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 Foolproof Suicide posted Sunday, June 27, 2004
Here is a sure way to kill yourself without any possibility of being saved by another person: Go to Iraq, specifically someplace like Fallujah or Baghdad. Look around till you find somplace that has no police, military or any group designed to "keep peace." If you have access to US military fatigues, use them...it'll make you stand out more. Be on the lookout for the grimiest, most dirty looking, bad smelling group of sand crawlers you can find. They will be the ones wearing masks and towels on their heads. This should not be hard to do. Shout at the top of your lungs: "I am an American" over and over again until you are captured. No need to leave a suicide note...the US media broadcasting your beheading will be ample notification. Repeat if necessary.
Casey @ 6:14 PM EDT
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Things to come? posted Sunday, June 27, 2004
For as often as I study and analyze news and politics, I think I should be one of those paid consultants than CNN interviews when major shit is going on.
My lack of tact would put me in good company with Vice President Halliburton, err, Cheney. Fuck him.
I was reading today that Saddam is going to be transferred to the Iraqis and I had this sinking feeling in my gut that the worst has indeed yet to come. With the unstable situation in Iraq right now, those are the LAST people who should be in charge of captivity. I just have the bad feeling that Saddam will escape, or be freed through no fault of the current Iraqi government (or maybe it's a big conspiracy and the Iraqi government are all Baath party sympathizers and will indeed free Saddam themselves). Either way, I think this entire occupation is going to be in complete vein. At least it will be the end of BushCo. Or will it?
If Saddam escapes, will Bush be the president who recaptures Saddam *twice* thus making himself look like a fucking hero.
Has anyone ever seen "Wag The Dog?" Basically the government hires a Hollywood producer to fake a war in an effort to make itself look better. If you have not seen this movie, you should. Its a nifty flick with Bob DeNiro and Dusty Hoffman. I also am thinking our current administration has seen it and is thinking, "what a fucking great idea!!" They'll stage the escape of Saddam, recapture him and the US will be looked upon as worldly heroes.
If not this, then prepare yourself for the October surprise in which Osama bin Forgotten will be captured or killed. Some people think we already have him in custody and our government is staying mum until election time to favour themselves with voters.
Now don't fucking sit there and tell me I'm paranoid and that my imagination is running away with me. It's a very real scenario that I am starting to subscribe to. If you have been keeping up with everything that goes on in our government...the lies, the uncovering of information that BushCo wishes had stayed buried, the independent councils...and the plain ugly fact that VP Cheney is just a shady character in general should give you an idea about how things in this country are really being done.
There are even some people who believe our government staged 9/11 or had a hand in it. I'm not that far gone yet, but it would not surprise me if something like this turned out to be true.
I have yet to see Fahrenheit 9/11 as of this writing, but believe me, after I do I will review it in the "tell it like it is" fashion I am infamous for.
So, remember that you heard it here first. I'll either be sayin, "I told ya so," or I'll be eating a big plate of crow (won't be the first time). Will Saddam escape? If so, will we recapture him in time for November 2nd (by the way, my birthday is November 4th, so please mark your calendars appropriately)? Will we capture or kill Osama bin Forgotten?
You tell me what you think via the comments section. That includes you lurkers too. With over one hundred unique IPs hitting this site a day, I know someone besides the regulars are reading. ;-)
Peace.
Casey @ 4:15 PM EDT
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Deprivation posted Friday, June 25, 2004
Golddigger strikes again.
When I dropped my son off this morning at day care, I told him that I would call him tonight. So promptly at 7:30 PM, as I do every night I made the call and ended up leaving a message on Golddigger's answering machine.
Fucking bitch.
She does this on purpose more often than not to punish me. But in the end the one she hurts more is Spencer. He is expecting a call from his dad. I make the call. Mommy filters it and disregards it.
What can I do? I keep the journal. Someday when I take Golddigger back to court for custody of Spencer, it will make compelling evidence to show that she consistantly did not take the best interest of our son into account in order to maintain her control over him.
When Spencer gets older, perhaps grade school age I am going to buy him a cell phone so that I don't have to go through Golddigger. I can call him directly, and he can call me directly. No middlewhore.
What scares me more than anything is that many years ago when Stepson was Spencer's age and his dad would try and call him, Golddigger would do the same damned thing. Listen to his message and delete it, and then not tell Stepson about it. Stepson would then go on to believe his dad didn't call him. If she is pulling that shit now, God help her. The tears she will cry ten years or so down the road when both of her kids tell her to fuck off (the way she did to her own mother when she was seventeen) will not fall on my shoulder.
When stepson was older, sevenish (and not too long before I was ejected from my house) I managed to reconcile him with his dad. And I was praised for it. I rescued Golddigger from yet another of her self made messes by doing so. I hope Stepson is having a fruitful relationship with his real dad, because Golddigger is preventing me from fulfilling my role as Stepdad. In face, it appears she is trying to put it in Stepsons head that I was never his dad, or ever will be again. I feel so bad for him because she's just fucking with his head in a never ending effort to be in control. When he turns on her...and he will, you can be sure I will not step in to fix her problem's anymore. Stepson will have my full support.
Then of course I think about my son who will of course be caught in the middle between his loyalty to his Half Brother and his obligatory connection to Golddigger. I am going to worry myself into the grave over him. The sooner he is able to live with me in a more healthier and stress free environment, the better off he will be.
