I can’t effectuate through simulated text the actual groaning noises I vocalize at the mere thought of sharing this.

An Incomplete Boo



Autio Publishing




Copyright 2009 © by Autio Publishing.


All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.


This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is entirely coincidental.


Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data not available.


ISBN-10: 0-615-29062-0


ISBN-13: 978-0-6152-9062-1


Cover photograph © Brandy Gee/ColorMatch








Table of Contents


Foreword 7
Chapter 1 Weathered 13
Chapter 2 Me 17
Chapter 3 Brief History of Mine 27
Chapter 4 High School Writing 35
Chapter 5 Why I Wrote This Book 63
Chapter 6 Omelete Music Scenery 71
Chapter 7 Songs 81
Chapter 8 Practice Spaced 95
Chapter 9 Family Guy 101
Chapter 10 More Songs 115
Chapter 11 Mental Hospital 117
Chapter 12 Conclusion 129
Epilogue 139



Human misery must somewhere have a stop; there is no wind that always blows a storm. – Euripides





I am writing this foreword at 1:15AM Labor Day 2008. It is a preface to a book yet to be written. Bits and pieces I’ve previously written will be interwoven from throughout my life. I told my co-worker I had pink eye (though really it’s my son who has it, and it is highly contagious) so I wouldn’t have to work today. He says it’s probably better if I don’t come in tomorrow because that allows us to test the software adequately (which really means it hasn’t been finished yet).

I try to write in a stream of consciousness, but I don’t think in proper grammar so I will go back and correct what I am smart enough to realize is wrong. I have never understood the purpose of an editor. If you can’t effectively communicate the desired meaning on your own, an editor is effectively your co-writer. I like the word effectively, maybe my editor won’t. Being that every event in this is as close to my memory’s representation as possible, I assume that any alteration of the text would be superfluous. However, I would respectively wish for any parties quoted to be forthright and correct any misrepresentations. They may also be included as a footnote to the related text. Any mentioned party may create a signed and sealed affidavit to be released upon their or my own death; this is just a suggestion to the light of heart.


Reading this should theoretically fuck your mind as it has mine, so skip the intro and start reading now if you like surprises. If you are a natural skeptic as I am, you might still enjoy the read.

Now, if you want a good foreword to a book, I would imagine it is usually written by someone with a certain degree of success regarding the respective field of the book to be introduced. I heard an interview on AM talk radio the other day with an author of a similarly titled book


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about the history of sports. He said he included a revolutionary self written “backwords” following the book’s foreword so I think I’ll be okay.

I can be funny. This book won’t truly capture that. My funny is the bizarre wrongness of the worst things you can think of because that’s what I’ve experienced. Trust me, my life is really about what isn’t in this book, and it’s no holiday for anybody. I can’t risk seeming crazy when the whole point of writing the book is to prove to myself I’m not crazy in the first place. I want you to read this and say, “Ok, I can see this happening to me. How would I react?” The whole thing is so ridiculously stupid and meaningless that it is pointless for me to obsess upon it as I have. Yet it doesn’t seem funny to me, so maybe this is more like an introspective look into the mind of a deeply troubled individual.

I don’t think that using marijuana habitually for the past 10 years has done any significant amount of good to my health or mental well being. I highly doubt my typing speeds measure beyond 15-20 words per minute right now, whereas in high school I could go 65+ easily. I truly can’t convince anyone of anything if I’m to be seen as a regular user of a hallucinogenic drug. This is not what I had imagined I would become. I will log my progress for good or bad in this book. This ‘thing’ has been weighing on me so long I can’t wait to get it off my chest. Focusing this energy should at least help me steer free of addiction during my writing. Don’t even consider the cigarettes; I’ll need to get my laptop so I can smoke outside.


I must admit, it just seems a bit contrived. There are so many things that seem to tie into one another that could be purposeful acts chosen by me, I can’t ignore that. Trust me, these are all just coincidences. But the completely random communications between two unknown parties were absolutely the most meaningful, and in no way under my control. Not to mention the fact that most of the



people involved are quite publicly known. This makes my story even harder to verify or give any kind of credibility. I can also see how it might benefit me if I play my cards right.

If you read this book and you want to help me figure out what to do, or you happen to know what to do,

please, offer me your insight. My email is mark@anincompleteboo.com.

I’m not lying. I’m perfectly capable of lying, I just choose not to, in most cases. An explanation to the otherwise lies here in a text I wrote and actually turned in for credit for creative writing during my senior year of high school, under the tutelage of one Mr. Guitar (this is not a testament to his educational ability):


I am a liar. So good a liar, most likely I will have lied to a person many times upon my first meeting them. I have turned lying into a science, not consciously, but still, it has happened. Let’s partake in an example, shall we? Let’s say I tell one person I’ve been to a concert. Now, I will remember what I said to this person, and it will become a part of my falsified life. I never tell different people different stories. If a topic like this comes up in conversation, I will always bring up my lie, and elaboration is the next step. Well, maybe I had friends that went to the concert and told me all about it(which I did), that would make this very easy. I would just rattle off all the key things that I was told: “Yeah, they alway smash the microphone stand to the ground, I mean he must’ve done this a hundred times during the show. And there are these guys that run across the stage as fast as they can and pick it up for him, every single time. At the end of the show they smashed all the instruments, so me and my friends waited for everyone to leave and went to the front of the stage and grabbed some keys that flew off the keyboard.” If someone asks me, “How much did they play off his first album?” I might make something up(something that sounds logical), like, “Well, they played a couple,” name some songs and say, “and one other one but I forget which. It was mostly stuff off the new album, though.” But, again, if my friends had been there and told me, I would relay their information. This may sound silly because you know that I’m lying, but believe me, it works. Let’s say I meet someone else who has been to one of their concerts, maybe


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even the one that I said I went to. Not a problem, even if I know nothing about the concert. I just let the other person lead and go along with it, or, change the subject a bit by saying something like, “There were these girls sitting behinds us, and they were smoking pot the entire concert, and we got high with them.” This will cause the person I’m speaking with to either start talking about pot experiences, or tell me exactly how awesome that is, that I’m lucky, and ask if the girls were hot. It is possible that they will ask me questions about the concert, like, “Did you see that girl run on stage?” This is not a problem. If I can assume what their statement is leading to, I can finish the thought, if I can’t, I would say, “I was so stoned, I don’t remember much other than getting there.” Or, I might say, “Yeah, she had nice tits.” If the reply to that is, “No, the girl ran right into the guitar player and knocked him off the stage, you didn’t see it?” My reply, “I thought you meant that other girl with her top off that was stage diving, didn’t you see her? They kicked her out, the guards had to drag her.” Then they will probably lie and tell me they saw that too. No matter what situation I am presented with, I have a way of dealing with it without being caught in a lie.


Even if I really had been to the concert, I would still lie about it. I always have to throw something else in. “I hated the opening act,” even if I loved them. Or, maybe take something from another concert, one that I’ve seen or been told about: “I was down in the mosh pit for a while, but there was some asshole throwing lit cigarettes at people, so I went back to my seat.” Lying is in my blood, I have to do it. Maybe this whole thing is a lie and I really have been to this concert. So, have I?


Ok, so that scares the shit out of me, full blown sociopathy. Seemingly I was completely fucked up as a kid. I did go to the concert described at the Mansion of Red Mountains with my friend Jon. This ridiculous diatribe on lying eventually developed into a system designed to diagnose a lie in progress, or at worst, shortly thereafter. I realized you can’t truly see how something works until you do it yourself, to know all the steps or different facets of anything. I think I’ve got it pretty well understood, I feel like I can even tell when people are lying to themselves. All you have to do is pretend to believe everyone around you, and you will know when you are



being lied to. As soon as you doubt someone, just act stupid, and everything will become unequivocally clear. I can obviously still convince others to believe an untruth, but I can always see how someone else could, or has caught me. There is no perfect fabrication; there is always at least one certain giveaway. The fallacy itself is its own disproof, when we can see what is gained by believing. If you feel this book is fabricated due to a feeling of failure due to a lack of having found a purpose that benefits society in some way as my wife has described it, then I would hope you might suggest the name of a good psychiatrist. Mine seems pretty good but I haven’t mentioned the whole ‘psychic’ delusion thing yet.

There is no doubt in my mind that anyone mentioned in this book would ever disclaim any event having taken place or disagree with the statements made. You never know. I do know of one former friend of mine who has been instructed not to contact me by her psychologist/psychiatrist(I’m not sure what kind of medical advice she was seeking when she told me this, but I hope to God she is okay by now). I believe that normally a book of this nature might use different names or get permission from the parties for their names to be used to avoid slander.

How long is a traditional foreword? I’m tired of defending an unwritten book, and it’s 2:58AM now. Besides, what do I care if you believe me or not, I just want some release, like “I did something about this.” Now it’s not rolling around in my head anymore. That is future-talk. Expect some spam if I can form my own religion or political party. I’d like to digitize everything in a self extracting executable that will superimpose this text over home movies and photos, with me reading while my music I’ve written plays in the background. What would be the appropriate length for an autobiography by a 29 year old? I doubt I will break 200 pages. I’m hoping it’s as short as hell…I haven’t the time for this sort of thing.


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Chapter 1 – Weathered


It was a dark and stormy morning. Not at all like any I’d ever experienced or ever will. Charcoal black clouds as far as the eye could see shooting lightning and thunderclaps without a drop of rain at 9 o’clock in the morning. My bus ran exactly one hour late, and if I remember correctly it was some kind of mechanical error with no relation to the weather, even though it did look like the sky was going to explode with rain at any second. I was pondering while I walked toward my school from the street how I would probably never see weather like this ever again, so I stopped momentarily to observe the absolute beauty. People from my bus filed past me up the steps to the double doors at the entrance of the school. I couldn’t understand how they didn’t find it the least bit strange. As I made my way up the stairs I noticed a particularly attractive female about to exit the building.


I quickly said, “You don’t go to school here do


“No, I’m moving.”

“Oh, but you did?”

“Yes, but I didn’t like it very much here.”

“I was hoping you were a classmate. You look really cool. Not like the jerks roaming these halls normally.”

At this point a teacher’s assistant came out of the room near us and told me to get back to class. I informed her that I had not yet been to class due to the fact that my bus had just arrived. She said something stupid like the bitter old woman that I remember her to be, so I told her that this girl was a member of my family whom I hadn’t seen in a long time and that she was leaving town very shortly.

My conversation with the beautiful girl continued, but now it seemed that she was trying to put the kibosh on


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my cajolery, especially since that damn teacher twisted the atmosphere.

“I just came back to get my records. I’ve already graduated, and I’m going to the Famous Poet School of poetry in Chromarado.”

I had heard of the name of this poet, but all I knew was that he was a poet. I’ve never been fond of poetry so I said, “So you’re going to learn how to write about hammering baby fetuses to death, eh?” This was a variation of a line used by my English teacher in class just several days prior, and I remembered what effect it had had on me. I thought that it was either one of the cleverest or most idiotic things to say depending on your position regarding Roe v. Wade. My entire conversation with this girl depended on her not reacting poorly to my singular odd statement.

I think she smiled and might have laughed. She makes an almost exact duplicate of this remark years later in an article in The Garlic newspaper describing why she had lost interest in the very same school. I told her I didn’t like poetry very much, so she explained that she also was in or starting a band that had Oedipus in the name. I said I thought that was a cool name, and that I was sure she’d love it in Chromarado (I had been there skiing with my dad).


She seemed to like me, even if only in a platonic manner. I remember she told me to look her up if I ever came back to Omelete. I thought she was possibly the coolest, hottest, and smartest girl I’d ever met. And in case I’d ever have the chance to meet her again I would make the best first impression I could. But something happened I couldn’t have imagined. Something I still don’t understand or even fully believe. I just call it coincidence or the weather.

We talked for what seemed a long while, maybe 15 minutes. I explained why I had moved to live with my



father (multiple felonies while living with mom). When she asked me what I had done to get the felonies I told her about how I broke into a comic-book shop. She told me the name for her band was derived from a comic book. I was only 15, and she was clearly older, but I felt that maturity was event based and not time centered. I’m sure I made that clear. I spoke of my philosophy regarding sex: that there is no heterosexual man who is not first and foremost interested in having sex with females, for even the most devoutly religious aspire to marry solely for the purpose of lovemaking. We are genetically programmed to enjoy sex because it promotes the spread of our species. I told her that I didn’t believe in anything spiritual or mystical and was an absolute skeptic of every God or any supernatural act. She said, “That’s too bad.” At that precise moment everything seemed to be turning bad in this conversation. Right then I felt like I was totally losing her. So I said, “Well, you have to try something to truly know what it is like, so can I hold your hand and see if I get something from you?” I can still remember her photo from the old yearbooks I found stored in the detention room years later. That’s creepy, right?


When I touched her hand, I saw the future. I literally saw images flash before my eyes like a dream that my brain failed to automatically slow down. It was over in a matter of seconds, and I can’t consciously remember any of what I saw but the very last image, as it seemed to resonate. It ended with a smiley face. That stupid smiley face you see on T-shirts and stickers. I shed a tear or two. I didn’t believe anything ‘spiritual’ had happened though, even for a second, and I passed it off as a mere hallucination. I told her exactly what I’d seen, somewhat in disbelief, because although I didn’t think anything would ever come of that moment or that I had really experienced anything at all, I was still quite surprised to find out that I was in fact delirious. I told her the impression I got was


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that there would be great suffering in my life, but I’d be totally fulfilled in the end.

We said our goodbyes and parted ways. I distinctly remember thinking as I walked to class, that even if it had been some sort of preconception, it ended in a smiley face. And I was very pleased with this, because as far as I was concerned, this meant my life story had a happy ending.

I did see her again 4 years later. I caught her concert at the Dog Den in 1998 when Vast Expanse Band Oedipus opened for Ablactate. I yelled out “Go Bullfrogs!” at the end of her set and she looked up to the nosebleed seats for a moment. I know she heard me. I must say I’m a little worried about how she will react when she reads this.



Chapter 2 – Me


Baby is a boy, born on the 12th day of May, 1979, at 1:15PM. He is 7lbs 15 oz. with dark brown hair and blue-gray eyes. He is delivered at Grittenville hospital in Sorbacker, Peninsuland, by Dr. Donald F. Rubberneck, assisted by nurse Robby. News headlines for the day were a gas crunch due to oil shortages, and President Jimmy Carter serving office. Baby’s first home is at 431 Elm Court, Cowfjord, Peninsuland. Mrs. Patterson stated that she was under the care of a physician throughout the pregnancy. She experienced morning sickness and the medication Bendectin was prescribed for her for approximately four months. Mark may have been born approximately two weeks past the due date. Labor lasted approximately 21 to 22 hours. Mark was cyanotic at the time of birth but Mrs. Patterson can remember an Apgar score of 8 or 9. Mark may have experienced apneic spells while still in the hospital. When Mark was six weeks of age, he experienced a fever ranging to 99.6 degrees and was admitted to the hospital for two days of observation and an eventual spinal tap. The reason for the fever was never found.


At 20 months, he can combine two words, such as “What’s that?” and uses “And” when naming things. At two years, nine months, he speaks and comprehends amazingly well. He uses words like, “Amazing,” “Able,” and “Cooperate” in sentences. Counts to 12 accurately and says his alphabet. He loves to look at books and knows many nursery rhymes. Sings Row Your Boat and Twinkle Little Star in its entirety. He appears advanced for his age. At 3 yrs, he counts to 19, and his vocabulary has increased alot. He now says just about everything.

The Patterson family contacted the Educational Assessment Center with the help of Mr. Fred Satanidis, director of special education for the Juliet School District. The family is asking for a perceptual-motor evaluation for their son,


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Mark. Mrs. Patterson stated that she feels that Mark has difficulty with gross motor skills.

Mark is almost of four years of age. He played with many of the toys available in my office in a constructive manner. He appeared to have a very good imagination with the toys with which he played. He spoke spontaneously on a number of occasions and seemed to have a very good vocabulary and pronunciation of his words.

Mrs. Patterson stated that she has always been concerned about Mark’s motor skill development. He has difficulty pedaling a tricycle, ascending and descending stairs and also appears to be afraid of swings. When he was in a nursery school program, the teachers there were also hesitant to allow Mark on the swings as well as allowing Mark to climb on playground-type equipment. Mrs. Patterson stated that Mark appears to be above average when it comes to his mental abilities, but appears to be low average with his physical abilities. Mrs. Patterson also stated that her husband feels that many of Mark’s accidents are due to the fact that he is not only tall for his age but also has a large shoe size.


Mrs. Patterson stated that Mark sweats profusely at night. He is considered to be active both day and night. There are times when he appears to be insensitive to pain. He will have large bowel movements every three or four days. He does not like to take naps during the day but appears to be very tired at night and will fall asleep very quickly. Mrs. Patterson feels that Mark learns from past experience.

Mark has had two middle ear infections but never complained of this problem. He has been considered to be quite healthy. The parents have been very cautious regarding foods that Mark is given. He gets very little sweets of snacks.

The Patterson family contacted the Educational Assessment Center because of concerns about Mark’s motor skill development. He appears to be accident prone and has a



very difficult time with his fine as well as gross motor skills. The family is asking for evaluations and recommendations for programming, if necessary.

Mark was referred by his local school district for a comprehensive educational evaluation to assist with educational programming. He was therefore seen to evaluate his present level of perceptual-motor, conceptual, and academic development.

Mark is a 3 year, 11 month old male. He was friendly and very verbal during the evaluation sessions. Mark found it difficult to sit in one place for more than 10 minutes. However, even while moving about Mark remained on task and gave answers to the examiner’s questions. When items were concrete or required manipulation Mark was able to sit and work.

This evaluation consisted of the administration of the following tests:

Southern California Sensory Integration Tests (selected tests)

Riley Motor Problems Inventory Developmental test of Visual-Motor Integration

Illinois Test of Psycholinguistic Abilities (selected subtests) Test of Early Reading Ability

Denver Developmental Screening Test

On the developmental Test of Visual-Motor Integration (which requires one to copy a series of designs of graduated difficulty) Mark obtained an Age Equivalent of 4 years, 9 months. This suggests that his ability to transfer information between the visual and motor modalities is average when compared to his age.


Marks’s performance on the Riley Motor Problems Inventory (which is a measure of oral motor, fine motor, and gross motor planning abilities) resulted in a total score of 17. This is severely deficient when compared to age norms. Analysis of his performance indicated that Mark has some severe oral and gross motor deficits and some


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moderate fine motor deficits when compared to his age. Mark’s performance on the Pre School Scale Cluster score of the Woodcock-Johnson Psycho-Educational Battery

resulted in the following scores:
1.030 5-8 98 95- 99
99 VS

This score suggests that Mark is functioning in the very superior range. These tests predict future school success. Marks performance on the Tests of Achievement from the Woodcock-Johnson Psycho-Educational Battery resulted in the following scores:

Achievement  Grade Instructional Range  Age
Scores Easy Difficult Scores
Skills 1.03 1.01 1.06 4-4
Knowledge 1.015 1.05 1.017 5-1
Percentile Percentile Functioning Percentile
Rank Performance Level**** Ranks*
Range** Index***
60 – 84 97 AA 75
82 – 95 98 AA 88
  • based on age
  • indicates the range within which Mark’s true percentile rank probably falls
  • indicates the percent of predicted success when Mark is given tasks similar to those that the average student his age could perform with 90% success
  • indicates Mark’s functioning level when compared to average students his age.

Mark performed letter-word identification, applied problems, and dictation (skills) at the first grade level, which is in the high average range when compared to age norms. His fund of knowledge in science, social studies, and humanities (Knowledge) appears to be at the first grade level which is in the high average range when compared to



age norms.

Mark’s performance on the Test of Early Reading Ability (which is a test of emerging reading ability with respect to measuring grapho-phonemic knowledge, conventions of written language, and the construction of meaning from print) resulted in a Reading Quotient of 86 (average = 100; standard deviation = 15). This is a low average when compared to age expectancy.

Mark performed as follows on the Motor Planning Tests from the Southern California Sensory Integration Tests:

Imitation of postures +2.3
Bilateral Motor Coordination -0.3
Motor Accuracy: Right (more accurate) -1.8
Left (less accurate) -1.5

*Average = 0.0; Standard Deviation = 1.0.

Mark imitated postures assumed by the examiner (imitation of Postures) in a high average manner1 performed motor tasks which require the coordinated use of both sides of the body (bilateral Motor Coordination) in an average manner’ traced a wavy line with a pencil (motor Accuracy) in a moderately deficient manner. His preferred and most accurate hand during the performance of more structured fine motor activity was his right although he tended to use both hands more interchangeable during less structured fine motor activities.


Mark performed as follows on the visual perceptual tests from the Southern California Sensory Integration tests:

Space Visualization +0.6
Position in Space +1.1
Design Copying +0.9
Figure-Ground Perception +0.9

* Average = 0.0; Standard Deviation =1.0

Mark perceived the difference between identically shaped blocks with different spatial characteristics (Space


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Visualization) in an average manner he motorically reproduced designs on dot grids (Design Copying) in an average manner he visually selected designs from backgrounds of competing stimuli (Figure-Ground Perception) in and average manner and he perceived the difference between identical two-dimensional symbols with different orientations (positions in space) in an average manner.

Mark performed as follows on the administered subtests from the Illinois Test of Psycholinguistic Abilities: AUDITORY PERCEPTION SCALED SCORES**

Auditory Sequential Memory
Auditory Closure 44
Sound Blending 42
Visual Reception 42
Visual Association 36
Auditory Reception 38
Auditory Association 44
Grammatic Closure 40

Average= 41 **Average = 36; Standard Deviation = 6

In the auditory perceptual area, Mark’s general performance was average. He identified words with sound deleted (Auditory Closure) in a high average manner; he repeated a series of digits heard (Auditory Sequential Memory) in an average manner’ and he blended isolated sounds together into meaningful words (Sound Blending) in a high average manner.

In the conceptual area, Mark’s performance on verbal conceptual tasks was aver age, and his performance on nonverbal conceptual tasks was average. Non-verbally, he derived meaning from visual symbols (visual Reception) in a high average manner, and related visually presented



concepts  (visual  Association  in  an  average  manner.

Verbally, he derived meaning from verbally presented

material (Auditory Reception) in a high average manner,

and utilized and understood the grammatic structure of the

English  language  (Grammatic  Closure)  in  an  average


On the Denver Developmental Screening Test Mark passed all of the items for his age level except dressing without supervision. Mark needs supervision when he dresses. On the fine motor section Mark passed all items which passed through his age line. On the language section of the Denver, Mark passed all items except the composition of three items. On the gross motor section Mark failed five out of six items. Mark does not appear to have any developmental delays in this area.

The results of this evaluation suggest that Mark has a language problem and gross motor problems.

Mark had difficulty giving the exact word when giving answers during the test. There were no formal measures except the Test of Early Reading Ability. Mark scored in the low average range with a standard score of eighty-six. This test measures grapho-phonemic knowledge, conventions of written language, and the construction of meaning from print.

