NW: o - fractured fractals

12/9/12

It's hard sending sentences through the ethereal ether between realities. When I shattered all of time & space a year ago, I should have known that it would take awhile to reply. 

The witches rage on the second floor, the child of prophecy kicked from within Hela in my hands, the defeated serpent rises and coils as I recover in his lair, now purified by sex Magick & Miss Jackson tragedy. 

My round table grows and so does my influence over confluences of synchronicities. I'm drawing in the internets and the pressure forces from me endless tears. I am stronger than ever yet continuously tested.

Everything has settled, and broken apart once more. Adrift at sea I finally can be myself again. In the stars on the screen I find the vision for the future, another chunk revealed and laid upon the map. 

My body hurts. The bacteria infestation dredged up in Vegas has taken its toll, as the humid winter rain makes me ache. I shower and sip at a cup of noodles, laid back in Superman PJ pants, watching super ninjas smile on VHS. 

Laying upon the couch of comfortable confession, where my Lancelot did lie rotting in his misery, I try to regain my strength as suddenly the Apocalypse is upon us. In two weeks it will be the end of all I've ever known. 

NW:O - Last Minute Cramming

12/17/12

Less than five days from the end date December 21, 2012, I'm sitting at Legion bar, sipping a $3 Atomic lager, about to attempt to write a state of the union.

I slept all day. So much of my life to go through, mark up for sale, and get rid of. So many scripts that need putting down, if only I could focus for a handful of hours without a chaotic curveball thrown my way. Chapters of my novel memoir sitting & waiting to be edited and compiled. 

Doing pretty good despite my holiday experience years past. Between the Santas of the dreaded Santacon I wanted to assault, the complete lack of any money beyond survival and a fair amount of booze, and working in Times Square, I just can't join in the festive cheer. 

I have more friends than ever, closer than ever to pulling off assembling a team to create, produce, and market digital comics & more, my social anxiety is kept at bay and my Magick flows easier than ever. 

I'm not sad. Though I feel sad. I am mad though, and I'm finally okay with that. Trying to confront all the issues I have with others, that others have with themselves, and make it out the other side a confident man. But also keeping true to my approach of enlightenment & betterment for all those around me. 

The next year, the first year I never imagined myself beyond, will be amazing as I reach heights I never thought possible. I'm plugged into Brooklyn's night life, art scene, and dancefloors. It'll only grow from here as I begin to really live however I wish. Tattooed, bearded, and successful. 

I read the synchronicities all about me in order to gain my strength in Magick, from the Neverending Story up on the big screen showing Atreyu as he crosses the gateway, to my recent I-Ching pulls, the most powerful & positive in 18 years. 

If I keep myself moving forward there will be nothing but success, and great rewards. That's certainly been true for a long time now, but the rate is increasing. The improbable becoming so easily possible as to barely be a second thought. 

The desert is so you can be so alone as to reconnect with your reader, your inner ego audience, the one you're writing this insane tale for. Your child, or any child, that may lose himself in your recorded misfortunes, your deeds and daring-do.

Be stripped and powerful more. Strength of will outdoes any physical combat, emotional fortitude bests any armor. The battle is within the elements, though we struggle through the mundane too long to see it clear. 

I rely on these words, on this manner of writing, innate & revealing, to make sense of the blurring of the Known, to write myself into righteous action, to make me into a man upon whom others can rely.

Or at least I'll try. 

NW:O - Brooklyn Bound Bringer of Chaos

12/19/12

They drink to the Holidays, and I drink to distract, to repress depression, to be alone with them altogether as one united celebratory force, but it feels false. As ever I don't belong.

My heart aches and I'm soul tired. Nothing new for December, or any other month for that matter. It's comfortable more than I like it, but that's preferable to being responsible for anyone else's good time.

The Brooklyn Nets are barely ahead on the big screens at Good Co., and finally I'm paying attention, though every time I watch them just lose. I could have scored tickets to see them in the new Barclay's Arena but I had to work. Sports still don't inspire fanaticism in me but it's something to do.