Someone once said "be careful what you ask for...you might get it." What would I do if that really happened? How would I handle Spencer and his conflicting feelings for a parent who has let him down? I will be able to share with him my story about how my dad wronged me since childhood when he used me an as excuse to cheat on my mother, up until the day he dry fired a fucking . 38 special in my mouth and demanded respect. I'll be able to tell him I understand his pain and conflict. Up until the day my dad kicked me out of his house I wanted nothing more than to please him, knowing deep down I would never achieve that goal.
That you don't have to be beaten physically or threatened with harm to be wronged by a parent and that it's not his fault that his Mom is the way she is.
My Mom used to say to me, "Your father loves you in his own way," during the last year I lived with him. She has since retracted this statement, because it was wrong. She was not fully aware of what was really happening. I hid it, didn't talk about it, covered it up. I don't think that is something I would tell Spencer however...that his mother loves him in her own way. How do you explain to a child or a teen that his mother held onto him as tight as she could because she wanted money? To punish his father for doing nothing more than providing her and her then infant son with a better life. That's not love, that's manipulation.
Yeah...I was dumb enough to rescue her and bail her out of a rather large debt when she had no place else to go. I provided for her and her son up until the day she decided that she resented everything I did for her...citing that living with me made her unreasonable. Free money, free school, nice house, no job. Rode me fucking hard (no, not sexually either...not on her best day).
Eh...that's another story for another time because there is much, much more to it that this. And if I am going to tell that story I need to write it more carefully than just making it a weblog entry. It deserves to be told as a proper manuscript so that other men don't fall into the trap I did.
So here I sit at 8:40 PM. No return call from my son. Golddigger smirking as she taps the delete button on the answering machine. My little boy laying his sweet head down into his pillow trying to understand his life and what is going on around him. I am so sorry Spencer. I wish I could do better for you right now. Someday you'll be able to make your own choices, and I will support you whatever you decide. I love you.
Casey @ 6:52 PM EDT
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Questions IV posted Friday, June 25, 2004
Stole this one from Contractor Peon, whom I found through Lithium Journals (both worth reading). My elusive aquaintance Tony Pierce, Agent of the XBI may redeem himself by answering this question sheet. Tony, stop killing my friends dude. And now, Chapter IV of the never ending questionaire's: The ABC's: Act your age? Not really. I try to act as bratty and obnoxious as possible. Except of course when I am with my son. Then I am his age through association. ;-) Born on what day of the week? Thursday evening. Chore you hate? All of them. Dad’s name? Fuckup. Essential makeup item? I don't wear makeup. Favorite actor? Tom Hanks. Gold or silver? Silver. Hometown? Westminster, Maryland. Instruments you play? Quite a few. I am most proficient as a composer using the piano. Job title? Self employed customer whore. Kids? Yes. One beautiful little boy. Living arrangements? Alone. Mom’s name? Mom
Need? - An intelligent partner.
Overnight hospital stays? Too many. Tonsils when I was seven(ish). Accident with fire that resulted in second & third degree burns. Phobias? Flying in jets. Little planes don't seem to be a problem. I think it's a control issue. Quote you like? "Has anyone ever told you that you are angry when your beautiful?" Religious affiliation? The Bruder. Siblings? One by blood, three by marriage. Time you wake up? Anytime between 7 AM and 10 AM. It all depends on how late I went to bed the night before. Unique talent? I write music, fiction, draw sketches. I can do voice imitations too. Vegetable you refuse to eat? - Lima beans. Worst habit? Procrastination. It got really bad after being separated. It's an attribute that is hard to get back after you've lost it. X-rays you’ve had? Teeth, wrist. Do MRI's count? Yummy food you make? I've been known to make a killer beef tips in wine sauce. I can also make a killer mushroom/moz baked and breaded chicken. Zodiac Sign? Scorpio.
Casey @ 6:13 PM EDT
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Ruination posted Thursday, June 24, 2004
Here is the part that hurts the most.
Taking my son, Spencer to his day care on the Friday before his "mothers" weekend. It means a big chunk of time where I won't be able to see him, or phone calls I make to him will become an attention of tug of war between his Half Brother and myself. Spencer will get on the phone to talk and right away Half Brother will want his attention and start doing stupid things. I've asked Golddigger to ask him to stop while Spencer talks to his daddy, but she seems to think that she can do nothing about it (of course, I keep forgetting how helpless she really is). Then I suggest she tell Spencer's half brother that she tell him to keep to himself while Spencer is talking to me.
But of course, she makes no effort to do this. If anything, she probably encourages Half Brother to hog up my call time with my son. She has pulled shit like this before. Dumb cunt.
I'll then see Spencer on Monday to have lunch with him.
You do see a pattern who don't you? Who takes the time to nurture his relationship with his son by making phone calls and having lunch with him. Golddigger does neither. Except on the rare occasion she does call while Spencer is here...and then he does not want to talk to her. He will run away and hide in his room.
What does this tell you?
Hmmm, indeed.
But before, I must get through Friday morning. Spencer and I will get up around seven thirty, have breakfast and watch some Noggin. The time will come to leave, and Spencer will not want to. Can you blame him? He'll then ask, "Will you pick me up from school?" And I'll have to let him down with the fact that mommy is going to today. The light in his face dims, "I don't want mommy to. I want you to pick me up." I've picked him up by now to hold him and comfort him. "I know sweetie, but this is how we arranged it. It's okay. I will call you tonight." "You will?" "Yes, I'll try real hard." Translation: Provided that your cunt of a mother even answers the phone or gives you the message.