On the Riley Motor Problems Inventory Mark scored in the severely deficient range in the gross motor section. Also, on the Denver Developmental Screening Test Mark failed five out of six areas. This suggests some gross motor problems.


Mark scored in the very superior range on the cognitive pre-school cluster of the Woodcock-Johnsons Psycho-Educational Battery. This cluster often successfully predicts academic success. This suggests that Mark with his very superior score will possess the traits and skills necessary to be successful in school.

Marks’ scores are average in nonverbal, verbal


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conceptualization, auditory and visual perception.

In view of these results, the following recommendations are made:

That Mark receive a speech and language evaluation from Dr. Kathleen Engineo at the Macomb Intermediate School District.

Mark would likely benefit from perceptual-motor development activities. The following types of activities are suggested (they are recommended to supplement rather that to supplant readiness or more academically oriented activities):

  1. Postural and intersensory integration activities – Activities designed to develop better utilization of the body in relationship to gravity and activity which requires one to associate information between the visual, auditory, tactile-kinesthetic, and vestibular modalities; such activities as playing catch while on a moving swing, throwing balls while sitting on a moving scooter board, performing a variety of activities while riding prone on a scooter board, etc. are recommended.


  1. Body awareness activities – Activities which would help Mark develop a better understanding of the structure and operation of his body; body part identification, posture imitation activities, etc.
  2. Visual perceptual activities – A gradation of visual perceptual and visual spatial activities should be provided ranging from those requiring much associated somatosensory input to those which increase the demands made on the visual perceptual process alone. Mark should, for example, be engaged in activities which relate the body to objects in space and provide extra-sensory input from the body related to those activities. This is the nature of the postural and intersensory integration activities suggested above. Also, he should be provided eye-hand manipulatory activities which involve the visualization of form and space; such activities as block pattern reproduction, bead



matching and construction activities, design copying activities, and the like. Finally, he should be provided with activities which require the differentiation and retention of visual stimuli on the basis of configuration, sequence and orientation; such activities as tachistoscopic activities involving letters, numbers, and words, word and letter tracking book activities, and the like.

  1. Auditory perceptual activities – Activities designed to help him automatically perceive, organize, and retain auditory information; auditory memory, auditory sequential memory, auditory analysis, and auditory synthesis activities are recommended.
  2. Motor activities – A large variety of new and unfamiliar fine and gross motor activities which require Mark to “think out” movements; most running, jumping, climbing, tracing, assembling, and the like activities may be beneficial if planned appropriately.

Consideration should be given to Mark’s motor problems in terms of their effect on his academic and ^behavioral performance (as outlined in the report above) – a1 large variety of new and unfamiliar fine and gross motor activities which require1 Mark to “Think out” his movements. Most running, jumping, climbing, tracing, and assembling activities may be beneficial if planned appropriately.


The results of this evaluation suggest that Mark has gross motor problems and a language problem. Mark is functioning in the superior range in the Preschool Scale Cluster. This suggests Mark has the necessary skill to be successful in school). Educational recommendations have been made.


Basically…I’m normal, right? I remember these programs vaguely, but I specifically remember during my final session becoming aware that I was in fact a thing that existed in reality amongst other things.


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Chapter 3 – Brief History of Mine


A brief history of my childhood sans everything personal…

It seems passé and simplified to blame all of your shortcomings on your parents. Obviously there is the genetic link which we have to imagine spreads wide through the family, but concentrates on the parent’s traits. I tend to think it is more nurture than nature with the fact that we are all the same animal. Nonetheless, my parents must have fucked me up somehow. There is truth in every jest, right? Perhaps it was their fighting and ultimate demise in divorce, but I don’t remember that too clearly since I was only 3 or 4. After the divorce my mother and I moved upstate to Queensfjord, Peninsuland. It was hard for my dad to get custody so I didn’t see him for a while. We lived with my grandmother and Mitch (my real grandfather died before I was born) for a while, and then moved to a Section 8 or HUD apartment. It wasn’t until then that I saw my dad again. He drove nonstop for from Straitsville to QueensFjord to have a supervised visit. I remember him hugging and kissing me, and I was surprised, but happy. And that was it. When my mother came out and saw him, he just drove back. I guess he had gotten fed up with my mother fighting her over the phone about custody, and had just received the right of supervised visitation. He just wanted to rub it in her face. I’m sure he wanted to see me a whole lot too. After the courts figured everything out I was allowed to stay with my dad during school vacations and I always did so.


When I was about 6 my dad made me a 3 wheeler out of a lawnmower engine and some steel tubing. He asked me, “Are you old enough to ride this thing?” And I said, “Am I old enough to know?” The first time I got on it, I hit the gas, and it didn’t go very fast, but I realized the throttle was stuck so I was trying to un-stick it and I turned it on even further. My dad was yelling, “Hit the brakes!”


28 An Incomplete Boo

And I did, but the brakes broke. The thing would not stop. He yelled, “Get off it!” I was frozen in fear. I hit the gutter at the end of our front yard and the machine flew up and landed on top of me. My dad was already running to me and got there very quickly. I don’t remember if I told him or not, but I couldn’t move or feel my legs. Very quickly he scooped me up and ran me straight to…..bed. You

would think I might go to the hospital after I mentioned, “Oh, by the way, I can’t feel anything from my waist down.” I just laid in bed for 3 days until I could walk, painfully, to the airport terminal, just to fly back home. On the second day of bed rest, he picked me up and took me to the garage to show me he had smashed the lawnmower-mobile to bits. I remember him acting strange and smelling of alcohol, probably my first time ever seeing him drunk. I told him that didn’t solve anything and he got angry. In my youth I hated him for this, but as an adult I see now the importance to him. You see my dad didn’t want anyone to find out about my accident because he would lose custody again. Had I remained paralyzed I might think differently. I paint him as a horrible person in this book, but there is a great deal of good he did for me. It’s just that the major points in my life are mostly suffering. Poor me right?


I got into a lot of trouble at school from the 3rd grade through graduation. I can’t easily recall the grade school stuff, other than looking up a girls skirt one time and just plain rudeness in class. I would still define my childhood as happy, but my school records show some major problems keeping in order with the rest of the students. I was pretty smart though, so in the 6th grade I went to gifted classes. That was fun for a while, but I always thought school was a waste of time. I was truant for a while until I got caught. It was pretty obvious when it became every Monday and Friday. My mom worked part time at quite a few jobs. Never more than one at a time so mostly we survived on my dad’s child support payments.



One day around Christmas when I was a freshman in high school I got in a fight with my mom and my step-father about schoolwork. I was told go back to school and not to come home without getting something signed by my drafting teacher. I knew he wasn’t going to sign it because I didn’t do the work, so I stayed for the bands after school practice of their Christmas show that was coming up. It was my intention to stay in the school overnight. When the band finished their set, I was still hanging around the school when I noticed a wallet on the ground in the band room. I opened it up and it had about $400 in it. I returned the wallet to the office the next day and an article was in the paper about how great of a person I was. So I hid in a small practice room not being used until everyone was gone. I got the master key set from the janitor’s office and had my run of the place. I ate like 20 orange creamsicles. I stole tons of stuff, but like an idiot I fell asleep near one of the entrances, and one of the teachers got there at 5am and saw me. Strangely, I didn’t get officially nabbed until about 2 days later. I was doing several other illegal things at this time. I was stealing bikes and shoplifting, a little vandalism, things like that. I broke into a comic book store and stole a bunch of stuff if you remember. A few weeks later the cops came and got me because someone I gave some of the dungeons and dragons stuff to narced me out. While being interrogated I just suddenly decided to fess up to everything I’d done. The officer look at me absolutely dumbfounded, as did my parents. Actually he seemed pretty dumbfounded all the time since he had a cleft lip and a speech impediment. Don’t get me wrong, I love police officers. I’ve got police officers and chiefs in my family, but this guy drove the short bus to the station. I returned a bunch of the bikes, school property, and comic book stuff. There was a hefty fine, and my dad convinced the judge to let me off with one year probation if I moved downstate to live with him in an


30 An Incomplete Boo

effort to better myself. So at about 14, halfway through my freshman year, I moved to Juliet, Peninsuland.

I never really thought I needed to better myself. I thought I was better than everyone else. I truly believed that there is no higher power than you and those around you. Anyone who believed otherwise was in my opinion delusional. In Queensfjord, it was hard for me to find anyone to relate to. It seemed like everyone else was nuts and I was quickly joining the ranks. What did I care if I ripped off and vandalized these people?

Living with my dad, there was a much broader spectrum of society and I was able to find people I could truly feel for and not loathe. At some point around here I developed a conscience and I’d like to think I still have a pretty decent one, albeit man -made. I enjoyed my school and social life immensely. I had several close friends and did things with them a lot. I performed sub-adequately at school (I made a lot of fake report cards). My dad let me do what I wanted as long as he knew exactly what it was that I was to be doing. This sometimes required me to create elaborate lies that stretched beyond the realm of human reasoning. If I strayed from what he believed me to be doing I had to call and tell him the change of plan. No excuses, if I faltered there would be stern punishment. My dad was a strict disciplinarian, he would yell and scream, but I would reply calmly and quietly. He would eventually calm down and logically explain himself. A few times he hit me; one time was a sucker punch to the gut while he was driving. That always really bothered me. That’s total ignorance. He did however instill some sort of work ethic and helped better me in many ways during that time blah blah blah…


I still managed to get myself in huge trouble by deleting every file in our high schools computer network (deltree *.* /s /a /h /r from the server root). Can anyone guess which version of DOS they were running? I know



you must be thinking, “Where was that conscience right about then?” I had just assumed everything was backed up and could easily be re-installed. I was wrong however, because this resulted in a lot of work for my computer teacher at the time. She was a great person, and I’m sorry I did that to her. I thought maybe they had a regional IT department or something. This was a hefty fine for my dad to pay. Thankfully my probation officer never found out about that until I told him later. You know what? I was shoplifting a lot back then too. I guess my conscience hadn’t fully developed quite yet.

Things got bad at home with me and my dad; I think it was a control issue. I felt that decisions regarding little things like trimming my nails and hair should be left to me, along with every other possible aspect of personal experience in human existence. I also was really into writing music with Fast Tracker 2 at this time and my dad was not interested or supportive at all. Our relationship deteriorated and somehow the decision was made to move back with my mother. So halfway through my junior year I moved back to Queensfjord.

You know looking back those were the good times. They weren’t that great, but man that was a good time. They always told me I’d look back at my high school years and wish I could do it again, but I never believed. Things went downhill when I moved back upstate. For the first year I sat in my room and wrote music and very short stories any waking moment I had. I was pissed because I had a car in Juliet that was being held hostage by my dad until I graduated. One of my friends was nice enough to sell me a car for cheap so when I got that my social life bounced back again. Now I was out trying to play my techno for anyone who would listen. I had tapes and tapes and tapes. I smoked pot infrequently just before I turned eighteen. I’ve always been the type to want to experience everything so it was merely another one of my experiments.


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Apparently it was an experiment gone wrong because to this day I’m a raging THC addict. I used it irregularly back then only socially or sometimes to cure writers block (which never helped). It wasn’t until later that it became my crutch. I performed especially poor in school towards the end and inevitably I was short a few credits to graduate. Somehow I convinced the principal to allow me to graduate on time anyway with a 1.5 GPA. Only seven of eight handicapped kids in my school graduated ahead of me. I should have put that on my college application had I ever filled one out. I never even considered higher education. I didn’t assume I would become a rock star, but felt my abilities with computers, writing, and music would somehow carry me to riches. Boy was I wrong. Although I must say, I’ve still never tried like someone who really wants it.

Probably the worst thing that I did at this time was start smoking cigarettes. At first it was just once and a while, but then before you know it I’m fiending for the shit. I wasted some time living with my mom after I graduated smoking her cigarettes and writing music. My parents said, “You need to do something with your life!” And they were right. What I chose to do however, could not have been worse. I got a job as a dishwasher in a buffet restaurant for $5.15 an hour. I’d had a much better job living with my dad, but jobs were scarce and I couldn’t be picky. I moved a few miles away to Spread Eagle just down the street from the Silver Chunk, which was the only strip club I ever knew of around there. It was a big house, and I had 4 roommates. We lived on a lake, but I moved out before summer came. We had a pool, but it was outdoors. And we had a hot- tub, but I couldn’t get the heating element to work so it was just a watery grave for mice. I had a lot of musicians come and play in the basement, and I bought a drum set that I could barely play. There were frequent parties that were usually very large. I defaulted on my rent and had to move back



with my mom. I stayed there for several months wasting away at my dead end job. Luckily, my friend Crosley saw my pathetic state and offered me a life in Omelete with his brother.

So how’s that for autobiography material? What about my mom? I’ve summed up 18 years of my life in a mere 2000 or so words. Not to discount my childhood, but it was all meaningless. I’ve got a plethora of funny stories to tell, but I guess I’ll just save them for the bar.


34 An Incomplete Boo



Chapter 4 – High School Writing


This is everything I wrote in high school between chapters 1 and 3 that I still possess. Skip this.


everyone has problems to deal with in life, while the occasion and severity of these problems will vary greatly. if you have a lot of problems in your life, you learn to deal with them better than people with very few problems, thus when people with few problems have a problem, they make it seem worse because they don’t know how to deal with it. the people with lots of problems look at them and think, “what a pathetic person.” that’s my problem. ha. please interpret “problems” however you wish, use any word you like in its place…if you feel like doing so.


everyone has noodles to deal with in life, while the occasion and severity of these noodles will vary greatly. if you have a lot of noodles in your life, you learn to deal with them better than people with very few noodles, thus when people with few noodles have a noodle, they make it seem worse because they don’t know how to deal with it. the people with lots of noodles look at them and think, “what a pathetic person.” that’s my noodle. ha. please interpret “noodles” however you wish, use any word you like in its place…if you feel like doing so.


I have always tried to live my life like a movie. This may seem a bit arrogant or maybe exaggerated, but I feel that I have come as close to living the most exciting life I could. I have lived my life for entertainment, and tried to experience as many things as I could. Unfortunately what makes me happy seems to infringe on the happiness of others…I have been in the criminal ring.


it’s my tiny electrical impulses that give me away to the ones who are right.


my pulses of electricity are uneven.

they’ve got computers in their heads that process the impulses,

and tell them what i’m thinking.

so, i don’t think.


i used to think i was nothing, then i thought i was special. now i think i’m nothing because i am special. ha.


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real-time slow-motion

everything seems bent out of shape my power of perception


effective slow-motion is slowing down the pulse of our generation things are too clear, and the more see, things disappear momentarily

i know it’s getting older

pulse pounding ultra-sounding


ignorance is bliss.

knowledge is power.

power is unhappiness.


there will come a point in the history of mankind when the whole of the human species will become intelligent enough to realize the absurdity of their existence. some day they will understand that their lives serve no purpose other than to gain power(or, to just make sure they exist). why, of course, i will gladly explain. thankyou for asking.

everything spirals infinitely downward as well as upward…what i mean to say is that everything is infinite. the atoms are made of protons and such, they in turn are made of quarks, and quarks are in turn made of something else, and so on and so on. you will never find the smallest particle, because there is no smallest particle, it goes infinitely downward. just as atoms make up numerous substances, these numerous substances make up our planets, and the planets make up our universe, and our universe in turn makes up something else(what exactly i’m not quite sure), and so on and so on, spiraling infinitely upward. if you can comprehend that, you are not an idiot. if you don’t believe it, then go fuck yourself–you are an ignorant bastard. now, this is where it gets a bit tricky. you see, our universe makes up something else, but it is infinite in itself–since the universe is infinite, so is an apple. the apple contains an infinite number of particles, as does the universe, a car, or a fish, or a rock, everything does. since everything has an infinite number of particles, everything is a part of everything else, all interconnected. the apple is just as much a part of our universe as is the universe to the apple. my explanation is a bit weak. i am not the best person to try and explain this to you, but hopefully you understand. if you get it, great, but, if by chance you can’t theorize or you have an infinity complex, then just pretend that everything has limits, you will be much stupider for




doing so, but, at least you can read on and get at least an unfocused picture (and, by the way, if you disagree with anything I’ve said so far, you don’t even deserve to read this, so you can fuck off).


scientists may claim, “WHOOEEE!! we’ve found the smallest particle!” or “YEEHAA!! we’ve found the edge of the universe”, but don’t mind them, they are just stupid. scientists once claimed the earth was flat, and a bit before that everyone was sure the fire came from the Gods. so, now, back to the point: power is everything. a key idea here is that there is power in numbers, or that everything is better off to be in a group. i will try to explain. somewhere in time these infinite particles bunched together and it was good. it was to there advantage. well, i know particles don’t know what’s good, but nature shows that the majority of any collective will end up at where is best for it. okay, an example is rock, not very intelligent, if you ask me(i realize the lack of humor in my jest, but i add it anyway). now, lets take three small rocks and place them in different areas. one rock will be in a forest, one rock will be in a river, and one rock we will drop into an active volcano. Which rock will last the longest? The molten lava will surely melt the last rock in a matter of minutes. Over the course of a few hundred years the river would erode the second rock to sand (i realize that sand is tiny rocks, but please, make an attempt to think metaphorically for a moment). The rock in the forest would eventually degrade, but it would last far longer than the others. so theoretically, rocks should only exist in forests. no, no, that’s just another silly joke. rocks will last longest in places where the least weathering is done to them. the point that is so poorly being attempted to get across is this: if a nonliving item is going to exist, it is going to exist most commonly where it is best suited, and it wont exist where it is not possible for it to do so–and that in turn should explain that even though a nonliving item cannot exert any control over itself, it will be forced by nature to do what’s best for it. I just want to take a moment now to let you know that I am really, really not the person to be explaining this. I just reread what I have already written, and it is ridiculously vague. You sort of have to have an understanding before hand in order to get what I am saying. but just in case somebody out there is getting me, I will continue. what would be the best way for a rock to protect itself? well, to be together with other rocks! if you were a rock, you’d have a much better chance of staying existent in a pile with your buddies than to be all alone. if you were


38 An Incomplete Boo


underwater, the other rocks might protect you if you are underneath them. but of course there is the chance that you would be on top and prone to wear, but it is obvious your odds are better. even better would be to mold into one big rock with others, then, you will become one with others and wear much more slowly than if you were a baby rock. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. United we stand, divided we fall. Do you get the point? let me phrase it for you: a nonliving item can’t deduce that there is power in numbers, but the laws of nature control it into doing so.

you know, I think the reason I am having such difficulty in explaining this is that to me, it is just simple common sense. the fact that I have to explain all this to you, and it isn’t just as inbred as the law of gravity, seems ridiculous.


Now, you should believe that there is power in numbers, that much is necessary for the next step (if, by chance, you don’t, go to your local wal-mart, buy a gun and shoot yourself. If you aren’t old enough to buy a gun, steal one). Okay, remember that whole “everything is infinite” hubbub I spoke of earlier? It’s gonna get even crazier now. Well, it’s crazy to me at least. Since everything is infinite, there is no starting point to time(also no end). So, my description gets a bit hazy. Some time in infinite space,


I know I’m getting older. I know I need to do something with my life. I know I am listless, I know I am lazy, and I know I could do so much if I just tried. You are not telling me anything new. You think you know what’s best for me? No, you know what seems best for me, only I can know the truth about myself, because you do not understand me, you cannot understand me. You can’t understand another man unless you can experience the entire collective of his life–you are just theorizing. You don’t even know my intentions, I haven’t told you them. I won’t tell you them. You don’t need to know, it is not your life. You are not insightful, and for that alone I do not like you.


Why I live in disarray: Why attempt to live in order when perfect order can never be achieved. In a sense I am a perfectionist in the purest form, seeking the ultimate in cleanliness and sterility. With no hope of success, I give up, and my world becomes crammed to bursting with its own sediment.


I had writers block, but now it is gone. It has been so long since




I have written something I could be pleased with. Now, the majority of my work I find satisfactory. No applause necessary. I just wish I would finish some of my ideas. Most of the time I just get bored and stop before I elaborate anyth


I doubt you catch the meanings I put forth, because I do it in a most sarcastic manner–I lie. Some things are honest, while others are completely contradictory to how I really feel, but you would never know which is which. Even that is a lie. I don’t feel anything.


There was once a boy who ate too much shit. He realized that shit was safe in moderation, as did everyone else in the world, but he didn’t know his limits, and got very sick. So sick that he had to have his stomach pumped.


The boy went to the hospital and explained his situation to a doctor. The doctor was quite familiar with such cases and sympathized with the boy.

“I know the feeling,” said the doctor, “everybody has this problem some time or another. It’s quite awful, being sick like that. You get angry with yourself for eating all that shit and not knowing when to say you’ve had enough. Even worse is the thought that the people around you don’t even care that your sick, they see your face and can see the pain you are in, but they keep on serving up plate after plate of shit, with no respect for your well being. People are selfish like that, all they care about is getting rid of their own shit…So, exactly how much did you eat?”


The boy thought for a moment and replied, “I’m not sure, but I think it was around 40 pounds. It was a particularly bad day for me.”

“My God,” said the doctor, quite alarmed by the boys eating habits, and began hooking up his equipment, as one would in a state of panic, “you shouldn’t even be conscious! That much shit should have poisoned your system. How much do you normally eat?”

The boy, quite embarrassed by the doctor’s dismay, lowered his head and wondered if he should lie to the doctor, as he had when anyone would ask him this same question. He knew far too well that he ate more shit than most people, but he was not sure exactly how much more, and had always been quite insecure about it. The boy felt that the doctor, whom he had never met before, seemed to be a kind man, and would


40 An Incomplete Boo


understand. So, the boy told him everything. How he would eat shit until he vomited. How people would purposely come to him with the sole purpose of their visit being to rid themselves of their own shit, sometimes even other peoples shit they had been given as well. How he would eat as many as 25 pounds some days, usually around 20, though. He even told the doctor that he had been eating all of his own shit for the last 5 years, and that this was due to his desire not to put others in his awful position.

The doctor, quite shocked, instructed the boy to remove his clothing and lie down. He was surprised by the boys skinny, yet healthy appearance. Anyone with that kind of shit diet should have severe gastrointestinal problems, which would be clearly noticeably by a bulge in the lower body cavity, while the boy had no such bulge.


I want nothing more than to be adored.


well i wan’t to shoot it out and fill you up, until i die

while the farmer wants to fuck me in the back of his barn.

there’s nothing quite like the feel of yelling moo.

maybe i’m all milked out, maybe i’m all milked out, maybe i’m all milked out in you, maybe i’m all milked out this is the only time i really feel my thighs.


