(I wonder if i finally stopped people from reading this? oh well)

(this is the third main character i had in my head for the story.  sure thomas was a caricature of my and janis was another person born of many others but fred has his own special place in my mind.  and now i think i can begin the story going full swing) (maybe)

     Fred. Fred Freddy Fried Fred . “God I hate my name. So damn boring,” he mumbled as he rambled underneath the wet empty buildings under gray sky. The rain fell into his coppery red hair and mixed with week old sweat running down and stinging Fred’s eyes.

     “They couldn’t name me something cool or dramatic like Anselm or Bartholomew. Noooo, just Fred,” he grunted catching a glimpse of himself in a shop window. 
     “Geez, look at me. I could’ve had a great name like Winston or Olin, but no, I am stuck with Fred.” He looked at his crumpled clothes in the shop window and let out a grimace.
     Jacket was the oldest clothing he wore, a faded green and yellow letterman jacket someone had left out alone in the cold night. Pants and Shirt he found in a secondhand store just a few days ago. They were his now his Stuff. His Jacket, his Shirt. They couldn’t take it away. “My stuff,” he said to the mannequin in the window.

     The bright colors of the jogging suit on the model caught his eye and Fred stared. “Damn thing, damn fake person inside nice and warm while I am out here in the rain. Why me?” Fred began to tap his foot in frustration. The cool morning rain sloshed into his shoe as his foot slapped pavement and Fred’s eyes slithered down towards the mannequin’s feet. “Damn fake thing ain’t real. He don’t need those nice shoes.” He rested his head against the cool glass and stared down at the new Shoes. The big bright important logo reflected dimly in through the glass.

     Fred stared at His New Shoes as his hand reached into his pocket and drew out The Knife. He fingered the stainless steel handle and fingered the back of the blade that he could pop out with a flick of his wrist. It was His Knife. The light handle was made without rubber grips and looked unfinished. It felt almost weightless in his palm. He never needed a new Knife, but now he needed new shoes.

     His eyes met with their reflections in the glass and he jumped back startled. “Oh, you again.” Fred wrapped his hand around His Knife so an inch of the handle stuck out and then he swung. The glass spiderwebbed as the heel of the knife struck. Fred glared and the thousand little blue eyes that burst forth from the center of the window met his glare from every angle. With a thousand little twitching eyes gazing at him, Fred let out a roar and kicked through the weakened glass. Their hateful glowers fell away in a cascade of broken glass.

     He blinked and stared at the silent shop. The rain fell in almost silently a few moments before he spoke again, “What was I doing again?” Fred looked down at the sneakers. “My Shoes!,” he exclaimed, “Yay!” Flopping onto the mannequin’s legs, he sat and stripped off his old Shoes and put on his new. Fred wiggled his toes and tied the laces up tight to get the feel of them. He turned to the mannequin and smiled, “These are the best shoes I’ve had yet! Thanks a lot!” The broken glass crunched under His New Shoes as he tossed the old ones away. “Buh-bye, shoes. Thanks for keeping my feet warm,” he said with a wave. He turned and walked back into the rain.

     Fred skipped along on the balls of his feet enjoying the new feeling of warmth in his toes. The last Shoes were old when he got them and didn’t fit right so his feet were cold the last few days. They were not meant for walking and wore out fast. Fred walked a lot. He always walked. He didn’t like staying still, not even to eat. He didn’t like cars. No, sir. Not Fred. He didn’t like the idea of moving without using his own strength. He liked bikes and pogo sticks and the boats you use with paddles but nothing with those motors. He didn’t like the motors anyway; they were always loud and smelled funny. Fred liked the quiet. He liked the rainy quiet and the night time quiet. “This is a good quiet,” Fred said to the sky as he walked along. The rain washed sweat stung his eyes and he wiped them clean with the sleeve of Jacket.

     “What pretty gardens,” he murmured to himself as he saw the homes around him now. Some of the houses had names on them and he knew this was a nice neighborhood. Only houses that have names are nice. The ones that have numbers are ones that got in trouble. He knew because he only had a number when he got in trouble. He wondered what those houses did to get in trouble. He didn’t like being Fred but he liked being Fred more than being a number. Somewhere behind him, he heard the loud noise of the police sirens. “I hate that sound. I’m glad I’m not there,” Fred said as he strolled further down into the nice neighborhood.

((this is another story. I think this one might be connected to the other but i dont know just yet. though i do like how it is turning out. next is fred hehehe i like that focker he's crazy!))


Whirr
Thump, Thump
Breathe in.
Whirr
Thump, Thump
Breathe out.
Listen to the pace. Keep the pace.
In on two. Out on four. Keep the pace.