It gets worse. By the time we'll reach the day care building, his head is already hung low and he just looks plain upset. I'll joke with him, tickle him...anything to make him laugh until we get into the building. But by now Spencer has clung to my upper torso and will not get off until one of the teachers (normally his regular teacher, Ms. S. who loves Spencer to death). He'll whine and call for me as I leave. They tell me just to walk away. Yeah right. And as I am walking my very soul is being ripped apart. If he starts crying, then I'll start crying. Either way, but the time I get back out to my car I'm in tears anyway.
Goddamn you Golddigger. God fucking damn you to hell, you sick twisted witch of a whore. She insists the Spencer be in school before 9:00 AM, or I will face some new wrath of hers. Normally, listening to her bitch and complain means nothing...but in recent days she has gotten worse...even bitter (see previous entry). Couple this with how bad her clearly anorexic body looks, it concerns me that she might have a meltdown.
God I hope...what an opportunity that would be.
Anyway, I'll drive back to my house, pull into the garage, park, go inside, crawl upstairs and back into bed where I will stay until I feel like getting up again, which sometimes is not for days. And why should I? What the fuck for? Time between visits with my son are like blank sheets of white paper and a box of white crayons. No matter what I try to do to bring myself out of this "when Spencer isn't here" funk, I just cannot seem to do it.
I need more offline friends. I need a steady girlfriend (not the quickie ones...well, maybe getting laid would be OK, as long as it was consistent), or even another child I can take care of...and who would take care of me.
Or, what I really need is to have my son full time. This way I can save him from Golddigger and her lifestyle. And then everything would be okay. I could relax and not worry so much.
But why do I think so little of Golddigger's ability as a mother?
To be revealed at a later time.
Today is about dealing with the loss of my beautiful little boy for the next few days while his mother and half brother fill his head with bad ideas.
Note to Golddigger: Yeah, I fucking said half brother. Tell the truth, and don't give me the usual "the half factor doesn't count" crap. If you really believed that, then maybe you can tell me what happened to "step dad." A title you tried to wipe clean from the memory of your eldest son. Maybe I should start calling you BrainWasher. Cannot have it bother ways...even if you think you are a woman.
Casey @ 10:33 PM EDT
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Bitterness posted Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Oh boy.
It seems that unhappy feelings that exist between me and The Ex (herein referred to as Golddigger) are going to escalate into a full blown Cold War.
The bitch is under the impression that she owns me or something, to which I am going to have to make clear to her that she does not. If anything, it's the other way around because I control her purse strings. Heh.
I always enjoy phone calls to her because they could ultimately lead into spats. This is a good thing because she always tends to reveal something that I can use to my advantage, or information that I did not know before. As usual, it only took a few minutes before she became the bitchy self she is. I asked her why she always so unreasonable. She asks if I really want to know.
What this means to me is that she is looking for an in route to say something nasty to me. To me, this is information I can use. I tell her to go for it. She says, "Living with you." I actually had to think about this for a second, because it made no sense. This is typical, because Golddigger is not the brightest bulb in the box.
"Living with me made you unreasonable?" I ask. "That makes no sense at all." I think she then some something to the effect of "whatever," because this is her standard response to everything when she has nothing intelligent to say or reply with.
Clearly, even after a year of being separated, she is even more bitter than the day we split. She won't say why of course. She is being brainwashed by the mouth of the person she is fucking. That's how she is you see...easily swayed. I should know, I swayed her enough. Simple minded people are like that. It's hard for them to think for themselves. Perhaps that is the reason for her bitterness. Either way, it's going to mean a long, drawn out, ugly existence between the two of us. Not how I wanted it, but so be it. I can play ugly to. I should I know. I am better at it than she is...and she is about to find out just how ugly I can get.
You see. If you put a frog in scalding hot water, the frog will jump out immediately. If you put that same frog into lukewarm water and gradually turn up the heat, the frog will happily let itself be boiled to death.
No one big thing. Just a lot of little things over time.
Heh. I actually called her a golddigger to her face. She went on to tell me about Florida law and community property. I said that was just a facade and that she was really a golddigger. A money hungry little whore whose only purpose in life was to pleasure herself at the expense of other people.
Plus I think she has an eating disorder. The last time I saw her she was thinner than Mary-Kate Olsen. It was downright fucking ugly. Her tits are gone, not that they were ever there to begin with. My grandmother, who is one of those clever, witty, elderly ladies who tells it like it is (must run in the family) even asked me is she had an eating problem, because she was "thin as a rail." I rolled my eyes and said, "Who gives a fuck. It's not my problem anymore." How true. Not my problem anymore. None of her problems which caused me to lose sleep and age before my years are not my problems anymore.
She is going to need serious therapy before all that bitterness consumes her, not to mention the eating disorder. Hell, I hope she does implode. While she lies dying in the hospital, I get Spencer. Everything else is irrelevant.
Being married to Golddigger in the later years made me suicidal. It made me a pill popper, because my life was so empty and without meaning. I would look in the mirror of the upstairs bathroom and calculate how many more years of this shit I would have to put up with before I could get out with Spencer in tow. Thirteen? Fifteen? Whatever it was, it was worth it. To give up my life and my happiness to ensure his would be okay. It was the only real goal I now had. There was no love and all my needs were not being met. At all. I look back at IM logs I would have with my mum about how fucking miserable I was, and how I wanted to just die because "this is as good as it gets." Golddigger did me a favour actually. I was forced to see how much better life was without her constantly telling me how worthless I was. Just like dear old dad. It should have been the other way around, because she is the worthless one. She has nothing to give. She just takes and takes and takes. Never giving in return. The only person she knows how to give to is herself. All the vibrators, the sex toys. All self gratification. It does not really matter anyway because I stopped sleeping with her. The sex was awful. I actually had to get high to want to sleep with her, because sober is was not at all gratifying. I stopped being able to have orgasms because I was so unfulfilled. So, if anyone should be bitter, it's me. But you see...I'm not bitter. A little angry perhaps, but this is mostly because she is using my son to hurt me. That makes me angry. Anyone who uses Spencer the way she does deserves to die a slow painful, and early death. And that is what I ask the Lord for. Not me for you see...but for her. No golddigger=Spencer lives me...the only real parent he has. Spencer's brother would then go back to Maryland to live with his dad...which is probably what he needs. Someone who won't yell and scream at him at every turn.