Every day, I would walk to a small park bench to eat my lunch, which usually consisted of a sandwich, fruit, and bottled water. When I first began taking this daily jaunt, I was quickly annoyed that I had to carry my garbage back to work (it is much more enjoyable to have both hands swing freely in the wind than to be hindered by a bag of garbage in one hand). So I contacted the city planner, and asked him if a trash can could be placed next to the bench in the park. He told me he would see what he could do to accommodate me. I was pleased, and waited for the day when my trash can would arrive. Weeks passed with no change, I still carried my garbage back to work, to be disposed of. So I made more inquires, with less success. The city planner had obviously given my name to his secretary and asked that I not be allowed access to the office, because whenever I called or visited, he wasn’t there. Years went by without ever having the gratification of walking back empty handed. I eventually tried not eating lunch, but found it to leave me with little energy upon my return to my office. I contemplated eating elsewhere, but the park was my routine, and I was not a friend of change. Besides,




the park was very relaxing, the exercise did me much good, and I was not very keen on giving the planner his way. I could have put the garbage in my pockets, but a man of business should never damage his own appearance, and the bottle surely would have made quite a lump in the breast of my suit. Littering was out of the question–I would be ruining the atmosphere of the friendly little park. So, I was forced to suffer, or rather, forced myself to be forced upon.

After 15 years, a new city planner was hired, so I immediately asked him exactly what I had asked his predecessor, with the same result: nothing. My daily trek continued, still hindered by the weight of my garbage. I retired at the age of 63, with no family, no mortgage, and plenty of money to support myself. I was almost completely satisfied with my life. I had taken plenty of vacations, read all the great classic literature, and had been devoted to the constant development of my intellect–all that I had ever hoped for in life, except to walk back from the park with a full stomach and empty hands. You may say, “Why, pray tell, did you never think to place your own garbage can and empty it weekly?” Well, it is an obvious alternative, but not very attractive. You see, if I were to have to come out there and empty the bugger every week, looking in the can would be like looking at a weeks worth of my governments’ denying me, all in one shot. Not a pleasing picture to me. I rathered the slow, monotonous build of sorrow, it was easier for me to ignore. This constant annoyance eventually became my sole enemy, the only source of suffering in my life. It built and built, becoming a struggle for democracy on my part. I realized that government was meant to satisfy the whole populace, not the individual, but the trash bin would have been quite nice for the other park visitors, and I pressed this very fact to both the city planners with petitions and the like. My head throbbed at the thought of my near perfect life hindered by fools. I needed solace, but I had lost that opportunity with my retirement. There was only one way I could make up for it.


I killed the city planners I had spoken to, along with their secretary. The first planner was already in a nursing home, so he was easiest; I just added acetone to his IV, and he died within a few moments. He didn’t even recognize me, he must’ve thought I was a nurse. The second planner and the secretary were still working, so I shot them both in their offices. Nothing violent, just a quick blast through the head for them both. Of course, I didn’t get away with either of these actions, I was not


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very careful, and my reasoning seemed unjustifiable to the rest of the world. So, I write to you from prison. You may think, “What a crazy man, to throw away the rest of his life!” But here me now, even if nothing I have said to you as of yet has struck you as remarkable, please, let this be the only thing: To be so close to perfection and have it stifled was hell, I would have been crazy not to kill these men. Since perfection had been lost, with no chance for it to be regained, all hope was lost, and I could thrust eagerly into life with reckless abandon, my every action being justified by my need to find this unattainable utopia. My act of personal justice couldn’t fill the gap these people had created in my life, but it did manage to stitch it up tightly, thus, I retained my sanity, simply by giving my mind a false image of perfection.


I did not want to get out of bed this morning. I never do. It is possible I am depressed. No, I am beyond depression, beyond anxiety, lying stale in benign numbness. I do not see the depression. Nothing can be seen until it is over. It is astounding how I have systematically destroyed myself in the course of the years, it was like a slowly widening breach in a dam, a purposeful action, decided upon by me, or fate (any attempt to determine which would be futile). I take pleasure in the darkness of life, particularly other peoples’ misfortune. My reversed emotional reactions seem even more bizarre when coupled with the idea that I struggle for approval from the people whom I despise. Thus, I am forced to communicate imitated sentiment (learned by behavioral observation) in order to coexist with others. This deception comes naturally to me. Logic permits me to associate myself with others, statistics tell of unlikely odds against my feelings of separation – I know I am not alone. But I do not believe people exist whose inner plight resembles mine. Still, it is possible for me to imagine such people; but that the secret raven forever flaps about their heads as it does about mine, even to imagine that is impossible. I am of the masses, yet separated by the hand of the unknown.


I don’t believe in a mystical caregiver. I believe in the unknown. God is not a being, or an object. God is the meaning, or reason, for my existence, which can never be known. Therefore, God is the unknown. My reality is an unending paradox that continually folds upon itself to create another complicated puzzle piece. The combined pieces are infinite. They are, in fact, infinity itself. Every event that takes place,




every object, every molecule, and every thought of every living creature are equal. When viewed separately they seem dissimilar, but they are each nothing more than a piece in the puzzle of our existence. For everything in our world there are an infinite number of other worlds with infinite differences, each individual object or thought having no more value than the next. Each decision I make takes me to a different world. Good decisions bring me to worlds without confrontation; bad decisions bring me to a world where I am subdued. I am silly. I am trying to explain something that can never be understood. My mind aches with every thought as they collide with each other, no two thoughts are parallel. The hidden truth is inside of me; I can see it, and feel it, but I do not understand it. Certainly I cannot explain it.


I was graced by the unknown once. I lie in my bed, sleeping. Something pulls on my chest, by the skin, no, that is a lie, but without exaggeration my account falls flat. I will attempt to refrain from embellishment. I feel nothing, but am awoken. I think nothing. The reply to my silent call comes to me. It was foreign, unnatural. I felt it for a few brief seconds; more accurately, since time is fiction, I had always felt it, and will continue to perpetually. I was just never aware before. I let it go because I was afraid, became locked into reality, and cried. I cried because it could not be understood, and I felt empty. It now lay dormant in my mind, planning for its next awakening, and I have tried to find it. But it sees me and hides, makes me very sad. I have nothing to do but await its return. The raven that brought it about must now be celebrating triumphs; why doesn’t it let me take part in them? Perhaps it hasn’t yet achieved its purpose and can therefore think of nothing else. It is entirely conceivable that life’s splendor forever lies in wait about each one of us in all its fullness, but veiled from view, deep down, invisible, far off. It is there, though, not hostile, not deaf. If you summon it by the right word, by its right name, it will come.


Anyone who cannot come to terms with his life while he is alive needs one hand to ward off a little his despair over his fate – he has little success in this – but with his other hand he can note down what he sees among the ruins, for he sees different (and more) things than do the others; after all, dead as he is in his own lifetime, he is the real survivor.


TV – by Kram Nosrettap

The idea is, that in each of these acts, the audience is


44 An Incomplete Boo


viewing the play as if they were in the tv watching the people. This theme could make for a very thoughtful and interesting play, but I decided to make it shitty. This play is about as deep as a puddle.


Act One


Scene One


Setting: Living room with couch, coffee table and other living room stuff – no TV, that will be imaginary.


At rise: Sounds of voices and keys, Travis and Micheal trying to open a door. They enter and a light switch is flipped on by Travis.


Mike: (both take coats off during speech) What time is it?

Trav: I don’t know, it’s like 7:00 or something.

Mike: What? Were missing Monoed Out!

Trav: (hanging keys) AAAALH! Turn the TV on! (Mike franticly searches the couch, attempting to find the remote) Dude, are you blind? MIKE! It’s on the coffee table.

Mike: Oh. (Mike clicks on TV, both sit on couch staring blankly into audience)


Trav: I just love dating games.

Both: OH MY GOD!

Trav: Look at that woman!

Mike: She is the mammoth queen, bow to her, or she will squash you with her blubber!”


Trav: Her butt crack is hanging a foot below her shorts. There should be a law against that.


Mike: (sarcastically) I hear that look is in now though…

Trav: Really?

Mike: Oh yeah. Just look at Jenny. (both stare for a few

seconds, awestruck) She’s…

Trav: …yeah.

Mike: It’s not fair how good she looks in those shorts. Why can’t all women be as attractive her?

Trav: They are, you just can’t see their inner beauty.

Mike: Travis, the next time we go out, you can have all the girls with inner beauty, and I’ll take the ones with outer booty. (stare at tv) That’s the problem with this dating game, you can’t see the girls you choose. This guy’s only got one more choice, and we




both know he’s gonna pick another ugly one, just to match

with the other two.


Mike: Bad choice.

Trav: Change the channel…put it on Skinimax. (mike puts a “what the hell is this?!?” look on his face) Mike: What is this crap?

Trav: South Atlantic, it’s a classic.

Mike: I don’t pay $14.95 a month to see the classics.

Trav: You don’t pay anything, you don’t live here.

Mike: Yeah…Well…OH! You just reminded me, I’ve got to go home and study for Physics. (Mike gets up to leave, puts coat on) We’ve still got that little Indian guy for our substitute teacher. You know, I still can’t understand a word he says. I just want to walk up to him during class and start chanting. (wild hand gestures and fake accent) “Oheym, bhadda hellak anim.” Just to see if he freaks out. (exit stage left)


Trav: Party tomorrow! (stares blankly at the tv, enter mother and daughter susan, carrying groceries)


Mom: When is Michael going to start dressing like a human being?


Sue: Mom, what would you think if I dyed my hair red. (they take off coats while talking, and carry groceries off stage right.) Mom: Travis, go and get the rest of the groceries from the car.

(to susan) You mean auburn like your Aunt Lucille?

Sue: (as they exit) No, something more like blood red.(travis turns TV off gets up puts his coat on and shoves the remote into his pocket and goes outside; Susan returns and plops down on the couch)

Sue: If I don’t like it I can always dye it back.

Mom: (from offstage) Susan, i’ts not a matter of whether you

like it.

Sue: It’s my head…(enter mother)

Mom: …that lives in my house and sleeps on my pillows.

Sue: Whatever happened to sharing means caring?

Mom: Honey, don’t get upset, I just have to think about it for a while, okay. What’s taking Travis so long? Did he lock himself out? (she walks over and opens the door. Travis falls flat on his back holding a cigarette, coughing smoke) Oh, this is just wonderful. You are really tricky, aren’t you. Sue: Just like a magician..

Mom: I told you I don’t want you smoking anymore! Did you think I wouldn’t notice?



An Incomplete Boo

Sue: I’ll bet Glecky was walking by. He only smokes when

she’s around.

Trav: Not true, I also smoke when Jenny, Maria, and Christina


are around.

Mom: Why on earth would you do that?

Trav: I heard that lighting a cigarette makes you look 10%

more attractive.

Sue: No, that’s if you light someone elses cigarette for them,

you moron.

Mom: How do you know that?!? (susan meekly turns away)

Trav: It doesn’t matter mom, I don’t even inhale the smoke. I

just constantly light them up and put them out.

Mom: You know I don’t like it, but I’m not going to tell you what

to do with your life.(exit stage right) (Travis sits next to susan on the couch, starts looking for the remote.)

Sue: I can’t believe this. You can suck toxic fumes into your

body –

Trav: – Hey, that’s the price you pay for beauty –

Sue: – and I can’t even dye my hair without her having a fit.

Trav: (sarcastic)Hey, I know! Maybe I’ll ask her if I can get a chain from my ear to my nose, that way, when you ask to dye your hair, it won’t seem so bad!

Sue: Don’t be silly Travis. I’m serious, It’s not fair.

Trav: I am a year older than you…Where the heck did the

remote go.(both get up and begin to search the room.)

Sue: Most likely it didn’t go anywhere, you are just too stupid

to remember where you put it last.

Trav: I remember where I put it…it

was…mumble,mumble,mumble, uhhhhhhh…(scratches head,

susan walks to him)

Sue: (pulling the remote from his coat pocket) …in your coat


Trav: Yeah, that’s it. (sue hands remote to travis) I knew I

would remember.(both sit on couch turn on tv)

Sue: What is this crap?

Trav: I live in a tastless world; it’s South Pacific.

Sue: (exaggerated) It’s just that I HATE PLAYS.

Trav: It’s a musical, and I’ll change the channel.

Sue: (singing, pretending to shampoo her hair) I’m gonna

wash that play right outta my hair! (travis knocks her stomach

with back of his hand, she jerks her hands down.)

Trav: (sets the remote on the back of couch, but it falls off onto


the floor out of site, have it fall on pillow-so there’s no sound.)




Speaking of your hair; are you gonna dye it?

Sue: Didn’t you hear what mom said? I’m not allowed to. Trav: Listen, why don’t you dye it when they leave on Saturday? That way, the deed will be done, and you can just deal with the consequences…you can do it during the party even. Sue: Travis, that may work for you, but I can’t sweet talk them the way you do. And this party, Travis, I’m a little worried they’ll find out about it.


Trav: How are they gonna know?

Sue: Do you even know how long they – (Travis shushes her as door opens and father enters stage left.)


Dad: (taking coat off, walking towards stage right behind the couch) Hi! kids, wutcha talkin aboouuut! (on the word about, dad slips on the remote behind the couch, his feet fly in the air, they need to be seen over the couch, and he lands with a thud. I recommend putting some wrestling pads on the floor behind the couch, but hey, that’s just me.) Uhhggggg, Moan, Moan Moan, Etc.(travis immediately starts laughing.)

Sue: (runs around the couch)Dad, are you ok?!?

Trav: That was incredible, the judge from Romania gives it a ten!

Mom: (rushing in)What was that sound? Huhh! Frank???

What are you doing on the floor?

Dad: (through his teeth) I tripped on the remote.(still lying on the ground, holds remote up behind couch for audience to see, yells) WHATTHE HE…(gets up)(calmly) What is it doing on the floor?


Trav: (Dad starts stretching) It really doesn’t do much of anything unless you push the little buttons, watch(attempts to take the remote, dad yanks hand a way and gives travis a mean look) I honestly don’t know. The last I remember, I was holding it.

Sue: Dad, should we call your chiropractor?

Dad: (surprised, happy, acting really weird) Actually, I feel great! My back is loose like a long necked goose!(exits stage right)

Trav: I think he may have knocked something else loose. Mom: (exits stage right)(confused) Honey are you sure you’re ok?


Sue: (susan sits on couch) Alright. So, how long are they gonna be gone?


Trav: They said they’ll be staying overnight at the casino’s hotel.



An Incomplete Boo

Sue: I guess we’ll be fine.

Trav: (begins to channel surf)Why do you want your hair red?

Sue: I don’t know, I just think it would look cool, I guess.

Trav: This doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that Mike

just dyed his hair.(sue gives mike a weird look)

Mom: (reenters) Your father has a nasty bump on his head.

He and I are both going to sleep, we’ve got to get up early tomorrow, Aunt Margaret is picking us up at 8 O’clock. You know the rules for when we are gone. I’m trusting you two not to get into any trouble while we’re gone, alright? That means nobody can come over.


Trav: Even Mike? Come on, he practically lives here.

Mom: Oh, Mike can come over anytime he wants, but no one else. I’ll leave $20 on the kitchen table so you can order pizza or something.

Trav: Understood, Captain. (salutes)

Mom: Knock it off, you know I hate that. Why don’t you do something other than watch the television tonight, we’ve got all kinds of games downstairs.

Trav: But mother, we love the TV…

Sue: And the TV loves us…TV is life.

Trav: TV is all that matters, and we must now pay our respects.


Both: (get on there knees and start bowing to where the imaginary TV is)(lights fade)


Scene 2


(Lights fade in, suitcase with clothes hanging out by the door. Father straightening tie in mirror. Mother enters stage right, purse in hand with her coat on.)


Mom: Are you ready honey, Margaret is waiting in her car. Oh my…let me fix that for you. (adjusts dad’s tie) Ok, lets go.(Dad exits suitcase and coat in hand, followed by mom. A few seconds later travis enters from stage right holding $20 bill, grabs keys, coat, switches light off and leaves. A few moments later, Mike knocks)

Mike: (from outside)HELLOOOO!

(enters)(yells)Yo…Hello…Travis. Anybody home?(talking to himself) Nobody home. Hmm. (starts looking for the remote. Starts by looking in couch, removes all the cushions, throws them on the floor) Where’s the friggin remote.(looks in the




endtable, then stands upright, pauses, walks to coffee table, grabs the remote sits down on the cushionless couch and turns on tv. Talks to himself like the names of the show he’s watching, Then he starts singing a music video, something Canadian, something that everybody knows, and gradually he really gets into it. ex. grabbing the lamp and using it as a microphone, screaming the words really out of tune, jumping all over. Sue walks in, wearing nightgown or robe, and just watches as Mike makes an ass of himself.)


Sue: Hi.(mike screams ans jumps about 8 feet and falls backwards. gets up, turns tv off, sets remote on coffee table.) Mike: I didn’t think anyone was home. Sue: I was sleeping.


Mike: You could’ve kept sleeping. You didn’t have to get up for me.


Sue: (susan begins picking up cushions and things) You were screaming at the top of your lungs.


Mike: Oh…Yeah…I don’t really like that song, I was just…uhhh.

Are you ready for the party tonight?

Sue: Yes. Are you going to be there?

Mike: Where?

Sue: The party!?!

Mike: Uh, yeah. Sure. Oh, yeah, yeah, of course!

Trav: (from outside) MFFMFM, UUUUMMM…MMMMFFF! [he’s saying open the door](sue walks to door) Mike: WHAT WAS THAT?!?

Sue: Travis went to pick up some food for the party.(opens door, In walks Trav, holding one plastic bag with teeth, two paper bags against his chest, and holding 2 more plastic bags with his hands.)


Mike: Here, let me help.(walks to travis, grabs a bag of pretzels out of one of the paper bags, sits on the couch and starts eating them, channel surfs, then puts the remote in his pocket)


Sue: (sarcastic)You think you got enough?(she grabs some of the bags and they set them on the coffee table, sue pulls out a can of corn) It isn’t a party unless you have canned corn.

Trav: Well, the things in the plastic bags are the groceries I forgot to bring in last night.(pulls out a box of ice cream, dripping with melted ice cream.) Everything but the ice cream is fresh. Sue: (sarcastic)(pulls out yogurt) I’m sure yogurt that hasn’t been refrigerated for 13 hours is just fine. (pulls out some bacon) And hey, lets have some bacon with it, shall we? Have you ever



An Incomplete Boo

heard of salmonella?

Mike: Hey, would you eat at a retaurant if it was called, “Sam &



Trav: It’s all sealed. Listen, I’ll eat it, no problem.

Mike: D’ya get it, Sam and Ella, they’ve got a restaurant, and they call it-

Trav: I heard you, it wasn’t very funny.

Mike: Bite me.

Trav: What’s with you, anyway?

Mike: I had 12 cups of coffee this morning.

Sue: C’mon, help me put this stuff away.(sue and trav grab bags and bring them off stage right, Travis reenters grabs the bag of pretzels from mike and brings them to the kitchen{stage right})


Mike: (sits for a second, then gets up and walks to the door)Listen, I’m gonna go out and round up people to come to the party, I’ll be back in a while. (exit stage left)

Sue: (Reenters flops on couch) What crawled up your butt? Trav: (reenters flops on couch) What were you doing with my best friend? I always knew you liked him. Sue: What are you talking about?


Trav: I see all the cushions on the couch messed up, I mean, come on. You’re in your nightgown!


Sue: I was sleeping upstairs, when he woke me up. He was running around and singing Alanis Morosette, and he pulled the cushions off the couch.

Trav: You expect me to believe that crap? I’m not a moron. I know Mike, and I know you.


Sue: Do you really think he likes me?(puts hand on travis’s shoulder) Travis, don’t worry about it ok. I’m not doing anything, except taking a shower right now.(exits stage right)

Trav: I hate it when people lie to me.(starts looking for the remote, searches everywhere, knock at the door, opens the door.)

Mike: (holds the remote out) I forgot I had – (Trav slams door on him, from behind the door) – the remote.(mike sits back down on the couch, watches tv for a sec then leans back and falls asleep. Lights fade, then come back on with Travis awake watching tv[this is supposed to be a dream sequence, but the audience isn’t really told that.]Knock on the door.)(mike gets up to open the door.)


Trav: Hi Glecky.(becky is in love with Travis, in the dream, at least)




Glecky: Hi Travis, you are looking quite handsome today.

Trav: Well, it just comes naturally to me.

Glecky: I hear you are having a party tonight. What time should I come over?


Trav: For you baby, anytime. Say, you want to sit down and watch some TV with me?


Glecky: Why Travis, I thought you’d never ask! (both go and sit on the couch, opposite ends. Each scooch over, until they are right next to each other, then Glecky all of a sudden says) Kiss me Travis! (Travis leans over and kisses becky) Glecky: What is your brother doing?

Trav: What? Glecky, I don’t have a brother.

Glecky: Dude, you just kissed a pillow!

Trav: WHAT?

Glecky: Are you awake?(lights go out and come back on, but with sue and mike standing over couch, travis awake holding a pillow)

Trav: Yeah. Yeah I’m awake.

Mike: You were kissing that pillow. (trav throws pillow aside) Trav: I dreamt I got a new puppy.(mike and sue look at each other)So, uh, who’d you get to come to the party? Mike: Everybody you know is coming.


Trav: You talked to that many people that fast?

Mike: Hey man, it’s like a chain reaction, you tell two people and they call two people and it turns into a tidal wave of friends. Sue: And I invited some people, too..

Trav: Neither of you invited Scott Wankel did you? He doesn’t bath.


Mike: No, but listen, I’ve got to go home and make up some story for my parents so I can stay the night here. They know your parents are gone so I can’t say I’m staying here.(mike walks to door)

Trav: Fine, but don’t get us caught.(mike leaves)

Mike: (starts singing, “tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies”

Trav: (follows with chorus,”Tell me lies, Tell me tell me lies.”


Scene 3


Trav: (knock on door, gets up and opens the door, before he can say anything is knocked down by about 20 people that rush in, all talking to each other and laughing and having a great time, they have to gradually lower their volume until they are totally silent, but with mouths moving and still acting party-like. Nobody


52 An Incomplete Boo


even gives travis a look, travis looks at everybody. then sits on couch next to a couple, couple talking luvy duvy stuff. gets up to talk to a couple of guys, and as soon as he gets to them they walk away, then he sits back on the couch changes some channels, sets the remote on the coffee table, leans back, somebody then walks in front of the couch and takes the remote and sits on another chair and changes the channels, travis gives him a mean look. Knock at door, travis answers it, Mike runs as fast as hell out stage right [while holding his crotch with both hands, another person steps in, we’ll just call him, Jim) Where’s he going?

Jim: He drank about 2 gallons of soda on the way here.(jim goes and mingles.)(travis just kinda wanders around for a while, then mike returns)

Mike: So, how’s the party going?

Trav: Pure excitement. I haven’t said a word to anybody nyet.

Mike: What?

Trav: I haven’t said a word to anybody YET. That must’ve been a typo.


Mike: Go and mingle man. Meet some chicks. I see Glecky

over there, go and talk to her.

Trav: I’ve tried, I can’t do it.

Mike: Watch man, I’ll show you how it’s done.(walks to a group of people and to some girl says)So, are you still a virgin?(as soon as he says this, a very large fellow[obviously her boyfriend] picks him up by the neck, and throws him on the ground behind the couch. He gets up, then heads to mike) That line usually works.

Trav: You are insane.

Mike: It’s the caffeine man, it affects me. My heart is beating at an unhealthy rate.(enter sue stage right, with VERY red hair, pointing straight up, everybody stares at her.) Now I think I’m hallucinating! A big red troll doll is heading straight at me! Oh my God, it’s your sister… and she’s gorgeous!