The radio predicted a week of wet days softly in the next room. Janis let out a frustrated pant. She hated the treadmill. The darn thing was helpful but too… mechanical, no life to it. When it rained, she missed the quiet runs of the early mornings, watching the gardens of the surrounding neighborhoods flash by her in seas of scent and color as she ran. The wind she created as she flew by all the sleeping homes kept her cool on all but the most humid mornings. The room was getting stifling the longer she stayed running, but she wouldn’t stop once she started. The run kept her going, kept her sane.
She listened to the soft peals of rain on glass and stared out on the flat grey burnished sky. She didn’t look at the timer. She had only set it for an hour since she was inside. The darn machine was bad for her ankles but she needed to run. She had another dream.
It was not a bad one but she didn’t like it. It could have been. Any dream could take a wrong turn and she wanted to get the possible taint out as fast as she could.
Whirrrrrr,
Thump,
Thump,
Breath in slower
Whirrrrr,
Thump,
Thump,
Breath out slower

The ceaseless track was slowing now. Her body anticipated it a split second before the slow down occurred. Her body clock might as well have been Swiss-made. Ten minutes left, she thought to herself as she continued to stare out the large bay window into the sky, never looking away from the empty world straight ahead. The soft pounding of her sneakers soon fell in time with her heart and her thoughts focused again not on the run but the pollution of her dreams.
She loved to run in the morning because she was left feeling impure in every pore of her body after a dream. The wind and sweat flushed her skin and made her feel clean again. Each cool, fresh gulp of air cleansed her of the oppressive air from within and was expunged quickly as she kept on running.
At first, she ran to deal with the stress of the dreams and to ensure she was so tired when night came she wouldn’t dream. The drugs helped but she remained convinced that the running was just as beneficial. However, running was a habit, and would probably be about as hard to break as smoking. The runner’s high she got carried her through most of the day before lunch and then the prescriptions helped through the rest of the day.
She hated the thought she placed so much faith in those tiny white and blue pills, but the last bout with nightmares was too much for her. The pills or the small room? Janis laughed at the choice and knew the answer before she thought of the question. “Well, at least this time I have a choice,” she mused quietly as the machine finished the soft whirring and slowed to its halt.
The radio was singing a Beatles hit to lure her into the kitchen and she took the bait. She turned up “Paperback Writer” and pulled a glass from the cupboards. The familiar comfort of her kitchen was enough to draw the last shadows of the night away from her so she could look clearly at the day before her. This soft warm lines of the counters eased her mind in ways that the hard pills couldn’t. She spent so much time in here. She didn’t need to be eating just the thought she owned something so beautiful and reassuring was enough for her. The cool water burned a path of relief as it ran down her dry throat. It went down more soothingly as she drank; when she finished, she cleaned the glass and set it to dry.
It took her so long to build up this life away from the darkness of her dreams. With a sigh, Janis smiled and gave one last loving look into her little haven, turned to the den and wiped down the treadmill. On her way to the bathroom, she checked the phone for messages and the doors for their locks.
Janis stepped into the muted blue and gray of her bathroom and turned the faucet to as hot as it could go. As her bare feet slapped on the cool tile, she turned the bathroom radio on to the same oldies station that played in the kitchen. She wasn’t going to be in the water long but she didn’t like the silence. Her mind played games in the silence; besides, she liked the music. The one thing that almost tainted the pure joy she felt when she bought this house was the silence. She never had lived in such a quiet place before. It almost suffocated her in the stillness. The music was a distant cry from the sound she had endured. She had lived alone before, yet there were always neighbors with noisy, rude kids that needed to be yelled at or loud pets that needed constant attention or they would bark, hiss, meow to no end or there were couples that just had to argue about who slept with the others cousin at the dead hours of the morning. “I could probably have set my watch by the last ones,” she considered. They would always come in screaming, fighting, yelling at quarter past one every night. Must have been how long it took them to get from the bar to their place when last call came up, Janis thought with a sigh.
The rolling steam stung her eyes and brought her from her memories. Janis tied up her hair, checked the lock on the door, quickly disrobed, and stepped in. The faint lingering of the cold sweat of the night before still clung to her pajamas, a stale dead scent mingling with the swampy, live sweat of the run . She ran in her night clothes when she needed to run. What was the point in changing really? All she wore to bed was an old shirt and a pair of long loose shorts. She scrubbed so quickly the little old lady from Pasadena was still racing along on the radio as she stepped out, her skin still pink and raw from the steaming shower and strong soap, and wrapped herself in a towel. She felt clean again as the last of the night’s grunge and morning’s sweat sluiced down the drain.
The knob squeaked as she turned it off. The radio cooed in the husky DJ voice that it was 8:31 and time for the morning traffic report. With a click it shushed, and Janis left to start her day.

i wont be able to update regularly or very long for a while.  kicked out and living without a hard line out.  school comps are great but used fpr school.

i dont tell a lot of what goes on in my head for the simple fact that there is so much i think it would be too much of a burden for others to comprehend. some people look at my actions and believe i act a straight up foo'. for the most part they are right but they do not know why.

in the army i fxed things that make people die. that is the palin and simple truth. and the only time that it was widespread recorded where the TOW system killed ppl was with the hussein sons and the people who did that were not under those i worked with; however, i still feel the burden of it. i am like i am because ppl make me hurt on the inside because i know what i do and what i have done. i have helped kill others indirectly and i have helped kill others directly through other ways as an american. i have not fulfilled my duty to help other americans or just other humans.

people forget why we are on this earth. to help others and to spread the word. most of the time those two go hand in hand. i know it doesnt seem it but i am a very devout christian. i dont get all uptight about things but i do believe jesus died for my sins in a very painful way and that he did it that way to get a point across. even if it hurts... help. there is only one world in which we live and it is up to us to make it better.

so what do i do? tell everyone how i feel or just those who make an effort to know me?

this is why i act young when i can. because in heart i feel so very old. Between the two i feel like a normal 22 yr old, if only barely.

