keys made of poo
tap the glass all you want, theres no glass behind me.
Hello NPR, i'll with hold my name for my employments sake. But I'm here to tell you the most spooky story. Still happening live as we speak. Or, you speak. If you read this. I'm not going to read this, maybe you can get James to read it. Its a story of mental disorder, maybe. Or the fight against it. Maybe a story of encouraged mental sickness of delusion. Maybe a story of pompous power demanding control with a god complexed persistence, 24 hours a day. Maybe sickening, maybe callusing my soul. But with my right to express the truth today we will delve into the bowels of my brain and help resolve this inssesent torture.
I live and work in the land of tourism far into the wilderness catering to the whims and needs of the traveler. All walks of life away from their homes, busy business streets, tall buildings, and round about work weeks. All year, every year, bus loads of tours, have with cameras strapped and fascinated by squirrels, tourists scampering off their busses and enjoying the scenery and wild life of a seasoned nature. Enjoying life and surreal camping I can imagine the real relief that the wild outdoors offers compared to the sapping stressors in the cities. The company provides housing and the small community of employees has its own culture of life with local schools and community fairs. Many of the employees here have lived here for years, far from the fast paced stop lit roads. Others have found their way through troubling pasts and are jumping on second chances. Its simple work, the life in the tourism industry. With lazy winters for the ones that stay on passed the summers as the kids go back to school, or seasonal jobs else where beckoning.
I myself have stayed. I seclude myself year round far in the wild. Im at peace. Im tranquil compared to when i lived in the cities.
Lets start in the city. With whiling bouts of how to deal with situations I'd drink my self to fits and have ragging tantrums silent enough to be curtious to my neighbors. I'm convinced I'm hearing voices in my head. I'm convinced they aren't voices made up in my head and they are people yelling things at my window. I turn my computer on and a writing program and I would write back to the people yelling. And sure enough there is now some sort of communication. Its no longer voices in my head. Its voyeuring people that can yell at my window as i write to them live. (Pause…a moment from the story to expose the culprit voyeur, or my actual delusion...As i write this in the middle of getting back from work, i hear outside my window the entire neighborhood directing noise pollution at my window. …my neighbors are yelling at my window…the typical back and forth with my voyeuring neighbors goes something like this over the course of a half an hour these are my written responses to the voices in my head, or the voyeuring neighbors….."I don't need your share people. I'm sure. i'll find good people . then thats your thing.ill find my thing. your not with me. i won't touch you. you can't touch me. i move on. enjoy your game while you can. then i waste it. and i turn down opportunity in life.. your not in my life and i'll make sure. its my life, not yours. im not interested…you guys succeeded in hurting me again. i don't want to know her. keep hurting me year after year.. i don't want you in my life, I'm not your rapper. I've got needs too people…you won't speak to me…Ill pay for attention thats very nice. your not in my future james…your a part of this now…enjoy your roll. your not in my future.. i don't like what you try…i'll stay away from you. cheat all you want, you people disgust me, stay away. ok. thats what your try accomplishes…stay away from me. .laugh. you take my time now. Then i lost rabbit. Im working on my future . there was nothing in rap but games for you to try and make me mad. you never cared to know me. four years here. you may not have my time in the future. expect that. i'll stay despite you. i did. your game ends. i don't watch the movies you've been making. i won't watch the girls you put in porno. i move on and find good friends and family. i never except your apologies and we move on. i never except your apologies and we move on. yes. yes. I'm fine with that. I didn't need her or them in my life. no. go away. no. and now i won't let you have the chance to respect me. At this particular moment they are having a hay day and are amping the harassment up several knotches so they'll say a specific girls name over and over. But when its calm its maybe every ten minutes that my freedom of thought is distracted. "James got you", Or they say "were sorry". "bad schizophrenic". "your sick". These are obsessed people needing to constantly stir my life dramatically, make me lose my job and have to go back to the city where they can more easily play their games on me. Or they are voices in my head I've boiled it all up as its own rational. )) So, anyway. At this point, before the distraction,….so back in the city, maybe seven years ago, I had been to the doctor. My parents made me. I had flunked out of college nearly a decade prior to this seven, and my parents had watched my health and promise fall. I had gone to the doctor for the same reasons as I would go now. All night long, its as if people yell advice or harassment at my window. " Do this." "Do that". " See her." "*So and so fucked her". "go smoke." In my commute i have stalkers. People follow me. Bother me. Seduce my bosses. Have me fired. When I left this doctor i heard him yell at me as i stepped into the elevator, he called me retarded. The doctor before this was more sympathetic. I was in a much more delicate world of schizophrenia then. I had spent a couple years stuck on a website. It seemed to me that what i wrote on their site in their blogging section would inadvertently be hinted at in the next week somewhere. A bus stop sign, a commercial