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Monday, August 8th, 2011
7:42 pm
  Catherine is breathing hard.  She is bent down over the drain pipe with one of her arms shoved inside.  She is calling her daughter's name but her daughter doesn't answer.  Water comes in around Catherine's arm and down the drain pipe.  There is a silence on the street around us.  There is an absence of birds.  I look at my watch and then up into the sky.  You'd think, in this sky, there were no such things as clouds. 

Catherine pulls her arm out and calls down into the dark.  Her voice reverberates and shouts back out of the drain pipe mechanical and strange.  Catherine knows what I know.  Catherine's daughter doesn't know anything because Catherine's daughter is dead.  I look back into the sky and there still aren't any clouds.

"It's been long enough." I say.

Catherine spits into the drain pipe and stands up.

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Sunday, August 7th, 2011
5:20 am
 Two sleeping vagrants propped up against the broad side of the liquor store today.  One of them snoring.  The other unremarkable and curled up into a ball.  I watch for a long while.  People pass by and look down into the alley.  None of them slow.  The birds that line the over-hanging roof call down at me and into the alley.  Their songs aren't pretty.  I don't know what they are saying.  It doesn't sound like anything at all.  

At the apartment I pull the mattress down from the wall and take my papers from the hole I dug out of the plaster.  There isn't much room to write on them so I write in the margins.  I can't read what I've already written so I write on top of everything.  I can breathe when I'm writing down what I've seen.  It isn't a record or a catalog.  It isn't meant for anyone else.  It isn't meant for me.  I stuff the paper back into the hole I've made there and put the mattress back and lay against the floor and listen to police sirens echo against the otherwise empty walls of the apartment.  A dog barks.  People talk in loud voices.  They are probably drunk.  On the street cars pass by and their headlights wash into my room.  I remember being somewhere else with things on the walls and furniture arranged on purpose so many people could sit and talk.  I close my eyes and shut the lights out.  I pull my jacket up over my head and the noise from outside sound far away. 

I can smell her from the closet.  Some of her is leaking out beneath the crack of the door.  I call out and my voice seems strange.  I don't call out again.  Matilda.  Her name tag came tumbling off of her apron and I knew her name then.  Her skin was the same color as coffee.  Her hair came over in great fistfuls and she yelled out and the sound was wonderful against the scream of crickets in the field beyond the railroad depot.  I remember telling her about the pigeons on the liquor store and how her feet dragged parallel lines across the gravel dirt road just like the tires of my car that drove us there.

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Saturday, August 6th, 2011
3:32 am
There was a woman being raped by two men in the alley between Brown's and the Supermarket.  I watched the them knock her head against the brick wall that shot up into the sky and blocked the sun.  All of the contents of her head came running out and all around the three of them like someone had burst jars of jam.  They continued pressing her body against the side of the Supermarket.  The sounds she made were muffled.  First she screamed out between one man's cupped hand held against her face.  Then she made other sounds.  I think they were the sounds you make when you're dying and you know that the only people listening don't care.

I wrote down some things on the back of a grocery receipt I had crumpled between my fingers as I watched them.  I wrote: Murderers.  I wrote: Red brick walls with red blood and bits of hair and brains.  I ran out of room on the paper and the pen went dry or couldn't write anymore.  I put the receipt in a shoe box at home and put the shoe box under my bed.
 
Two policemen came by my house later.  I live above Brown's.   Brown's is a store where white men buy their suits.  One of the policemen saw what was in my apartment and wouldn't come in even though I did what I've heard other people do and invited them in.  They asked questions about what I saw.  I told them.  They took down my name and phone number and left.  I talked to them for fifteen minutes and fourty-five seconds.  It took less time to watch the woman in the street.
 
I wrote "One tall police man with false teeth.  Thursday lunch time.  The other man had nothing about him that seemed very interesting.  Two men." into a notebook on the table and then took the page out and crushed it between my fingers while I watched out the back window two sisters that have a name like Sanders or Smith fold laundry on the roof of the building next door. 
 
 

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Saturday, June 11th, 2011
2:49 am
 I just tried out voice posting.  I rambled.  I will probably do more.