*sigh* when rum doesnt help who do i turn to?

i dont pretend to understand ppl for the most part they give me headaches men women they are all the same tome because all ppl are confusing as all bloody fuck who do they think of first themselves or those they care about what words do i use to greet them to welcome them into my life like i want too so much why do they all seem to look at me funny or talk to me funny the more i talk to me am i so unappealing physically and personally that i am the bane of all people how many times in a day do i sit and worry about what others think and how many times do i sit and think about how to act around people because i cant act naturally because that scares people because people look and speak to me like i have some disease like i have a flaw you cant see at first until you turn it into the light is my purpose flawed is there something wrong with me or am i just over reacting?

ahh purge. i feel better

nothing new under my sun other than hanging with some of my old friends and that makes me happy :D but then when i try to make new friends or worse try to chat up a girl i get the weirdest reactions. i dont quite get it. i know that before i had some absolutely wretched social skills and no tact lol. i told one girl in AIT that i liked the way her hair went from her dark roots went straight to blonde. hehehe that was a look that could've killed.

dragon ball has made my day hikaru-no-go however has made my month or so. i dont know why but the manga has made me so happy to read it. smiles abound. makes me want to play go but that is hard to find others to play but slowly one by one i will find converts.

Everyday I die a little more.
Everyday I grow a little colder…

I’ve learned a bit more of a life without regret. I’ve loved. Twice. With all the intensity my heart and soul could muster. I know what it means to give myself to another. I know the emptiness I never knew before I knew her. I didn’t squander my emotion. I didn’t give it away like a locket. Those I loved were two of the most beautiful souls on this earth. And though not being with them hurts everyday, I wish that they find something like we once had. I wish happiness to them.

When I look into myself I see what is empty that I didn’t notice before I met them. I know more of myself because that is what I gave them and because of what they gave me to make me feel more complete.

Emotion. I am a very straight laced person. I do not give my emotion easily. I don’t get angry. I don’t get very happy or very sad in the public eye. It’s all in me because my emotions are the only things that are truly mine.

I was going to go out with a girl when I got back to Omaha; however, things didn’t work out. I have regrets about that because I didn’t show her who I truly was. I didn’t show her my emotions. I learned not to give my heart away. So I have no regrets. She was probably worth giving myself to but not worth living a life of regret. Sometimes I wonder how much longer I will be alone but, days like this I don’t care. Being alone rocks as long as you are happy being yourself.

Anyway on to happier things. Tuesday was a damn fine day. I got my first full fledged drivers license. I went to see Rasputina in concert and the opening act for them was downright awesome. Not to mention the fact I got the opening act's signature on their cd. They were called hazard county girls btw. Three very hot chicks rocking harder than a lot of most new metallica songs. This has been a good week except for the fact it cost me an arm and a leg to do all that.

i think i found a new favorite site :D funny shit and informative. one reason why i hate pop music is here. the site is called the Web Shite.

more on another day

It’s weird, my dad is becoming one of my best friends. We share a lot of similarities: depression, nightmares, anxiety. We’ve been through a lot of similar experiences, like struggling with alcohol and cigarettes. Hell! We even share a taste in music sometimes. My dad likes VNV nation, he likes “Hurt” and a few other songs. The music he really likes I can get into also. There is this one mariachi song that my dad likes a lot: it is about losing your friends over time. I don’t understand all the words but the general tone and the fact its actually a bit different than normal mariachi songs clings to me. Good times… good times.

Leader of Men [Acoustic]- Leader of men; Nickelback
Save Yourself-Stabbing Westward
The Frail-Nine Inch Nails
The Wretched-Nine Inch Nails
Something I Can Never Have(still)- Nine Inch Nails
Smoke-Natalie Imbruglia
Hurt(and all that could have been)- Nine Inch Nails
The Great Below-Nine Inch Nails
Something I Can Never Have [Bleak Mix]- George Sarah; Lara Peterson
Glycerine-Bush
Something I Can Never Have(pretty hate machine)- Nine Inch Nails
holding on-Jane Siberry
The Persistence of Loss-Nine Inch Nails
Leaving Hope-Nine Inch Nails
It Can't Rain All the Time-
Hurt(downward spiral)- Nine Inch Nails
The Freshmen-The Verve Pipe
And All That Could Have Been-Nine Inch Nails
Suicide Note-Johnette Napolitano