Liquor Store Escapade

mythsyndicate — Thu, 02 Dec 2010 21:41:27 +0000

Today I went to the liquor store. I was met at the door by a beastly figure who had watched my approach from a long way off and who seemed intent on causing me trouble. As I approached the threshold intent to pass the man he blocked my path and yelled out furiously, although I could not understood any, and when he laid hand upon me I became natural man, the self one must conceal so as to make his way in polite society. I beat this horrid brute, I beat him until my fury was quenched and covered in his blood I proceeded inside the liquor store to the cooler to grab a soda, the cool air of the refrigerator poured over me when I opened the door making every sweat bead turn cold. The foreign, turban wearing man at the counter yelled in some ridiculous language and when I handed him the money, drops of blood fell to the counter. Feeling a pain in my hand I looked down and saw a tooth lodged in my knuckle and so I pulled it out releasing a further flow of blood. The turbaned man waved his hand about, pointing at the blood, refusing to take my money, speaking his nonsense and so I left the store without the soda and leaving I stepped over the injured beast lying in his own puddle of blood and dropped his tooth on him as if to return the item. I will not be welcomed back to the liquor store I imagine, although those turban wearers seem to be very mercantile.

Possibly part of “James”.
Created: March 19, 2010

Bolide 1

mythsyndicate — Fri, 24 Sep 2010 03:47:13 +0000

It’s the last moments of the workday before its “Happy Friday Hour” or whatever the boss-ess is calling it. You work here all week long as your ass expands in your seat, staring into a computer monitor while your eyes twitch to your own heartbeat and now you have to spend the last hour of the week face to face with all the same people you just can’t wait to get away from. I would rather continue staring into my monitor and have my eyes melt then to spend face time with these idiots. I mean for christ sake they work here of all places! But then again so do I and I guess that makes me one of them. When I look around though I can’t imagine that’s true.

You’ve got Steve who thinks he’s some kind of hardass because he got into a slap fight last weekend at some prissy martini bar and now he wears a band-aid to cover a small scratch under his eye as if it’s some kind of trophy or title belt. I guess it must really turn his girlfriend on. The very same girlfriend who magically appears every Friday to attend this little shindig, that scowling super self-infatuated, autobiography reciting bitch. How can Steve stand her? How can she stand Steve? I hope they don’t breed!

Then you have Teresa who has got to be just one click above “functional retard”. I can’t believe this girl has made it to 27, how has she not managed to kill herself by now? The other day in the break room at lunch she had some kind of salad and she was shaking up the Italian dressing to pour on top and on the first shake it splashed all over her face and chest. The top wasn’t on right. No one saw but I had seen it out of the corner of my eye and the rest of the day she smelled like an Italian restaurant and yet no one even mentioned it. I pretended not to see so she wouldn’t feel stupid.

Then there’s the boss lady, the creator of this hour-long misery drama. Amy is the stereotypical woman boss. Imagine, in a whiney little voice that’s trying to come off manly, “I’m the boss and it’s going to go my way”, and “don’t think you can push me around because I’m the boss, I’m the boss, I’m the boss. You’re a man so I have to really show you who’s in charge and don’t stare at my boobs.

And then a whole tree of rotting office fruit that are equally annoying, five more to be exact.

Well its one hour till quittin’ time and so the boss-ess herds everyone into the break room and the ritual commences like it does and has for the last year and a half.

I sit there and listen to their imbecilic chatter and I wonder, “if these people are human what the fuck am I.”

I attempt to make my mouth smile and occasionally grunt to exhibit some sign of mental presence and I imagine the look on my face makes me seem as if I’m some kind of lobotomized ape. I can feel the drool pool in the corner of my mouth and then I realize “whatever I’m doing and however stupid I look it’s working, these people buy it”. “Do they see me as one of them?” Maybe they’re thinking the same way I am and that to each of them I am just some idiot in their mad stage show, but if that’s the case they sure seem to be enjoying themselves a lot more.

Today we are having margaritas and someone has brought chips but sorry no salsa. So it’s crappy margaritas, tortilla ships, idiot banter and just a little less then an hour until I’m free of this imitation life, free to travel to my other life where things don’t seem to be much better, but at least in that other life none of these automatons have roles.