I guess if passionate kissing and losing yourself in someone's soul is cheating, then I am guilty. We had a neighbor, who had a daughter (a few of them) and her name was Allison. She was perfect. Beautiful, sensual, well built. It was love at first site for me And her smile...my God her smile alone was worth my dropping to my knees and swearing eternal loyalty. I was ready to drop my life (minus Spencer) and be swept away with her. Ali's Mom knew about it, but said nothing. Then one night we were together and there was nothing else. It was her and I and she changed me. I was never the same after Allison and it was then that I know my marriage was over. I told Allison I loved her and that I wanted to run away with me and Spencer. She wouldn't do it. She did not want to be the catalyst that would cause our family so much pain. But I did not care about them. I begged and pleaded and in the end she would not go away with me. I was devastated. And trying to hide devastation to Golddigger was difficult at best. But she knew. She knew that something happened between Allison and I that changed everything. I pined for her.
I still do. If Allison turned up at my front door tomorrow, I would do whatever she asked me to do...short of abandoning my son. Someday I may find her again, or maybe I won't. I love you Allison, wherever you are. You were worrth giving up Golddigger and her badly misbehaved first son. To bad it didn't happen that way. There were a lot of things I could not stand abouot Golddigger and our joke of a marriage. I think I'll save them for another day. I think she'll more than deserve it with stuff that I suspect will happen here very soon. But still, I say...fuck her. All she's good for is a cheap lay. If anyone wants the email address she uses to swing with other couples, let me know. I'll gladly give it away.
Casey @ 10:28 PM EDT
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Questions III posted Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Here is another set of worthy questions borrowed from another weblog. This time All Things Jennifer was the victim.
If you are reading this Tony Pierce, I expect you to do this set of questions as well. 1. Where were you when you heard that Ronald Reagan died?
Sitting in front of the computer in the morning reading the news on my news feeds. 2. Where were you on September 11, 2001?
I woke up and turned on CNN to listen to the news minutes before the second plane struck the WTC. It took a few minutes to process this as it was all live. I remember being downstairs afterwards with my then wife who was visibly upset. It was the day before our third wedding anniversary. 3. Where were you when you heard that Princess Diana died?
Ay mom's house working on her computer. 4. Do you remember where you were when you heard Kurt Cobain had died?
Sitting on the Westminster High School parking lot waiting for Heather to get out of school (yeah, the same one I married). I recall not being surprised considering the dark nature of his material. 5. Where were you when the Challenger exploded?
In English class in my freshman year of high school. Class was interrupted so we could all watch the TV broadcast of live events. I ended up writing my final English paper on the accident. 6. Where were you when the OJ verdict was announced?
I don't really remember as I did not care. It was clear his fame and money was going to let him get away with murder long before any jury would decide the same.
Casey @ 6:00 PM EDT
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Gluttony posted Monday, June 21, 2004
Part of an IM I was subject to earlier today. The Ex: i have road runner now so you can call when i'm signed on
Casey: wow
The Ex: what?
Casey: cable modem
All I can say is I am so gratified to know that Spencer's child support is going to such good causes that improve my son's life. This is yet another reason that child support should be audited and that greedy, self indulgent mothers who waste and abuse support money intended for their children should be held accountable. Spencer does not need cable modem. He needs his own fucking room instead of being forced to share a tiny little one with his nine year old brother. I guess now is the time to start saving money for therapy my son will need to get past the shitty childhood he's being subject to. Spencer, I promise you. Someday I will save you from this mess. I so promise this to you.