Mostly I smoke for the same reason. There's only so much a person can sit against the wall of a bar awkwardly as the masses congregate. At least I write on my smartphone, putting down the abstract horror of social anxiety into words that will ideally inspire others, but really it's to distract myself in the end. 

And this is the end. I need a drastic life change before I can manage to move forth from this mire of self-imposed exile. It's been so all-consuming that I don't know anything else. My life is spent outside looking in, no matter how close I make it within. Inner circles, cliques & crowds, scenes of make believe I can never buy into. 

The only place I belong is the dancefloor. There my body anticipates the peaks of the beats, and my frame twists and turns into a beast of life. Everyone lies outside my bubble time, and they find my moves irresistible, admiring my dedication to celebration.

But that all relies on faulty DJs who spin songs without concern for the mechanics of dance and the social wavelengths that falter when the jams become jarring, forcing us to face the ridiculousness of ourselves. If we didn't have that drink in our hands we'd surely be lost. 

Girls play games with averting eyes, lying exposed in coy delivery of subtle cues. But I refute all games with defiance as I retire inside myself. I don't need them, they merely want everything but what I have to offer. So I look away, close my eyes, and sway to the tunes.

At least I have Agent Spider behind me, down & defeated, though he grows more hopeful with every meeting. We both do I suppose, but where once he led us into battle as I rattled around, shyly signing to the ladies that I was hardwired to self-destruct, now I survey the scene like a king of what might have been.

Agent Fenris, the wolf of ill-repute, shakes at his constricting leash, gnashing on my guts, gnawing at my arm to remove this delicate binding upon my wrist. I want to destroy all I see, but first I must make myself royalty, build a kingdom, then wash it out to sea, more out of fight rather than spite.

NW:O - Ragnarok Pre-Game Jitters

12/21/12

Just shy of nine hours until the climax of two decades worth of half-assed mythological and spiritual obsession. Conspiracy theories and time wave graphs, novelty & innovation peaking as communities form around fractured fanatics. This is the Apocalypse I wanted.

Lowkey working alone, my body infested with anti-reality bacteria, dark magicks summoned and beaten back, only just barely. I'm cutting the ties that bind me to humanity after struggling so long to find it. I guess I didn't like what I saw. But what was it exactly that lies before me?

On the flip side of the next day is all the hopes & dreams I could muster since 1992. My own futuristic digital comic device ready to change multi-media storytelling. A group of dedicated creatives ready to do my bidding. A home and a life, if I want it. A family for once.

On this side, right now I'm strangled by a cacophony of noise between the ambient rock in my lightning clad earphones, bucket drumming mass hysteria, and an old man with a fiddle. The L train comes and speeds me off to Brooklyn where I hope to slip into a sickness slumber that will allow me to finally be well. 

There's no signs nor revelations tonight. It's buried inside us, within our semblance of life as usual. Another themed Thursday night dance party, this time with Mayan margaritas and doomsday driven tunes. I can't participate though I want to, always wanted to, but the grand design allows for little expectation & repeated disappointment.

I cut the cord that rests around my wrist tomorrow. Twine from Tom Trainor's wedding, a latch upon my heartfelt desire to retire with Jazz Jones, a woman from another lifetime. Fenris slips his leash in the morn, and no one knows what's in store.

More of the same I'd imagine, with increasing synchronicities and things becoming what they seem, as true reality is re-stitched at every single seam, into something with meaning. But at the heart of it is nothing but dark matter drifting in-between. 

Home, in bed, cold medicine tumbling through my head, I try and maintain for just this next day. The pain is emotional strain against a breakable chain, and suddenly I really don't care to explain, to you or myself, what the source of this unbearable rage is, or what it will become.

NW:O - Apocalyptic Confessional

12/21/12

So today's the day that my entire life has been building towards and all I feel is sick and angry. I flooded my system with cold medicine and slipped into a toasty coma as I let my body recover from the past year, the past decade, the past twenty years.

