I look at a blank page much the same way an artist looks at a blank canvas. It awaits my touch to help me pour onto it my feelings, my emotions, my thoughts. Without me the paper is useless. In turn, I am useless without the paper.
I often use the written word in the form of rhyme and verse to convey what I cannot say any other way. It seems almost comedic that what I cannot speak to you with my voice, flows readily from my fingers.

The pain that lives within me finds an outlet through my writing. I write when emotion overcomes me, or when I am confused. I write when I don't understand an emotion I experience, or why I am having it at that moment. It helps sort out my mind and put things in an order that I can understand. It doesn't always work, but most times I cut the computer off or close my journal with a little more clarity. If not clarity, then a form of peaceful understanding.

I have always written in some form or the other. When I was younger I wrote in spiral bound notebooks that I kept hidden from the world, as I am sure many of you did. Most of those wound up being destroyed. Had they been found I have no doubt my family would have had me committed. One such three subject notebook had three hundred pages with one sentence written over and over. "I hate myself, I really do."
I would sit in the barn for hours and rock back and forth methodically and write in that notebook with a blue Bic ball point pen. I had drawn demons on the cover with a red felt tipped marker. If I think about that symbolism for a second, I will realize that I was sending my personal demons to hell. I was exorcising myself, If you will.

I later moved away to live with my paternal grandmother. There I really began my recovery. Again, I used writing as my tool of choice. I suppose no therapy sessions would have done any better to make me see what had made me feel the way I did about life and myself. All those pages were burned in an impromptu ceremony one night. At times I wish I still had them to reread, but the rest of the time I am glad I cannot relive what I have endured. I understand it is what has made what I am today, for that I am thankful. I wonder however, was there an easier way perhaps?

A bull whip at twenty feet sounds exactly like a twenty two caliber rifle shot. When it makes contact with skin it cuts exactly like a serrated knife. It's a sound you never, ever completely forget, no matter how hard you try.

The human mind is an amazing thing. When you over stimulate it with pain, it takes over the conscious with pieces of the subconscious and a youthful over imaginative one in my case. I heard the crack and I knew what was to follow. I remember thinking that I didn't know what I had done. I also remember hoping that I died this time, as sick as that sounds. As I lie there with the sounds of violence going on around me, I heard something. I heard a voice. I heard a tiny little faerie voice. I blinked to clear the blood from my eye. There standing not far from me stood a beautiful faerie! She began to sing to me in a beautiful voice. All I heard was her. The pain and the violence just melted away with her voice.

In extreme moments of my young life she was always there, and she would always sing, and she would always gently cry so that I wouldn't have to. The only other time I would see her would be in my dreams, where she would hide within a very old willow tree.

It is indeed amazing the human mind.

At some point I intend to write a book and dedicate it to my faerie. She will, of course, be the main character.

I have never told anyone that before, and why I have told you tonight is beyond me.

I have been thinking a lot about love lately. Do you think it possible to love more than one person? I suppose I should define love, but how can I? Are we talking love of pets? What about love of mankind? What about love of community? Cannot I truly love this community? Some would say no, I might love the contributors within, but not the community itself. I disagree with that thinking. One might say, "I love chocolate!", what of that love? Is that love on the same screen as the love I hold for, say, my daughter? I think not. My point is this, there are a multitude of types of love. Now, levels of love I have a problem with. On what level of love am I in with my wife at this exact moment? Must I grade it on a scale of one to ten? That isn't fair, and I shan't. Love, in any relationship whatsoever, ebb and flows. Lets take level then, or amount if you rather, completely out of our conversation, shall we?

Love then, we agree, can be found in all shapes, forms, sizes, flavors, and colors. As a non racial, non hating human, am I not then perfectly capable of loving different beings with various types of love? Okay, so you and I aren't having a sexual relationship at the moment, does that not mean that we cannot be having an emotional relationship just the same? That said, then we love each other, correct? I thought so. Why then, cannot I say that openly about anyone? Why must our ridged society automatically assign a sexual predetermination about the word love? Why are we so damned hung up about this?

I love many. I love them all in different ways. Get over it.

Tonight was Halloween. Both daughters were witches this year. Sadly I cannot locate my digital camera, because I wanted to upload and share a photograph of them in their costumes. I did, however, break out the old trusty family 35mm canon AE 1 and snap off a roll of film. Stay tuned for further developments. (Oh that was tacky, no?) I wore a huge oversized orange hat that read Happy Halloween and a skeleton tie. HRM was a vampire. The Queen Mum went and watched the festivities, as well as the Heir Apparent, who went dressed as himself, an ass hole. Much candy was had by all, and the night was topped off by a late night visit to the local Huddle House for pancakes.

On the way home we stopped by the grocery store for a quart of H�agen-Dazs and AA batteries. I noticed that the Duracell Alkaline batteries were priced wrong after I was home. They should have been $5.99 a package, and I paid $3.99 for three of them. That's six dollars total that I took from the store. I know you guys are already groaning, but yes, I went back and took them the money. I can't help it. It's all part of living in my little obsessive-compulsive world I tell you!

I went for another walk into the desert last week. Fall is not as spectacular as spring in the desert, but it is much more bearable! I walked for miles and miles. At one point I wasn't sure of where I was in relation to where I parked my truck. That's not so smart I guess, but even stranger was that I wasn't worried about it. I swear, I wish the desert would swallow me whole and spit out the remains to taunt the world. That might seem shallow minded, and I don't wish bad on my family, but such are my twisted thoughts.

I have a new cellular phone and a new plan. This one includes multi media. It is wicked cool! I can actually Yahoo IM while mobile. While I'm thinking of this, my pager will go offline soon. It's archaic, and very expensive. The added cost of adding the multi media to my phone is less than 25% of what my pager bill is, and I have many more ways to contact you with it. The pager technology is too old I guess, it says, "Storing Messages" 90% of the time now, where when I first got it, it was the other way around. It's just not cost effective anymore. I will send e-mails with the new way to contact me while I am on the road. If any of you use Yahoo IM, let me know. I can access AIM as well, but I don't use it as much. Just another quick note, I am very guilty of the sin of abbreviation while mobile. I have even been guilty of leaving out vowels entirely when excited or tired.

I think it's about time for another fast. I don't know that I will let this one go as long, but I may make this one a water only fast.

Update on HRM's war on tobacco: Three complete weeks without a single cigarette. (About 6 packs in a month and a half) Method of choice: Cold Turkey. Go HRM!
I am really impressed that she has done it this time. Of course it makes all the difference when you do for the right reasons to start with. I tried to explain that to her years ago, which is why she didn't succeed then. Until now, she has always wanted to quit for me. That dog won't hunt folks! You have to want it for you, or it will not work. Trust me here. Now that she got all bent out of shape because she couldn't walk with the girls to trick or treat last year without breathing like she had just run a marathon, she is being successful at putting down an addiction. Tonight she walked the entire walk with us without complaining or breathing too hard. I am proud of her to no end.

I think it's time to publish this and hit the sack. To each and every one of you, I Love You! (See above)
Good Night DiaryLand!