Sue: (she thinks it actually looks good)(to mike) You like it?

Mike: Oh yes!

Trav: You look like you were taking a fruit punch bath and

somebody threw in a hairdryer.

Sue: I think it looks “alternative.”(sue and mike walk over to couch were luvy duvy couple is making out on the edge, mike gives them a little push, and they fall on the floor. S&M sit on couch[i think this sentence is funny].)




Most dogs bark pointlessly, even if someone is just walking by in the distance; but some, perhaps not the best watchdogs, yet rational creatures, quietly walk up to a stranger, sniff at him, and bark only if they smell something suspicious. The dog may be looked upon as inferior(due to lack of ferocity), or he may be hailed by it’s owners for his ability to entertain the family with learned behavior. People have certain characteristics that they look for in a pet, be it a familiarity with the dogs behavioral traits, or perhaps humility mixed with a lack of insight will make for a very friendly animal. The human race as a whole determines what a generally good dog’s abilities should be. They want an obedient dog, one that looks up to its owner with awe, striving to please – in essence, slavery. These dogs we breed are nothing but robots, genetically engineered to make us happy. These animals have only one thing to live for, recognition and attention from their owners. This may seem cruel, it may seem untrue, but it is not.


To examine a dog’s behaviour is not a problematic task, their minds are simple, and we, as observers, can see from many different aspects. It is easy to understand why they behave as they do, because we are aware of what they are controlled by–ourselves. But to study our own minds is a complicated process. We don’t know what we are controlled by. Some people say we control ourselves, but that can’t be true. Something intangible is affecting us. We must disassociate ourselves and attempt to look from a different perspective. We have to see people as objects, zombies performing their daily tasks. Most importantly, we cannot let our own perception of reality cloud our judgment. The end. I really have no idea where this was going, and it started to sound a bit like a self-help pamphlet, so I stopped.


Most men yell pointlessly, even if someone is just walking by in the distance; but some, perhaps not the most alert, yet rational creatures, quietly walk up to a stranger, talk to him, and yell only if they sense something suspicious.


The meek are meek because they know those that aren’t will kill themselves off, and the meek shall inherit the earth. They just have to have patience.


Penis envy. Freud had a massive ego problem. When I first heard the term I assumed it meant for one man to envy another’s massive penis. I was wrong though. It is a woman’s envy of the


54 An Incomplete Boo


male sexual organ. How ridiculous is that? How many women do you know wish they had a penis? It’s all Freudian bullshit, in one ear, out the other. He says that the female child attaches to her father(the Elektra complex) due to the fact that he has a penis, and her need for a penis is ultimately replaced by having a child, because that’s something a man can’t do. Of course, this is all subconscious, so nobody is aware of it, and it can never be proven, as is most all of what Freud has to say. I can’t stand any of that mock philosophic psychology. Anyone can say, “I have a theory. It can’t be proven right or wrong, but it sounds deep, so believe it.” That is not deep. Nobody looks deep enough. All psychologists tests are the same: present the patient with stimuli, see how they react. Who cares? Everyone thinks that the more they know about themselves, the more meaning they will find in their lives. They think the meaning of their existence is inside them. Psychologists are worthless people, devoting their lives to finding enlightenment, but taking such a tragically wrong course of action, they will never understand anything more than how a person behaves, never why they behave as they do. You can’t just study the mind, you have to study reality.


They look at themselves, and then they look at the rest of the world. They think, “I’m different, I’m special.” No, you are not different; you are exactly the same as everyone else. You have the same goal, the same purpose. To forward your species, not by your choice mind you. You can make no decisions for yourself, everything is predetermined by nature. Power. That is the center of it all.


A cowardly new world:

Letting something go. How easy is this? For me, very simple. Whenever presented with something that should worry me or cause stress, I just don’t worry about it. No counting to ten backwards, no yoga meditation. Just a simple, brutal, lack of caring.


Your interpretation:

Richard H. Kirk was a fine man, able bodied and of average intelligence. As a child he had many friends, and a loving family. He enjoyed many different activities in school, participating in football, soccer, baseball, and basketball. Upon graduation, he started work as a mechanic, and married his high school sweetheart, Susan Weatherby. They had 2 children, Samantha,




and Slick Junior. Five minutes after his son’s birth, Richard went to his house and killed himself. No one will ever know why this man, who lived a seemingly happy life, would do such a thing.

My interpretation:

Richard, not being a very bright man(average intelligence means ignorance to the gifted), lived a pathetic life. And, in his ignorance, was quite unaware of his misery. His unhappiness stemmed from a lack of self consciousness. He never knew why he did anything he did, or even thought to ask such a question of himself, he just did what his mind told him to, without ever wondering why. If you don’t know why you act, you can’t be satisfied with your actions. Pure luck caused something simple to give him some sort of insight, he realized just how unhappy he was, and ended his life. What a fuck-up. But, most people are fuck-ups that aren’t lucky enough to realize it, and will live and die stupid.


Richard’s subconscious interpretation:

I’m alive. I’m bored. I’m still bored. Sex is cool. Now I have a daughter. I’m bored again. Now I have a son. Some day, my son will be bored. That sucks. Fuck it, I’m outta here.


What the fuck have I done? I know they are somewhere around here. Oh well. Wait…here they are.


We are the melting pot. Great idea. No, wait: We are pot.

Even better.


I had a terrible day today. I let myself be sucked into the void of self deceit. Oh well…


Writers block. All psychological, but, still, I get it. Since I’ve let people read this, I feel that anything I add to it will not live up to their expectations. People always expect things to get better and better. My writing will always be the same, and people will think, “Hmm…He must not have been trying as hard as before.”


Tom picks up the piece of rusted metal, and grunts. The weight of the object puts more of a strain on his body than he should allow. Nevertheless, he carries it across the yard and drops it into the large metal dumpster. The loud crash of metal against metal echoes through the dumpster, and then through Tom’s head as he leans against it to catch his breath. He hears


56 An Incomplete Boo


his boss yelling something to him. As always, Tom can’t interpret the words because the heavy machinery makes such a din that speech becomes inaudible at 10 feet from its point of origin. So, he walks over to the fat man and asks him to repeat himself. Annoyed, his boss says, “Why do you always insist on straining yourself like that. I tell you every time, don’t carry that heavy shit around, use the forklift, or just throw it on the fuckin’ dolly and pull it.” Tom thinks, “It takes much more time to go and get a forklift or dolly to move something. I am doing him a favor by saving him so much time by carrying it myself. I could understand if I had to make a lot of trips, but he always has me carry one thing, never many. Besides, I don’t mind carrying the shit, it’s a great workout, and what makes me stronger makes him stronger. This man has no business sense.” Tom decides he will not work for someone who is not as smart as he is, and quits right then and there.

Tom is either an idiot, or a genius. He never told his boss the reason why he carried the heavy objects, if he had, a mutual understanding would have followed and work would have continued. That makes him an idiot. But, if he realized this solution, and recognized that it was not his duty to teach this stupid old man, he is a genius of the purest form. Not to say that being a genius is better–either way he will not be able to survive in the material world.


I don’t care. I don’t worry. I don’t regret. I don’t expect anything. So when something good happens, I am pleased, when something bad happens, I am numb. Therefore, I should always be happy. So why am I not?


Mark was lying in bed one evening, but was unable to fall asleep, so he started to read. Mark was an avid fan of existentialist writing, and was amazed by Freidrich Neitche’s philosophy. When he read a passage discussing the death of God, he set his book down, and began to ponder, “If God is dead, and you and I have killed him, it can be inferred that we have the power to kill God, because we created him. Therefore, God has never really existed, other than in the minds of man.” This conclusion didn’t strike him as spectacular, it merely concurred with his other beliefs regarding God and faith. Mark turned his lights off and attempted to sleep once more.


After nearly 2 hours of sleep, he awoke to find himself in a cold sweat, and blinded by a magnificent white light, which




seemed to radiate from every direction he looked. A loud voice boomed, “MARK!”


Mark jumped up and said, “Who is this?”

“Never mind that. I have something important to tell you. You have been chosen to teach the world. You have been correct all along, God does not exist, and you must show the world that this is true.”

“Okay, then who the fuck are you?”

“I am your subconscious.”

“So I am imagining all of this? No fucking way. You are God, and I will now preach your word.”


Man is an animal? People that think that should live in a zoo. That has got to be the stupidest fucking retort to the idea of evolution I have ever heard. Scientology is dog shit.


Human is just a name for an evolved primate. When a bear feels that her cubs will be threatened, she will sacrifice herself for her cubs. If a ship is sinking a mother will care more for her child’s safety than her own. Of course, some mothers might not even care about their children, and will let them drown out of fear for their own safety. It is better that the uncaring mothers children should die, because they would have grown up the same way; their deaths cut off the evolutionary cycle of a diseased human family.


I am intelligent and cautious, you are stupid and arrogant. We cannot get along. Why don’t we just compromise ourselves, try to find a common ground? Because you do not have the power, you’re intelligence is your limiting factor. Therefore I am forced to bring myself to your level, both intellectually and emotionally, creating very dismal prospects for happiness and productivity on my part.


It’s cool to have angst.


Everything you have read so far has been written while sober. I am about to get piss drunk and write a story:

Well, I’m drunk, but too tired to write. I am now going to bed.

Good night.


Good idea for a scene:

Mark’s life sober contrasted by Marks life when stoned. Some


58 An Incomplete Boo


examples are, mark playing basketball, mark ordering food at drive through, mark making music, mark having a conversation, mark riding his bike. Now, I really feel that we should strive for total realism here, so I should actually get stoned and do all of these things. But hey, that’s just me.


I am a sociopath. In clinical terms, I do not care about right and wrong. I am a liar, a cheat, and a thief, yet I am quite charming, as to delude those that I wrong. I am best characterized by an inability to establish a relationship of deep love and/or trust with anyone, not even family. I am an evil person in pure form. I have tried my hardest not to live this way, but it seems I will always be pounded back into sociopathy’s firm grip.


One plus one equals two. That statement is pure abstraction. The only place math can exist is in your mind, from which it came. The base of mathematics is addition and subtraction, neither of which is physically possible. If you have 2 apples, and you get two more, you have four. You added 2 apples to your own stock of 2, but those other 2 apples came from somewhere else, or, were subtracted from somewhere else. The action negates itself, and becomes devoid of meaning. So, you live and die ignorant, but happy to have found something you believed secure.


I’m so fucking lost and invalidated, so put down and emasculated. I hate everyone, and they give me no reason not to. Just show me that you deserve my respect, and I will give it to you. But you won’t do that. Instead you try to drag me to your level. Listen you fools: I don’t function at your level, I am far above you. Is that why you hate me? Quite likely, it seems. You think I shouldn’t be so lucky, so you take every opportunity to peel away at my happiness. At least, that’s how some are. Others are so stupid, they can’t even begin to comprehend the slightest inkling of my essence. They make guesses at my intentions and associate their own thoughts with my actions. They think, “Of course he cheated on her, he has every reason to, he doesn’t love her, he is a flirt, that’s just the way he is(some even think, “That’s what I would have done”). This creates a very inaccurate picture of me; an ignorant picture of me. What can I do? I’m so full of pity, I can’t hurt those that hurt me. Am I to stand by and watch myself be smashed to the floor? Yes, or,




at least, that’s what I have been doing. On rare occasions I

do attempt to enter the foray of life, to be human, to love and be loved. I am happy for a short period of time, then my happiness is stripped away, by you. This is an agonizing cycle of bitter sorrow that seems to have no end. I hate all of you for doing this to me.


I have found what I want, though it seems I am not to have it. Before, I swallowed my pride, and she was in my reach. Now, I retain my dignity, and she will forever be a part of my past.


There was a girl, coming from the sidewalk. I just smiled at her and walked away. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how.




What a fool I am. I preach about the wrongness of thinking that you understand people, yet I do it myself. How was I to know she didn’t love me? I just assumed my feelings were mutual. But she didn’t know her own feelings, so she made them up. She could never understand me, but if she did, life would be perfect; this can never happen. I just did it again. I can’t know what she thinks, I can’t let myself think I know. I just have to wait and see.


I lived my entire life hating everyone, but fought and killed that emotion for just one person. I let myself become human in order to love her. Can you understand that? No, you cannot. Only after feeling pure hatred can one understand what love truly is, everyone else takes it for granted.


Love was the first thing that ever made me truly happy. All I wanted was to love and be loved. Then it was taken away. I won’t look for love elsewhere; I can’t let this happen again. So I break it down until I can see nothing; then I see everything, and am glad that my love is gone, or rather, was never there.


fucking shit fuck cunt bastard, I can’t write about love, it makes me want to kill someone.


I know I am rare, I don’t belong with any of them; they are not like me. But they refuse to see it; either they can’t, or they won’t because they know it is true. I am better than all of them


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combined. I need to find an equal, or maybe someone I can at least pretend is equal.


When I walk down my street, the brilliant colors of the leaves blowing in the wind transfix upon my mind. This is when I know that I am God. The leaves are there only for me, and only I can experience this moment.


All I want is something I can never have. If, by chance, I happen to get it, I am very happy. When I lose it, I feel worse than before; because I know that I was correct in thinking I couldn’t have it in the first place.


The English language is in me. I couldn’t tell you the difference between an adverb and an adjective. Anything past noun and verb is nonsense to me. I just learned the meanings of words, and then reading and writing became natural. Illiterate people baffle me.


I see my problem now, I’ve lost my nerve. Fuck that. I don’t

have to worry about anything. n Wnat’ klh;jsadjkl; What the








The romance is gone, the hate is burning, and I feel like hurting someone tonight.


Tell me what you wish for when you see a falling star. If you are wishing for me, I am yours. If not, I am still yours.


big brother is watching me–I better cover my ass I am drunk now.


I lie on my broken back. This swift blow accrued unto me will never heal, but dreaming for a miracle gets me through the night. I’m so negative. Maybe I should get a gun and kill myself.


What would you do if I said I was going to kill myself? ELABORATE MAYBE, EH? Tell me how to get a gun. Or




maybe supply me with the necessary drugs.


What would you do if I said I was going to kill myself? Mark:

remember what this line is leading to.


Why do people do drugs? ANSWER THE QUESTION, DAMN YOU!


Headlights. ELABORATE, MOTHER FUCKER! I’m too tired.

Let me sleep. Okay. Good night.


If I say to you, “Let’s be real for a moment,” you won’t. If you can’t I hate you. If you don’t want to, I hate you even more.


If I say, “I love someone.” People would laugh and say, “No you don’t, look at what you’ve written. You can’t love anyone. You are foolish to even consider the possibility.” It is possible a case of mistaken identity would ensue, and friends would be lost. Oh fucking well. Fuck you all. I don’t care what you think about anything. Nothing you say is of any value to me whatsoever. FUCK YOU ALL. FUCKING DIE FOR ALL I CARE.


Maybe writing wasn’t such a good idea.


I’m drunk, but something important swirls about me. Remember, Mark: just fucking do it.


I have to constantly remind myself not to kill anyone.


Now I’m not drunk.


Mike sits at his regular seat in the bar. He doesn’t know why he thinks he’ll be able to find a woman here. He sips his beer while an attractive blonde eyes him from across the bar. She walks over to him and says,” Hi.” Mike puts his drink down, leans back, and punches her in the jaw as hard as he can. The girl is dragged out of the bar while the bartender says, “I’m sorry about that, we get those kind in here alot. Have a drink on the house.”


Don’t forget the snowflakes.


The only thing I find interesting to talk about is myself. It’s the only thing I understand.


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That seriously scares the shit out of me every time I read it. I think several lines are ripped from Kafka and then mutilated by me. I hope this helps you glean some insight into my character at 17 years old.



Chapter 5 – Why I Wrote This Book


Everything prior to this was written before going to Lowaters Mental Health Institute.

Nothing too extremely out of the ordinary took place in my life between meeting Mi’Clam, the girl from Chapter 1, and my next “supernatural” experience so I’ll skip all that. Yes, there is more than one. I will say when my friend Crosley asked me if I was interested in moving to Omelete in 1998 the first thing that crossed my mind was Mi’Clam. I’m guessing if he had said any other city in the world I would have said no. He was surprised at how quickly I agreed, and immediately concerned that I might not have thought things through completely. Crazy, right?


So we became roommates and coworkers in Omelete. We quickly set about making fake ID’s. This is a very simple process with the old Peninsuland driver’s license. I would go to the bars, smoke weed, write music, and bus tables at the Universal Café. That was about it for me. There was a girl I fell in love with, but Crosley wanted to be with her as well. I think she may have loved me too, but it bothers me to this day. She was a wonderful girl and I told her that I was no good for her and would only bring her suffering. At the time I honestly felt that was true. Now I’m certain it’s true, but I’m sure the good times would have been great.

Before the love triangle drama, he bought us both tickets to Apparatus, my absolute favorite band at the time, for my birthday. Coincidentally, I bought him tickets to Ablactate (his favorite band) that same year, with Vast Expanse Band Oedipus opening, for his birthday.

I saw a man dressed as a woman standing near a doorway leading to what looked to be the concessions area. He struck me as someone I should recognize. I may have seen a picture of him, but this wasn’t how I recognized who it was. I walked up to him and asked him if he had a


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lighter, holding a cigarette in front of my face. He said no or that he didn’t smoke, I don’t remember. I have a hard time remembering what he said so most of the time I’m paraphrasing, but I remember everything I said. I knew I had a lighter in my pocket so I pulled it out quite fervently and declared, “Oh never mind, I’ve got one right here!” I wanted him to think something was up right away, but he just assumed I was a loud idiot. So I tried a couple more subtle hints and he realized quickly that I was on to him. Upon recognition his mood became quite favorable, and we began to speak openly. I had recently read in an article in the EastLetter describing his new band, Immaculate Aureole, and I suggested he hire every artist listed as already/possibly being signed on for his new side project. I don’t know if he knew I was bullshitting him but I’m pretty sure I looked like a buffoon. I told him I did some music with samplers, and he told me he’d done some similar things as well, but met with little success (he thought it sounded shitty). I told him that he should release his personal music under the name Pubic Hair, because I thought it sounded funny and would then be fitting. I told him that he should hook up with one of his roadies and help him out with his music, and he said he was already thinking about it. I told him that I thought society would someday consider him to be one of the greatest musicians of his time, and that he would be revered in the annals of history. I just like saying annals. I even ventured to say that he could write a song about shitting the bed and people would eat it up. I told him I thought he should cover Imagine, because it had the best message of any song ever written, being that I was a devout atheist at the time. I like the part about heaven and hell. He at some point herein offered to help me with my demo or get my phone number, but alas, I had no demo to give and no phone number at the time. I said he should give me his number, and we both realized neither of us had a pen, so I said, “Typical.” I think you get



the idea that he didn’t do much of the talking. I told him Chapter 1. Yeah, I dropped one of those on him. I don’t think he took it too well. I said I wanted to shake his hand. Nothing happened or so it seemed. I can’t remember how it started really. I think maybe I shook his hand earlier in the conversation. That’s odd isn’t it? Didn’t I just type out in a matter of minutes the exact events and statements that exchanged between us? But for the life of me I can’t remember how this part of the conversation started. I said that planes would fly into buildings in the Unified Regions. He thought this was completely ridiculous considering our precautionary defense systems. I said our military defense system was a joke. He told me he had some military experience. He asked me why I thought the plane attack would take place. I gave an example from what I experienced at airports everywhere. The security paid little attention to their jobs. My mother once carried an 8 inch buck knife through security at Garlic Equidistant Airport. Why she even had this is ridiculous because it would instantly be turned against her in the event of a mugging. This was not deliberate; she never even knew what she had done. But I watched it scroll past the screen like an image in a horror flick as the staff laughed and talked amongst themselves. It was a weird moment for me, and I think it related well to the subject at hand, especially considering I hadn’t a clue why I had said anything at all. I think he was absolutely sure they would get shot down first. I said maybe even the pentagon would be hit. I think he laughed. So I said, “I’m sure it will be hit now!”


  1. said that an African-American would be elected Tsar. He laughed and asked why I thought I was telling him this. I was surprised, like I expected him to be amazed by these things I was telling him. I said I didn’t even know how I knew, but that he might want to think for a moment because maybe he knew who I was talking about. Almost immediately he says, “I know exactly who it is.” I instantly


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suspected he was fucking with me so I called bullshit. He was adamant, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt when he told me who he thought it was going to be, especially considering all the apparent nonsense I’d been spewing at him. Of course I had forgotten all about this until the 2008 election started rolling. Garrison Curvilinéar of course won, as we all know. He is an honorable man, and the Unified Regions’ citizens should be proud to have him as their leader.

I then went on to tell him that there would be an economic recession, but we’d call it a depression because we are so full of self-pity. I said that our 3 major auto companies might fold, but that I wasn’t quite sure. He said “Why are you telling me these things?” This might be the precise moment our lovely tranny stopped giving a shit about anything I had to say. I got mad at him, and yelled, “Nothing I am saying is for you, it’s for everyone else, and then you.” I said that every other “mystical” experience he may have ever had was total bullshit, and that this moment he was experiencing was the most amazing thing to ever happen in either of our lives. I told him if he didn’t want to be a part of this to just go away from me, but then I thought I might need him closer like an antenna or something. I know it’s weird right? So I apologized and politely invited him to come back near me.


Here is the kicker. This is the one that the whole book is for. Every time I think of 9/11 I shudder in fear, but for this I would cry uncontrollably, I know it. I said, in a matter of fact way, just as I am wording it now, that there would be some kind of nuclear attack(s). Maybe just one, maybe nuclear holocaust, I didn’t know. I said it would be sometime on or around the end of the Mayan calendar, because we would all be expecting something, and we wouldn’t want to disappoint ourselves. It is a self fulfilling prophecy. Now, I don’t know what kind of person you are, but me? I’m pretty sure I’d feel bad regardless of who got



attacked. I have had many theories about how and where

this is going to happen over the years, but it’s all just

conjecture. I don’t know the answer to these

questions…yet. What I said specifically was that it was

going to happen in either the Unified Regions, Juland, or a

lot of places combined. I said I didn’t know how many

bombs would go off. I did suggest that he contact Tsar

Curvilinéar and tell him the parts of this story he might

believe so that he is prepared when it does happen.

I also said something else that was and is still very interesting to me especially now. I informed my new friend that there was no such thing as destiny or fate. This technically should negate everything I had said to him prior, along with everything else in this book. I don’t know how I did what I did, but everything I said came true. Could I have stopped or changed any of it, had I truly believed it was all really going to happen? You see I lived for years thinking it was all just coincidence, and only recently opened my mind to the possibility that millions of people might die. I’m sorry for all the victims of the terrorist attacks of September 11th , 2001. I didn’t know what to do, and I was too scared to begin with. Can I stop nuclear attacks by writing a book? I guess I’ll leave that for someone else to figure out. What I do know is that I can stop going crazy from it, because at least I tried something.


