Ramblings of a Desiccated Mind

Miss me?

Thought not.

My stalker wrote me at home, so I stopped giving a fuck -- terror is a pretty amazing thing.

Rat? You'll be reading this, I'm sure, so I just want you to know: message received. I was shuddering as I fed your letter into my paper shredder, tears streamed down my face. If you write me at home again I will take your unopened letter to the police.

That's not a joke or an empty threat.

You're a liar, you said you would leave me alone if I did what you asked me to, and I did and you didn't. You win, ok? Your campaign to get in my head worked. Now leave it alone and let me get on with your version of my pathetic life. You've already proven to me what I already knew, and you didn't help me at all, you hurt me.

Really bad.

I can't go away forever, though, I have more bad grammar and ill-concieved ideas to work out on my own, just like I do everything else because plenty of people turned their backs on me, my adoptive parents included. I don't want your help, and I don't want your advice. You've told me everything you needed to.

I submit, ok? That was brass balls what you did, and I can't imagine why you would take such great care to terrorize me, but it worked. I was terrified. Mission accomplished. Get on with your own magnificent life and be the most wonderful person that I'll never try to amount to.

If I were still interested in anything, suicide would have been my option on that one, but I don't have the courage to face you again, so you win. Just leave it alone now, you did, successfully, like you'll do everything else in your life, what you set out to do. I know your life is going to be perfecly ordered and you'll get everything you want: a big house; lots of kids; a beautiful, devoted wife, and nothing weird, chaotic, or unexpected will ever happen to you.

I wish you the best, now please let me fester in my own pathetic reality to which I never invited anyone, ever.

Try hitting the random search for Live Journal too, I'm sure there are many more people you can help make aware of themselves.

Just let me get on with this misery I call life without you, okay? Thanks buddy. You did a lot of good, and that will come back to you, I promise.

Just keep me out of it.

I don't matter unless you make me.

disclaimer: THE WIFE I AM REFERRING TO IN THE ACCOUNT BELOW IS THE WIFE OF MY UNNAMED FRIEND, IF YOU WOULD READ MORE SLOWLY AND NOT JUMP TO FUCKING CONCLUSIONS BECAUSE YOU'RE SWARMING THIS PLACE FOR MSI TIDBITS YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND THAT I DID NOT MENTION ANYTHING ABOUT STEVE OTHER THAN THAT HE WAS PRESENT FOR THIS RIDICULOUS EVENT -- THE REFERENCE IS TO THE WIFE OF MY UNNAMED FRIEND, OBVIOUSLY STEVE WAS NAMED SO IT FOLLOWS THAT I AM NOT TALKING ABOUT ANYBODY OTHER THAN THE UNNAMED WIFE OF MY UNNAMED FRIEND AND STEVE WAS NAMED SO OBVIOUSLY IT CAN'T BE HIM -- STEVE WAS ONLY PRESENT WHEN MY UNNAMED FRIEND'S WIFE WAS ROBBED, STEVE RAN TO THE STREET WITH ME TO SOLVE THE SITUATION

I AM SORRY I DID NOT MAKE IT MORE CLEAR THAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT SOMEONE TOTALLY UNRELATED TO STEVE OR MSI

MY APOLOGIES TO THE BAND AND A GIANT FUCK YOU TO THE PERSON WHO MISUNDERSTOOD WHAT I WROTE AND POSTED IT AS FAST AS THEY COULD TO PROMOTE A RUMOUR WITHOUT EVEN BOTHERING TO CHECK WITH ME AS TO WHAT I MEANT, YOU ARE A FUCKING MORON

Sarah says: Whether he believes it was the right or wrong thing to do, all that really matters is what you gained from the experience.

Well pain is what I got out of this, and a big headache. I appreciate the good words, folks. The guy went after my ego when all that was really piqued was my curiosity. I make no bones about what I am. I'm not afraid of physical confrontation either. That's why his personal letter to me freaked me out like it did. It's cowardly and surreal. And "just because it's fun and I'm easy" is not legitimate. There has to be a catalyst for this kind of behavior, and Rat never named it.