Tawnya, the cute office girl, asks me what I have planned for the weekend. “Well”, I say, “not a whole lot”. “Oh that’s too bad”, my boyfriend an I are going to…I tune out probably because I care so little, but I do watch Tawnya’s mouth as she speaks and I notice she has the slightest lisp and I wonder “is she just thirsty or has that always been there, I never notice it before”. Luckily Tawnya is asked a question by Blain and she leaves me in peace to ponder the intricacies of her mouth.

So this pack of morons talks fancy about this and that, smacking their lips as they chew their tortilla chips and slurp their margaritas and it gets to the point where I can’t take it and so without saying anything I standup and walk on out. I know boss-woman Amy will have something to say about this on Monday but that’s a long ways away from now and at the moment my sanity needs refuge, it needs it bad. I just hope she doesn’t chase me down, if she lays her girl power bullshit on me now I might just lose it.

As I’m walking to my car my cell phone rings and it’s my friend Ricky. If there are two people on this planet who I feel comfortable around it’s my two friends Ricky and Chase but lately even they have been getting on my nerves, they have no sense of adventure they always want to do the same thing which is basically nothing. Every Friday like clockwork it’s over to my house to play pool and drink into the wee hours, it’s the same thing every week and its beyond monotonous now. Don’t get me wrong it was fun for awhile but you do anything over and over again and it becomes sheer drudgery.

Created: Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Dead Followers

mythsyndicate — Sat, 18 Sep 2010 22:41:18 +0000

I think I’m being followed as I look out from the corner of my eye, there are forms there that seem to have an interest in where I’m at or what I’m doing. Maybe they are images from my mind acting out their roles like some mad stage show, but these forms seem so real in their femininity. These somehow beautiful yet wretched widows of the past live and lust in a parallel segment of mind. They call me in voices that stretch the limits of understanding, in hollow drones that rattle me at my core. Privileged to walk with the unliving or forgotten dead or never to be. Why me? If this is not my mind betraying me. Each step in silence is echoed in those hollow distant eyes. From forms known do they appear and into a cool humid desert of thought do they disappear. Some curse has fallen upon me whether it is my mind or it is my reality.

I have done nothing to wake, disturb, torment or betray these widows except one thing which I had not preconceived to be a consequence of my actions. I in fact had participated in a parlor game, nearing the end of a nighttime dinner party. The game in question, if game in fact is the right word, was a deviation of the Spirit Board. However when this fun was fathomed no board existed in the establishment. In turn one was birthed and consecrated onto a thin slab of cardboard. A drafter’s triangle was used for the pointing device, a crude replacement I’m sure.

Eyes with alcoholic bliss imprinted on them moved in close to gaze upon this portal to another dimension. An air of doubt filled the room that was already thick with smoke from cigars and pipes, I stepped closest laying my fingers upon the device. Not until another placed their hands the same did a subtle movement occur and in that instant I denied the supernatural and forced my belief to the other; thinking indeed it was him. Then the device began to move rapidly around the board and the look in the others eyes reversed my disbelief and I felt the hands of the dead take hold of my mine. This was no game, this was a wicked venture dreamed by Satan himself, yet I continued following my curiosity deeper into the darkness. Questions of destiny and future delight filled my mind along with thoughts of bloodlines past. The spirits of the dead began to dance around us in the room and even further we delved. And still further conjuring more and more spirits asking more and more questions. The ratio of dead to living was expanding now without invitation. The walls began to shake and wall decorations began to fall along with plates and glasses. Now it was obvious that we were too far in to retreat even though the frightened grabbed this cursed board and threw into the fire. As it burned away in the fireplace, faces were visible in the flame and smoke, the rooms temperature rose until the heat was overwhelming. Some tried to escape this fury but to no avail, the doors were locked shut and the windows would not brake. As the temperature rose more and more spirits filled the room, they were screaming along with the guests of the place and in an instant when it was unbearable the hell ended and everything was like it was before.