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2:48 am - Voice Post
VoicePost
823K 5:10
(no transcription available)

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2:40 am
June 09 2011

I watched the road-killed dog
on Cawana road rot everyday
until his back legs were splayed
sticks of bone jutting from a clump
of gristle and fur.  The smell of it came
across the road.  I knew the dog from before.
 I'd seen it limping down that same road.
Thin, panting.  Always watching passing
cars.  Its collar dug into its neck.  It was
headed somewhere.  It was always looking
at me.  His eyes deep black endless pools.
 Always limping.  Always panting,  
Something stopped it.  Something dumped its gut
into the ditch and split its body.  Its stink inside
me every time I passed it.  Time buried it there
among the stinking grass.

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Thursday, June 2nd, 2011
3:48 pm
I am unable to explain myself to anyone.  Not in that great philosophical sense where no one can know anyone else, but in the very real why-do-you-talk-to-your-cat-about-politics sense.  There is a great divide that only gets deeper and more jagged with time.  I did it to myself.  I did it to myself on purpose.  There was only one real outcome.  I think about time travel.

I think about my cat on my doorstep with its eyes closed waiting for someone to save it from eating out of the dumpster and getting run over by a pick-up truck on a hot morning when the clouds hang low like great tumors against the ground.  I think how any moment even slightly different would have landed him under hot wet tires that don't forgive against the road.

None of you are worth that.

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2:22 pm
It is difficult to post.  I know very few people use this site.  That makes it a little bit easier.  I still get a few anonymous comments.  They are usually quite mean and out of place.  They serve their purpose, though.  Things are still uneven.  I miss Decatur.  That is probably the most disturbing feeling I've ever dealt with.  The hospital became a place I understood.  There were no excuses.  I'll probably write more.  Maybe I won't.

It is good to see the few of you who do still post.

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Thursday, August 19th, 2010
3:43 am
Today was very good.  I wish I could get paid to do writing workshops.

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Thursday, August 12th, 2010
5:27 pm
It seems that livejournal is slowly imploding.  Am I the only person who sees features being taken away?  I can't browse previous entries on my friends page RAGEEEEEE

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Tuesday, August 10th, 2010
3:46 pm
I tend to write in this journal when I feel very strongly about something.  The substance shifts over time.  I've written here in times of great sadness, astounding inspiration, furious anger, and even drugged stupor.  In times of great calm I tend to shy away from expression on this medium.  I do not feel that great sighs of relief need to be expressed. 

"I'm doing fine.  My life seems partly cloudy." <---  These statements seem to lack the worth my other moods have.

That being said, I've come to many great realizations over the summer.  I've stopped doubting my choices and realized that in the end there are only a few people worth keeping in my thoughts.  The rest of them are on a course they've set, and their ability to impact my life is very small both in intent and outcome.  The result of this like letting the air out of an over-filled balloon.  The rush I felt when I finally let go was immediate and quick.  It is very important to take control of not only the decisions in your life, but also how the decisions of others impact you.  Do not ever let other people who do not have your best interests at heart choose for you.  There can only be one driver at your helm.  For fuck's sake, grab the wheel.

In other news, many months ago my mother's heart began a great battle against her.  In order to thwart it, doctors installed a device that is a combination of a pace maker and defibrillator.  My mother, until recently had only been in the hospital for more than a night once, and that was for my birth.  It has been a very scary few months, but my mother and I take each day as it comes in regards to her health.  The medication seems to be working, although the side effects (nausea and fatigue) are an adventure as well.  We are both hoping that the medication, in conjunction with the pace maker, will help to get her back to a place she can feel comfortable again in her own body.  If not, watch out, I will find someone with her blood type and make a donor out of them.

Anyway, consider this an update in a moment of calm.  Things are complicated, but for the very first time in a long while they make perfect sense.  I am in control.

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Thursday, May 13th, 2010
4:48 pm
I should never have activated my facebook page. I've added a few people, and I've now been able to hop from one friend to another and basically have access to my entire high school and all of my past relationships.

