Start Fiction:
North Liberty was a small knit community which had experienced a boom in population over the past decade; however, the city planning was so hodgepodge, it wasn't quite a city. There were a lot of little strip malls, gas stations and housing developments that attempted to give some simblance of cohesion. Cookie cutter communities, built over lush and fertile farm land.
Many families, couples, moved to the area as one worked in Iowa City and the other worked in Cedar Rapids. Caught in between the blue color world to the north and the white color world to the south, the amalgamtion of cultural influences was a disharmony at best; chaos in reality.
Willie Dorbin was a sixteen year old who reflected this disharmony. A lanky white kids, dressed as though he had just been imported from the Chicago or St Louis "streets". His pants hung as though he had simply grown too fast; his ass hung out reveling his boxers, yet he was conscious enough to wear a splater paint belt to "hold" up his pants; his baseball cap had a flat bill with the tags and stickers still afixed; black laceless hi-top shoes with skulls on the heals that looked as though they were made from plastic rather than leather; and of course, a heavy metal tee-shirt.
Some would call him a cracker, but he wasn't trying to be anything other than "unique", like all of his friends. He didn't use street slang when he spoke, took off his hat when he walked in doors and seemed more self conscious than confident or arrogant. By most accounts, he was a good kid, he just looked like trouble. And looking like trouble often attracted people who were trouble, like Kevin Reilly.
End Fiction.
I like this, at least from the middle on. I just might have to revisit this one. Soon.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
07-03-2010
Start Fiction:
Perhaps they had never gone away, the voices; however, they were stronger, more powerful, more distinct than years ago. Recently I found their influence overwhelming, and at moments I felt they were on the verge of taking over completely.
I debated at times if I should just give in and let them, or one of them, run things for me. I knew I had overcome a lot since my last episode; however, I wasn't sure I was ready to just give up, either.
There had been several episodes over the course of my life, at least that is what the doctors called them. I had always felt that I just had a extremely active imagination. That being said, I also knew I wasn't right in the head. But this round of voices felt different than the last; I wasn't convinced they were actually coming from inside my head or if they were being placed there.
While I knew I may need some help, I wasn't about to reveal a new set of episodes to any one just yet. All they would do would be to alter my diagnosis to a paranoid schizophrenic and pump me full of more meds. That wasn't going to help; just like that last twelve times.
Bustards; did they ever think there was something wrong with everyone else and I, and others like me, were actually the ones who were right in the head?
Obviously I never agreed with the doctors, shrinks and counselors. I did what they asked me to do, participated the best I could in the alteration to my cognitive set they attempted; it all "failed". In the end, all they really seemed to care about was jamming meds down my throat.
End Fiction.
Perhaps they had never gone away, the voices; however, they were stronger, more powerful, more distinct than years ago. Recently I found their influence overwhelming, and at moments I felt they were on the verge of taking over completely.
I debated at times if I should just give in and let them, or one of them, run things for me. I knew I had overcome a lot since my last episode; however, I wasn't sure I was ready to just give up, either.
There had been several episodes over the course of my life, at least that is what the doctors called them. I had always felt that I just had a extremely active imagination. That being said, I also knew I wasn't right in the head. But this round of voices felt different than the last; I wasn't convinced they were actually coming from inside my head or if they were being placed there.
While I knew I may need some help, I wasn't about to reveal a new set of episodes to any one just yet. All they would do would be to alter my diagnosis to a paranoid schizophrenic and pump me full of more meds. That wasn't going to help; just like that last twelve times.
Bustards; did they ever think there was something wrong with everyone else and I, and others like me, were actually the ones who were right in the head?
Obviously I never agreed with the doctors, shrinks and counselors. I did what they asked me to do, participated the best I could in the alteration to my cognitive set they attempted; it all "failed". In the end, all they really seemed to care about was jamming meds down my throat.
End Fiction.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
07-06-2010
Start Fiction:
I have had the thought many times, and each time it took my breath away: There may be nothing that exists outside the mind.
It is a simple statement, yet such a complex and loaded statement. Most people don't have the most remote idea of what it means; the masses, unaware, uninformed and driven like sheep in all directions. (I find recently I have been preferring to call such individuals "trolls" as it seems more fitting; however, I am not sure what I mean by that exactly!)
Luckily, I am familar with a group of individuals who are quite the opposite of the large quantities of trollomites that infest society. Perhaps they understand the statement all too well and they often tend to speak of nothing else. Of course, if everything truly does exist only on the limited space of what we believe we know to be our minds, then what better to discuss than the only thing that may only truly exist?
Regardless, I find their company more tolerable, acceptable as they can at least carry on a conversation. That is, if they exist outside of my mind. Damn; maybe I am just residual electrical impulses within someone else's mind and am no mind of my own.
Son of a bitch.
End Fiction.
I have had the thought many times, and each time it took my breath away: There may be nothing that exists outside the mind.
It is a simple statement, yet such a complex and loaded statement. Most people don't have the most remote idea of what it means; the masses, unaware, uninformed and driven like sheep in all directions. (I find recently I have been preferring to call such individuals "trolls" as it seems more fitting; however, I am not sure what I mean by that exactly!)
Luckily, I am familar with a group of individuals who are quite the opposite of the large quantities of trollomites that infest society. Perhaps they understand the statement all too well and they often tend to speak of nothing else. Of course, if everything truly does exist only on the limited space of what we believe we know to be our minds, then what better to discuss than the only thing that may only truly exist?
Regardless, I find their company more tolerable, acceptable as they can at least carry on a conversation. That is, if they exist outside of my mind. Damn; maybe I am just residual electrical impulses within someone else's mind and am no mind of my own.
Son of a bitch.
End Fiction.
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