Great Morel Eight-Thirteen
The following is a lengthy entry consisting largely of things I've written quite a while ago. I decided to put it together after a session of reading through my files, initialy in nostalgia related to 8/13/02. In short, it's more depth on some of the bullshit I mention in passing, but never take much further. It's a snap-shop history of my mind. At the same time, it's nothing at all. It doesn't even make much sense (especially since I've omitted names). That's all this is. It's bullshit. But playing these bullshit games with myself gives me something positive. Mental masturbation. The ultimate act of self-centered self-involvement. I don't post it to force my mind on people or get attention. I'm not even sure why I decided to put this together. But here it is, anyway. Don't tell me to get over it. This is my place to express what I please.
813:
8/13/02 August 13th, 2002
******Then I have known Blurp*****
The last time I told the story, I left off here:
The next morning, I felt like I had been hit by a bus. I hurt all over and all of my limbs felt very heavy. I was still somewhat tripped, and would have mild symptoms throughout the next few days...I hung out with the guys again that night. It was a beautiful summer night. We climbed at the park a bit and probably bashed some wasp nests with our shirts. I remember standing in the parking lot in front of Burton Park with my shirt off looking up at a rainbow in a grey and gold sky - my first moment of contentment in 24 hours. I was liberated from my guilt at that moment, and I again knew a natural high - the summer night.
*(The continuation)*
What I thought to be BluRp was destroyed. I surrendered to guilt and anxiety. Somehow, we all had to surrender. Our Honey Summer was undergoing violent siege. Our vow abandoned. Close friends drifted apart. Everyone was in low spirits, but the common surrender left us all sad together. The last golden sunsets were seen as they came earlier and earlier, until the sun also surrendered to the Cold and Dark. Times of change. Change anticipated with dread and denial. I still saw them, but a deep separation formed between us with the start of the new school year. I started seeing old friends who I had not seen all summer, and paid little attention to either of them. Additionally, she had made it clear that she had no interest in being with me as anything more than a friend. She said it was because she thought I only liked her because “I was above her.” This hurt me to hear. To this day I can’t believe that she would ever think that.
I guess there was a personal lesson to be learned. I realized that I could come closest to peace by avoiding the things which I know cause me anxiety. But I wanted so much more. I wanted to be like her. Fearless and spontaneous. I thought that would be happiness. And the fact that it was out of my reach frustrated me nearly to death.
Moonlight. A water fight. Sodium Vapor. An icy swimming pool. Your window. A wasp sting. A palpatation.
**********
Great Morel (also morelle):
1)A poisonous Eurasian perennial herb (Atropa belladonna) having usually solitary, nodding, purplish-brown, bell-shaped flowers and glossy black berries. Also called deadly nightshade.
"...the entire concept of reality goes down the drain; the very fabric of reality will break down."
"I...took a bath with over million insects and did not know that this was not real...You can be contacted by numerous alien entites that either can frighten you to death or make you touch an angel."
"We weren't meant to go there."
******Then I have known the Great Morel******
(Journal writing from Middle School)
I don’t know what time it is. I’m laying with my head buried in my pillow and he's screaming my name. I won’t help him, because I'm beyond terror. This time, sleep is the escape. And thus I abandon my friend. But for certain this time I was already asleep...now I’m somewhere else. There are hills and a distant city. The sky is brown...true, solid brown, with scattered stars. I feel safe. Then I'm in my bed the morning after, and he has no recollection of this event. A dream, it must have been. My dream. Not OUR dream as situations have presented themselves before. Everything’s a dream now. It’s either my dream, or our dream, or something with characteristics of both. Everything’s in my head. What’s in my head is real. What’s in our heads - OUR DREAMS - that is the world. Little boys have little tolerance for the uncomfortable. Up until the point at which the stress or fear becomes too great, they show an impressive display of bravado, but that threshold is a direct drop-off to cowardice. Such was what our lives had melted into; and the circumstances were surreal. We didn’t even know what to fear any more. When it was mentioned in casual discussion, it was a powerful enemy, but one we had created in our minds only for us to destroy and triumph over. But on those still, quiet afternoon, or those Friday nights, we crossed the said threshold. It became fear and evil in its most basic form. We didn’t even fear for our lives...not directly anyway. We both knew we didn’t know what we feared for, but it felt like it was even more important. Any talk of MORTAL FEAR was merely an attempt one of us made to comfort the other. *There is a treed in area behind my yard. I called it my “woods,” but in actuality, it's only a tennis court that had been grown over by trees and shrubs. I'd walk back there many times in my dreams. Or on springtime's bright afternoons. Frequently, the woods were exaggerated, with a small lake or brook often present. In such cases, they were a paradise; a place of complete bliss and contentment. Other times, they were as they are in reality, only covered in a palpable, hazy veil, heavier than darkness. In these dreams, I was threatened by something unseen. I showed bravado; I shouted taunts at my hidden enemy. But it mocked my attempts to hide fear. It made itself known and with it brought terror and paralysis. I think it struck me in the back of the head. My neck tingled in this sector for the waking hours which followed.