I might be the only one who feels this way, but I find it entirely creepy that most, if not all of my old friends are either married, have children, are in jail, or are dead. It seems that they all received a memo about two years ago that told them that the next step in life was either to get married and procreate, commit heinous crimes, or die. I can't decide if missing that memo was a horrible travesty, or a lucky break.

If anything has remained a constant in my life, it is that I take a very long time to complete things.  Admittedly, it is a character flaw, and one that seems rather ridiculous from the outside.  What strikes me is that I can't decide if I'm missing the boat, or being smartly cautious.  It seems like I have a lot of time left, statistically speaking, and to try and form those kind of lasting relationships (marriage, children, prison, or death) right now seems a bit hasty.  Although there is a point when saying that is an excuse for lack of accomplishment.  I do understand that, don't get me wrong.

Also, there is a very big flaw with using social networking sites to catch up on how people are doing.  That is, most people won't admit how horrible their life is going, and if they do it is usually the mostly overly melodramatic bullshit used to gain attention via wall posts and picture comments.  It is hard to believe that I used to try and keep up with these things, and even harder to believe I actually placed value in them.  So, I can't really tell how my friends are doing.  I can just witness what they choose to post, where they are currently living, and who likes the fact that they posted one pointless giblet of information or another.  That leaves a lot of room for interpretation, and I've found the more room there is for that, the more incorrect paths become readily available.

I suppose the real truths will become self-evident when and if I finally cross the train tracks of adulthood and become one of those people who can post wedding pictures or you get a phone call from someone and I'm either locked up or dead.  We'll see.

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Friday, April 30th, 2010
2:57 am
In Denver Mark threw up in her hair while we were driving down the highway with the cruise control set on seventy-five. She sat in the passenger seat with his lunch dripping down her forehead and the sides of her face. She shuddered and her breath was rapid and short. We pulled over and she threw up into the brown Denver side-of-the-road dirt that's dotted with pieces of broken-off semi tires. Even though she wiped her hair with paper towels the smell stuck to her. She was a hot afternoon garbage can blowing in the wind that came through the passenger window and cut under our crinkled up noses. In the hotel after a shower I kissed her forehead and she smiled but I could smell the bits of hamburger and coke that sat in the nest of her hair for that long drive down the highway. She pulled back and knew that this trip wouldn't be what she wanted when she pointed at the travel brochure thumb-tacked to the headboard above our bed.

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Friday, March 12th, 2010
3:17 am
About an hour ago I heard someone yelling outside. I imagine they were in the parking lot of the gas station across the street. From the sounds of it, a man was yelling at a woman. It is getting warmer out and I leave my windows open. Even so, I wasn't able to make out what they were saying. I was watching a terrible movie on hulu anyway, so I had to finish that before I got on with my very late evening.

About a half hour later I hear what I can only assume was someone hitting something against metal. I'm not sure why, but at this point I pictured some criminals constructing a make-shift ladder or stacking crates in order to scare the ever living shit out of me before dragging me out through my second story window and raping/killing me in the darkness. It didn't help that the movie I was watching was finally reaching its bloody climax.

The movie finished and I decided to sneak into my bathroom and peer out the window down into the parking lot. Just a lone cop car at three in the morning with its lights on parked diagonally next to the gas station's pumps. Whoever it was looked long gone.

I feel bad, but all I really thought while I was peering out the window was that I wish I'd caught more of whatever brought the police. Realistically the sounds I heard following the screaming could have been someone beating someone up. It is a shame that I was so involved in that movie.

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Wednesday, March 10th, 2010
9:19 pm
I am not sure how the impending budget cuts at Georgia Southern are going to impact the upper level courses for writing. From what I've heard, they are going to offer some on an alternating schedule. I assume that this will require those courses to have a larger size and therefore a less personalized feel. That is quite unfortunate considering how much I like to talk.

On Tuesday I read one of my pieces aloud and we spent half of our class time talking about it and about the genre we were working with. I doubt this kind of atmosphere will ever happen again at this university. Bottom line, it sucks. It will be very difficult for me to function in a class that is not personal, especially writing. I also have no idea how far reaching these cuts are going to be, and what exactly is going to go. I've heard specialized writing majors may go on the chopping block, as well as a chance that the english department and writing might merge. That sounds like even more cuts in the making.