Casey @ 5:50 PM EDT
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Displacement - Prologue posted Monday, June 21, 2004
"I proclaim the Games of Berlin, celebrating the eleventh Olympiad of the modern era, to be open." – Adolph Hitler Prologue
I According to Freud, we are born with our Id. The Id is an important part of the personality because as newborns, it allows our needs to be met. Freud believed that the id is based on the pleasure principle. In other words, the id wants whatever feels good at the time with no consideration for the reality of the situation. For example, when a child is hungry the id wants food and therefore the child cries. When the child needs to be changed the id cries. When the child is uncomfortable, in pain, too hot, too cold, or just wants attention, the id speaks up until its needs are met. The id does not care about reality or the needs of anyone else, but simply its own satisfaction. With this in mind, it is apparent that babies are not real considerate of their parents’ wishes. They have no care for time, or whether their parents are sleeping, relaxing, eating dinner, or bathing. When the id wants something, nothing else is important. As the child begins to interact more with the world in the next three years of its life, the second part of the personality begins to develop. Freud calls this part the Ego. The ego is based on the reality principle. The ego understands that other people have needs and desires and that sometimes being impulsive or selfish can be hurtful to us in the long run. It is the job of the ego to meet the needs of the id, while taking into consideration the reality of the situation. By the age of five, or the end of the phallic stage of development, the Superego develops. Freud said that the superego is the moral part of us and develops due to the moral and ethical restraints placed on us by our caregivers. Many equate the superego with the conscious as it dictates our belief of right and wrong. Freud believes that in any given healthy person, the ego is the strongest so that it can satisfy the needs of the id, not upset the superego, and still take into consideration the reality of every situation. For the ego, this is not always an easy job. If the id becomes too strong then impulses and self gratification can take over one’s life. If the superego becomes too strong, one would be driven by rigid morals, would be judgmental and unwavering in their interactions of the world. II Freud believed that that majority of what we experience in our lives, the underlying emotions, beliefs, feelings, and impulses are not available to us at a conscious level. He believed that most of what drives us is buried in our unconscious (the area of the psyche where unknown wishes and needs are kept that play a significant role in our conscious behavior). Freud believed that during the ages of three to six, boys develop unconscious sexual desires for their mother. Because of this, he becomes rivals with his father and sees him as competition for his mother’s affection. During this time, boys also develop a fear that their father will punish them for these feelings. This group of feelings is called the Oedipus complex. Later it was added that girls go through a similar situation, developing unconscious sexual attraction to their father. Although Freud strongly disagreed with this, it has recently been termed as the Electra complex. Both of these complexes are pushed down into the unconscious and out of our awareness due to the extreme anxiety they caused. While buried there they continue to impact us dramatically, according to Freud. The role of the unconscious is only one part of the model. Freud also believed that everything we are aware of is stored in our conscious (the restriction demanded by the superego). Our conscious makes up a very small part of who we are. In other words, at any given time we are only aware of a very small part of what makes up our personality. Most of what we are is buried and inaccessible. The final part is the preconscious or subconscious. This is the part of us that can access if prompted, but is not in our active conscious. It is right below the surface but still buried somewhat unless we search for it. Information such as telephone numbers, childhood memories, or the name of a best friend is stored in the preconscious. Because the unconscious is so large, and because we are only aware of the very small conscious at any given time, this theory has been linked to an iceberg where the vast majority is buried beneath the water’s surface. Incidentally, the water would represent everything we are not aware of, have not experienced, and that has not been integrated into our personalities, referred to as the nonconscious. Think of the id as the “devil on your shoulder” and the superego as the “angel on your shoulder”. We do not want either one to get too strong so we talk to both of them, hear their perspective and then make a decision. That decision is the ego talking, the one looking for the healthy balance. According to Freud, we have two drives: Sex and aggression. Put another way, everything we do is motivated by these two drives. The id, the ego and the superego are also driven by these two forces. Sex represents out drive to live, prosper and produce offspring. Aggression represents the death force, our need to stay alive and stave off threats to our existence, our power and our prosperity. At times, the ego has trouble satisfying both the id and superego. The ego has tools at its disposal as the mediator, tools to help defend the ego. When the ego has a difficult time making both the id and the superego happy, it will employ one or more of the following defenses: Denial - arguing against an anxiety proving stimuli by stating it does not exist. Displacement - taking out impulses on a less threatening target. Intellectualization - avoiding unacceptable emotions by focusing on the intellectual aspects. Projection - placing unacceptable impulses in yourself onto someone else. Rationalization - supplying a logical or rational reason as opposed to the real reason. Reaction formation - taking the opposite belief because the true belief causes anxiety. Regression - returning to a previous state of development. Repression - pulling into the unconscious. Sublimation - acting out unacceptable impulses in a socially acceptable way. Suppression - pushing into the unconscious. Ego defenses are not necessarily unhealthy. In fact, the lack of these defenses or the inability to use them effectively can often lead to problems in life. However, we sometimes employ the defenses at the wrong time or overuse them, which can be equally destructive.
Casey @ 2:09 PM EDT
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Displacement explained posted Monday, June 21, 2004
I didn't think that many people would respond to the posting of the first chapter of Displacement. I've only got two written out, so there are bound to be a few groans.
Yanno, while I'm working on this, you could read Scarecrow which I wrote almost ten years back. If you'll forgive the spelling and grammatical errors, it's a fairly decent story. Plus it's long and should keep you busy for a day or so.
As for the Displacement saga, let me touch on this. I wrote the back story for this a long, long time ago. We're talking college here, which puts the origin back in 1989-1990. I put it off for a long time and did other things. I came back to it last year and put the backstory together so it in and of itself is a mini book from which I will use as a "story bible" to refer to as I write the chapters for Displacement. In terms of size and complexity, think "Lord of The Rings." Plus I started the Time Travel Log as sort of a teaser of things to come (although the log itself takes place after the real story, which I am working on now)
So, after Chapter two (which is really chapter three, as I writing out of chapter order) is posted, you'll have to wait until I get more written before more is posted.
Yeah, I know. It's gonna suck...but it's just as well as I have been looking for motivation to work on this story some more. It haunts me all the time. I dream about the world this entire story takes place in. I have so many plot devices (some big, some small) that it took a mini book to keep them all straight. Maybe if the next tale is intriguing enough, people'll bug me to write.
This epic does have a prologue, which I am posting next, because it is relevant. No characters are introduced, however. It's more like an explanation of things to come.