A few more points that were brought up in our conversation that I can’t quite place on the timeline: I said that the number 11 was heaven, and 12 was hell. I don’t know why. You figure it out. I also said the only number you really need is one, ‘cause everything else ain’t unificated. I think that’s why I failed algebra 3 years in a row. He told me that the planets would align around my approximated end date, which was shocking to me because it added a sense of mystery. I said no one could ever travel back in time, but you could possibly travel forward in time


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(my examples were cryogenic freezing and re-awakening, and near light speed travel). I said I was an alien, but quickly recanted and explained I just wanted to try anything to get him to believe me. I said the most famous pop star in the world would die at age 50. I’m not going name him or try to make something up because I’m sure his lawyers care about him even more in death. So let’s all just celebrate the death of an anonymous pedophile! Who cares, right? Just don’t forget you are reading fiction. I said Brent Heatingandcooling would lead the fight against record companies by releasing his albums for free online, and that musicians in the future would only make money from live performances. I said memory chips would take over all media. I said something about legion from the bible; I can’t quite remember exactly what as I’m no biblical scholar. I just know that legion are the bad guys. I guess most importantly I said that I would write a book, and he would have to face public ridicule and career suicide by backing me up when the time came. He was totally not into this, so I said maybe we’ll wait until we both die and then both publish books or something. This sounds like the best plan right now, so this book will just scratch the surface of my life compared to that book. This one is for my sanity; the next one is for the whole of human-kind. If for some reason I die and no other book comes out, sorry. I must have died too soon. I gave K the option of releasing a signed, sealed affidavit upon his death. I said he should keep a phone line with his name listed in his hometown with instructions to take my call. He asked how he would know who I was. I said I’d just say I’m the psychic from Crimson Quarry. When he asked if we would see each other again, I said I wasn’t sure. I described how I might try to get his attention, in various ways, all of which actually came to fruition. I even suggested that he play a show in a nice ritzy playhouse, which he eventually did right here in Omelete. I said I’d hold a sign up with my



name on it at one of his concerts and hang out with the autograph hounds to try and reach him after a show. I said depending on whether I’m married or not, I might bust through the guards. I figured all in all it would be 10 or 11 years before we would meet again.

Crosley returned from getting us handicapped bracelets to find me amidst conversation. He said quietly to me, “What are you talking to this guy for?” So I tried to hint at it without saying specifically whom we were speaking to. Eventually I gave up hinting, and he realized who it was when the performance started.

As I was walking away, I yelled loudly, “No I will not have sex with you for money!” Everyone in close proximity immediately looked at both of us, while I gestured as if I was writing and then mouthed silently, “Go write it down.”

I could have written the book back then, but everyone would have an excuse not to believe me now. I was in on it, or I gave them the ideas. Fuck that. Perhaps my saying these things in advance would have made them not happen anyway, and I’d look like a total dipshit, or something even worse might happen. I didn’t go through any of these thought processes at the time. I just didn’t believe myself. I was in complete and total denial. All that happened was that I met a star.


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Chapter 6 – Omelete Music Scenery


My life between chapters 1 through 5 is ridiculous. A lot of things seem to interconnect. Half the time what I experienced during this period felt like it was happening only for me. I used to pace around the house or wherever I happened to be just thinking about it over and over. How was it possible? How could it be? I think I could have somehow subconsciously caused certain things to connect, but it’s just too obvious to me that something unique was happening. The other half of the time I completely forgot about all of it.


At the Apparatus concert I enjoyed sitting in the handicapped section, and it was absolutely the best seat in the house. I noticed an incredibly attractive female being pushed into the ropes that separate the sections as Apparatus began to play. The crowd was going wild, but she just wanted to enjoy the concert like me. She was sitting directly to my left. I suggested that she move across the rope and sit next to me. She was apprehensive so I carefully slid my yellow bracelet that said I was handicapped off my wrist and gave it to her. She seemed appreciative as she slipped under the rope. Every time I talked to her she shushed me. She explained that she was a huge fan. Eventually security came around and asked to see our bands, because it was obvious someone new had entered the section. There was Crosley, me, and one actually handicapped person before she had entered. That’s like a 25% increase in people. So the guy tells her she can’t be there. I say, “She’s my girlfriend. I just gave her my bracelet because she got here too late. I’m friends with the band.” He says I’m full of shit, and asks me to leave. So I say, “I’m friends with the drummers cousin from Peninsuland, but they all know me, look!” as I gesture toward the stage. The security guy turns around, and K is clearly watching these events unfold. As soon as the guard


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looked around I started waving to K and gesturing my head slowly up and down like I was willing him to nod his head in agreement Yoda style. K merely shrugged his shoulders in the universal “I don’t know” gesture. This is a negative response to security personnel. So I say, “Just look man, we’re with the band. I’m not handicapped. How do you think we got these bracelets?” Somehow, almost magically the security guard took that as being ok, and we continued to enjoy the concert until its completion. She shushed me when I tried to sing along, which was totally uncouth in my mind. I think I asked, but regardless I ended up with her name and phone number which went through the wash about a week later and was lost. Venus was her name. I think it was obvious that we were never meant for each other, but boy, you couldn’t help but think about it when saw her. Crosley and I rushed, I mean full blown ran to the car to avoid traffic exiting Crimson Quarry, and as I was running all I could think was that it was just too surreal.

I moved in with my neighbor, Matt, because Crosley and I were getting on each others nerves sometime after the concert. It was here I first experimented with LSD. First it was one paper hit, then a couple. Then I took 5 gel-tabs and tripped so hard I had to leave work the next day. That was pretty much the end of my acid experiences. I think I tried it once more after that, so about a handful of times total. I did try mushrooms several times after that, thinking, “It’s all natural, it can’t be bad!” It’s basically just weak acid so what’s the point anyway? I never really felt hard drugs were my downfall considering some other peoples conditions, but I still had a feverish pot habit that I was realizing it could be a problem.


Crosley was working at the Aztec Theatre with a girl named Elen. He invited her and a friend of hers over to look for riots after the Rockslide in the finals. But somehow they all ended up in Matt’s place with me. Elen did not like me and stormed out with her friend, who I



thought did like me. But before that, she had pulled out

a photo album, and there was Venus as plain as day. I mentioned this to Crosley, but he didn’t recognize her. The concert had only been about 6 month prior, so I remembered her face exactly. This did not seem spectacular to anyone else.

I saw Elen again several months later exiting the Aztec parking lot in her car with a different friend I didn’t know. I rushed up on the side window and began screaming at the top of my lungs and pounding my fists on it. She freaked out immediately and floored it the wrong direction onto Broadway to get away, both of them screaming uncontrollably the whole time. I laughed so fucking hard, but Crosley was über pissed at me forever because of that one. Later in life I told her that it was I who had done that to her, and she looked at me like, “Ok, now it makes sense. You are a fucking lunatic.” Also, technically speaking, this was the first time I ever met the girl named . Even if all we exchanged were screams.

A few months after that, Matt, Crosley and I went to St. Luke’s Coffee Shop for a cup. I ordered whatever resembled closest donut shop coffee. I sat and stared at a girl at the next table seated directly across from me. I even questioned my friends if she looked familiar to them to no avail. Finally it dawned on me that this was the girl from Chapter 1. I actually vocalized her band name quickly out of excitement as I realized who I was looking at. I think she heard me, thus making my eventual attempt at talking to her even more difficult. I finally walked over to her and said, “You said if I was ever in Omelete I should look you up.” She didn’t recognize me of course, if I would have elaborated upon how we met, she probably would have glimmered. I was so scared I didn’t know what to say. I said, “I don’t know where I know you from I just remember you said to look me up.” I would suggest no one ever use this as a pick up line because it seems to have a very


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negative effect on those of the female persuasion. I just smiled and walked back to my seat. I think I kept looking at her for sustained periods, so she shortly thereafter left, probably feeling slightly stalked.

I changed jobs a lot and moved frequently for a long time. I was constantly trying to get back on my feet because I’d quit a job or get fired, and then have nothing else lined up. My friends were nice enough to help me on a great many occasions. For all intensive purposes I survived on the goodwill of others. I lived with Nicolas, who I actually went to high school with, and he got me a job as a courier. I did that for a while, went back to waiting tables, and then ended up making copies of blueprints where I had couriered. Somehow I took Crosley’s place in a rental when he was leaving for Germany. There was a band that lived there with me. They practiced all the time in the basement and I practiced my recording skills. I would jam with them and drink until the sun came up. It was more like sipping for me. I was always the sober one; I was the one to talk to the cops for noise complaints, of which there were many. The singer from that band eventually became the bassist in our neighbors’ band called Quiet. But before that…


I was playing guitar in my living room when some guy in a group of people walking by yelled, “Rock on!” or something similar. I came out to the porch to see who it was. I was very pleased to get any recognition from my practicing, but was shocked to see that Elen was standing in the group. Little did I know it, but so were Venus, and . I thanked them and they quickly went on their way.

I’m not sure how I started hanging out over at their house, which was at the opposite end of my block, but I remember spending a lot of time there. I would go watch their shows, and then hang out at their house afterwards. I’d like to think that I was pleasant, and not a total inconvenience to them during this time, but you’d have to



ask them. This is a particularly strange time for me. I was seeing Venus frequently, wondering if she remembered me. Eventually we were sitting on the couch and she put on a live CD which contained a track from the concert we were at together. I think I suggested we go to her room and have sex, and she shushed me yet again.

Garret had an open mic and I would help him set up his open mic night at The Forest Bar every Tuesday, and sometimes I would play, poorly. Of their band I predominantly hung out with Garret, but I gravitated towards . Everything I ever said to her was really strange. I was really open and told her my deepest personal secrets, but then I would start talking in future tense. I would tell her what cars I’d be driving sometime later. I ended up driving a red BMW and a Lumina Z34 just like I said. I suppose I could have bought these cars on purpose, but if you knew the circumstances behind each purchase you would see that this is not the case. I was compelled to be her closest confidant. I think I may have just irritated the shit out of her and everyone else in the band.

One day I was sitting on the couch with Garret watching the news. I don’t remember what channel, and I don’t remember the name of the program. I don’t remember the name of the reporter, but I would guess it was Brit Hume because he was sequestered by the government afterwards, and that would connect with the rest of my story. Anyhow, he said an attack was imminent and the U.S. Government needed to act immediately to stop it. I could see he was really emotional and sweat was forming on his brow out of tension. This struck me as frightening. Garret and I talked about it briefly, and I remember watching The Simpsons afterwards. Then, like in a delayed reaction some 2 hours later I hear voices in my head. This struck me as odd, and as I listened I could determine that the voices were Middle Eastern, like Arabic. At that exact moment everything I said to K came rushing


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back and I knew that the reporter’s story and what I had said two years ago were one and the same. I jumped up and started yelling, “There is going to be a horrible terrorist attack!” By this time the room was full of people, Geoff, Garret, , Elen, Howard, Slick, and I think Alex was there as well. I screamed wildly that planes would fly into buildings, and that there was nothing we could do. I said that if anyone implicated me as being involved, I’d kill them. asked me as I was leaving if I was ok, and I told her to write down in her diary that planes would fly into buildings within 6 months, and to believe me.

I lived in their bands practice space for a while. I slept there and cooked cans of soup with a lava lamp. I dug shit out of the trash and sold it. I found a full size Magic Genie organ and carried it with a dolly 2 blocks and into the practice space by myself. Actually, I got it all the way until about halfway through the doorway, and then I couldn’t get it any further so I just left it until Garret came to the practice space the next day. I also found a Carvin guitar amp, and a sealed copy of The Allman Brothers Band Live at Fillmore East. I was fucking crazy. Scared to death, but proclaiming it a “Social Experiment.” One morning I was awoke by in a frantic state. She opened the door and said something had happened, but was quite unclear as to what. I was dreaming about an old man with a mole in a rocking chair. We went to The Forest Bar to watch on the big screen as the second plane hit. We watched both buildings fall. I was in shock, and from that moment forward my life took a similar kamikaze dive.


There was a concert at the Friendless Theatre that Quiet played, and guess who they were opening for! That’s right, Vast Expanse Band Oedipus. So I’m at the theater at sound check, watching them play three songs with a couple people right in the front row. I think this kind of annoyed her. I was dumbfounded and mystified. They are a great band. I knew I wanted to talk to her, but I was worried



about what I might say so I avoided making too many idiotic comments. I always clapped when the songs completed. They finished and Quiet proceeded to do their sound check.

During the concert I somehow got back stage, and subsequently incredibly wasted on rum that Slick had brought. I didn’t even come out for the concert. After it was over some theater staff member came and asked me for my ID, and then proceeded to tell me to leave. I came out and Mi’Clam was winding some wires and I yelled, “Have you got a light?” She didn’t reply, I don’t think she thought anyone was talking to her, and my friends were quick to pull me aside because I was an obnoxious drunk. Only as I just typed it now do I see the resemblance of this statement to one made previously…

I began to go to various open mic nights across Omelete, always walking or skating with my guitar. I lived off what I made playing my songs on the mall. Not much. Garret at one point was trying to form a band with some of the members of The Angry Sex Triad. I watched them practice several times, and then something strange happened.

I pulled Volty, the singer, into the hallway during one practice and said, “Hey, you know what, I’m going to be married to the girl that you want to be with right now, but years from now,” and he looked at me like I was retarded. I then went on to ask him to punch me in the face so he’d remember because I’d need him as proof of my psychic ability to her in the future. I think he stopped liking me right about that moment. I don’t know if he remembers this taking place, but I doubt it.


I sat at The Forest Bar one night, waiting to play with the drummer for Angry Sex, who was a bartender. I don’t remember if it was planned or not, but that’s what eventually happened after the waiting. I remember trying to emanate the coolest vibe in the history of drunkenness.


78 An Incomplete Boo

A girl came up to me and gave me her phone number, the only time this has ever happened to me out of the blue. I felt like king shit. Joey, who also worked at The Forest came with to play bass with Pat and I. Joey let me play his pristine 1968 or 69 Gibson. This was the greatest guitar I’ve ever played in my entire life. Pat was the best drummer I’d ever played with, and at that moment I thought maybe I could be okay after all. But sadly nothing ever came of this. I lost the girls number as well, which ended up being ok…


Things were not so hot for me. I lived off what I made playing guitar downtown, and I felt lost in the world. So I moved back to Peninsuland for 6 months and worked at Ski Blaw in Molten Metal. I swear to God we listened to a cassette tape with the greatest hits of Boston on one side and the Cure on the other side about 5 times a day every day. I fed horses and shoveled a ton of snow. It was beautiful there, but on the whole the weather sucked heavily so I moved back to Omelete. I had just recently got my license back after a 5 year revocation so I bought a car from my uncle Jimmy and hit the highway.


I started working at Large John’s Great Sandwiches as a delivery driver. This is something I truly enjoyed because it was an excellent excuse to drive fast. My housing situation was not so great, and oftentimes I would sleep in my car. When I ran into an old acquaintance named Adam, and he offered to let me move in, I jumped on it. This is where the majority of the recordings of me singing and playing guitar were made. I actually tried to record the drums and bass after the guitar for several tracks with little success. I’m not much of a metronome. Adam called me one night saying he had met a girl at his work that day. They were at the Abysmal Brewery and she had 2 friends with her. That’s like a 33% chance of getting laid, so I drove over to meet them. When I got there, I met everyone and we began to chat. I talked myself up big time



as some serious musician. Two of the girls, Steph and Sara, mentioned how they knew the Angry Sex Triad. You know I’m not sure if I subconsciously figured out who I was talking to or if I didn’t connect the God damned dots at all, but for some reason when Sara got up to go to the bathroom I was compelled to follow her. When I asked her if this was alright with her there was a glimmer in her eyes, like the kind you see on glamour shots and soap operas. I’m 90% certain I hallucinated this, but it could have been a reflection off the lights above. Whatever the case I knew right from that moment I wanted to have sex with her. What? If you were looking for a brief respite from this absurd diatribe with a little bit of romance, I’m sorry. It took me a while getting to know her before I really fell in love, and much longer to realize who she was as a person because that’s how things generally work in reality. This definitely wasn’t some fantastical fairy tale.

From the get-go we’ve had a tumultuous relationship to say the least. We are perpetually breaking up and getting back together so maybe we’re not the best match. But I’ve always said that any two people can get along so long as they accept that the other person is not who they themselves are. I’m fairly certain the contents of this book owe much to our strife (or all of it). After about 6 months of dating she was pregnant. Shortly after that I realized who I was talking to. What would you have said? Oh, and by the way, I knew we would be together years ago so hopefully our kid will be psychic too. Either I’m a stalker or just plain psycho.


Adam and I moved a couple times and stayed roommates until Sara convinced me to move out when the police came because we were drunk, and shooting ceramic bowls with his 9mm at 6am on a Sunday, and we lived directly across the street from a church. So I temporarily moved into her apartment.

We had a beautiful baby boy, and rented a house for


80 An Incomplete Boo

our family. I recorded 3 songs in that basement, and she sang backup vocals on one song. I remember these times as wonderful yet still horrible because this is where I first told Sara about this story. She doesn’t even remember it, and I recall this is where everything went wrong for me. I mistakenly expected her to believe me. In actuality she just forgot it. For the last 5 or so years I had thought about these predictions to various degrees. For long periods of time I’d forget about it, and then I’d obsess for a while and get introspective. I’d try to write music to calm my nerves. I always thought that there was still plenty of time to do something about it. When I opened up and shared something so deep and intimate and it fell on deaf ears, I curled back into myself and festered. From this point I have only recently been able to recover, but I wouldn’t even call it a full recovery.



Chapter 7 – Songs


Here are the songs that I wrote during this time. Skip this.




I have wanted to die many times

What makes me tick is a time bomb in my mind There’s no need to be alarmed

If I keep hitting the snooze bar I stay alive


The dam burst floods piles of burning garbage

A calculated explosion destroys destructive forces


Many times in my mind alarmed I stay alive

I have what makes me need to keep hitting

Tick is a time bomb to die

Be the bar there’s no snooze if I


Burn up/Blow out


I wanted to be the mark of the beast.

I couldn’t even believe in me.

Are you looking for flowers you stupid flies?

I hope you know what God is you’d do to find it.


I love my pen is right.

I used it for a while the ink went dry.

My words don’t need no reply,

Good arguments exist for either side.


One phrase should suffice.


82 An Incomplete Boo


Born to fuck in love with everyone.

Melt in your mouth will burn with you life-long.

Lower than dirt and hotter than magma.

I’ll kill you and cry at your funeral.


Fucked from conception – the sun will blow up, burn out, or start sucking.

A better word than beautiful.


Ani end everything(drugs i’ve done)


I can’t do everything

And I don’t remember this

I do see an ending

I won’t remember anything


Weed always get high just to get down

Bleed in before you shoot up too much water will hurt Speed up and die aue naturale gray color E you’re a retard MDMAMAOI


I don’t do anything

And I won’t remember this

I do see an ending

I can’t remember everything


Nicotine expectation canceral selection

Thorazine soldier huffing air freshener

Caffeine in moderation sweet low sugar sensation

Ketomine tranquilize intramuscular vial



LSD see God come down realize he’s gone

GHB roofies sedation seduction

Hippie crack peyote mescal

Anything with liquor killed from every prescription


Drugs are free for me this week cause

I haven’t got a dime

Dr. Mommy oh I

Said drugs are freedom free that speech but

I haven’t got a line

Sugar of lead Sursum Corda


Breath in oxygen

Eat for nourishment

Sleep and dream

Any and everything


God as a drug


I saw you standing on the dock

Stop reeling the fish don’t give up(give a fuck)

Thought I might jump in the water

But I fell and hooked on your bobber

When you pulled me up to your feet

And said that’s where I should be

I tried to convince you were wrong

You said I was right and I’d best be moving along


Moments of brilliance clouded by ineptitude


Hope you find a reason for existence that’s true Hope I find a rhyme and sing the words in tune



Day infinity tan triste muero por ti

An Incomplete Boo

This song could use your help


But it’s too late

Filler is cake

We hope to mate and we die

So sad is this what I get when you see right through me Somewhere else in time we might understand

This is as real as it gets be the same as what you said It means nothing to you same lie just different truths


Hope I find a cure for your lack of disease

Hope your drugs are for pleasure not fulfilling mental needs


Tan triste

Te amo

Muero por ti


This is how religions tend to die

Mythic premises are systematized

Beneath the stern intelligent eyes

Of an orthodox dogmatism

Into a fixed sum of historical events

One begins to nervously defend the veracity of myth

At the same time resisting their continuing life and growth The feeling for myth dies and is replaced by Religious claims to foundation in history


It’s through tragedy that myth attains its profound content


Its most expressive form it rises up once more

Like a wounded hero

And all the surplus energy

Together with the sagacious calm of the dying man



Burns in its eyes with a last and powerful glow


This God could use your help but it’s too late Religions fade

We hope to make it

We try


You love God leaves you free to do what pleases…




I’ve got nothing new to say

It’s all used abused and in decay

We know that God is dead


We’re afraid of what is next

We should have a point of view

We don’t even have a clue

We don’t really give a shit

We’ve got new cars

And a girlfriend with big tits

She’s a vacuum sucking on a stick shift


So what am I supposed to sing about When love is the same as hate you create Both in your mind it’s not out there Nothing was meant to be for me


Destiny is your fantasy


So what am I supposed to sing about When you won’t even understand Good is bad but don’t feel sad cause



You only feel what you want

You only feel what you want

You’ll only be what you are

You only bleed from your heart


Destined to be fantastical


An Incomplete Boo

Son sin sun


A song is a song what’s wrong with this one


It’s hard to have a point

When life is meaningless


Music for music’s sake is good

I’d like to make it if I could

Feel free to die for me and I


Used to care and needed meaning

It wasn’t there so I stopped dreaming

I think of sex drugs rock and roll

We just exist and learn to cope

There’s nothing here for me to believe in

So I decided I’d start singing to you


Music for music’s sake is good

I’d like to make it if I could

Feel free to die for me and you should

Think what you want

But reality exists in only one way


If you like this song I wrote

I guess there might still be some hope

Odds are it’s all just shit



My brain is weak and my heart is sick I don’t care I’m still singing

You just sit there listening dreaming


Seems to me you said you’re looking kind of sad Life isn’t easy when your living room is dead

Go back to the bedroom and give daddy his big head You couldn’t lead yourself you’d rather be lead


And they say you’re the fastest one so you won’t be taken for granted

Those shoes were made to run you won’t be attacking Looking for some happiness when sadness really feels the best

Looking at the madness with our eyes that can’t see the rest


You don’t give a fuck G I wonder if we ever will


Be sad when we’re bad

and feel bad when we’re mad

Could you be long lost in this world of hate


Lead into gold


Flashes of light fade in time to nothing

With the next flash you soon forget the first

Before you know it that last flash will be yours


And it’s all the same

It always has been

Without any conclusion to

Who what where how why or when

If you feel you need to know

Just close your eyes and idolize a symbol

Signed truly the crucified one



Got money now I have a gun


Flashes of light boom gone

An Incomplete Boo

Stop talking coughing up blood


Like lead from gold

Be satisfied with lies

Flashes of light in time die

Don’t stop to think what you’re saying

You know that life is great

Don’t realize what you’re hating

You know you’ll soon be dead


So hard to be happy without worry or care

I couldn’t change what I wanted

I just sat here and breathed in air

Be satisfied or end it faster than light much harder than gold

You can’t be lead to feel satisfied without believing in your goal


Be satisfied or end it faster than light


This must suck cause I’m in control and I don’t realize any of the goals that you set for me


I didn’t expect it to be like this

I wasn’t expecting to be like this

I didn’t expect it to be like this

I wasn’t expected to be like this


We all sing songs and we all die young for the same cause our own





Hanging out alone in the bathroom again sitting not shitting

not thinking about you

too hard to grab a piece of nothing so I went straight for the stuffing I’ll spit it out for you


Falling beings don’t think they wonder why they accept the truth

In their ignorance they cry out

Follow me I’ll take you to your death as a novelty vice about a God


Wearing the shirt from a college you didn’t go to And you learned for yourself

Don’t hope that God is gonna save you

Wearing a shirt from the college you didn’t go to But the words that you say

Don’t mean God damn it’s what you do


Shallow grave can you dig to waste your time

Swallow shit sip piss and drink your bile

Hollow ships don’t sink you wonder why


Hanging out alone in the bathroom again

Sitting not shitting not thinking about you

Too hard to grab a piece of nothing

So I went straight for the stuffing

I’ll shit it out for you


90 An Incomplete Boo


Hate you, hate me


Stop being apathetic

Fuck being pious

Be a hells angel


I saw God in an orange juice bottle


The world hates me

hate me

I don’t blame them

blame them

Tempting me


Stop being a pathetic fuck

Being pious

Jesus fucks angels


If you hate

You hate me

If I were you

I’d love you and me


Trying to make our own karma

Faulty but my sentence should suffice

If this were your only choice


A glass of orange juice

A bowl of oranges

A pitcher of orange juice

A field of orange trees

A God smiling down at me

Waving goodbye


A good plan today is better than the perfect plan that



rhymes with orange


Minute men

Made in heaven

Don’t have to be the best

You’ll just have to do


What are you doing to help the world?