on t.v. Some how, maybe I had said the word mango, and the paper would have an entire section page on mangos. Movies. Movie titles. At one point Ben Stiller was jumping up and down on the computer in some movie saying "he's stuck in the computer" and slapping it. I was convinced he was talking about me. And he wouldn't piss himself at the movie awards and i was a piss drunk. When i went to see the doctor the first time which was fairly about the website a year after i flunked out of state school and was trying community college I spent a week inside the coo coos nest. Drugged up every day. Cant use your motor skills for the life of you. I remember doing a color by number and keeping inside the lines was impossible. Drooling inoperable mess I was. Throughout the week In the rec room where they let everyone out to watch tv and spend the day roomed, we would hear a girl in the solitary room. Screaming, biting, kicking. They calmed her down. They let her out. She came and sat next to me. We talked. She seemed happy. Less likely to hurt my hearing. I talked with her for hours. I was a trying to convince her to make a break for it with me. Behind the tv was a fire escape that led to the parking lot. I came up with every senerio of us busting through the door and running away in our crazy people smocks. It made her smile. She brought up Eminem. I don't recall what she spoke of him. He's my main issue. I think that I'm Stan from one of his songs. A song about an obsessed fan. I was convinced his lyrics were directed at me. And I was supposed to read the secret messages and respond in rhyme. I did that for a while. maybe a poetry class in community college or a website. Craigslist sometimes. But i got tired. I bounce back to sanity and realize that I'm crazy and every second of delusion is taking away from me opportunity to have a strong future.
So Back to the city in an underground studio i had as an apartment I work every hole in the wall bar in ten miles as a bar cook, before they stopped hiring me. I found a Gay bar that would hire me after half a year of another dry spell. I worked there. Takeing their pants off because hot water was poored down them had to stop. But over all they loved their little straight boy cook and I loved their culture as I had never been exposed. The kitchens Sink in their restaurant had a window that looked across the street to a neighbors house which a couple of young women rented. I got to know one of them and was soon seeing her on a regular basis. Not really able to explain the voices i heard at night, which she sometimes giggled at i would spend time with her until what happens to any of my girl friends. They are taken away by a famous rapper. (FREEZE, this girl in particular has just gotten a job in the remote wilderness near me now, and i don't like it. And i'd like to take a moment to tell her off, if your reading this, National Public Radio. I'll tell her to her face that I'm moving on and i don't need her around. I'm staying because i need the job. And she's not going to take this job from me too. Two days ago in the middle of me writing this, she appears in real life. i don't want her near me. and if she touches me i can't promise i won't break something. The last i saw of her was when the local news channel did a very fast story of catching her at the airport, asked where i was and responded "with his mother". I was probably going to the church for food, where was she going, some famous rappers beach. Seven years ago. She can stay out of my life. That was seven years ago and i need none of her. I'm glad things worked out for her because she got to know me. I learned if i touch them they turn to gold. Anyhow, But she was never there for me and I don't need her thinking that she will be. Not the porno's they put her in, not the powerful people she can find. I've moved two states to get away from her being told what to do. Now I live in an imaginary world away from her and you, another dimension, your gone. Cant think for yourself waste of my time. My delusion. Walking home from work. Im stopped at a stop light and there he is. Mr Popular Power and his bored fancy screeching his tired car passed me as he cave man pulls my girl friends head up from his crotch. The'll make this the super bowl commercial next year. Heads up, I'm not watching any super bowl commercials this year. let my sister cheer lead instead. It was an every day affair. In my mind, they were trying to get me angry to write a really mean rap and express all my emotions they could gloat they caused. At this point a character from high school, we'll call him James. James took off in college and did well. Came back to city life and succeeded in stocks and wall street. But it was expensive to spend time with him after work with the ritzy bars and all night drinking. I slowly weened myself away feeling not necessarily needed as a friend and went off in search of friends that suited my income bracket. In my mind the famous rapper takes James under his wing. I realize this as the voices being yelled at my window are now no longer the small innocent boy i knew in high school but tuned powerful sexual instrument that galavants the entire city in its night. And brandishes it as a coward afar bragging by yelling at my window. Any women I would speak with out and about the day, any woman I got to know the name of, or asked on a date would insure that the night was filled with what James did to her and how she would have nothing to do with me. I understand it as games and power over one another. James had a fascination with it. I couldn't leave my room. When I was fired from the Gay bar because of a broken shoulder I would spend 20 hours at a time in my studio apartment and then race to 7-11 for smokes and wine in the middle of the night….and there they were trying to position their car perfectly as to drive passed me at the exact time in order to show me a penis in a mouth.