************
Hemophile (also Haemophile):
1) Hemophiliac; a bleeder
2) Blood-loving
********Then I have been the Bleeder and Blood-lover******
(Journal writing from Freshman year: June 14th, 2003)
I started crying, and let the blade of my red pocket knife glide into the top of my left thigh, just above the knee. The pain was more dull than I had hoped, like a deep, irritating itching. It created a little separation in my skin. This blood filled, and spilt over the side. I curiously licked and sucked at it. Then I did it again. And again. And again. Until the top of my thigh was patterned with a neat row of red lines, and the tips of my teeth were tinted red with blood. Then my left arm. I used the tip of the knife this time. Each time, I dug it in and quickly pulled it towards me. Again, I licked up the blood. When I was done, I was breathing hard. I looked at myself in the mirror, and felt a sort of sick pleasure. I had controlled something in a world that was out of my control.
For talking behind the back of the person I cared about. I should have realized right then and there that I didn’t really care about her. If I couldn’t stand up for her...if I didn’t fully trust her. I didn’t care about her. I WANTED her because she was there for me so much. But I lied to myself; I told myself I cared about her. Caring about someone implies compassion and lack of selfishness. My intentions were completely selfish.
I threw away my valve key tonight. It was symbolic of attempted liberation from anxiety. My first lesson learned is to not lie to others and yourself to manipulate the world. Doing so allows you to be self-centered, which can be very damaging to those around you. Additionally, you can’t think in terms of cause and effect (“social points”) when you’re dealing with other human beings. The only thing that justifies an act is compassion for another human being, or lack thereof. Good and evil are determined by compassion, or lack thereof. My mother saw my cuts, and I explained the whole thing to her. She agreed with the lessons learned.
Today should mark a turning point. A REAL turning point. All of the “lessons” I’ve “learned” up until now really haven’t seemed to sink in. I don’t know why today would be any different, but I hope on my life that it is. Today’s realizations actually probably brought me more emotional trauma than the events which brought them about. Perhaps that’s the difference. I feel guilt for the realization, instead of the realization for the guilt. Better not think about it too much. Better not convince myself of anything.
*******
(Present)
Today is August 13th 2004. Today is a Friday. In several hours I've leaving to visit my uncle. My bag's not yet packed. Exhaustion is nearly inducing panic, but I'm forcing myself to finish this entry. The cat is sitting on my lap purring. In my mouth is licorice. To my right is a bottle of sleeping pills. To my left is a clock. Below me is a notebook open to a page headed in my sloppy handwriting "Does Sentience Give Value?" On my mind is how this relates to the animal on my knees which has been trying to meet my eyes with hers. On my mind are the rats I rescued this year. On my mind is what I've done and been and learned this year and the year before and all my life. In front of me are photographs of friends. In the drawer are old report cards.
So I can't help but ask myself, "what's next?" It's such a stupid question. "what's next?" What always happens next?
What MUST happen next?
I've lived 16 and a half years. (Or two years).
813:
8/13/02 August 13th, 2002
******Then I have known Blurp*****
The last time I told the story, I left off here:
The next morning, I felt like I had been hit by a bus. I hurt all over and all of my limbs felt very heavy. I was still somewhat tripped, and would have mild symptoms throughout the next few days...I hung out with the guys again that night. It was a beautiful summer night. We climbed at the park a bit and probably bashed some wasp nests with our shirts. I remember standing in the parking lot in front of Burton Park with my shirt off looking up at a rainbow in a grey and gold sky - my first moment of contentment in 24 hours. I was liberated from my guilt at that moment, and I again knew a natural high - the summer night.
*(The continuation)*
What I thought to be BluRp was destroyed. I surrendered to guilt and anxiety. Somehow, we all had to surrender. Our Honey Summer was undergoing violent siege. Our vow abandoned. Close friends drifted apart. Everyone was in low spirits, but the common surrender left us all sad together. The last golden sunsets were seen as they came earlier and earlier, until the sun also surrendered to the Cold and Dark. Times of change. Change anticipated with dread and denial. I still saw them, but a deep separation formed between us with the start of the new school year. I started seeing old friends who I had not seen all summer, and paid little attention to either of them. Additionally, she had made it clear that she had no interest in being with me as anything more than a friend. She said it was because she thought I only liked her because “I was above her.” This hurt me to hear. To this day I can’t believe that she would ever think that.
I guess there was a personal lesson to be learned. I realized that I could come closest to peace by avoiding the things which I know cause me anxiety. But I wanted so much more. I wanted to be like her. Fearless and spontaneous. I thought that would be happiness. And the fact that it was out of my reach frustrated me nearly to death.
Moonlight. A water fight. Sodium Vapor. An icy swimming pool. Your window. A wasp sting. A palpatation.
**********
Great Morel (also morelle):
1)A poisonous Eurasian perennial herb (Atropa belladonna) having usually solitary, nodding, purplish-brown, bell-shaped flowers and glossy black berries. Also called deadly nightshade.
"...the entire concept of reality goes down the drain; the very fabric of reality will break down."
"I...took a bath with over million insects and did not know that this was not real...You can be contacted by numerous alien entites that either can frighten you to death or make you touch an angel."