Let me tell you all another story not unlike the cab-humping.

This will tell you the kind of person that I really am, and it is this exact same sense that was activated during the cab humping -- a true revulsion for human indecency.

About ten years ago -- because I'm old, you'll remember -- I was helping a friend of mine move [LET'S CALL HIM DAVE]. DAVE's wife had put her entire wardrobe into garbage bags. Somewhat foolishly in retrospect, but what-ay, you never can predict the future. She had her wedding dress in one of these bags (no, it was not a conventional wedding dress, it was an unconventional, expensive dress for an unconventional, quite beautiful, small ceremony). Anyhow, DAVE'S WIFE brought what she thought were bags of garbage downstairs. On her second trip to the street, she discovered a bum had opened one of the bags that was full of her clothes. She confronted him, and he barked at her or whatever -- not sure how that part went down.

Three of us upstairs still -- her husband DAVE, Steve Righ', and myself THAT MAKES THREE MEN UPSTAIRS, GET IT NOW, DICKHEAD? -- dealing with "man shit" when the buzzer leans. DAVE says to me, "Get that?" So I do. DAVE's wife is on the other end, hysterical crying. I barely get the idea from words like "guy," "clothes," "took them". A charge lit up in me, and I threw open the front door and ran downstairs. Steve was right on my tail, DAVE was left there in their to be abandoned apartment.

I get to the main floor, find DAVE's WIFE on the front steps of the building, and I said "Where?" DAVE's WIFE pointed up the block, and I ran as fast as I could to find the man who'd threatened DAVE's WIFE and took her stuff.

I found him.

He was digging through one of her bags. I said to him, "That doesn't belong to you." He was Hispanic, but barely made sense. I said to him, "get away from it. " He stood up. He was a fragile, broken man, but he was also a bum, which made him feral.

It wouldn't have mattered to me if he was 6', 220lbs, I was "hot," so personal safety wasn't an issue.

He reached under his shirt and pulled out a shape that I believed at the moment to be a brick. It's hard to focus on every detail when you're in a confrontation like this. He advanced on me, holding the "brick" high in the air. I took a few steps back and got "in stance" as I remembered from the few Karate classes I'd taken as a kid.

He lunged at me.

I used my left hand to block, then moved in and tripped him onto his back over my leg. My foot slipped, and I fell on top of him. I scrambled to get my hand on his throat, and I told him "If you move again, you die."

I meant every word in that sentence. I would have no issue whatsoever taking his life. It truly is one of my greatest fantasies . . . to kill.

Steve and DAVE's WIFE got there about then, then started picking up her shit while I held him down. He submitted. I let him up. Then I noticed "the brick" was, in fact, a box of thin spaghetti(sp? not doing the research for that spelling, sorry).

Oh yeah, stone-cold sober for this one, so the booze issue in the Cab-Humping tale is not relevant.

I got even more pissed off that he'd used such a cheap device to threaten me that I tried to lift him off the ground to get him out of my fucking sight. "Spaghetti? You stupid motherfucker, a box of spaghetti?" I was pissed. The guy finally stood up, started to walk away, and right then I noticed quite a little crowd had been drawn.

I retreated up the street back to their building, and they three gathered up DAVE's WIFE's clothing.

No intended disrespect to DAVE, but he was pretty overweight then. When he got back upstairs he could hardly breathe and kept saying, "I think I'm going to die." I wanted to smack the shit out of him. "Shut up, faggot, there was no risk when you got there" is basically what I was thinking.

So, it ain't a glamourous tale, but it's the truth. Not many people would take that stance. I wonder, even, what DAVE would have been capable of considering what a pathetic sight he was after the whole thing.

I don't know why I wanted to tell that story, but I've been thinking a lot about my past since my special gift from Rat. And he doesn't know anything. Just supposition. I know what I am. No one can touch it. No one.

I may be easy to annoy, but that's only because most of you are soooooooo fucking annoying.