And please, I love feedback. Regulars and lurkers alike. Do NOT BE AFRAID TO COMMENT. I want to hear it all. :)
Casey @ 2:04 PM EDT
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Displacement, an excerpt - by Casey Provance posted Sunday, June 20, 2004
Connor Westminster, Maryland 2003 I Connor McKenzie had been experiencing the same dream over and over again for over thirteen years. They began in the same month his wife had died in a catastrophic automobile accident. Kelly McKenzie had not died right away however. She had remained in a coma for eight months following the accident only to be declared brain dead. In the end, it was the living will Kelly had left behind that ended her life on this Earth. It was also the day that Connor insisted was the end of his own life as well, even though he continued to live and breathe. Within weeks of Kelly’s death The Dream started. A man had come to him and shown him images of places and people that did not exist, that Connor did not know. The Dream had fed itself to Connor sporadically and played like a recorded message. Not every night, but at least once a week. When The Dream started, it started the same way every time and ran only a few minutes until Connor woke up. After thirteen years he could explain in the greatest of detail these first few minutes and sometimes a little bit after if The Dreams lasted that long, which was rare. Scared of what his unconscious was trying to reveal, Connor has seen over a dozen shrinks and doctors who specialized in dream study. The prognosis was always the same; utterly fascinating, but we don’t know or understand why. Each doctor had offered up their own theory. Some matched, some did not. The one constant that always seemed to remain was that Connor was holding onto some memory that had either repressed. Some said it was from early childhood while others had suggested that it was from a previous life. One doctor had theorized that it might even be from a future life lived backwards through the past. Connor has not gone back to see that doctor again. Through it all, Connor had kept his own records of the dream. Journals that described events and places in such detail, that it would take the average reader at least two readings to take in everything. Although Connor was no artist, he had sketched out pictures that depicted people and landscapes of places unknown. Even after the rise of the Internet, Connor was still unable to find any clues to the origins of the “The Dream”, as it came to be called. This all changed on the 23rd day of August. The day before Connor McKenzie died. II A pair of eyes opens slowly as if waking up from a long nap, needing time to adjust to the light. Once the eyes are comfortable with where they are, they look at Connor as if to initiate conversation. The eyes start to back away and a face becomes visible. The face pans backwards, to reveal an entire person. He begins to talk. The manner in which his lips are moving and the expressions on his face indicate that whatever is being said is of some importance. Connor cannot hear him. It is as if he is living in a deaf world. He also realizes that he is standing inside of a bubble with this person, surrounded by a translucent white light. It is only the two of them inside of it. The man across from him clearly is concerned and looking around as if he knew Connor could not hear him. Behind the Troubled Stranger are two round windows and beyond are other people that are staring back, all with concerned looks on their faces. Connor did not recognize any of them. The Troubled Stranger puts his hands on Connor’s shoulders. The man was emphasizing words with his lips. But because Connor has been living this dream for thirteen years, he has since learned to read his lips and can understand some of what was being told to him. Connor has no way to reply to the Troubled Stranger. He has tried hundreds, perhaps thousands of times but is not able to. It was as if he were strapped up against a wall with his hands bound and mouth taped shut, even though he was not. There would never be any dialog in The Dream. Only Connor attempting to figure out what the Troubled Stranger was trying to tell him. He has started to slowly mouth words in hopes that Connor would understand him. Because the Troubled Stranger takes so long to mouth out one sentence, the time Connor spends in The Dream rarely ever moves beyond this monolog. Only a few times in the past thirteen years does the Troubled Stranger lead Connor to the two windows to explain what lies beyond. However, after the Troubled Stranger reveals his name, but before Connor can see what is on the other side of the two windows, The Dream ends. Every time. Ric Casey’s dialog always starts the same. “Connor, don’t be alarmed. We don’t have a lot of time and there are a lot of things I need to tell you. Can you hear me?” “He can’t hear me. “My name is Ric Casey. You cannot hear me so I am hoping if I mouth the words big enough you might be able to understand what I am trying to explain to you. Time is short and we could be disconnected at any point, so here it is: We are transmitting this message to you from the year twenty ninety five. The human race as we know it is all but dead and we are fighting to save what is left of us.” This is the most Connor can ever remember verbatim as everything that follows is too distorted, like a badly damaged VHS tape. Thirteen years of puzzle solving leaves him with bits and pieces of Ric’s words between the revelation of his name and the end of The Dream. “...the world as we know it is gone...is being run by The Corporation...started the FCA...save people like you...going to come through...” It leaves Connor lying awake with the same questions. People like me? Does this mean me?
III This night, The Dream lasts longer and Connor is able to see a great deal more. Connor nods towards the two windows. Ric smiles. “There are people out there waiting for us, waiting for you. No matter what, just let the natural course of events occur. Don’t fight it, no matter how bad it gets. Because what happens to you is how it’s supposed to be. Trust me, Connor. You will be okay.” Connor wants to reply, but is still unable to. Someone approaches the two glass windows. It is a woman, and she holds up a picture so Connor can see it. He steps forwards to see it better. The picture this strange woman is holding us a picture of his dead wife. “SHE IS HERE!” The woman screams, pointing at the picture frantically. Even though Connor cannot hear her he understands her perfectly. Wherever Kelly McKenzie went after she passed away from the coma that her car accident had put her in, Connor was within proximity of her via the recurring dream.
IV Connor jerked awake. The sun had not even begun to rise. A quick glance at the alarm clock told him that is was barely past four in the morning. The Dream came to him again, but today he finally had an answer to the madness that had plagued him for the last thirteen years. Somewhere his wife Kelly was alive and well. Without thinking, Connor reached over to the nightstand where he kept the latest notebook that was his dream journal and began to write. After years of experiencing extended portions of The Dream, it was important to document everything while it was still fresh in his short term memory. The risk of forgetting later was great and had happened more than once. With so much new detail to recall, Connor was unable to write fast enough scribbling in cursive writing that only he would be able to decipher.
