-The Unnatural Putrifaction
of the Human Soul-
November's
stuff is here.
And
here are my entries for December.
Here's
January.
And my poetry
remains up: -POEMS-
Tuesday, February 15, 2000
Well, too long between entries, eh? Yep... Sooooo...
I guess you're assuming that shit happened, right? Well, you'd be
right. Things did happen, but nothing's changed.
I went to a funeral last week. Who died? Someone who had direct
relation to me, yet, someone who remains, for the most part... A
stranger to me. I believe I mentioned earlier that my Grandfather
was dying. Well, he isn't dying anymore... He's dead. I don't
really know how I'm supposed to feel about this. It's similar to
a close friend's cousin dying. You never really knew their cousin,
perhaps only seeing them a couple of time, but you've known your friend
for your whole life, and... I'm rambling. I don't think there need
be any analogy put to this.
As I suspected, the funeral was going to be rather macabre. At least
to a person who has a solid grasp on their sanity. Many people showed
up, and I was quite surprised at this. I began to think that just
maybe people did care about his passing. But as time passed, and
as I watched everyone... This wasn't so.
In fact, only about two or three people that I can remember seemed upset
by anything at all. Yet, they seemed to be mourning days gone by,
instead of the actual deceased. Everyone else either seemed irritated,
or strangely happy. It was more of a party than a funeral...
I was generally ignored. Not many wanted to know who I was, nor did
they seem to care. Typical. I have a small knife that I usually
have in my pocket. I figure that it will come in handy, and so it
did. I had the official task of cutting lengths of white ribbon in
order to tie them to the balloons. Balloons? Yeah, the plan
was to release them all at once after the funeral had ended. I secretly
vowed that I would be the last to let my balloon go.
The speakers came forward. The first speaker seemed to be the one
most affected by this event. He cried some, and his lips quivered.
I came to respect him for some reason. The next man came forward,
he was someone that was affiliated with the higher-ups in the LDS church.
He gave the prayer. Next came my own father... This was the moment
that I was dreading. He was going to read the poem that he had written
for his father. As he came forward his face was insidiously splashed
with a grin. My stomach began to churn. He read his poem, I
chose not to listen, but the sound of the words that came out of his mouth,
dripping with his soft poetry voice, made me wish that someone, somewhere,
anyone, God, or any other force that saw this as a mockery, would strike
him down with a bolt of lightening. My father finished his
poem and people came to tell him how good it was, and how they knew
so and so publisher and wanted to help him get published. My father's
sick smile told the truth of the matter. -This- is why he had written the
poem, -this- is what he wanted. Attention. All I could think
was, "How dare he?!". How -dare- he stand there and pretend like
he was the one who cared most about his father, when behind his back, he
would confess to me how much he really hated him?
It was time to let the balloons go. My balloon was green. As
I had promised to myself and to my deceased grandfather, I would be the
last to let go of my balloon. This I did. The balloons
were released, and everyone commented on how beautiful it was. Frankly,
I didn't see it that way. After this was done, I walked away from
the scene to sit on a lonely stump in the corner of the cemetary.
I watched my father "mingle" and felt like telling all those people how
my father really felt.
Finally, it was time to go. We were headed to my grandmother's
house for a feast that was being provided by the Relief Society.
As we were driving, my father told me that he felt it was his place to
be "the strong one". As he said those words, I had to strongly fight
back the urge to boot him out of the truck and watch him be run over by
a diesel. He told me that when they went to the hospital, that he
waited until everyone left the room and then he "lost it". More lies.
He also said that he "almost couldn't keep it together" when he was reading
that poem. I watched him read the thing, there was no hint of sadness
in those gleefully crazed eyes.
We arrived at my grandmother's, there was a rather large feast awaiting
us. It was like Thanksgiving, minus the turkey. In fact, more
people showed up for this than the actual Thanksgiving. People
ate, talked, and left. And that was that, I suppose...
Valentine's Day came and went without so much as a peep... Nothing
new...
Monday, February 28, 2000
Damn, I've been lazy... Yesterday, I got an email from that
old dear friend of mine I spoke of a couple months back, the one who sent
me the Christmas card. She said that her computer broke down, and
that's why she hadn't been around for so long. This seemed logical
to me, seeings how last time we talked she spoke of her computer troubling
her. I still have the card she sent me. Every so often, I hold
it, and read it... It gives me a little warmth. I can't explain
why, I mean, it's just a card, isn't it? And, at the same time...
It gives me pain. I know the reason for this, and it's a long and
involving story. I think I can sum it up though: A sympathetic and
caring person, a budding friendship, me lost in the dark, desperately searching
for light (I still am), a misplaced love... Tragic. Yeah, that
and everything else in my life.
So I visited my "father"'s apartment a couple weeks ago... Not a
bad place, really. I believe my sister thinks she's going to move
in with him, which is about the second stupidest idea I've ever heard in
my lifetime. She even has a bed and stuff set up for her "home away
from home". I stayed there but one night, and already I dread the
thought of ever visiting again. No, it wasn't the apartment itself,
like I said, it was pleasant enough. It was the company...
At first it was just me and my little brother, and my "dad". That
was okay, even though the half-cooked pizza I ate was giving me a stomach
ache. Later that night, at about 2:30 am, my sister came in with
a friend of hers. "Ha ha" I thought, "I already stole the bed, it is mine!".
This was not so. Her friend decided to climb into bed with me and
I vehemently contested this idea, but to no avail. So, I sat upright,
huddled in a corner for hours and hours on end, my stomach ache becoming
increasingly worse. The small TV that my "father" had was blaring
loud in my ears. I turned to see what show was making such an obnoxious
noise... Barney... Great. I couldn't stand it anymore. I got
up and walked over to the TV to change the channel. Eventually I
found the cartoon I used to religiously watch as a kid, the Super Mario
Brothers. Man, when I was a kid I was OBSESSED with anything that
had to do with Nintendo, including this show. So, I pulled up a chair
and watched cartoons on the fuzzy color TV for the next couple of hours.
Dawn had broke, and my "father" got up for a smoke. Normally, I can
handle smoke. I mean, I frequent (or at least I used to) heavily
smoky clubs, usually without so much as a single cough. But it's
different whenever my "dad" smokes... Perhaps it's my resentment
to the fact that all those years growing up and inhaling his second-hand
smoke, is what gave me the wretched excuse for a respitory system I have
today. Maybe that's somehow affecting my mind, making me more aware
of the smoke... But whatever the cause, the fact remains that it
makes me ill. The smoke seems to burn my throat, leaving it sore
for days, perhaps weeks. And I always develop a cold right after.
Anyways, he smoked. Then he went over and snuggled up to my sister's
friend... Disgusting. He flirts with any girl that can be considered
illegal. Worse yet, this girl has plans to move in with my "father",
which is absolutetly sickening. I remember when he had a girl about
her age "stay" with him for a while. He told me stories that were
not only unsuitable for a "father" to tell to his son, but would be considered
grossly obscene by any individual with a scrap of morality. And now
here we have another young UNDERAGE, SUSCEPTILE, SEXUALLY ACTIVE, TEENAGE
GIRL, who wants to "move in" with him. It is times like this that
I wish I could strip myself of all my DNA that I acquired from him.
I can't even stand the thought of being a being of his creation....
It makes me hate my self in a way...
Anyways, enough of this depressing shit, eh? You can find some stories
about some really stupid stuff I've done in my past HERE.
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All works, including artwork and
writing are copyright Jed J. Casper (Draconis) and may not be used unless
expressed permission is given to do so. (c) 1999