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| The Madness Behind the Man... |
| I am the whisper - I am the voice. I am thought given physical form - but within this - special place - you can call me Jack...all of my friends do - imagined or real. For as long as we can remember, we have defined ourselves by what we could create - for that was our path - our purpose - and our pain. The real world - reality offered us little so we saught to escape it any way we could. Not very practical - we know. It is akin to ignoring the problem until it goes away. At first - we just wrote - submerging so completely into the work that we could not see - remember who we were. When we got older - alcohol was our vice. For a short spell - it was pills - we liked those - they made everything go away. But, our tolerance for alcohol faded. It lost the ability to made us fade. It just made us sick And those sweet pills - well - nothing is forever. So once again we submerged - we stepped away. The real world became the whisper as what we created became - real. For you see - writing was our drug of choice now. It was our ability to step away from reality and see a truth that many could not. To better explain - imagine a great river. That river - all things are in it. More often than not - people can not see what is going on around them - because the waters are fast - so much is racing by - or the waters are too deep. A long time ago - we managed to wade onto the bank - and see where in the river we once stood. More than that - if we focused - really focused - we could see things about - and around those near to our spot. Quite the gift - and curse... For now - we try to get back there - and the waters are too strong. The more we try to stand against the current the more it flings us into the rocks.. Now we are adrift - possibly more lost now than ever before. we can not see where we were and the fast waters are throwing us with careless abandon. Worse still - as it is taking all of our focus to stay above the surface - we can not escape as once we could. Thus the fragmented rift that began in us so long ago - became more and more defined. I shall better explain below - or at least try to... * * * |
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| "Listen to my type written font and you will better understand who I am. No - I am not Snapps - he is just a character I played in role playing - but he is very much based on who I am. What I am. I take very little seriously. Everything is a fucking joke - even if that joke is on me - which a lot of the time is the case. I live for it though. I live for the attention. Now don't get me wrong - I am the Jester - not a fool. There is a big difference. For you see - there is always a method to my madness - a reason to my chaos. There is no room for chance - no place for coincidence. It all is part of a greater tapestry. That is what we learned when in the great river - and when we stood there on the bank. Time and a place. Why do we create - why do we write - why do we dedicate so much mental energy to such a distant goal? It is the purpose. It is how I defined myself. I was a writer. In that world - in that universe - I was a god. what i wished - it what was. Unlike in the real world where I had - have no control. But enough of that. We found our home online. there we could explode - be heard - be seen by millions. I do not see myself as real - even though I know I am part of - this - world. Elements of the online me - began to seep out into the real world me a short while ago.The lines grow - less and less defined now. Now - I find myself caring less and less. I focus less on the center now. Better to focus on others. Seeing them smile and laugh...that is what I am about. For Me - that is enough." ...The jester |
| "I am in trouble and need serious help. All of this is a cry for help that no one can see - that no one can really understand. No - I am not Skitts. He is a fictious creature I created - but much like Snapps - he was forged from a piece of my shadow. I see things - I hear voices and know of things that I will never truly understand. While everyone was living their life - I laid dormant within a world of my own making - because your world - the real world was an alien - frightening place. Now - I will be honest - I do not like being 'online' because I see what is. It is a staging ground for people seeing pointless praise and admiration. They seek pity and understanding. They scream - cry - pout - laugh in front of everyone. That is not what I am about. I keep things within. It is not my place to be seen - or heard. I am the shadow. It is not the place for a shadow to take presidence over the object - or person. When online - I let 'Jack' take over. that is where he likes to shine. My haven - my sanctuary is my home. There I can shut it all out. I can turn the music up. There I can keep it all out. What have I learned from my time in the river and on the bank? I learned that the shore is just as dangerous as the waters. Only - the dangers on the shore are not physical like they are within the water. On the shore - the dangers are mental. There is a price to be paid for knowledge. Little by little it ebbs away at your sanity. It will make you question what is real and what is imagined. What once were gentle whispers in the back of my mind are now loud echoing voices. Am I saying this to get pity? Hell no. better to use my knoweldge - my pain to help others. For me - that is enough." ...inner child |
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| "I am the last piece of the puzzle. If you want to call me Skamms go ahead - whatever. That shit doesn't matter. It is all fucking labels to me. Of the voices though - I am the loudest. And each passing day - my voice grows louder. Why do I write? The same reason I play computer games. Answer? Taking my wooden warhammer and walking down the street venting my frustration on a world full of fucking stupid, reproducing retards - who reproduce the next generation of stupid retards for the record - for some reason that STILL escapes me - is considered socially and somewhat legally wrong. Yet - commiting mental energy to slaughtering senseless evil within the confines of a computer game or other type of media - hey that is good clean fun. Also - transfering all that negativity into a writen or fantasy universe by way of writing stories based on the above mentioned fucking morons - that is concidered therapy. Like fuck - whatever. Now me - I am different from the other two in here. I do not see things as a joke - if it is I fail to see the fucking punchline. All my life I have been caged within as that whiny fuck let the world slowly crush him little by little. He wanted to play by the rules. He wanted to play games. He wanted his escape. Now - I am left trying to repair the damaged walls to keep the dark tide that is washing towards the outer walls. It is a senseless struggle at this point. The fort that I have been locked in for so long - I walk out of. the doors are no longer secure. Now I walk towards that tide. Will it consume me as the waters of the river tried to do? Time will tell. For me - that is enough...it has to be." ...the anger |
| The Madness Behind the Man... |
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