Casey @ 11:26 PM EDT
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Gmail Invitations posted Saturday, June 19, 2004
Turns out that I have five of them to give away. So if you are without gmail and are wanting to get one, look no further. However, nothing is free. I don't want money. I want to know what you would do for me as a person that would make you worthy of the coveted gmail.com email address. Make a case for yourself that will "move" me. Now there are a few rules: 1) If you already have a gmail account, please don't come looking for a second one. I will double check ALL applicants for previous gmail accounts. and 2) If you are part of that unfortunate "real world" clique, I won't consider you. Sorry, but I have some morales to adhere to. Tis the way it is. So, send all pleadings to casey.ravencop@gmail.com and we'll announce the winners within a day or so. Good luck. :)
Casey @ 11:47 PM EDT
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Self Worth posted Friday, June 18, 2004
So...after some years a friend of mine, a female friend of mine that I've slept with in the past instant messages me from out of the blue. After a few minutes of small talk a "huge favour" is needed.
She wants to borrow money, and a good chunk of it too.
It's so nice to know that this is all I am good for. Fucking money. I hate having money, because that's all I am really good for in the end. Not friendship, not partnership, but fucking cash.
Here is a piece of advice for any people out there who are thinking of courting an ex-lover or old friend for money. Don't fucking do it. All you are going to do is hurt the feelings of the person you are imposing on and in all likelihood lose them as a friend (or acquaintance). What makes it even fucking worse is that this gal knows I have a gold digger of an ex wife snapping my heels on any given day for money...it must have taken some balls (or drinks) to make an overture such as this. But still, in the end I am still a real person with real feelings...even if the rest of the world does not view me as such. And every now and then, someone finds a way to wound them. I didn't see it coming and I really should have...after all she was a woman (and not even single) and she was talking to me. That should have been the clue that tipped me off. So in that light it's my own fucking fault. That's the last goddamned time I fall for that one again. Love is dead.
Casey @ 10:27 PM EDT
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Dennys Latest Special posted Thursday, June 17, 2004
I wondered why the Denny's down the street closed. I wonder if this had anything to do with it? http://www.courttv.com/people/scm/061004_ctv.html Denny's cook busted for special ingredients A former night-shift cook at a Denny's Restaurant in Illinois is in hot water after allegedly getting creative in the kitchen. Anthony Lindhorst, of Waterloo, is charged with five counts of aggravated battery for allegedly lacing brownies with marijuana and mixing his semen into the restaurant's sauce. Lindhorst is accused of serving the brownies to co-workers and the tainted sauce to two customers. According to Waterloo Police Chief Joe Brauer, Lindhorst, 26, came to work with a tray of brownies that he baked at home and offered them to two co-workers. One co-worker ate two of the brownies, but the second took a bite and realized that the treat owed its unique flavor to something other than cocoa. The restaurant fired Lindhorst and contacted Waterloo police about the incident, Brauer said. At the same time, another co-worker came forward with information about Lindhorst's other culinary exploit. The employee and two others reportedly saw Lindhorst mix his semen into an order of honey-mustard dressing which he served to two customers on two separate occasions. "One is a woman who worked at a restaurant where he worked years before. We presume he targeted her because she was a manager," Brauer said. "The other is a police officer who had stopped him in the past for a minor traffic violation." The alleged semen contamination occurred in November and April and was carried out in the restaurant's restroom. Both customers have tested negative for any infectious disease, Brauer said. Police conducted an investigation and arrested Lindhorst May 17. He was released on $25,000 bond, but was re-arrested June 2 for witness tampering. Brauer said Lindhorst returned to the restaurant and tried to intimidate a witness. He is out on another $25,000 bond.
Casey @ 1:35 PM EDT
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The Dark Tower posted Wednesday, June 16, 2004
I just spent the last two days with my nose buried deep within a book. With the exception of seeing my son and devoting my time and attention to him, I did nothing else but read. What book could be that enthralling you ask?
Book six of Stephen King's The Dark Tower cycle, entitled "Song of Susannah."
I can almost feel the rolling of the eyes now. So fuck ya anyway.
I've been reading Stephen King since I was old enough to be toting his book with me to school. If you were to ask me what SK book was the first I read, I don't think I could say, simply because I do not remember. Stephen King novels have been floating around the house since I was a wee lad. I can remember the yellow stained paperback editions of Salem's Lot and The Shining sitting on my moms bookshelf as far back as six or seven. I think Firestarter might have been my first SK read. Or maybe it was Christine. Oh well, either way every time a new SK book came into the house I was all over it after Mom was done with it.
I don't recall how the first Dark Tower book came into my possession. It was one of the first paperback editions. I was instantly hooked and it was many years before the second Dark Tower book, "The Drawing of the Three" was published. King would torture us by putting years in between the release of each cycle of the Dark Tower books. The third book, "The Waste Lands" came in 1992 (or 93, one of those years) and left us with a massive cliffhanger that was not solved until 1997 with the publication of The Dark Tower IV, "Wizard and Glass." Between those years I had left Maryland and moved to Florida and ultimately went back to Maryland to make the biggest mistake of my life...but that's another story. King then made us wait until 2003 for part five, "The Wolves of The Calla." This time however, King claimed to have finished the series and was going to release the last two novels in the following year.
Here was are in June of 2004 and the release of The Dark Tower VI, "Song of Susannah." The final chapter of the cycle will be released in September and is simply titled, "The Dark Tower." King has been leaving us with mini cliffhangers. The story is seriously complex and any new reader would not benefit from starting the series in the middle. It would make almost no sense. Anyone wished to embark on what has to be King's finest work should start with book one and read from there.