"We weren't meant to go there."
******Then I have known the Great Morel******
(Journal writing from Middle School)
I don’t know what time it is. I’m laying with my head buried in my pillow and he's screaming my name. I won’t help him, because I'm beyond terror. This time, sleep is the escape. And thus I abandon my friend. But for certain this time I was already asleep...now I’m somewhere else. There are hills and a distant city. The sky is brown...true, solid brown, with scattered stars. I feel safe. Then I'm in my bed the morning after, and he has no recollection of this event. A dream, it must have been. My dream. Not OUR dream as situations have presented themselves before. Everything’s a dream now. It’s either my dream, or our dream, or something with characteristics of both. Everything’s in my head. What’s in my head is real. What’s in our heads - OUR DREAMS - that is the world. Little boys have little tolerance for the uncomfortable. Up until the point at which the stress or fear becomes too great, they show an impressive display of bravado, but that threshold is a direct drop-off to cowardice. Such was what our lives had melted into; and the circumstances were surreal. We didn’t even know what to fear any more. When it was mentioned in casual discussion, it was a powerful enemy, but one we had created in our minds only for us to destroy and triumph over. But on those still, quiet afternoon, or those Friday nights, we crossed the said threshold. It became fear and evil in its most basic form. We didn’t even fear for our lives...not directly anyway. We both knew we didn’t know what we feared for, but it felt like it was even more important. Any talk of MORTAL FEAR was merely an attempt one of us made to comfort the other. *There is a treed in area behind my yard. I called it my “woods,” but in actuality, it's only a tennis court that had been grown over by trees and shrubs. I'd walk back there many times in my dreams. Or on springtime's bright afternoons. Frequently, the woods were exaggerated, with a small lake or brook often present. In such cases, they were a paradise; a place of complete bliss and contentment. Other times, they were as they are in reality, only covered in a palpable, hazy veil, heavier than darkness. In these dreams, I was threatened by something unseen. I showed bravado; I shouted taunts at my hidden enemy. But it mocked my attempts to hide fear. It made itself known and with it brought terror and paralysis. I think it struck me in the back of the head. My neck tingled in this sector for the waking hours which followed.
************
Hemophile (also Haemophile):
1) Hemophiliac; a bleeder
2) Blood-loving
********Then I have been the Bleeder and Blood-lover******
(Journal writing from Freshman year: June 14th, 2003)
I started crying, and let the blade of my red pocket knife glide into the top of my left thigh, just above the knee. The pain was more dull than I had hoped, like a deep, irritating itching. It created a little separation in my skin. This blood filled, and spilt over the side. I curiously licked and sucked at it. Then I did it again. And again. And again. Until the top of my thigh was patterned with a neat row of red lines, and the tips of my teeth were tinted red with blood. Then my left arm. I used the tip of the knife this time. Each time, I dug it in and quickly pulled it towards me. Again, I licked up the blood. When I was done, I was breathing hard. I looked at myself in the mirror, and felt a sort of sick pleasure. I had controlled something in a world that was out of my control.
For talking behind the back of the person I cared about. I should have realized right then and there that I didn’t really care about her. If I couldn’t stand up for her...if I didn’t fully trust her. I didn’t care about her. I WANTED her because she was there for me so much. But I lied to myself; I told myself I cared about her. Caring about someone implies compassion and lack of selfishness. My intentions were completely selfish.
I threw away my valve key tonight. It was symbolic of attempted liberation from anxiety. My first lesson learned is to not lie to others and yourself to manipulate the world. Doing so allows you to be self-centered, which can be very damaging to those around you. Additionally, you can’t think in terms of cause and effect (“social points”) when you’re dealing with other human beings. The only thing that justifies an act is compassion for another human being, or lack thereof. Good and evil are determined by compassion, or lack thereof. My mother saw my cuts, and I explained the whole thing to her. She agreed with the lessons learned.
Today should mark a turning point. A REAL turning point. All of the “lessons” I’ve “learned” up until now really haven’t seemed to sink in. I don’t know why today would be any different, but I hope on my life that it is. Today’s realizations actually probably brought me more emotional trauma than the events which brought them about. Perhaps that’s the difference. I feel guilt for the realization, instead of the realization for the guilt. Better not think about it too much. Better not convince myself of anything.
*******
(Present)
Today is August 13th 2004. Today is a Friday. In several hours I've leaving to visit my uncle. My bag's not yet packed. Exhaustion is nearly inducing panic, but I'm forcing myself to finish this entry. The cat is sitting on my lap purring. In my mouth is licorice. To my right is a bottle of sleeping pills. To my left is a clock. Below me is a notebook open to a page headed in my sloppy handwriting "Does Sentience Give Value?" On my mind is how this relates to the animal on my knees which has been trying to meet my eyes with hers. On my mind are the rats I rescued this year. On my mind is what I've done and been and learned this year and the year before and all my life. In front of me are photographs of friends. In the drawer are old report cards.
So I can't help but ask myself, "what's next?" It's such a stupid question. "what's next?" What always happens next?
What MUST happen next?
I've lived 16 and a half years. (Or two years).