Its true. I throw absolute horrific alcoholic fits, just loud enough to not bother my neighbors. On the ground crying. tieing nooses and having the street yell for me to pull it tight. I would calm down and write verbatim what the street was yelling at me so many days, years on end. (Pause, my neighbors just called me "evil" un Pause)) I would try to think about it rationally. How could anyone know where i was when i was. As when I was on a typical walk looking for the next hole in the wall bar to be a cook at, I could whisper to myself and I would hear the same harassment that sounds as if its coming from a block away. Always confident enough to aggravate me but always hidden to thwart retort. I can now communicate with my harassers any where. Why? How? there must be a bug in my fillings. Should I take a tooth out, which one? I didn't know how to stop it. I called James and asked him to stop. He denied. I asked him to meet up with me. He averted. I had sent one threatening text, I had threatened to break his teeth and make a necklace for him. I decided to leave. Get away from him, his pit boss obviously couldn't be in the city everyday, but he could. If I leave the city it would be more difficult for this pompous pussy to bother me, affect my work and life style, and control my life over his god complex of it. So I expanded my resume flinging and landed an amazing job with such beautiful people on a ranch in the middle of nowhere. So far and desolate it was perfect when I arrived. The last to get off a bus, until i was chased from there with side ways whispering or schizophrenic voices. If you support the negative in my life, you are the negative in my life and i had to leave. I spent a summer season with the harassment that would be denied if i confronted them. And the subject wasn't for them to gloat one opinion and not let me have one. So I had to leave because they were voices in my head. So i left there.
fast forward to here. Present day. desolate wilderness. With enough neighbors to hear them yell things at my window pertaining to the story as I write this story. The grocery store announced over the intercom they'd touch my asshole. Because four or five days ago I drank a bottle to much with a creepy neighbor in the courtyard and was fondled to bed. Rape. Its such a wonderful feeling. Iisn't that how people become sick? They are exposed to the sickness. I'll perge myself of this disgusting by staying away from him and these people that read my story live before i've even finished it, as I'll finish it. I feel anger. And I'd hurt the man, but I'd lose my opportunity here in this industry i've worked so hard. I just got a promotion, the night i put myself under with whiskey. The people here have outcast me. I'm Exiled. They are pointless to speak with because if, say they are having a barbaque common plesentrys all around. Talking having beers, But then the only conversation they have amongst themselves just loud enough to harass me, is the condescending support for the group of people that have had such a negative influence on my life for such a long time. And then would denie if i inquired the topic. So real human interaction is null. So four years running i get one sided opinions with no one to proove my arguments to. Its not a subject I would discuss with them anyhow, especily now, as they've chosen sides for years now leaving me in a solitary confinement. A crystal palace. Their personal pinnate faydor with no candy. Its as if my opinion has no value. They are god over me. I need to do what they say. So, all the more healthy, let me get this out of my head and i can concentrate on a profession and career that my neighbors and x friends have all but tried to take away from me. I got a promotion. I high five me. Hey douche bag,, I don't sit with you. I don't roll with you. I'll hurt you if you get near me. Thats pretty much it…thats my creepy story.. below is a list of responses to my voyeurs the entire time I've written this. I've tried to be light hearted about the situation. At work when i hear the voices and the condescending support for the people that had such a negative influence on my life. I have bought a computer animation program and hope to draw a small cartoon of a cook doing all the work while lazy co workers stroll back and forth. The character has taken on the power of illusion and can project images others see as real. Making co-workers butts bigger and giving them bunny ears and such. but I'm drained from creativity. Consumed all day every day. insomniac. I would want to write. I would want to make short fiction stories. But all I can do is write on this subject. The fact I'm schizophrenic. I hear voices. all day, every day. Im watched in the shower. from the moment I get up. Harry Truman Show syndrome. except the audience gets to yell things at him from far away incurring a delusion. I want to escape. The girl in that movie is the best. The guy that brings the beer is a douche bag. I know how the story ends, because I'll write it. Enjoy your roll while you can.
lets all call him James now.
lets try college girls
no, its defense from you.
i would say you had your chance to say stop.
touch less today.
the best part . is you'll be in the story….i'll even let you guys say stuff…when we get to that part….
these will be the credits…
you people are stupid
these are my girl friends, you can pick and choose in an interactive control over me.
you can be real little and stand on my shoulders
you speak like a god projecting the future. ZAP!
I've got needs too, want to show me your tits? didn't think so
so then put your ideas away
can you do my laundry? don't just answer…do it.
no thank you
just send those people in so i can tell them I'm done, and they need to stay out of my life
try telling me I'm voyeured
im not interested
women will learn not to do that if I'm to be attracted.
then he's it.
im moving on where you don't have to be it
she's with them, let it go people
hows this end?
be as smart as you want.
your not in my future.
like it all you want, i don't roll with you
yes i pee my pants, did you want me to do that right now?
apology never accepted.
when are you done?
and why do i have an uncontrollable urge to say that
oh, I'm bad to rap?
poor fucking rap
you take my freedom of thought away.
Jump up and down you crazy cunt
i don't care, go away
poof-your butts fat