The Dark Tower series is a cross between fantasy, sci-fi, drama, romance and the sheer horror that is King's signature. It's hard to label the cycle into one genre, because it contains elements of all, which is what makes it a great read. King admits to being inspired by Lord of the Rings, and it shows. The Dark Tower Cycle has inspired to me to write my own epic, which I have been working on for what is years now. You can catch a glimpse of that world via Ryan Capcoseve's Time Traveler Log. Someday I hope to release the series of short stories and the book that all revolve around the ultimate demise of this world. But anyway...
In as far as The Dark Tower goes...it will finally be closure indeed if/when Roland of Gilead and his ka-tet finally reach the Dark Tower. With the multiple storylines and cliffhangers King gave us in Part VI, it hard to see how part VII will resolve them all and still leave us die hard Tower Junkies with an ending that will satisfy what is ultimately a twenty-seven year old appetite.
Don't let us down Stevie. Please stand...and be true.
Casey @ 5:07 PM EDT
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Six Feet Under - Season 4, Episode 1 posted Sunday, June 13, 2004
Man... The Six Feet Under season four opening was a fucking heart wrencher. If the rest of the season is as good, HBO has got it made. Peter Krauss' portrayal of Nate Fisher continues to amaze. The guilt that is eating him up over his loss of Lisa is so real, you just want to fucking cry out and say, "Well maybe you should not have treated her like shit, you fuckwad!" David looking the other way so Nate could give Lisa the burial she wanted (to be put in the ground "as is", quite illegal) was a nice touch. And I guess that's all I'll give away...there are plenty of twists and turns coming. SFU continues to boast great writing, great acting, great producing. Sundays will continue to be the best night of shows available. Fuck network TV...if you don't have HBO, Six Feet Under is one damned good reason to get it.
Casey @ 8:13 PM EDT
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Old wounds posted Sunday, June 13, 2004
There is a very nasty electric storm going on right now. Lightening strikes all over the place. Bright flashes of white light fills the world, strike after strike followed by house shaking thunder.
Welcome to fucking Florida.
I can handle the thunder, it's the lightening that gives me the shakes. I had an accident when I was about thirteen or so which involved a can of red dot gunpowder blowing up in my face. Besides giving my Mom four simultaneous heart attacks, I got to spend a few days in the Francis Scott Key Burn Unit with second and third degree burns on the majority of my face.
I was lucky. The only place on my face that was not burnt of the outlines of my hands which I managed to get in front of my eyes before they were burned to nothingness. I got to keep my site and I didn't have any permanent scars on my face (although when I get sunburn, it's obvious where the sensitive skin is). I did lose a fair amount of hair that never grew back. I was told that hair does not grow back on skin which suffers third degree burns. Hair follicles are destroyed. Fucking shame too, because I was left with a very awkward hair pattern for which I have always had to compensate for by parting my hair down the left side.
Anyhoo, since that time sudden flashes make me cringe. And for this, I really have no love for violent lightening.
Seems over the course of writing this, the storm has dissipated. The evening may not be a total waste after all.
Peace.
Casey @ 5:54 PM EDT
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Tonight on HBO posted Sunday, June 13, 2004
Don't forget blog children, it's going to be a good night on HBO.
At 9:00 the season premiere of Six Feet Under. Season Four in which we find out what really happened to Lisa who disappeared last season, and turned up dead. Nate is at odds with Lisa's family; David and Keith look for ways to start over; Federico seeks out a priest for absolution.
And at 10:00 the season one finale of Deadwood in which The U.S. Army rolls into Deadwood; Bullock reacts to Russell's intentions regarding Alma; Adams displays his loyalties.
Deadwood became HBO's rising star this year. I didn't watch it originally because I'm not really into the "old west" genre. But my MIA blog buddy Ciance told me it was worth watching...plus I heard the same guy who created NYPD Blue, David Milch was also the brains behind Deadwood. As NYPD Blue is one of my all time favourite shows, how could I resist? I am glad I did. I watched the first three episodes via HBO on Demand and became hooked.
By the way, I tried that new Coke C2 today. Funky stuff. I don't know if I like it or not. It's like the New Coke that was available in the 80's with the Diet Coke after taste. Basically they mixed the fructose and aspartame together and gave us this new product. However, aspartame in large and frequent doses will cause brain cancer so I don't expect to be purchasing this product on a regular basis. Maybe some more later...maybe not. We'll see.
Casey @ 4:57 PM EDT
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Letter I posted Saturday, June 12, 2004
To my son, Spencer, I am sorry I was not able to call you tonight sweetie, but it appears your mother has decided that she wants to deny you of this right. Instead of leaving the phone line open for me to call you, she decided to sign online until the window to call you had closed. How ironic it is that she signed off at 8:30, well after your bed time. I am sorry I could not call you to tell you I love you, to have a good night and to have sweet dreams. And while you may not understand the things that happen today, I know that someday you can look back on my jounals of this time and understand the kind of hateful person that my money has driven your mother to become. And understand that I will be here for you, now and forever when you need someone who does love you unconditionally. Someone who does not tie your worth to a dollar value. I am so sorry that you will have to see that side of her when I can no longer shield you from it. I never intended to bring you into the world where you would have to experience that kind of let down. I'll see you tomorrow. Love, Daddy
Casey @ 6:39 PM EDT
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RIP posted Sunday, June 6, 2004
Ronald Reagan - 1911-2004 More to come tomorrow.
Casey @ 11:15 PM EDT
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Synthetic Reality v2.1