Are you slowly destroying its pot supply?




Thinking back

Do you remember?

That dark morning

We said goodbye


Your face as sweet as a child back in my dream


Thinking that

Parallel paths will intersect

Say you’ll never

Leave again


I miss your gentle smile just talking with me


Thinking back to that time

I saw your face

In still life

And didn’t realize


Why I thought I loved someone I couldn’t recognize


92 An Incomplete Boo


I don’t think that

I’m going to make it


I don’t think back

I’m going to make it

bye myself


I don’t think that I’m going to make it by myself I don’t think back

I’m going to make it myself


I don’t think I know


I don’t think that I know I don’t think back I know I don’t think I know


Brave nude girl

I love your mom thinking of you


Would you fuck your best opposite sex friend?

Will you get back to the way it was supposed to be?


In these troubled times find concessions in line

Why do I care about someone so hopelessly lost?

We all can’t be saved


Like a slow rolling gang rape

And you have no patience

Eager to climb the next set of mountains


Half of this will not be used



The other half squandered

The whole shebang wasted

She bangs wasted

The hole


In and out

Zero one

Off and on

Right and wrong

Up and down

Swim or drown

Win or loss

City and town

You don’t own

What you know

Then and now

From time to tomb

Half gone

Already been done

Go fuck your mom


Fuck you and die


Trying to preach you something

All for not

Die hopeful and fuck your life

Find a better way

Live your lie

The current hypothesis is outdated

An ominous day dawning till death

Do us part


All for not


94 An Incomplete Boo


Placate satisfy pacify

Convince yourself that it’s all right

I see you trashing your brains

Mental incapacitate


Still waiting to process the gravity of the situation at hand Waiting to die

Don’t hold your breath

Expel your chest

Fall asleep

Hit the ground and wake up

You shouldn’t be walking around in that state of mind: any way


There are a lot of people.

Who would want to be my friend?

They are going to be delighted that

They are going to be denied.


They are going to be enlightened that

They are going to be annihilated.


Don’t bother complaining

Bothered by contemplating


Never forgive your soft conscience


Sadness is and sadness was and sadness will always be Because



Chapter 8 – Practice Spaced


So I was thinking and thinking about what I needed to write about from when I met the band A Fracas. I’m such a pothead I can’t even remember the things I said were going to happen until after they happen. That’s just great isn’t it? ‘World’s Greatest Psychic’ too high to remember what’s going to happen. So here you have it in hindsight.


I don’t remember the circumstances behind why I decided to go back to the practice space I formerly used. I think I was just getting nostalgic and curious. I had the key to the front door still, and I think it had only been about 2½ years since I had last used it. I entered the hallway happy to have found the locks hadn’t been changed. I heard beautiful music, and I precipitated towards it. I think I’m extending the usage of that word. When the music broke I knocked on the door. I said, “Hey, I don’t want to interrupt or anything, but that’s probably the best music I’ve ever heard played by a local band.” Again, I’m going to have to remind you that I’m terrible with dialog because I only remember what I say most of the time. For the reader, just imagine the band to be quite likable people since I probably won’t convey that through the text.

I told them specifically which song I was talking about, How You Kill , and suggested they try to get a record deal with that song. They told me they already had one. And it was a major label, I think Pacific. This is where I went goofy again. I told them that song was going to be a top 40 hit, maybe even top 10. They asked me what about the song in particular that I liked, and I told them about a friend who had committed suicide, and that when he told me he had thought about killing himself instead of going to jail I didn’t do what I was supposed to do. These things need to be taken seriously under any circumstance.

They seemed to appreciate the vote of confidence. I


96 An Incomplete Boo

told them I usually listened to someone sing and then thought to myself, “I’m better than that,” but did not get that feeling with Newton, their lead singer. They asked me to sing so I did, hesitantly, because I was getting over a cold. Then I asked Newton to sing again, and I got the same feeling. I think they thought I was terrible, and maybe they were right. I asked them what their record company was doing to promote their album, and they said not much. I told them they should all get really nice sunglasses and go to the record execs to say, “Listen, we really appreciate you signing us, but we’d like to get some airplay here. We’re ready for the big time.”

I asked if they played other peoples songs, and they said sometimes. I told them that they should put as much heart into those songs as they do their own because they mean just as much to the writer as they do to the performer. I then went goofy again. I said that I was psychic, and that I was certain How You Kill would be a giant hit. They were nice enough to throw me a bone and asked me how I knew I was psychic. So I told them about Mi’Clam and K in reverse order. I think they assumed I was crazy just like everybody else did. I asked (or told, sometimes I’m not very polite) if they would help me get in contact with K. I suggested they set up a concert where Apparatus plays one night, and they play the other night, and Far-Reaching Freakout can headline since their band name would be ironic for the situation. I told them to make it so that you could buy tickets to be onstage while the band was playing so that I might contact K. Then I said if they could actually contact him personally, to tell him he should disguise himself at the entrance right as the show opens, which they thought was asking way too much from anyone. He did it once before so what’s the big deal? I then realized there were some things I could tell them that hadn’t happened yet as evidence of prophecy. I told them about our future Tsar, the economic recession and eventual recovery, and that



some of our auto companies might go bankrupt or close down. I didn’t foresee the sale to foreign corporations.

The drummer had been saying, “No way!” I kept getting really angry at him. I don’t think he was even discounting what I was saying, it was just something he said as a reflex, but I took it personally. I tried to bet him $1000 dollars that what I said would come true. He was hesitant so I said, “What’s a thousand dollars? You guys are going to be rock stars.” They probably wouldn’t have been too amazed by my predictions if I hadn’t provided one more slice of evidence. I continued the process of pulling crazy shit out of my ass once again. I told them that their would be a female model with a male name that they knew who would slit her wrists, and that I would meet her in an insane asylum where we would both stay for a while just before the concert I had only moments ago told them they should do. I told them not to worry because she would only suffer minor nerve damage. I said we could tell her about this beforehand and it probably wouldn’t happen, but what pray tell, if she used a gun instead? To me it seemed really risky to tell her anything. The band huddled and talked amongst themselves, and then finally asked me, “You’re sure she’ll only have slight nerve damage?” I said “Yes, so long as nobody ever mentions the prediction to anyone else.” They asked a few more specifics, like would she be able to write, and I said it’s minor so she’d probably just have some numb spots. This I determined would be a test. Without any interaction from people who know the event should take place; simply knowing it would prove to have no effect.


This I claimed was the evidence they required to produce what I had asked of them. The drummer said no way again, as any sane individual might, so I said, “Hey, why don’t we make that bet $10,000.” I think I tried to get Newton to write a contract for a bet to have him sign it. It seems I’m a dumbass because I’m pretty sure you can’t


98 An Incomplete Boo

make a legal contract for a bet. Of course I’m not going to ask for the money, just props. But I’d take it if you’ve got some extra $$$. At some point I stopped and said to Newton, “I’m worried that none of the other band members will really care about what I’m saying right now after it actually happens. I think it might be up to you to convince them.” I really thought he believed in me even if only because he was more convincing than the others. I said, “Hey, I’ll bet that track is like 12th or 13th place on the Signpost Top 100.” They said, “Come on man which is it, 12 or 13?” I said, “I don’t know, I’m not sure if Red Night is releasing a new album or not.” I said something about it being just God’s style to give an atheist a message for the world. I also said that it didn’t take a psychic to tell their song was a hit, only an ear for music. I asked them to maybe help convince my wife I wasn’t crazy, and this is where and when I realized I needed to contact Volty to do the convincing. We’ve now got his personal cell number yet still no response. I told them I worked for Nicolo’s Pizza, because they asked if I worked for a record company. They asked me for the name of a good drum coach, and I suggested Geoff because he is a wealth of knowledge. I asked them if they’d heard of The Rapping Machines, which they had, and said that Two Seats was another potential hit. I suggested they help them get that song out for the public to hear because I liked the message.


I asked him if he was always saying the same thing during the chorus of How You Kill, and he asked me why. I said I thought he might consider saying something slightly different at one point like “Tell a joke.” He promptly said, “That’s perfect!” and began scribbling in his song book. And finally, after the drummer escorted me to the door of the space (I’d like to think he was just a consummate professional and wanted to get back to practicing) I was walking down the hall and felt like I needed to clarify something. I went back and said the song I liked so much



would be exactly number 12 on the Signpost Top 100 for

the year end total when it finally broke into radio.

While I walked to my car, I got lost in my own mind again. I came home to Sara lying in bed trying to sleep, and I asked her if she wanted to hear a story, and she said yes. I told her about everything that happened that night, but she fell asleep before any of the interesting parts came up.


100 An Incomplete Boo



Chapter 9 – Family Guy


I set about trying to be a family man. The wife and I bought a house, and started some home improvement while I continued to work at Nicolo’s. During this time, Apparatus played at Violinist’s Red, and I was there. I held up a sign that said MARK, and I think he saw it and knew what it meant. I was really far back so it was hard to tell. After the concert I waited near the tour busses with some autograph hounds and a girl from Boston. When he exited the arena one of the autograph hounds went chasing after him yelling, “K, K, K!” I had made a demo of probably the worst music I ever wrote, and was trying to give it to K or at least this was my excuse for wanting to contact him. I walked up to the bus that I believe K entered. The security guard informed me that K didn’t want to hear my demo. I heard someone walk to the front of the bus, and I thought it was him. I looked up and pointed to my head and mouthed, “I know you are there.”


Some months later I got a job at M.T. Short Fjord as a car salesman. During this period, one day I decided to drink some of K’s wine while Sara was at work and my kid was at his grandparents’ house. I decided to look up his phone number and actually found it listed under his name in his hometown. To my surprise, someone answered. I asked if I was speaking to K. He said sorry, but no, and was about to hang up when I said, “Actually, you are answering the phone on his behalf, and you must deliver the message for me.” Strangely, he acted like he was going to actually take the message for me, and at this point I can’t remember much because I think the shock of guessing and being right combined with all the alcohol killed my brain momentarily. I told him that I would take a trip to his vineyard next summer to visit him. I think I forgot everything again for a while there after this, because I never went, and just recently when I called again the



number was disconnected.

An Incomplete Boo

Sara and I don’t get out much. She works graveyard weekends, and I work 9-5 weekdays. So we don’t pay for child care, but we also don’t have lives. Once and a while we go out. We went to see Prehistoric Sr. with The Angry Sex Triad opening. They hadn’t played in years, but were fantastic. Before they started playing, Sara ran up to Volty on stage and said, “Hey, do you remember me?” And Volty said, “Of course I do!” and then looked directly at me as I nodded. Oddly, this is before ever having mentioned what I told Volty to Sara. I wonder if he remembers anything else. I wish he would have punched me. As we were leaving the show we walked past Pat and we looked at each other but nothing was said. I should have said something.


Months later went to the Atmospheric Bunting Lounge for a drink on our anniversary. Joey was managing the bar and we talked for a moment about the good old times. This is inconsequential right?


So let’s see…This is a letter I sent to the online store for Pubic Hair shortly after its creation:


I like your use of enquiry; a systematic investigation of a matter of public interest. THIS IS MARK FROM CRIMSON QUARRY. I hope you receive this email personally, but if this is not the case, I would hope that whomsoever reads this will realize the importance to me, and perhaps to you yourself. I would first like to express how deeply I was touched by many of the lyrics from Long Time Passed. For this I am forever indebted to you. I teared up when I realized what I was hearing, Truly the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I tell my friends about our encounter and am sometimes made to feel a fool, but when I meet someone entirely new and happen to discuss Apparatus with them, I can see in their eyes they know what I speak to be true. Did you see me in the audience at Violinist’s Red? I held up a white sign with “MARK” printed on it, as I said I would 8 years prior. I thought I saw you nod as if you noticed when I held it up. I also hung out after the show and gathered up straggler




autograph hounds with my story of meeting you in drag.  In

an attempt to be in your presence once more, I approached what appeared to be your bus, only to be stopped by security personnel. I’m pretty sure you were there on the bus watching me. I could hear someone moving toward the front of the bus where I was standing. Then again, I’m not psychic, so tell me if I’m wrong. I remember I had told you I could overpower any guard that opposed me, but wouldn’t for fear of injuring them. Really I was more worried about my own well being. Now that I have a child whom I love very much, I wouldn’t want to leave him without a father for any period of time(jail/death). I even waited for hours after the show planning to follow the bus to its destination, but lost track of everything. I gave copies of an old demo to a security guard, a bus driver, and someone else who was somehow connected to your tour. Apparently none of them honored my wish to have it delivered to you(or they did and you just don’t give a fuck), because no reply was ever made to my email but some weird text about terrorism and such, which I thought might be you fucking with me. If I don’t receive a reply from this email, I may take the family on a trip to Desertino to see your strawberry fields(I got this info from Wikipedia). I have a strange feeling I know where your home is. Some girl I was talking to at the Violinist’s show told me she had seen your home in Desertino. She spoke of an outdoor amphitheater in the middle of nowhere. I got the sense that she really knew what she spoke of. I guess we shall see. I don’t want to intrude, so perhaps I will just leave a hand-written letter on your doorstep or mailbox. So…. I have a short story that is a follow-up to our


meeting on the steps of Crimson Quarry, if you would like to know. I will start before that, mostly for my own purposes, being that I have never told the entire story in one setting. I’d like to see if it really has any structure or meaning, being that I struggle to find meaning every day. EVERY DAY I THINK OF THIS, AND MY MIND REELS.

When I moved to live with my father at the age of 14(court ordered due to my criminal activity whilst living with my mother), I began my schooling at Juliet High, in Peninsuland(Child Mineral went there too useless fact). One day before school, the news stated that busses would be running an hour and a half late that day, and I wondered why. The weather was very strange, but not dangerous or anything that should require busses to be run off schedule. The entire sky was darkened by deep black clouds with lightning flashing at random all around. No rain, no snow, it


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wasn’t even cold. The air was moist and warm like a usual Peninsuland summer morning, but it was so dark it looked like nightfall. I honestly don’t think I’ll ever see weather like that again. I didn’t pay much attention to it while waiting for the bus, but I remember it made me feel a little bit strange. My bus was the last to arrive, and I was the last to exit and walk up the stairs leading to my schools entrance. I was compelled to stop and look back at the sky. When I finally entered the building, class was already in session, but I was in no hurry. I walked several steps toward my class, only to see a beautiful girl walking towards me. I was somehow inspired to speak to her, though I didn’t consider myself even the slightest bit suave. I said, “You don’t go to school here do you?” She said, “No, but I used to.” I told her how disappointed I was, judging by her apparel and overall appearance, she seemed to be a very cool person, not at all like the dickheads in my graduating class. She told me she was only there to gather her transcripts, as she would be starting classes at the Famous Poet School of Poetry in Chromarado. I was upset that she was obviously 18 and I was merely 14, and that I would probably never see her again. She told me her name was Mi’ Clam and that she had a band she was starting in Omelete called Vast Expanse Band Oedipus, named after some archaic comic. I told her I had skied there and loved the area. We talked for several minutes about this and that, when a hall monitor walked up and told us to get to class. I lied and said we were distant relatives who hadn’t seen each other in years, and that we would be right to class shortly. I believe I inspired a song lyric of hers by saying it’s ridiculous to hear a guy say he’s not only interested in sex, because after all, that’s the purpose of existence anyway, to be fruitful and multiply. Her song lyrics several years later: “Don’t want to hear you say, don’t want to fuck her, I was beneath the wave, I took the wave home.” After this my memory becomes murky. I don’t remember if we were talking about psychic ability or energy or auras or what(none of which I had any belief in whatsoever), but I held her hand and I watched my life flash before my closed eyes. I know it was my life because it was all so recognizable, but not memorable. All I could retain was that it was suffering, but it ended with a smiley face. That’s not symbolism, I literally saw a smiley face, bright yellow just like on beetles and T-Shirts, at the end of my vision. As far as I was concerned that meant my life had a happy ending. I quickly removed my hand and told her what I saw, and she only seemed slightly surprised. We said our goodbyes and I




quickly passed my experience off as hallucination.

That was it for premonition for a long time. I had always been known to call something before it happened(I told everyone for months the 2000 election was going to be a tie, and people looked at me like I was retarded), or be very aware of my surroundings, but never considered myself clairvoyant in any way. It was only after my graduation that I realized that the suffering I had seen while holding her hand had begun at a very early age, and I simply had no recollection of it, until a traumatic experience brought it all rushing back like the vision I saw 4 years earlier. Several months later a close friend named Crosley invited me to move with him to Omelete and stay with his brother. He said he had jobs lined up at a restaurant at the Mall. I was working as a dishwasher at a buffet restaurant for $5.15 and hour, so I immediately jumped at the offer. While in Omelete, I focused all my energy on creating music, a hobby I began at age 14 with a PC I used as a sampler. For my 19th birthday, Crosley bought me a ticket to Apparatus(my favouritest band ever) at Crimson Quarry. When I saw you in full drag, I knew it was you almost immediately. I had never even seen your face in print let alone in person, but I knew it was you. You thought you had me fooled at first, but you soon realized I was on to you. This is what I remember of our conversation, possibly the most important moment in my life as you will later see. If you remember anything else I would greatly appreciate the info. I told you that you should stay with Apparatus forever. I told you that you were to most respected musician in the world. I told you I was a musician. You told me you might be able to help me. I didn’t have a demo, or an e- mail address or anything(didn’t matter we didn’t have a pen). I told you I was perfectly capable of achieving success on my own(wrong). I told you I was hoping to start a family before aspiring to fame. I asked what your real name was, assuming it was a re-arrangement of K. I told you that you could write a song about shitting the bed and people would eat it up. I sang the lyrics to you. I said that I wasn’t gay but might consider the possibility if it were with you(this was a joke). I spoke of the importance of 11 and 12 being heaven and hell. I think I mentioned asteroids, nuclear winter and self fulfilling prophecies. All this having been said is pretty inconsequential, and I’m sure I still recall every word of it. But what follows is perhaps the most important thing in the world. I HAD NEVER THOUGHT OR SPOKEN OF SUCH THINGS UNTIL I MET YOU. I told you that planes would fly into


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buildings. You said that didn’t seem that bad, and that we had protections for such events, like air strikes and the like. I couldn’t explain, I didn’t really know what was to happen, only that whatever protection we might have won’t work. I told you I was from the future or an alien, I don’t know why, but then retracted, saying it was an attempt to make you believe because I knew what I spoke was true. I then learned you had a military background, and said that’s probably why you were meant to survive. I said that this attack was just the first step, and that at least one but possibly many nuclear bombs would go off in 2012. The airplane shit would just throw us off track. I said someone named Ben had something to do with it, which was really strange to me. The only reason I remember this was that Ben was my boss’s name at the time, and it seemed really odd to me that some guy named Ben might be responsible for the destruction of life on earth(not that apocalyptic destruction isn’t weird enough as it is). You wished we had a pen to exchange information, but I told you I’d probably see you again in about 8 to 10 years. You seemed very disappointed. I told you I smoked weed and you frowned upon it. I told you I have glaucoma but that didn’t validate it to you. We spoke of autograph hounds and my making a sign saying “MARK.” Crosley walked up and said, “What are you talking to this guy for?” I tried to allude to your identity but he was dense. As I walked away I said, “No I will not have sex with you for money!” very loudly, and everyone in the vicinity looked at us oddly. I mouthed, “Sorry…” and walked away. I believe you walked away as well. Sorry again. So tell me, do you remember any of that?


Crosley had a friend who was the manager of concessions, and he got us yellow wristbands allowing us to sit in the handicapped section. A very attractive girl was sitting next to me getting smashed by people into the security ropes, so I let her sit next to me in the handicapped section. I gave her my wristband. Security personnel came and asked to see our wristbands. I told him I was the drummers cousin from Peninsuland. Does he have family in Peninsuland? I said, “Look, the lead singer knows me!” The security guy turned around and I waved at you, you shrugged your shoulders like, “I dunno?” right in the middle of a song, and he let us stay. That was a pretty awesome moment for me. Thanks for that, by the way. After the show she gave me her phone number, but I lost it my laundry. I wasn’t even interested in pussy at all, I was star struck. I didn’t care about the psychic bullshit. As far as I was concerned, none of




that had any merit at all. I was only thinking, “K knows me, I have an in!” But I forgot I was just a pothead computer geek with no motivation and psychic delusions.

