her bones crack as his foot made impact. The empathy he'd had for the thing earlier was gone. The instinctual need to survive had taken over. Quickly picking himself up, he ran out of the apartment, not bothering to close the door behind him. The hall was still there, though now it appeared darker, the walls cracked bleeding, the numbers on the doors mixed up or missing. Screams and moans sounded from everywhere.

 

 

Someone knocked on a door. Looking down the hall he had originally come from, there was a new door on the very end. The hallway it turned into was gone.

 

 

In life, people always questioned the existence of evil. In his time of living in the chaos, he had come to learn that in this broken reality, a deeper, darker evil existed apart from that which infested the heart of man.

 

Staying in one place for long was suicidal... I'm going to die.

 

Turning away from the sight, he ran away from the door on which some unknown thing knocked.

 

 

The doors zoomed by his vision, and far down the hallway he could see an elevator. Somewhere far behind him, whoever had knocked on the newly appeared door had switched to attempting to break it down. All at once, every door around him began to heave outward under heavy impacts, the sound of splintering wood and crying filling his ears.

 

His heart finally choose to pound in his chest, coinciding with his panic.

 

 

Some people learned to control the chaos; or rather, the chaos took over. To control chaos, sanity and rationality had to be done away with. All mental subjugation to what humanity knew as the laws of nature and all things was disposed of. They essentially became... chaos. Uncontrollable by anyone, even themselves. Their soul was effectively scooped out.

 

He looked at the wall, and an steel door fit nicely into the grimy wall paper.

 

 

He shook his head and continued down the corridor. He was certain of very little these days, sometimes he could remember a door, a person, a picture, and other times he wasn't sure if it had just appeared. Very little in what was left of everything was certain these days.

 

 

As he passed doorways, he came to a stop infront of number 67. From within he heard the faint sounds of a television emitting. The door stood ajar, and he pushed it open.

 

 

Sometimes his heart beat calmly in strange situations.. every now and then you would run into someone within the Chaos.. but you're never sure who you would find. Other times it would pound to the edge of bursting within his chest in the depths of the night. Night didn't exist anymore; except on clocks and what was left of human minds. Nor did light... everything just... was; as he saw it. If things could suddenly be, then wasn't it plausable that every was not? Empirical evidence had lost its significance a long time ago... you survived by not developing attachments to things or persons. You never tried to reason, you never tried to order your thoughts, those who did only went insane. Sleep didn't exist anymore. 

 

Stepping softly on the carpet, a dead woman lay curled up on the floor. Her skin was far sunken and taught around her bones, her night gown hiding most of the once-disturbing sight. She still blinked, a very faint rasping breath escaping her mouth, the lips sunken back so that it looked like her lips were drawn back in a vicious snarl. A old wound, surrounded by long-dried black blood decorated her back, a forray of insects still eating away at what was left of someone who once was.

 

I used to think death was the worst thing that could happen..  death doesn't exist anymore.

 

"Honey, when is dinner gonna be ready?" Turning towards a dark room, he followed the source of the voice.

 

Cockroaches skitted across the dirty carpet, the air moist and thick with the smell of decay and rot.

 

 

A fat man sat in a La-Z Boy chair, staring at a tiny television set. He wore a gray, stained muscle shirt, but it did nothing to hide the enormously disgusting gut bebeath it. The fat from his body and arms rolled and seeped over the edges of his person, as well as the chair. Insects of all types crawled over him, and every few moments the man would pop one in his mouth, or a handful; living off the decay he generated. The world becomes you. He laughed and guffawed, pointing a fat finger at the screen of static and screams.

 

"Honey, come see this!"

 

Love doesn't exist to us anymore. He drew his knife, slowly approaching the disgusting thing which was once a human being. It was dangerous to let this type of cancer go unchecked in the Chaos.