All of that being said, here's some interesting numbers:

WILLIAM A FREEMAN CHAIR OF FREE ENTERPRISE GEORGIA SOUTHERN UNIVERSITY $120,000
ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF FINANCE GEORGIA SOUTHERN UNIVERSITY $101,978
ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF FINANCE GEORGIA SOUTHERN UNIVERSITY $101,978
ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF FINANCE Georgia Southern University $95,000

No athletic personnel were listed.

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Friday, March 5th, 2010
6:05 pm
It seems that not many people use their livejournal any more. I can't blame them. It seems like every time I log in they've revoked privileges. I can no longer surf backwards in time for hours reading old posts on my friends list. It is a shame really, but I'm guessing that the cost of bandwidth and the lack of overall viewers has made revenue an issue that it once wasn't.

Besides the occasional post on this ancient blog I have retracted all of my online social networking talons. I deleted my myspace and facebook. It is, interestingly enough, quite difficult to remove yourself as a social networking butterfly. There are forms to fill out and deactivation codes to punch in. Facebook even has a whole community based around informing people how to delete their facebooks. The irony of that is just amazing.

The only news worth mentioning is that Mortimer Pumpkin Reynolds is doing quite well as my accidental roommate and destroyer of my property. He is getting quite big now and is smarter than I could have ever imagined. I am unable to hide the bag of cat food well enough to stop him from tearing large holes in the front end that let the food collect in little piles on the floor. I keep thinking about what would have happened to him had he shown up on anyone else's front stoop in the middle of the night mewing. I'm happy he found me and I think, given he could understand complex human emotions like grateful, he would be happy as well.

Perhaps it is also worth mentioning that I will finally be graduating in Fall 2010. I do realize how long this is from my first semester, and fully understand how lazy and unmotivated that makes me look. I would retort with something witty, but that would require me to think something up, phrase it correctly, and then edit out any fluff so that the joke would really stick it to you, but that would require so much effort.

Whenever I say that I am graduating, people ask me what I'm going to do next. They assume, I suppose, that I have some sort of delusion about the future that entails having a career or a general understanding of the direction my life is going in. I find that people often have put way more thought into the future than I have. I wonder which of us is right, and if that correctness really has any merit in the grand scheme. So I just tell them I'm going to graduate school, although it would be just as likely that I become a serial killer since I really have shown equal dedication to get into both.

Anyway, it is quite hard to update this blog now. I sometimes log in and see that a few people still post. It is really frustrating that I can't look back further than a couple pages without paying livejournal some amount of money that I usually use to eat and live under a roof. I may check in more frequently now that I've gotten a whole entry written. Maybe not. Either way, I'm still alive.

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Tuesday, December 1st, 2009
7:27 pm - Oh boy.
How many?

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Thursday, March 12th, 2009
5:25 am
I've found very quiet things.
I am content.
I wonder if you are content with your not so quiet things.

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Tuesday, November 25th, 2008
4:58 am
I hope we don't destroy everything beautiful before we destroy ourselves.

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Friday, August 8th, 2008
6:20 pm
In the forest the sound of the interstate hums against the trees. 
Birds sing songs. 
Dry leaves crunch under animal feet.


Henry's body is reflected in the bathroom mirror.
His stomach hangs down below his button-up shirt.
Sweat stains the shirt's underarms.
Henry stares at Henry and Henry stares back. 
The toaster pops up toast.  The washer sloshes the wash.
Henry stares at Henry.  He puts one finger on his hairline.
The wash sloshing in the washer stops.
Henry frowns at Henry and Henry frowns back.


The forest in the dark still hums back at every passing car,
every passing SUV, and
every passing eighteen-wheeler.
nocturnal animals shuffle in the underbrush.

Henry's straight razor balances on the porcelin sink.
Its blade is dull and matted with soapy stubble.
Henry sits in front of his eighteen inch television.
The handsomely dressed stranger
on Lifetime, television for women
holds a bouquet and
wrestles with the woman who answers
the door.
Henry's hands, fat-fingered
mash buttons on the remote
control.
The woman on the screen, wrestling back
goes off.
Henry stares at henry
reflected on the screen.

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