ThoughtShock: A Manifesto Chapter 8


Chapter Eight
'An Overdose to the heart'

Journal Note; March 10th 2012 2:30am
“How pathetic was my death going to be. I had survived by sheer luck. My life was forfeit many times before in the past. Drugs, car crashes, and even a train. Close calls that I could all recite. Here I was seconds away from asphyxiation and all that could go through my mind was. Will this truly be the way I go out? Choking on food and Irony can be had in the moments of blurred vision as there was no pain.”

I see death, riding that pale horse. In the form of a pill. A soul that had been damaged. A sweet sacrifice, a slow release. With addiction becoming a burden, it would be a lie to say I have not gazed within the abyss and saw my own horror show.
A grotesque carnival where I had became the sideshow. Bare witness to my morbid display, of every damn dream I murdered. Watch as I sell my soul once more.

I digress, allow me to slow my thoughts and let you catch on. Imagine the world flooded and people drowning in liquid gold. Hypocrisy, their greed and their ego. Their addiction. Not all dependencies are that of drugs or gambling, their vice could be money, drinking, sex, work, and in my case a few but mainly writing. I know that through the twisted and demented words, like a labyrinth my art reaches a person's soul. I help shape minds and open doors in the back of their head.

The euphoria of knowing that for all the hours spent working on a piece, that in the end, in that moment I created a masterpiece that will forever remain for as long as the written word. The closest to perfection from the chaos that is my mind.
Becoming my little guilty pleasure, My sin to indulge. Through all my demons the nastiest of them all resides on the tip of my tongue. Relishing in the climax of the tragedy that befalls my lips. The hardest barrier of them all is to admit my own talent. That I, in some slightest way have a hint of skill behind my destructive behavior. For do not be fooled that is my life I so proudly write about. Every demon, every thought felt and heard a trillion times over. With no escape from the mad clowns, with their wicked smiles.

I will always write, I have found it has become the only way to quiet the storm pounding in my brain. Thoughts like lightening buzzing around in a brilliant but chaotic light show. So I give in, let the tidal wave wash over me and allow the addiction to grow, yet like any addiction there comes a time when it becomes too much. I've been down a similar path with my addiction to pharmaceuticals. A swift road that will either lead to death or drug intervention and ignorance truly is no excuse in the Russian roulette for your life.

If I am not careful the message will become lost somewhere within the paragraphs of my words. My salvation will be fraught with loss if I fail to capture the emotion behind the meaning. I had often thought that once I accomplished my goal, my dream to get published. That it would get easier, not sure what would have gotten easier now when I think back on it. Still as painful to pull up a sentence as it was ten years ago. Still feeling helpless and powerless as I pour my soul out onto the paper. Readers do not see the tears being suppressed back as you fight to get word onto the paper. They do not hear the war drums beating in your mind, your hands shaking as you try and capture that emotion into a word, and a word that preferably rhymes. With a desire to make it your own, you twist the words to fit the tempo as you create a powerful symphony a living testimony to your thoughts and desires, the joyful and the sorrow. You paint a picture to that moment in your life, forever capture by your own point of view. To share that would be up to you.

Let's get back to my roots,
scraping the scum from my boots
one line rhymes, played out a millions times
with a home run hitter, that leaves your taste bitter.

“I can taste the ecstasy of the addiction,
on my shoulder drooling in anticipation.
Yet in the madness I am the one sane
In the carnival of death, survival becomes the game”

Paint a picture, of the moment you wish to capture
hold tight and never let go
for tomorrow is not written, you never know
it might be your last night.
In death, the idea is to celebrate life.
The small miracles we all take for granted
where everyone believes I am just demented.
Fearing what they do not understand,
destroying what they cannot command.
Cannibalistic in nature.
Parasitic without a cure.
No conflict without opposition,
No contract without conversation,
and no destruction without creation.
As the circle of life spins, nobody wins.
Nobody gets behind, nobody jumps ahead
it is the game of life, we play until we are dead

“Everyone has tasted addiction in their life,
danced with sorrow and understands strife.
Everyone has struggled to understand their place
bartered sin to flesh to feel safe
in the arms of another.”

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This of course is a rough draft of chapter 8 I'm not entirely sure of it myself.
What do you think?

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You asked why I always run

Always keeping everyone at bay

Letting them love me so long

Then hollering “Whoa” and “Nay”


Do you not understand how I left

Pieces of myself everywhere I’ve been?

Every time I have ever dove feet first

I found pools of broken glass, so I swim


Can’t you see just by looking at me

I’ve been dependant for so long

I don’t know anything anymore

Just that I need to stand strong


I don’t know what the future holds

I have no clue where I’m going

Or any real idea what I’m doing

I just have this deep knowing


I just have to keep moving forward

Keep trying to make myself better

Hold true to my core self

And believe everything will be okay



Written on

May 5, 2009

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This one was a conversation I had with someone explaining why I was the way I was.



It’s funny the way

People can make you feel

So is this feeling mine?

Or what you want to be real


You made me feel guilty

For wanting to leave

And for wanting to stay

So what will it be Steve?


I feel the guilt of her

Her presence weighs down on me

But through her

I’ve begun to see


The real you, the buried you

The part you kept concealed

The part of you

That I unknowingly revealed


I know there’s no taking it back

No way to be where we were

I uncovered your hate and jealousy

Your dependency – that’s for sure


And now I’m the blame for all of this

I am the one in the wrong

Maybe I am – maybe I couldn’t see

How your need could run so long


Straight through the heart of me

And back through my chest

You drove your need

Never giving me a moments rest


Now I want to leave who you’ve become

The you I helped create

For that I am so sorry

But it’s me who's begun to deflate


The weight of your guilt

To much for me to bare

And you’re driving me to a place

I don’t think Satan would go there


Leave now and take your heart

Please believe I never wanted to leave

Even though I’m going now

Remember I really did love you Steve



Written on

September 6, 2005

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was written right at the end of my "marriage" with Steve. The other person I wrote about was his daughter, Kendra Elaine Swallows. I really do think that I loved him. Even though I know now that it would never work.

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