Section 1 - Chapter 1 - A Warning

I used to write. In fact I used to write on this site, my words and thoughts contained in the history of a digital world where nothing is forgotten, well never truly forgotten. Those words used to come spilling out of my desires, my fears, my anger, my perceptions. They would tumble out of my mind, rushing along with electrical impulses that fired out of my brain, very much like sailors abandoning ship after a torpedo slammed into the broad side of a dark gray hunk of metal that somehow managed to float along until the moment of its demise. These dying thoughts, tragically suicidal impulses, would cruise down a pathway of nerves and muscle memory to find salvation in the life rafts of my fingertips and a simple keyboard.

I think that most of the words spewed into this public world, to be read, critiqued, combed through, rated and then subsequently forgotten were left as proof that I in fact did truly exist, that my thoughts and my emotion somehow never truly disappeared. Do the people who gave me grammatical advice even breath air? Are the people who told my that they didn't have a good sense of my settings, flickering electrical impulses that rampaged inside their own mind at my vomited words, do they still load pages and leave comments to inspire or dash the expression of a whole new age of would be novelists? Will I still sign in tomorrow and see the same, "Well written, loved it" comment half mentioned at the bottom of my ocean of drowning sailors?

In truth, I don't even remember the thoughts I left here to oblivion. I know somewhere one or two of my stories were put onto little pages, inside bigger thicker pages and graffitied by little ink marks so that others could see the expression of devastation of the life I had led them to believe was my reality. That was a lifetime ago, a different time where I was a different person doing different things in the vain hope that I would reach some sort of happy end that I still am striving for today.

This time the stage is different. The roles are either filled by different people, or have been left empty by tragic events that can only truly be considered horrific by those who had experienced them,  by empathetic readers who have gone through similar situations or have an odd, self deprecating or in fact warped imagination. A decade since I attempted to write anything substantial, and a decade of experience and situational failure has led me right back to where we are, looking at little black marks that have littered this computer screen, attempting to preserve some sort of significance. It very well could be that they will hold significance to you, as my fingertips slide across this overpriced and under appreciated computer, I force myself to believe that when this has come to and end and every fleeing impulse has evacuated my mind that there will be something, anything within this text that will hold a significance, even the possibility of a direction for me.

Now, since I have been quite honest with you up to this point, I feel that it is only fair that I warn you before you read anything else written here. My grammar is most likely going to be atrocious. In fact, if you demand that dialogue has the proper "" and that I tag who is speaking appropriately, he said, then you are most likely going to be disappointed. I'll try for you, perhaps this is evidence of the people pleasing accusations that often get flung in my general direction, however, the point of these little squiggly black marks in front of you is to convey thought and emotion and it is most certainly not for you. I do hope that you will also take something from the words left by me, here, but make no mistake, I am here simply to write, to clear my head of dead sailors and maybe, if I am lucky, find some answers for myself, to discover what it is that isn't working in me, that I accidentally scribble down only to discover in some sort of attempt at editing I may do in the future that will intervene in this collision course I seem to be desperately trying to avoid but unable to slow the train on the tracks.

I was asked what it was that I was writing. Not by anyone in particular, rather by a drop down menu at the top of the web page that I decided to use to display my deepest and darkest nasties. Well, I hope they aren't all nasties, in fact I am praying that by the end of this, it won't be nearly as dark as my perspective allows me to see right now either. You should know that I am also not really praying, I could if I thought that there was something out there granting insignificant desires, although, again, probably not at the top of my list of things I would deem worthy of an all powerful magic genie living up in the sky to grant. I chose Biography & Memoir as a genre. It's not really the most appropriate of choices, mostly because I may slip in some fun little ditty that is absolutely false, or perhaps this line is the only false part of my writing. Now that I have said that, you might have to ask yourself what is true and what is not? Did that one sentence mean that all of this is true or all of this is fake? You will have to decide for yourself, however I will let you in on a little secret. It doesn't matter, not in the least. Because what I am going to share is real, real to someone, perhaps it's real to me or perhaps to you.

Everything I am going to tell you is from my perspective and by doing that I am creating a world that is only a shade of the truth as my own experiences and emotions only exist in my world and hold absolutely no value to the truth of other peoples experience and emotions except by relation and association. The idea that you may come to understand who I am though my expression of events is appealing to me in only that I too am hoping to understand who I am, and if successful we may both succeed in this endeavor.

My thoughts spill forward in the hopes that I will find answers, fill some empty time and perhaps entertain you, but fairness again begs me to warn you that walking down memory lane may prove to be extremely boring, in which case, my apologies. In the event that it does, in fact, develop into something that you look forward to turning page after page until you have reached its end, I hope that you will take something away from my perceptions and that you value my experiences to learn something. I can only hope as this story unfolds on these pages, that my heart my in truth be lighter than a feather.