I went from goofball, comedic sidekick to a gang of role-playing geeks, to perpetual victim of self-centered relationships, to drunken fool running amuck through the streets of the East Village. That all led me to scars and a psych ward visit, whereupon I moved to Brooklyn to build a real life. 

Four years later I have all I was hoping for and it's so ill-fitting that I can only fall back on old habits of burning bridges and bouncing as fast as possible. But is that what I want? Or am I just afraid to speak my mind still? The hostility dredged up as friends & lovers took advantage left & right, because god dammit my feelings should be accounted for!

So, I'll stay and fight, say my piece and hope you get it. I hate that you are making me go to war but perhaps that has been the point all along. Good natured generosity will be exploited and resentment will build, so now my selfishness will be your undoing. 

The twine I wore bound around my wrist was a daily reminder that it was not time, that the pinnacle had yet to be reached. Over the last 6 weeks I have felt an ever-growing hatred towards those under my care, and so now I empty the nest and wait for you to show me what you can do.

Fenrir the Wolf, one of three children of Loki who shall rise to power in the year of the Trickster, 2012, busts his magical gossamer shackle, tear the hand from Tyr, the God of War, and slays Odin, the all-father. 

The Worldserpent, my former roommate Seth, is now loosed upon the earth devouring all in his path, as Ash Baker, mythologically seen as tr Queen of the Underworld, Hela, prepares for the birth of her daughter, the last hope for all mankind as Hell swarms the land. 

I hold her belly and feel the child kick, I hear the empty shamanic tongue wagging and feel the serpent's prick. Jazz is reassembled and redesigned for a logic brain math problem interaction, and though a sucker for my weakness, deconstructing puzzles through masochistic domestic scenarios, an amalgamation of feminine wiles that've laid me low. 

It's a test for sure. She needs me. I hate that. We could take over the world together if it wasn't for my baggage, which only just now at the end of Mayan Cycle coerces me to enforce a no bullshit emotional clause, and the world be damned for my pride. I refuse to deny myself the ego surprise of satisfactory enjoyment of who the FUCK I AM just to keep a moment from being socially awkward. 

No one made exceptions for me, so why do I do it for you? Why can I let the consequences of your interactions be so awful that it'll be a wonder how I survive our next encounter? I am so painfully immobilized that behind my eyes is a rage of stars seeking sage advice.

However, none exists but what I create, for if it is as it was when I was born, and through a childhood of children raised electronic sensation doth make a person of my self, then the collective unconscious of sitcom consensus synopsis is about I got to offer. 

It's so hard for me to be viciously direct, just really say what needs saying, though I have so little time for anything else. The minutiae of dialogue with anyone but who actively shows they respect and love me, fuck it. Not worth my time right? That's what people do, scrape 'em off, you want to save someone save yourself. 

I really don't care anymore, but perhaps that's the point of this Apocalyptic 

NW:O - Prepare Thyself

12/27/12

A man and his cat day after Christmas listening to Pandora's jazz alone against the world. I look at my alter, a disaster zone of childhood trinkets, Atari cartridges, essential graphic novels, and a smattering of photobooth pics. 

I finished the last drag of my smoke and dropped it into a candle I used in intense psychic rituals over the summer. I adjusted my fleece sheet turned house robe/cape/toga, heaved a deep breath and took in my room.

A crash landing of two decades worth of persona debris. Walls of comic book longboxes and crates of VHS tapes, packed away figures and bootleg DVDs. A wardrobe skirting awesome is clumped in crumpled piles, the entire room should be laundered. 

But first some order to this chaos. I'll don my new Flash cap and zap this place into a headquarters for the future. The next year sizzles my frontal lobes as I peer around its edges, though it only confirmed what I saw long ago. 

The eventual, continual, and final evolution of myself, my person, my identity towards the man, the ideal, the super heroic in deed and psychic resonance I aim to be.

In a blink my clothes are hung, laundry slung, and cleaned James' litterbox, swept, and sung out pop bubblegum style dance tracks. 