I gave the experience a little thought for years. Especially the Armageddon shit. I always thought we connected and that if I ever had the chance you might like to talk again, but no attempts to do so. About a year later Crosley brought over 2 girls that he worked with, and we walked around looking for riots after an Rockslide victory/loss(I can’t remember), but found nothing. Somehow, the girls had pictures they were showing us, and I saw Venus, the girl sitting next to me at your concert! I thought that was really odd. Several months later Crosley and I went our separate ways, due to a mutual attraction to a particular female named Cherie. Anyhow, I moved around a lot and met new people that all sucked pretty bad. I have a tendency to befriend people who need help in some way. Then one day years later I noticed one of those girls and Venus walking with a bunch of people right in front of my house. I was practicing guitar at the time so I turned it up and ripped it the best I could. They actually stopped to listen and yelled, “Hey that rocks!” I looked out the window and thanked them. It turned out they were my neighbors. They were a band called Quiet. I quickly became friends with the entire group, but Venus and I never spoke of your show. One night, I was sitting at their house getting high, and I saw a report on CNN about a possible terrorist attack on the information radar. I gave it no thought. A few hours later, I was just sitting on the couch, when the hair rose up on the back of my neck, and I heard voices, like Middle Eastern languages. I’d never heard voices before, and immediately I knew exactly what it was. My mind shot back to our conversation, and I screamed, “Hey, everybody listen to me!” Everybody kept talking so I screamed something nonsense as loud as I could, and they went quiet, then I said, “Within 6 months we will be attacked, and planes with fly into buildings!” Nobody cared, so I went crazy. I said that life was about to change forever and that if they accused me of being involved when it really happened, I’d kill them. I started crying while I was talking and nobody seemed to care but one girl, she remembers. When I saw them again later nothing was said of it ever. Approximately 6 months later, I was sleeping in my practice space when that girl came and woke me up. She said something had happened. When she woke me up I was dreaming about an old man in a rocking chair with a mole on his forehead(inconsequential so far). We went to the


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Forest Bar and watched the second plane hit on the big screen. Nowadays, she follows the advice her therapist gave her not to communicate with me any more. About 2 years ago, my wife and I planned a trip to Peninsuland to see my family. She wanted to fly but I told her I had a funny feeling about flying, and that I’d rather drive. It turned to a rather heated argument. I was mid sentence when the hair stood up on the back of my head again. I told her that there was going to be another attempted attack on an airplane during our trip, and that was why we had to drive. Sure enough there was an attempt that was thwarted on the second day of our trip. Do you know how I knew? I think it was numbers. I can’t remember now but it was like one month and one day before the 5 year anniversary of 9/11. There is a lot more psychic bullshit but not terrorist or apocalypse related. But it’s not psychic really; it’s knowing what possibilities the future holds. I have a Stirling Engine electric generator, several guns and lots of ammo, and I’ve got 5 years to get an all electric car(Tesla will make one that goes 0-60 in 3.8 seconds but it’s $100,000) and a bunch of other supplies. Like I said, I don’t know for certain what will happen, but I truly believe I am the only person in the world that can stop it from happening. Whether or not I should try remains to be seen. I’m going to be quick now because I’m sure you are tired of reading and it’s late. I have about 70 graphic screens I need to draw in Illustrator for the restaurant POS system I’m designing at work tomorrow.






Call me man. I always answer: REMOVED Hey system administrator guy/girl, you call me too, ok?


If I never hear from you, I still cherish the glimmer of time we spoke openly, and I thank you for what you have given me, even if fleeting.


Great, now I’m a crazy stalker. That’s a 100% drunken lunatic typing right there. At least I’ve never tried to see him again, other than going to this concert holding up a sign that says, “MARK.” That was just fucking brilliant. Those security guards were really short. Being



tall that would’ve given me a definite advantage. Leverage, right? I should have just plowed the guards and got on the bus. I guess I’m just a pussy, and not a very good stalker.


So I forgot about everything yet again I guess because it was about a year since this email was written. I don’t know what compelled me to start working on the book again, but I decided I had to finish the book once and for all. I had chapter one for about 5 years and it was time to expand upon it. Of all things, I started with a query letter based on the letter used by The TrapperQueeper’s author, but never sent it to any publishers. I may have stretched the truth here and there.


Dear Mr. or Ms. Agent,


I would like to introduce you to my first book, an autobiography entitled, An Incomplete Boo.


It may seem preemptive for a writer to begin his career with a memoir, especially considering I have no great achievements to celebrate, and I’m only 29. Sadly, this will be my first and final work, as I don’t believe I can ever produce anything more profoundly significant. I have not discussed the details of my life with anyone save my spouse, for fear of ridicule. I do not suspect that any agents/publishers will believe my story, but feel it is my duty as a human being to at least present it. I would deem it an inspirational work, characterized by an insightful and overwhelmingly powerful picture of the meaning of life.


An Incomplete Boo is the story of how I somehow have been given the ability to see the future, and have prophesized to a great number of particularly famous musicians that nuclear attacks will take place within the


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continental Unified Regions just prior to 2013. This is where the delete button is quickly activated sending my hopeless attempt at saving the world into negativeland. I’ll just pretend you believe me, and continue as if nothing ridiculous has been said. As a musician in the Omelete area, I have befriended many of the most popular local performers. I have two full length albums released on Saw Her Ghost records. This is the complete list of bands with members that are in my book: Apparatus, A Fracas, The Kings, Vast Expanse Band Oedipus, Weird Guy & Rape Charges, Low Torque, The Angry Sex Triad, Traversed Plains, and The Rapping Machines.


The fact that I have mentioned my presumption to a very well known group of people puts me in a unique position; one that allows me the opportunity to convince others of our situation. Writing this book has been an immense chore and a deep emotional struggle to say the least. I chose to write in an attempt to help ease the mental anguish involved in trying to convince the one I love that I am not crazy, all the while trying to convince myself I’m sane. The book may also be marketed as an insightful look into the mind of a truly psychotic man while his family disintegrates around him, I’m not sure yet, I’ll let you know in 4 years. The sad fact of the matter is this: destiny is not predetermined. I can say something is going to happen with absolute certainty, but my statement itself might make the event not take place. If I tell you that you will die driving a car, all you have to do is never drive a car. The future I’ve seen can’t possibly exist any more. The goal of this book is not strictly monetary gain, though I do need to save enough money to leave the country and live comfortably abroad for at least 6 months. My true purpose is to inform the world of our own wicked ways, and to make sure my own children never have to endure this nightmare future I’ve envisioned. In this day and age, the



unconditional love I feel for all life on earth makes for a wonderful story, one that is all too rare and much too beautiful to let die without being told.


May I send you a copy of the completed manuscript?




Mark Ernest Patterson


P.S. Considering the artists mentioned above have sold a combined total of 18 million albums, this book is unique and marketable to a wide audience. In addition, at less than 50,000 words, it is short enough not to be cost-prohibitive to most publishing houses.


This is a letter I sent everyone I could find on Facefuck that I know after I finished about 20 more pages.


I wish I had more time to chat with people, but I work 40+ hours per week and I’m on call 24/7. I also have been writing a book, which is about half done. I hope to self publish through Lightning Source within 6 months, for about $250. I’ve been really high on some of the sickest kind-bud in all of Omelete for the last 10 years, so that has made it difficult to remember specific events. If you can remember me doing anything funny or maybe something that just seems like it should be included in an autobiography, please remind me. It seems I am at a serious shortage of funny. All the horrific nightmare stories you’ve heard about me are true, by the way, and probably already included in the book. And there are plenty more that nobody will know until the book is published. I’m hoping that with any luck I’ll be able to glean some insight into the past. Anything submitted will


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be published. Anyone who replies with anything at all will receive a free copy of the book. If you want writing credit let me know. So, yeah…sorry, this is a form letter, but I think you might understand why if you read a little further.

Maybe you are wondering, why would a 29 year old pothead who has achieved no great success in life consider writing an autobiography? Sadly, I feel like this is where I’m going to lose most of you. But that’s okay; I’m willing to risk looking like a fool in order to achieve my goal. I will give you a brief explanation, and I’ll try to make it sound less ridiculous than it really is.

In 1994 I moved from Queensfjord, Peninsuland to Juliet, Peninsuland. Within the first few days, I had a brief encounter with a girl named Mi’Clam at Juliet’s middle school. I talked to her for about 10 minutes. I briefly held her hand and saw my life flash before my eyes. She is the singer for the band Vast Expanse Band Oedipus, a very popular Omelete band. I have never spoken to her since.

In 1998 I went to see Apparatus at Crimson Quarry. K(lead singer) stood on the steps of the front entrance dressed in full drag. I immediately recognized it as him and began to speak with him. Every time I get to this point in the story, either written or verbally, I have to stop and think, “How the fuck am I supposed to say this?” Basically I described numerous events that would take place in the future, culminating in nuclear devastation at the end of 2012. I want nothing to do with the Mayan calendar doomsday speculators. I just know that nuke(s) are gonna hit within the continental Unified Regions. I have no information to go on whatsoever, but it is my intention to stop it. My whole life has been interconnected and I’ve known so many things that were going to happen, there is just no explanation other than me being psychic. Please don’t act like this is completely ludicrous. I’ve read estimates of nearly 350 psychics being employed by the US government year round. We have TV shows that highlight



actual criminal investigations where the case was

solved by a psychic. They look back, I look forward. The real difference is, you can’t change the past, but you can change the future. I can’t explain without having you read the book, it’s too complicated.

So I hope you are a little scared, but not too scared, or at least you had a good laugh. Regardless of whether or not you think I’m mental, please, ask me questions, chat with me. I just recently began speaking about these events.

The book is only being published so there is record that I tried to do something. I didn’t just sit back and watch it happen. I don’t expect anyone will actually buy it or even give it a second thought. I can see people saying I’ve made the whole story up to make money from the book, so I’ll be selling the books AT COST. No profit will be received from the purchase of it by me, but Lightning Source and any subcontractors they hire will get whatever it sells for. Early estimates place it at around $6.50. I make enough money at my current job, LionPOS (get it? Lion “paws”). The published copy is really only for people like me who need to have a book in my hand to read it.

I’ve got about 2 full length albums of music I’ve written, which every song is about this very same story. After the book is published, I plan to create a free website that includes: the text from my book on the screen, the audio book playing over the music I’ve written, with my home-videos playing in a window, and a link to submit information. There will also be links to download all the included content separately. I’ve got a program written by a coworker that will systematically spam email millions of people a link to the site. Normally this would be illegal, but not if I create a new political party or religion.


I think anyone who really knew me knows I’m a crazy/wacky kinda guy, but not this particular kind of crazy. I think that if nothing happens I will be a huge laughingstock but at least I erred on the side of caution. I


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hope that maybe I’ve brought a little excitement to many who might be finding life to be mundane. Nothing against the mundane though. When it’s all said and done, I just want to relax and enjoy my existence like everybody else. Any help would be appreciated.


P.S. If you would like to read what I have finished please give me your email address and I will send the document.


I never sent the book to anyone. I tried to send it to Tom, but Facefuck’s upload feature was booked. Somewhere around this point, my wife informed me of the Elevated Sounds Gathering’s lineup. I was a bit surprised. I guess I knew all these things were going to happen but every time I’m still surprised by it. Remember, I’m really fucking high here.



Chapter 10 – More Songs


Here are the songs I wrote in the last 5 years. Skip.


No Forest


this is no forest

look for the animals

they see you but you don’t see them


they’ll feed you but you won’t eat them they’ll eat you but you won’t feed them


we see ourselves as human beings evolution is proof of our origins environmental restructuring has eliminated our instinct


we kill ourselves as human beings while we eliminate every other species a planetary disease

expected to die out cause we said the animals are here for me


this is no forest

look for the animals

they’ll free you but you don’t need them


we fool ourselves into believing in a fictional God

who told us animals don’t give a fuck we screw ourselves it’s you I fear


and your insistence that you are helping cure it bite the hand that you feed

bested by ourselves, cause we said the animals here aren’t like me


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don’t be bad no don’t be mad

you know you won’t be in hell so don’t beat yourself down it won’t be sad so don’t feel bad

you won’t know you’ll be dead so don’t beat yourself down but if you fuck yourself, you’ll never get anyone else

will you trust yourself to do right never anything else to stay alive never letting it end to share a life with somebody else


but if you wreck yourself you never do right everything ends

you never get with anyone else

you never know why you’re better off dead to us




there is an unlimited host of propensities within each of us they just need releasing it won’t be through drugs exercise your conviction you can’t know anything till you try it


i don’t know what kind of a world we’ll live in grappled with the urgent question who is your God? fixed installations at these sites are being destroyed nuclear war that destroys a large part of human civilization is possible


it doesn’t require accidents or misfires, it’s about the motives of your adversaries

be hyper-vigilant, youthful, radical, reform oriented

a gambler with a losing hand and a lurking fear of failure and defeat

or that bitch of a war, mired in stalemate, will kill the lady i love



Chapter 11 – Mental Hospital


I entered the mental heath hospital at 1:00am on May 17th, 2009. I was there because I told my wife I was going to kill myself since she didn’t believe this story. This was of course ludicrous because no one in their right mind should believe me without evidence. Of course I did provide her with evidence, but when you give someone evidence that they don’t remember it’s like you didn’t give them anything at all. I doubt anyone remembers anything I ever told them about the future other than what few people I told about 9/11. Realistically I wasn’t going to kill myself, but I would have possibly stabbed repeatedly or fucked myself up somehow or another eventually because I actually was crazy. Oh yeah, full blown manic episode with a dash of sociopath. Hmm, I wonder what it was that could have driven me to the point of insanity. Was it my high stress job? Nope, that is easy to ignore. Just push, silence on the old celly’. Was I having a mid-life crisis as I turned 30? I did go buy a BMW M3 that I absolutely cherish, but I don’t think I even try to rationalize my own death when there is nothing to gain by dwelling on it. That’s probably why I drive at a constant 20 mph over the limit. Was it my wife perpetually leaving me and taking me back? Well, that is actually a byproduct of my breakdown and not a cause, but it did have a cyclic effect for the worse. Duh, I don’t fucking know what do you think it was that whacked me out on kookie bars?


So the first thing I said to the staff member that was checking me in when asked what had brought me to their fine establishment was that I thought millions of people were going to die in a nuclear explosion, and I was the only one that could stop it. At least that’s what the medical records say, but I don’t remember saying that I was the only one that could stop it. I probably should have kept this story to myself, but I was determined to speak my


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fucking mind. I’m sure he thought I was crazy, but hey, that’s his job. Upon getting to know the guy he was absolutely devoid of personality, or at least made it appear so as to avoid interaction with the patients (or possibly just me), but a likeable fellow just the same. Then we had Fred, another employee, strip me to my skivvies and check for contraband. He seemed genuinely likeable, so I didn’t mind when he shoved his finger deep within my whoops. Just kidding. Hi Fred, how are you? Anyhow, I was still kinda in shock for the first day as I met many of the patients. The first guy I met was a DU student named Kidd who took LSD and failed the aptitude test that says whether or not you’re sane. Later, when I told him about my story, I think he actually believed me which felt at the time quite good to me. When his family came to visit him with his girlfriend, I then remembered seeing all of them at a gas station some weeks or months earlier. This was funny to both of us even though he didn’t remember. As my stay grew longer, I met many people of distinct character that one could not forget, but I don’t think I should mention any of them here, because they bear little relevance to the story. I was waiting to see the doctor, and by 10:00pm the next day, I met him. This is what I said, much less eloquently:


Ok, so I don’t know where you stand in a spiritual sense, but this is what has happened to me. I’ve had something truly supernatural happen to me and no one believes it. I’ve given evidence of being psychic to my wife and other people, but everybody has an excuse not to believe. The effects of this are that I have lost control to the point of insanity, and do need help. But first we must consider the possibility that events that have taken place in my life are what have driven me here, and not the obvious opposite.

He then asked me what these events were, and I explained briefly. He offered little assurance of his desire to think outside the box. So I asked him what he thought,



and he said I was manic. I said, ok, so I’m fucked basically as I imagined an instant diagnosis of Bi-Polar with massive meds attached. But he shocked me when he said he was intrigued by my story. He said that if I could verify even a shred of the information given he would give the story much more clout. So after that I set about trying to get a hold of A Fracas. He also disclosed that the final decision on my loony-level was not up to him, but that I was at the mercy of one Dr. Barren. It was several days before I was to meet her, but I already knew that my stay was going to be lengthy since I had asked many of the staff for a good deal of advice, and they suspected an average stay of around seven to ten days. I was informed that I was allowed to refuse medication so long as the court didn’t intervene. They also said I had a right to an attorney whom I promptly contacted, but was saddened by the fact that it would be at least 2 weeks before I could have a hearing to decide my fate. They probably would have said I was crazy and needed to stay, and I would then be required to take whatever medication was prescribed even after I’d left the hospital.

Really I just needed someone to talk to who might believe me. What better place to find someone like that than a mental hospital? I told everybody: staff, patients, the janitors. I told them all to go to the Elevated Sounds Gathering. The first doctor I talked with said about a week later that he would be there. Most of the staff feigned interest while others simply laughed. I appreciated every one of them listening to me though. So when I finally met with my doctor and social worker, I was surprised when the diagnosis was elevated to full blown Bi-Polar disorder. I thought that was pretty ridiculous for them to come to that conclusion prior to or within 5 minutes of having met me. I could see psychotic, sociopathic, or schizophrenic, but not Bi-Polar. This was determined from observations by the staff and my family. Thanks guys, you really remedied me


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good there and indubitably shortened my stay! My doctor gave me a description of behaviour common to Bi-Polar patients, so I said, “Then everybody must be Bi-Polar, right?” I think I was correct to a certain degree. She replied, “This meeting is over.” As I stormed out of the office I said to myself loudly, “Completely fucking fucked.”


The next day Fred came up to me and said, “Hey, I know you are refusing medication and everything, but we ordered some for you anyway, and we thought you might want to reconsider.” At this point I was really hating it there, and felt like I should do anything in order to get out, especially given that I’d learned there was no way they could require me to take the medication after I left the hospital unless it became court ordered. So I said, “Alright Fred, I don’t know what it is but I’m really into trusting you right now, but I’ll need to know exactly what I’m taking, what the effect is, and what the side effects are.” He came back with a big book of pills, which frightened me a little, because I kind of expected him to know a bit more off hand. I forgot that even the brightest minds in the world that are working to produce the worlds pharmaceuticals are still using guesswork, so this must be sort of like the trickle down effect. The drug I was to be placed on was called Geodon, and it is classified as an anti-psychotic. It, like most drugs, has been found to have multiple effects. I was to be taking it for Bi-Polar Manic Depressive Syndrome.


Ziprasidone is indicated for the treatment of acute manic or mixed episodes associated with bipolar disorder, with or without psychotic features. A manic episode is a distinct period of abnormally and persistently elevated, expansive, or irritable mood. A mixed episode is characterized by the criteria for a manic episode in conjunction with those for a major depressive episode (depressed mood, loss of interest or pleasure in nearly all




The efficacy of ziprasidone in acute mania was established in 2 placebo-controlled, double- blind, 3-week studies in patients meeting DSM-IV criteria for Bipolar I Disorder who currently displayed an acute manic or mixed episode with or without psychotic features.

The effectiveness of ziprasidone for longer-term use and for prophylactic use in mania has not been systematically evaluated in controlled clinical trials. Therefore, physicians who elect to use ziprasidone for extended periods should periodically re-evaluate the long-term risks and benefits of the drug for the individual patient.

Oral ziprasidone should be administered at an initial daily dose of 40 mg BID with food. The dose should then be increased to 60 mg or 80 mg BID on the second day of treatment and subsequently adjusted on the basis of toleration and efficacy within the range 40-80 mg BID. In the flexible- dose clinical trials, the mean daily dose administered was approximately 120 mg.

There is no body of evidence available from controlled trials to guide a clinician in the longer-term management of a patient who improves during treatment of mania with ziprasidone. While it is generally agreed that pharmacological treatment beyond an acute response in mania is desirable, both for maintenance of the initial response and for prevention of new manic episodes, there are no systematically obtained data to support the use of ziprasidone in such longer-term treatment (i.e., beyond 3 weeks).


This is what I agreed to take. I logicalized this with Fred by saying, “I’ve taken almost every recreational drug there is, what harm could this do?” Hooooooooooly shit.

They started me at two 40mg pills, one in the morning and one at night. The first morning after I had taken the pill the night before was splendid because I was


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thinking this was going to be a cakewalk being that I hadn’t felt a single effect, and I was pressing myself by the next day with aerobic activity(basketball) and handstands. I felt okay even as the first effects started showing up that night. I had great difficulty sleeping, but thought this was a small price to pay for freedom. The next morning I was fine again, but just before lunch I quickly became fucked. Like spinning vertigo mixed with some sort of hybrid long-lasting cocaine. I was having a hard time focusing on anything around me, and felt like I needed to lay down. So I perservered through lunch, which was about 40 minutes, and finally went to my bed and fell asleep. I don’t know if you would qualify it as sleep, or more like forcing myself unconcious to avoid crawling out of my skin. Three hours later I woke up and found out what the drug did to me, here is the clinical description:

Akathisia: A movement disorder characterized by a feeling of inner restlessness and a compelling need to be in constant motion as well as by actions such as rocking while standing or sitting, lifting the feet as if marching on the spot and crossing and uncrossing the legs while sitting. People with akathisia are unable to sit or keep still, complain of restlessness, fidget, rock from foot to foot, and pace.


I also felt a slight effect on my calculative ability, but no other effects than these. I was a little concerned considering I was trying to prove to them that I wasn’t manic, and now I was programmed to behave in exactly that manner. That was still ok to me because I always fancied myself a clever actor, and I’m always up to a challenge.

The next day the same spell came over me right before lunch, and I stayed in my room and slept. That day when I spoke with Dr. Barren again, I thanked her for trying to save me and all, but thought that maybe I needed to get off this medication because it was fucking my mind for 2 hours a day. She advised that I no longer take the



medication in the morning, and take the full 80mg at night. I said thank you and apologized for storming out of the room the last time we had met. She also prescribed flexoral for my calf, which had been incredibly tense and was forcing me to limp slightly.

Both the dosage change and the flexoral helped and I was feeling fine, restless and wanting to get the hell out, but fine just the same. My dad had been in contact with me throughout my stay, and when I asked him to provide a statement contrary to my mom and Sara’s for the doctors, he was hesitant. I said, “I really need you to have my back here dad, I’ve got nobody else that will help.” He said he didn’t think he could help me, so I hung up the phone. Parenting Tip: When your children tell you they don’t have anyone to turn to, help them out. I don’t care if my son says that dinosaurs shit bricks of invisible gold in his closet when he sleeps, I’ll fucking back him up until I know otherwise.

They said I might be released near the end of that week, which was only 4 days away, and I was elated by this. I started trying to have some fun. Kidd had helped another patient, Jeremy, write a childrens book called Frank and the Hotdog, which I am currently in the process of publishing. I drank a lot of hot tea while I played board and card games of all sorts. During the brief activity time we were given each day two of the staff members, Brandon and Ezekiel were playing basketball against two of the patients. I need to make a comment here because I asked almost everyone at the hospital if I could use their name in my book, and almost everyone agreed except for one girl, and Ezekiel. The girl had said she’d let me know, but she never did. She was quite pleasant and overqualified for her position to say the least. So “Ezekiel” told me to use that as his name. Nice guy, but I don’t know how the hell he ended up working at a mental health organization. I guess it must be some kind of fluke. Just kidding Ezekiel,


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but the name choice is fucking ridiculous dude, even if nobody knows or gives a shit who the fuck you are. That sounds a little mean. I’m sorry, I’m sure that somebody somewhere gives at least a fuck about you. Sk8 4ever. So these two are busting out every move they’ve got on the court, no look passes between the legs and shit, and they are just getting killed by the two patients. Jeremy and Daniel don’t even look like they are going to break a sweat, just quickly walking around the court and making almost every shot. I don’t know, but after reading what I’ve written it doesn’t really seem that funny. I guess you had to be there, but the patients won to say the least, and Brandon and Ezekial looked like they’d been wrestling greased pigs. There are many stories like the girl, Nicole, who wandered off and hid while the staff searched for her, but sadly no time to tell them here. Gotta finish the book. As I’m typing it’s already July 5th, and I must upload it for print by tomorrow. I haven’t even started writing about A Fracas.


