Personal

“As we roll down this unfamiliar road”

Words never fail me until speak.

New Year’s Day is just around the corner, and the resolutions of others are bubbling on Facebook and other social networks. So much positivity and promise longed for by each of these people who I acknowledge are my friends and loved ones.

via You're Always Holding Onto Stars

I played through the scenarios, and contemplated the chapters. Not a single one do I fit in. These promises exclude me, and it’s something that I’ve been realizing a long time coming. I’ve attempted to hold on to a modicum of we shared and turned up empty-handed.

And just as I lose hope, I see her. Someone who I thought I’d gotten over, but I see her and I hear voice and I know that there is home between them. Maybe I’m being an emotional vampire, seeking for someone to love me. Someone who can love this monster and someone who can make me feel human. If only through conversation. When I see her smile and when I listen to her singing, it’s a peace that I thought would never be recovered.

Of all the conversations we shared, they’re all my favorite. Even when we disagree, I enjoy just speaking to her. So why is it that I cannot express myself? If I can share my deepest secret with her, why can’t I just tell her how I feel?

Personal

“I Can Be Your Addiction”

Next week will be my second year at the library, marking this the second longest job (if we count the Edinburg Roadrunners, that is) I’ve held. And while I’ve seen several coworkers come and go, the family that I started in the children’s department is still going strong. I managed to go from the new guy who felt like he stood out like  a sore thumb to someone who assassinates his coworkers on a daily basis (we’re the children’s department for a reason).

I’ve managed to make friends outside of work, as well. However, not offline. Not really, anyway. While I started using the Whisper app as a means to fuck around online, creating bogus confessions/secrets ripped from the words of my characters, I buckled down and managed to, you know, reveal parts of myself that I wasn’t willing. I still abuse the app by posting non-secret whispers asking for random people to speak to me while I’m at work, giving me something to make the work day go just a little bit faster. What started with Katie spawned into several local (which breaks my first rule of socializing online with strangers—do not talk to someone you might bump into at the supermarket) has spread with a few other females and one guy (apparently, the only reason guys use the app is to hook up with “DTF” women).

The urge to take that dreaded step forward has increased tenfold as new voices of motivation appear daily on my phone via text and private messages.

Before I close this post with an Owl City/Carly Rae Jepsen music video, I want to say that a piece I started working on for this blog has been resurrected—I think Ashton was the only one who knew about this post—and once I got it finished and edited the kinks, I’ll post it. Hopefully just in time for the new year.

 

Doldrums

“Of every saving word…”

“Are you afraid of dying?”

Via GroteleurCreative thought has eluded me for weeks now. I can’t concentrate on an idea longer than the span of time that it comes to me. And if it doesn’t contain pictures, I haven’t managed to involve myself with a book. It’s a dry spell. One I cannot shake off.

My dreams have taken a turn to the nearly indescribable. I’m lost in the wilderness and happen about two colonies of people on different ends of the island. There is a force—a person?—threatening our well being. I am a stranger on both sides and cannot be trusted. When one camp is attacked, its survivors and interim leader turn to me to guide them to the other camp.

These dreams become sexual the closer I get to waking up.

I share the dream with a stranger online. His/her response is simple. A single question: “Are you afraid of dying?”

I am not afraid of dying anymore than I am afraid of growing older. The inevitable isn’t something to fear.

“Why do you ask?” I respond.

“That’s usually what it means.”

What it means. An amateur dream interpreter has crossed my path.

Maybe dreams are shadows of our subconscious minds, but if it’s subconscious to me, wouldn’t it be harder for someone else to crack the shell of its meaning? Educated guesses, Monica once described it to me years ago. And even then, it’s a stretch. Using educated a bit too loosely for my taste.

In my dreams, it’s the end of the world. Something has happened, and I cannot remember what. I know that my child is alive out there. And I know that I must find him and Jeanna. And I know I must do then what I’m failing to do now. And I search the ruins of humanity, risking myself to save others I don’t recognize or know. And I’m torn between doing what’s right and what’s necessary.

Jeanna told me it was residual build-up, in anticipation of The Walking Dead mid-season finale last Sunday. I responded that I have been marathon-ing Lost this last week. “There you have it,” she said.

And yet, they continue.

Books

Another original story by Yukito Ayatsuji, art by Hiro Kiyohara

There’s just something chilling about Yukito Ayatsuji’s original story, brought to life with the art of Hiro Kiyohara. The tale pulls you in with the mention of a curse on a middle school class—specifically, third year class 3—and you’re enveloped by the sheer mystery of it. And when the main character—and, therefore, the reader—Koichi Sakakibara learn the origins and gravity of the curse, we’re taken for a ride on how it can be stopped.

Not since Doubt (and, to an extend, the first two volumes of its sequel, Judge) has a manga held so tightly to my attention that I couldn’t wait to finish it while all the time not wanting it to end.

Yen Press collects four volumes in one single book, leaving the reader no time to recover until the very end. Yukito Ayastsuji’s mastery of storytelling (yeah yeah, I know it’s translated) is incredible. And Hiro Kiyohara’s ability to breathe life into the horror novel is anything but sub-par.

 
Kiyohara_Another_TPAbout the book (from Yen Press):

In the spring of 1998, Koichi Sakakibara transfers into Class 3-3 at Yomiyama North Middle School. But little does he know…his new class has a horrible secret. When he takes his seat in class for the first day of school, Koichi is unsettled by his fearful classmates. Despite this atmosphere and warnings from fellow students, Koichi is drawn to the beautiful, distant Mei Misaki, another classmate. But the closer he tries to get to her, the more mysterious she and their class become. And when a fellow student dies a disturbing death—the first of a long chain of deaths—Koichi seeks to learn the truth behind the curse of Class 3-3. But can he get answers before the curse kills him?

Another
original story by Yukito Ayatsuji
art by Hiro Kiyohara
Yen Press (October 2013)
ISBN: 978-0316245913

Another is available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. A Kindle and Nook also exists. The original Yukito Ayatsuji horror novel is available in two volumes for Kindle (vol. 1/vol. 2)  and Nook (vol 1./vol. 2), as well.