I collapse to the bed, rainy winter air sweeping the humidity and dust about, as Britney convinces me that threesomes & living in sin is the new thing. Auto-tuned pop princess Barbie doll puppetry for decadently & defiantly delivering ourselves unto evil.

Though the music, the cult movies, the darkness that has infected humanity into emotionally battered sarcascatanauts alone inside guarded personal isolation, this is what will save us when the time comes when we'll have to trust one another to survive another day. 

The dark knights of the soul are ready and misfiring daily. We'll be prepared in seventeen years but only just, and just a lifetime for some. We need to enlighten the masses as we begin the breakdown into gaseous forms, sparks of neuron crisp in fogs of devastation.

Ash, in the dust, grinning, feet planted and gritting doom from her eyes. Blast radius is all relative, and this is her daughter's finest shining moment in time zero future landlines. It's my child's eyes that size me up and I look away into the yesterday, thirteen years is hardly enough time.

And I'll return to the company I built, now just the shell of a bubble hut collection of humanity, all scanning & jamming one another in pajama safety airbag sleeping bags of protoplasm. Electrical activity etching and sketching personas, disposable and multiple at any time every time all the time, everywhere. 

Well, not everywhere. Some have islands of improbable Utopia's that I will pick apart the bloated carcass of psycho-social-science-wise and process to the final masses. They'll be out there, flying, boating, building, scheming, but it's just the wheedling down of mankind's spirit. 

I'll stand over an empire of empty streets, running rampant through it triumphantly in twencen nostalgia, and none will know why. Every deadly sin dies with me, the Reborn Lucifer drives a spear right through me. A blood pressure trigger blows New York City to ruins, I'll take her with me before I let him have her.

But that's so far to go. Valhalla only accepts those that do battle, so it is time to go to war, for I can sit silent no more. 

NW:O - Glitchy Woman

12/29/12

Back at Legion bar, last refuge in this cold winter night. So much have changed for the better since I last sat here watching the Neverending Story here two weeks ago. 

Landlords dealt with, repairs made to the apartment to make it more hospitable, sickness & depression all but kicked, Christmas with family come and gone. I'm very close to broke though Miss Jackson is transferring funds soon. Even just met up with Josh to discuss writing.

Only one problem remains, the Mega Glitch that's running rampant through my apartment, agitating my existence with every interaction. A casual OkCupid encounter has gone from my extending hospitality to someone rocking the poor bohemian existence, to the tail end of a three year relationship where every word is laced with meaning, every moments becomes an altercation. 

I move fast but this skipped all the emotional courtship and crashed into uncomfortably forced co-habitation. Though on my end it's not forced. She needs a place to stay, her cooking, cleaning, and gifts have been generous as per her means, and it is Christmas after all. 

I did kick her out, or rather sickly confronted her as the Apocalyptic day rolled on last week, asking for my keys back and letting her storm out, when I finally felt at peace. After her mom's care package showed up on Christmas Eve, as Ash & I devoured the goodies, I knew I had to try one more time. 

Not any easier, in fact quite harder, though I'm tougher as I do get in relationships, and can now easily ignore all the games and taunts. Up to a point of course. She's got her own issues and forces kindness upon me and then holds it against me almost immediately. She talks down to me and smugly smiles to herself in the most perfected condescending manner. 

It caught me unawares before but now apathy and a sense of control have made it easier for her to dwell in my trap, let her hang herself with her own guarded bi-polar attitude. It's what I do best after all, take female abuse and process it into shame for them. 

Getting a lot harder to kill 'em with kindness, especially when immense pride comes along with this newfound confidence. And I have had a lifetime of welcomed disrespect. It's mad me angry on a level that, in theory, defies any sense of ethics or morality I may have.

I used to at least take joy in the fact that my suffering brought these people a sense of closure & growth. Now, all I see are whining babies who don't know what to do with themselves, hardly worth the effort to masochistically bow down before. In the end, finally, I now get to ask without a shred of guilt, what's in it for me?