Deezil.us

Pulsing and Coursing.

There’s so much, so so much.
I don’t know if I’m going to wake up in the morning. God doesn’t tell me that far in advance. If he chooses for me to open my eyes, I will open them, and set out upon my day. I’ll live this day like I do any other. I’ll go into it unknowing, gain some experience, and end it. Some of these experiences will be good. Some, bad. Some, they just will be. There’s no point in trying to plan out what you can’t see from beyond the horizon. It’s not there yet, and there’s no reason for it to be. We must just pick ourselves up by our bootstraps tomorrow and go about the day. The horizons between days are getting farther apart in one eye, and in the other eye, they come quicker and closer. I guess it’s what I get for having two eyes that each have a different prescription. I get two outlooks on everything. One that can focus on things that little farther out, and one that still sees those things as extrememly blurry. I can deal with the blurry, not bec ause the other eye can’t compensate, but because I’ve become used to it. I can make out the basic forms and take a guess. The letters may not be very sharp, but I can still see globs where those letters will soon sit. Letters. My letters. Other’s letters. How quickly stupid mistakes can tarnish a set of letters. How quickly it can all fade away because someone decided that to put their own life in danger, and the lives of countless others. And when it finally takes one life in the physical sense, guaranteed that the same number or more casualties will be had in the spiritual realm. The spirit, the mind, the soul. I’ve wondered lately if I even had a soul. I remember the episode of The Simpsons where Bart sold his soul to Milhouse. The other episode where Homer sold his soul to the Devil for a donut. How worthless are our souls to us. Do we even have them anymore. If they are there, do we even care. It’s all rhetorical, I know. There’s just so much. My voice is hoarse. It’s from all the yelling I did to win the competition at the Rock-a-thon. We took our trophy away, and were victorious. I guess we just didn’t let it sink in yet of all the events whereas everyone else had. I just really went through the motions of today until the last three hours of my life passed. I sat and watched the Green Mile. It’s not the first time it’s been viewed in its entirety by me. I guess with all the death, all the senseless death that has shaken my little city in the past 24 hours, the sensless death on the TV has rocked the pain loose in my brain. It’s horrid, the things I have thought about. Absolutely horrid. But why do they have to crop up at 1:45 in the morning. Why now. Why.
I need someone to hold me. This is not my usual cry for female companionship. I need someone, anyone to come to me, put an arm around my shoulder and just listen. Lay down, hold me close, and listen. Just listen. Listen to me repeat this entry. Listen. I can’t do it through here. I can’t do it on the phone. Someone has to be here. With me. Listening. It’s just too much for one brain to be hearing.
I’m usually mister upbeat, mister nothing’s wrong, mister can’t knock me down. I guess I’m just realizing my own fallacy. My own open wounds. My own everything. I’m just not that guy anymore. It’s not that I don’t want to be, but I can’t make myself play that part anymore. It’s not the role that I was destined to play. I’ve always thought it was, but I guess I was just fooling myself. Fooling myself. Heh. I’ve done plenty of that in my life as well. It’s been the easy way out for me. Just pull the wool over my own eyes, and the problem takes care of itself. Even if it doesn’t, it does. I don’t have to deal with it. Someone else has to look.
I don’t really know where I’m going with all this. It’s all just kinda flowing from the mind to the fingers to this page. I’ll soon hit save and finish the thoughts that I am thinking right now. At least I’ll close the path between the fingers and the brain. At least on this page. Maybe not totally.
I have a speech to write for the meeting Sunday night. It’s about some mal- that’s been going on. Ill shit, I guess would be the replacement for mal. It’s about an gaping hole of an inconsistency. It’s something that’s been brought to my attention. Something that I must correct, for if I don’t then I will be betraying what my letters are to me. And they aren’t just letters, they are my letters. I wear them with pride, and they allow me to wear them. It’s a fickle balance you must keep with them. It’s all just kinda doing its own thing. I’m just rambling now. It’s all got to be put down. Pen to page, just like those old late nights I spent in my window room in Gravel Switch. Peering at the shade, the glow of the moonlight around it, getting some hint of what was to come from that soft shine. I wrote some of my best there. Rememberance. Ce n’est pas… All of the classics. That defined the first deezil. The real deal. Those were some of the best. They made people shed tears. They made friends and enemies. They made me. They built me. They built that first deezil. Oh what a transformation it all was. coming from this lowly shmuck of a guy named Daniel. Developing things I had lacked. Personality. Social Life. Friends. All these things that just sorta happen for everyone else. It’s something I had to work at. And it wasn’t easy. It’s why I created Deezil. To make it so that I didn’t have to put all that effort into Daniel. Deezil was sculpted, scripted. He was what I yearned to be, and once I got it right, I could claim him, put his suit on, let the power transfer, and there ya go, instant classic. And it WORKED. I liked the thing so much, I removed the disengage mechanism. It fit so well. Too well. There wasn’t a flaw. The outside was impenetrable. But I looked down. Inside me. The real guy. Daniel. The flaws were still there. The outside couldn’t see them. and they started to seep into the suit. So what do you do when your so attached to something that you can’t give it up. You build anew. You write some code in there to patch the existing vulnerabilites, and you re-release it. You make some fancy stuff go on top of it. And guess what, it fits again. It’s what Service Pack 2 did to Windows XP. And that’s where Deezil is at right now. It’s odd, yes, to know that I’ve fixed some of the vulnerabilites. I never though I would get over my social phobias. I never thought that I would have so many friends. And not just friends. FRIENDS. Brothers. Confidants. Those whom I can go to with anything. ANYTHING. I really want one of them here right now. Just to be with me and talk with me. To see if I can’t conver more than what my fingers are doing with the keyboard.
I’ll probably write lots more, probably very soon, but right now, someone is about to get their first dose of the deezil.us experience. I now turn this entry to the public for viewing. Leave comments. Let me know you care. Write more code to patch my flaws. Anything.