We had survived a supernatural earthquake and were glad to be alive. Something outrageous had happened and even though the guests of the party began to leave the mist of the ghosts could still be seen. This mist eventually vanished although odd occurrence did continue to happen. The owner of the house has since sold the property, as for me, wherever I go I think I’m being followed and my life has certainly taken a turn toward the strange. I will elaborate in the future.

Created: Circa 1998

An Angel of Sorts

mythsyndicate — Sun, 12 Sep 2010 22:34:37 +0000

I am a citizen unlike any other. I partake in my community with a caring and pride unparalleled by none such as I. I am an angel of sorts, procuring responsibility and dispensing my opinion in the form of wrath. Ah yes, my opinion – justice – right – good. I believe myself to be good and yes others of high moral fiber and standing would agree. My means of employment is of no concern to you, my goal though is. I wish to make all purified of evil. Dispense with the formality, I am as I say and angel of sorts. Mind you angel is quite a powerful word but provocative and at some level useful. How could I call myself anything but an angel of sorts, maybe keeper of good, or protector of right, or hammer of virtue. No, no, angel of sorts is as I see it. Ah! Needless rambling, I continue – …sorts?, what does it mean, less than, diverging from, bastardization of, Ah! Needless rambling, I continue once again. Uncompromising in my beliefs my creator has seen it that I have the will and the means to dispense my opinion in the form of wrath. I have a collection of prophecies ancient and modern and I believe I have been prophesized. What burden do these shoulders bare, I am sick with it. Although sick would not be the best choice of words, maybe topped, full, overflowing. Ah! Needless rambling. I will continue once again and will not deviate again. Double use of one word, that is incorrect and unsatisfactory, I must think of a replacement, and will not deviate further, forthmore, farther (a scream is heard) Dear god man! What have you done now, how did you remove your bindings, for this offense you must pay. Why can not the captured submit to their fate. (Grabbing a meat cleaver while forcing the man down to his knees, causing him to stretch out his arm flat on a small table, spreading out the mans index finger while curling under the other four) WAK!

Ah yes, one index finger of an evil scourge who was set to coerce the minds of the multitude but for me. A comely sight, virtue buttressed with the tiny digit and the crimson pool only a testament to my willingness to achieve an end and proof that this demon is but mortal.

Dear god where was I in this story anyway? Oh yes! An angel of sorts, keeper of good, protector of right, hammer of virtue. Have I lost so much dexterity in my middle years that I can no longer tie a knot? I think not, here this should be better. (retying knots).

As I was saying, I am highly respected although my good deeds go unnoticed, at least as of my doing. As by stealth do I go and cunning instincts do guide, as of yet unseen my own law abide. A witticism I have come to appreciate of my own making. My life absent recognition for deeds done in defense of good, an angel of sorts am I and an angel is not known as its past or future only its present, its now and so am I.

Created: Cica 1998

- An Angel of Sorts — An Angel of Sorts -

Created: Cica 1998
- An Angel of Sorts -

Created: Cica 1998

Diamond Ring

mythsyndicate — Sat, 11 Sep 2010 02:16:22 +0000

A Man is walking through a shopping mall

He goes into a jewelry store

He is approached by a young sales woman

He goes through the whole process of buying a large diamond ring

All the while the woman keeps asking him who it is for

He deflects her questions

After the ring is purchased she asks a final time, she has become very curious

The man says “do you really want to know?” and she says, “yes!”

He says to her, [I loved a woman once, and I was going to marry her, another man came a long and stole her from me and I would like to think it was because he bought her a large ring like this one but maybe she just didn’t love me, so I have bought this ring for a man and when he receives it he will know that I am coming to kill him][that is my saga and now you're a part of it].[I was unloved before her, I was unloved after her but worst of all I was unloved when I was with her.

In a way I wish you never asked me who the ring was for but in another way I’m glad you did. Oh, and one more thing, don’t say anything about this to anyone, I’d hate for your part in all this to end up badly.

Possibly part of “James”.

Created: Saturday, December 04, 2004, 5:23:16 PM

Starting Soon

mythsyndicate — Fri, 10 Sep 2010 21:33:26 +0000

Tatterwoven will begin soon.