So my doctor told me several meetings later that I was getting a little manic again. This was obviously because I was happy to know I was going to be leaving, and it must’ve shown. It was decided that my dosage be increased to 120mg to make me extra sane. I said I didn’t think this was necessary, but was willing to do whatever it took to get me outsane. The effects increased once again, and again the mid-day shuffles would occur where I just could not stop moving or focus on anything. I guess I’m not as good an actor as I thought.

I gathered a semblance of control again and 12 days into my stay I was sent to Unit 2, which is like a step down unit. The patients and staff there were much more mellow, no schizos or psychos (other than the guy that liked to hold his genitals). There was a class about a famous animator, and it inspired me to imagicate my book and copyright it correctly. We had another class where we talked about



music, and I learned about the band Hate Unification. Good people working there. I met some other patients that I liked a lot there as well, but again offer no support to the story at hand.

The last meeting I had with my doctor and social worker they asked about my prediction, and I said, “I thought I had a vision.” There was a long pause so I gave them the shrugged shoulders. I was eventually discharged with a functioning level of 63 out of 100 possible points. A D minus. The guy that discharged me was cool though. He was like, “Don’t worry, that’s just due to the whole psychic prediction thing.” I think it was exactly that moment I became absolutely certain I wasn’t crazy anymore, whether anybody else realized it or not.

Kidd called me a few days after I got out and asked, “Hey, are you really publishing a book and buying me a car?” I had told him I was making him VP of Autio Publishing amongst other things, which were all true. I ensured him that everything I said was true. I was glad when he then doubted my story about nuclear devastation. This was a sign that the LSD trip was ending.

Throughout this whole ordeal, I couldn’t make myself mad at any of the staff even though I knew most of them were totally assured that I was some kind of freak. They are all such incredible examples of human beings that are trying to heal anyone who wants or needs help in any way they can. I truly cherish every moment spent with everyone. I so appreciate the help that Dr. Barren and my social worker gave me along with many of the the staff who were so open minded with me. The patients were some of the most spirited people I’ve ever met; so full of life, but bottled up. It made me appreciate that my psychosis was something that could be reversed, and it was here that I realized what I needed to work out in order to heal myself. So again, thank you everyone at LH, and I hope you are spirited in you giving back to society. Do me


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one favor though, if anybody else comes in saying that they’ve had a psychic prediction that involves millions of people dying and they think that’s what has created their bout with sanity, give them the benefit of the doubt, okay? Oh, and you might want to realize that 90% of the patients in there smoke pot or drink frequently. Consider eliminating that before you include additional drugs when truthfully, you don’t really know the long term effects and /or interactions.

While in Unit 2 I had met a girl named Tracy. I was an idiot because I should have remembered her even though we had never met. Maybe it’s for the better; it might have sent me spiraling into an abyssmal psychosis if I’d actually put the pieces together. But I must’ve subconciously known who she was because I invited her to the Elevated Sounds Gathering, and I told her all about the book. Of course I made it sound like it was a history of the Omelete music scene as I did to many people that I talked about it with. Wouldn’tcha know it, she went to high school with A Fracas! I didn’t know why at the time, but I sat for about 12 hours straight after being released from the hospital before I identified her from my memory. I just stared blankly at the wall through the night until the light of the morning. I’ve sent her an email, but she knows nothing about the story, and I can’t bear to tell her. I can’t go on with this even. I type a line every 15 minutes and then delete it, I’m going nowhere. Tracy is an unbelievable person and should do well in life.


So here I sit. At home back with Sara. Another testament of her incredible character, she has let me move back in once again, and I’m fairly certain she believes me this time. She was in the hospital for a scheduled labor and I was freaking out about this story again saying, “Every conversation we have until the day I die is going to end this way until you believe me.” She is absolutely a mental mountain. With the Elevated Sounds Gathering coming up,



time will tell us soon enough regardless.  I’m writing

this book the day after independence day, wondering if any

of this will make sense to anyone, or if anyone really cares.

I’ve let absolutely no one read my book or even any piece

of it until I create a finished copy.

I can’t explain my feelings right now. I’m just holding on. The calm before the storm. I half imagine I will find K in disguise at the entrance to the concert. I need to plan how to make sure I’m on stage when he is. Then the next day, can I do the same with A Fracas? So many questions that I really don’t give a fuck about anymore. If I don’t make contact with anyone of interest, I’ll just publish the damn book, probably as fiction, and try to go on with my life and family intact.

In a dream world, my book sells millions of copies and I go on to write books and maybe even music for a living. I’d like to write an album with Mi’Clam, K, A Fracas, Elen, , Garrett, Geoff, Pat, Joey, Eric, Slick, Howard, Sara, and probably about 20 more people I’m forgetting. In a nightmare world, the book takes off and ruins the lives of everyone mentioned, including myself. I’m sorry if this happens, but I don’t see the book taking off in the first place so I wouldn’t worry about it.

I do not want to get a cult following of idiots so please stay away if you believe in flying spaghetti monsters. I would be interested in meeting people that are atheists or religious, but seek something further. These are generally some of the best people in my experience. People with their own personal belief system have consciences’ that tend to fail them. I don’t need any wicked clowns following me around, ok? If this is the demographic I capture I will seriously off myself this time for reals yo. If you believe in any loony garbage other than mine don’t bother talking to me. Here is a list of total lies that might be grounds for discharge from my fanclub:


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Coral Castle – This is intruiging, but the guy was ignorant. Free Energy/Perpetual Motion – You’ve got to be kidding. 9/11 Conspiracy – I’m pretty sure the 747’s did it dumbass. Moon Landing – I want to punch you in the face Ghosts – I’m sorry for your loss.

Aliens – Focus on what is really happening.

Loch Ness Monster – Sterilization is in order here. Bigfoot/Yeti – Ok, I could see some giant genetic abnormality running around forests, but really? No. Chupacabre – Mutilated cattle scare me, this does not.


Things that are real and completely acceptable:


Mind Reading

Future Reading

Past Reading


Maybe I need to expand these lists on the website.



Chapter 12 – Conclusion


I have always been particular to aesthetics, and am quite pleased to be providing such an artful piece for you to admire. Let us overlook the fact that this novel is atrocious as literature. Boring, repetitive, unconscionably long-winded, and written at approximately a 10th Grade level. With wooden characters, the dialogue makes you feel like you’re being lectured by your uncle. The idiotic plot reads as if written by a 17 year-old shut- in. Whatever respect you might have for me in light of my awful writing skills is obliterated by my unbelievably sophomoric “philosophy.” It is exactly the kind of anti- intellectual, preachy, self-aggrandizing shit that plays well with immature people who think the world revolves around them. But who else could be expected to take this sort of thing seriously? It’s really just a joke to me as you can tell by how haphazardly it was written, but I’ve taken great measure to create something beautiful throughout. I spent years creating my own art thinking it was meaningful. But as I look back the only thing I found any meaning in has been my family and this story you are now reading. I completely lost faith in my own music and ideas because they were dwarfed by crazy soothsaying. Anyone with a half a mind would have been recalcitrant and gotten medical help years ago for these things, but I luckily had the presence of mind to adhere to a system of logic that allows me to not suppress, but embrace my fear. Sure, it made me crazy, and my family around me suffered greatly as did I, but have you considered what might have happened had I ignored it or repressed and never recovered any memory of this? Ok, so maybe millions of people die, but how does that affect me if I’m not one of them? After having experienced 9/11 as a reality and not just some bullshit I screamed at people without it ever happening I can imagine I wouldn’t react well. Some things in here don’t react well to nuclear




An Incomplete Boo

So now with that having been said, at the risk of alienating every single person that might find this story believeable or provide credible evidence, I’ve got a few crackpot ideas I’d like to share with you. It’s just a little bit more for anyone who wonders.


Most philosophers will go through the discourse of providing evidence and various arguments to validate their theory. I break from tradition in this sense by revealing only the barest essentials, and rely on you to find the reasons that will prove it to yourself. I do this because I know I am right a priori. It is also guaranteed that I will be wrong about some things a posteriori, because that is just the way life is. It will also become apparent in the future that what I was wrong about doesn’t add up to much in the grand scheme of things.

Artificial intelligence like the movies is impossible, androids are not. Grey goo is also possible.

Musicians will only make money from live performances. The record label is dead. Nothing can fully protect digital media. I can’t say what’s in store for the movie industry, but I imagine it will never make the money they used to. This is how it should be. Anything that needs to be advertised isn’t needed.


Time only goes forward, ad infinitum. Nobody will ever travel back in time. That might be a missing constant for the unified field theory so get to working on that, would’ja? I don’t care what kind of wormhole or cosmic anomaly you get sucked into you are not going back in time. It’s irrelevant anyway because time is relative. There are an infinite number of possibilities for our existence as a whole or as individuals for every infinitely small amount of time that takes place. No parallel universes though, sorry string theorists. Reality exists exactly the same for everyone, regardless of interpretation.

Everything ends. In rare cases, the means to an end



is a change. Life, the universe, and everything in it will some day end, or change. Sorry. I guess you could say life will continue on forever in some form but that even seems like a stretch to me. All life might die at some point, but by sheer odds will reform through the coincidental combinations of interactive molecules.

So when we think about time, do these laws apply to our lives? The answer is yes, because there is no fountain of youth. I’m sorry, but you will never experience anything other than the life you are currently living. This is why we cry when people die. In the metaphysical sense your matter will be broken down and used as fuel for other life. In that way you technically live on, but the most realistic view is that you only continue in a spiritual sense through your offspring and the memories of those around you while you were alive. This is where I break from every major religion in the world. I’m going to pull a total pious move and say you just have to trust me on this one or risk living your life for something that doesn’t exist. The strange dichotomy is that we must form a conscience by our own means for nothing other than to forward the species. It’s through the will of the pack that we’ve continued to thrive even though we cling to a failed ideology in which the reward is but a dream.

The scale of the universe is too large for any being to traverse it. Any vessel designed to transport us after our solar system has died would become an extension of our own bodies, and its design would be therefore imperfect thus likely to fail. We have no plan for the unknown. Besides, who are we to steal the natural evolution of life on some planet because our time is up? Are we the last bastion of hope for life to expand across the universe? I think it will become most clear and unequivocal that all life is destined to stay where the seed falls. Please, prove me wrong because I love Sci-Fi.


Speaking of which, there are no aliens that have


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visited us other than extremophiles that may have caught a ride on a meteor. That is not to say that aliens don’t exist, but they will carry out their existence in the same manner as us; to live and die alone in the universe. Now I can’t say I’m not surprised by our single species evolving so much further than every other. I could say it is possible that we were given a boost by something, but I just can’t see that ever being a purposeful act. I’d much rather appreciate the awe and wonder of life being created by random chance.

Let’s talk about God, shall we? I’m going to lose a lot of you here, but when it comes to God there’s no guy in the sky. I’m sorry. In fact, there is no physical or spiritual entity of any kind. So what is God you ask? I don’t know. Neither do you. But that is not to say we won’t. From what I can tell it’s an interconnection between all things that everyone should be aware of, but few fail to take heed or even notice. We love to give furtive explanations and are quick to reify them. I was a devout atheist for the first 25 or so years of my life. I’ve come to find that there are things in life which cannot be explained through coincidence, and the fact that everyone has made so many different but similar explanations for God, the mystical, karma, or whatever you choose to call it proves that there must be something out there, but no one answer has fully defined our existence in the “spiritual” world. If it had we would all have eventually come to the same conclusion with its obviously superior explanation. So start looking. That’s what I always liked about existential philosophy; its goal was merely to pose the question of existence rather than try to answer something that doesn’t have a definite query. I’ve given you a basis point to start with; that existence ends at death. Everyone seems too afraid of this to move forward. Who are we to commandeer the complex architecture of biology and say it’s just a vessel? Anyone can make explanations without factual obligation. The simple solution is that everything we experience and



interpret is filtered through the gazillion molecules

which make up our bodies, and there is nothing more than


Maybe you are wondering how you could harness this amazing bullshit ability I have been using. Well, you’re fucked on that one too three for a number of reasons. First, I have no idea what allowed me to do what I did. Secondly, as far as I can tell there is nothing physiologically different between you or me. I did sit in my room for hours as a child and thought to myself, life is too fucked up, there’s so much that’s wrong. Not just wrong to the individuals, but wrong as in universal suffering. This was of course fueled by Camus, Dostoevsky, Kafka, Sartre, and Nietchze. I have to thank Ms. Corvette for suggesting I read The Stranger in the 6th grade. I decided I’d do everything in my power to change life for the better, and that I’d be willing to die for this because I knew I was right. I think that helped, combined with a high level of intelligence and a deeply introspective thought process that let me see myself as an outsider. I rarely care what I think others might see in me, but I base all actions and judgments as if I were observing myself. The golden rule, this is all you need to live in peace and harmony. I think what precisely gave me the key was simply having an open mind.


I never thought there was any possibility anything like this had ever happened to anyone ever before, or ever would. I just assumed they were all stories, coincidences, or explanations given by crazy people. But I never presumed that it couldn’t happen. I welcomed it. I would think to myself as a kid, I can be like a prophet; do some truly amazing things and then be worshipped long after my death for bettering the world. Not for the worshipping part though. Really, I mean it. I’m altruistic. I’d rather spend my days enjoying what life I have left with my family. I don’t expect anyone to worship me in the least. Odds are


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this book will fade away into oblivion without a second thought. And I truly feel that even though this is the case, it is still possible I have stopped the bomb from going off here even if the attempt is never made. The simple act of making the statements I have to the people I have, and that they are now documented is reason enough in my mind for the future to change. Seriously though, I hope you are thinking about what I could have missed.

Now, this one I only mention because it makes an appearance in Chapter 1. I in no way claim to know what is right, but merely wish to present my side of the debate regarding abortion. I hate abortion. What if I were aborted? There are two ways we can go about life. Either we master human DNA and eliminate birth defects & disease or we shun attempts at controlling nature, and rely on genetic mutation to evolve us. One of these ways requires a lot of test abortions, and it scares the shit out of me. Can you guess which? I’m not going to sit here and tell you not to get an abortion because I’m pro-choice, but I still hate abortion. Most important is the life of the mother so if that is in danger I say abort, abort! Of course if anyone gets sexually assaulted it would be horrible, and they might want to get an abortion. But isn’t it obvious what the real problem is there? The act of rape. The idea is to eliminate that first. This is not rocket science. So what if your birth control failed? Well, was it really that important to have sex if you don’t want kids? Make sure you do your love dance during the period when the female is least likely to get pregnant. And remember, your semen can live for up to a week in the fallopian tubes. You might want to consider the act of sex for pleasure as extraneous. Yes people, I know, fucking feels good okay? Let’s try to find some other purpose in life while we’re here, alright? That one is just a given by nature. Maybe branch out into watercolors, recreational tennis, or anything that floats your boat besides coitus. We’ve got an abortion band aid for a



nation  of  sport  fucking  champions. If  you  need

evidence of this, just log onto http://www.insertanythingdirtyhere.com and you’ll see a demonstration. If someone gets too drunk and goes home with someone they just met, maybe we should consider that alcohol might be the problem in this situation. I’m trying to eliminate abortion altogether as a choice. It’s like going dancing on a floor that has a few nails placed in specific locations, and of course they are pointed up. If you are careful, you won’t ever step on them. Let’s say this is the only place you can see Daft Punk live, so it’s worth the risk. I think Daft Punk is as close to sex as you can get without penetration. But if you are so into the music and you lose track of where the nails are you end up with a nail in your foot. Now you have to go to the doctor and get it removed. I guess you could just get a hanger and poke it…I mean pull it out yourself. Just don’t die from blood loss. If you have a family and you can’t afford any more children, hmmm…

Has anyone even considered adoption seriously? I’ve even seen this happen with wild animals, but in nature the parent never gives up the child, they just die. I can tell it is a huge 9 month inconvenience from personal experience, and the female body undergoes certain changes by being pregnant that are not so likeable in many ways. But would you rather feel like you gave someone the family they dreamt of, or whatever it is that you feel after getting an abortion? People are surrogate mothers for money, and lots of it. Some women must pay thousands of dollars to get their fallopian tubes untangled just for the possibility they might get pregnant, and we’re dropping babies like sheep.


It’s a Catch-22. The people who are having abortions probably shouldn’t have kids anyway, so what am I complaining about? I’m not saying we should outlaw abortion by any means, but that people should make


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educated decisions. If you look at the facts and are still just super-pro-abortion and you go every 6 months like it’s a dental checkup or something, knock yourself out. Abort until you have nothing left to scrape baby. In my dream world abortions are only performed at hospitals in emergency situations because everyone makes the right decisions that won’t lead to an unnecessary medical procedure. Really the best argument is still that if you were aborted, you wouldn’t be here. Maybe this would have been a good thing. Catch-22. I wasn’t going to say anything about abortion, but I read an article written by someone mentioned in this book on the web praising abortion so I simply had to retort. No harm no foul, right? I clearly don’t have the answers, just a rant.

So last but not least, I said a news personality named Ben had something to do with this whole nuclear attack scenario to K back when ‘it’ happened, but I have mostly omitted this from the text. Well, it turns out that Ben is Ben Gleck, one of my favorite television personalities, and absolutely my favorite talk radio host. So Ben, do you remember the scene in Robot from The Future 2 where Arnie and the family go visit the computer programmer that figures out the technology left behind from Robot From the Future 1 that ends up taking over the world? (Can anyone else see the flaw in that system of logic as well?) They tell him what his actions now create in the future, and he vomits profusely. Your role is exactly like the opposite of that. I feel like you can play an important role in a positive light, so maybe I’ll see the newsreel that tells me if or when it’s going to happen on your show. Get some serious investigative reporters if you haven’t already. I have unlimited doubts that you will believe this or even read it, but I know you are probably almost as worried as I am about nuclear terrorism so I would like you to honestly evaluate my story in a unbiased manner. Oh, and try not to be too partisan, specifically



with the Tsar. I’m pretty sure he has the same goals in mind. Besides, if we can’t get along as individuals we might as well give up trying to save ourselves as a people. I will be watching and listening diligently as I know I can gather more insight into the future by seeing what’s happening right now.

To everybody in the world, snap out of it.


138 An Incomplete Boo





So I made it to the concert I mentioned earlier. If you don’t know what concert I’m talking about put this book down and go read something else. I bought a $400 VIP ticket and got there as soon as the gates opened. Yeah, the performances were great, but the only band I really watched closely was Succuba. I’ve always been a big fan, but I was lost in thought as I listened. It was then that I remembered what was probably my last forgotten prophecy, though it bore little importance. When I met K, I mentioned that Apparatus was going to be regarded as one of if not the greatest bands of our time. What I forgot was that I said he had heavily influenced a great number of bands, most notably in my mind being Succuba. I said he should play a show with them, and he said it would never happen. I said, “Yes you will, and I’ll be there. And Brandon(the lead singer) will carry the torch after you are gone.” I don’t really know what that means, or if even Succuba was even influenced by Apparatus. He said it must be a festival because then it wouldn’t matter to him who else he played with. I almost feel like if I were to somehow meet Brandon by chance I might start talking about the future again. But if his agent were to call me and schedule a lunch or something I just can’t see it working. It’s like I’m a famous musician powered psychic, but it has to be a coincidental encounter.


So the first night when Apparatus played, I was right in front of the stage holding my book. I’d been carrying it around all day like it was Catcher in The Rye. I considered chucking it at him at the end of the concert, but he was quite far back on the stage for the performance so I decided to go with plan B. Earlier I had noticed whoever was in charge of setting up the fence separating the backstage area had made a potentially fatal flaw: he fenced over a ditch. So as I exited the VIP area into general


140 An Incomplete Boo

admission, I quickly walked to the dark corner where I noticed the indention on the ground. I easily slid under the fence into a pitch black backstage. I sat on a plastic chair and waited as they played an encore, all the while trying to figure out what I was going to do. When the final song had finished I walked up to a light pole about 5 feet from the security guard I had spoken with moments ago so he wouldn’t suspect I was unauthorized. When K finally came into view I lifted my hand in the air as one would when you are trying to get someone’s attention, and started to say, “Hey.” But he was in the car and driving away with a police escort before I got to the E in hey. He was like 10 feet away, and I could have easily hit him in the head with my book, but my reflexes are too slow or I just choked under pressure I suppose. I’ve turned into an excellent stalker it seems, but I’ve got no follow through.

The next night A Fracas played on the same stage, so I did my same duck and cover move at the end of their set. I sat in the exact same place and watched the entire band file off the stage as people congratulated them. None of them looked at me so I didn’t say a word. I just was amazed at how familiar their walks were after having seen them on the intro to their documentary DVD. Is that psychic? I didn’t even know what I wanted to say to them. Whereas with K I knew exactly what I wanted to ask. But as I watched them walk away I decided I would simply wing it. I’ll figure out the answers to my questions on my own through careful observation.


K and A Fracas need to be lauded for their efforts; they have done everything I ever asked of them with no expectation of anything in return. I’m talking about to a T. One of them wrote a song about it for Christ’s sake. If anyone ever actually admits that what I’m saying is true: Yes, I must have convinced these multi-million dollar recording artists to go along with my story. I had to offer them billions so the wife was cutting coupons big time. We



pooled our minds and this was the most believable story

we could come up with. I sure hope they open up about it.

I don’t know what kind of sick person would deny it when

they should know what kind of demon they will look like if

it really happens.

So this is where we sit. I have no idea what will happen for the next 3½ years. I don’t even know if I want to publish this book any more. So maybe you are holding one of 20 copies in existence. If this is the case, it is upon YOU to make sure that the book survives and the story is told if something horrible happens. But it’s not going to because everybody did everything they were supposed to. I guess I can’t be sure, but it seems like everybody acted exactly as they should have in regards to the situation. I said I would write a book. That’s all I needed to do. If this hadn’t happened I’d be worried. I said I was sure that everything I had said was going to happen, but I wasn’t sure about the nuclear stuff because that was the one thing I was determined to stop. So the conclusion is the same as when I said it first: that we don’t know, and we won’t know. It’s been about a year since I started writing this book, but I only had a few chapters completed before I entered the mental hospital. I wrote the remainder in about 40 days. I think it’s pretty obvious by how hurried my text seems. I wish I had more time, which is why I made the website http://www.anincompleteboo.com so maybe someday this can be a complete boo.


142 An Incomplete Boo


Hello world!

So I’m very similar to Jesus, and we are extremely disappointed with most of you.

Happy downfall!