Hadge's Vault

2011-11-26T09:05:00.000-08:00

Laser Planet One

2010-04-17T11:51:00.000-07:00

Blogger doesn't seem to like indents. I hope this doesn't ruin the experience for you.
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Captain Jeremiah and his rocket-pack squad of mercenaries were patrolling the space between the earth and the moon.

“Sector FZ-784G-QS-LL-L all clear,” said Jeremiah on his radio, shortly after incinerating a spacedactyl with his high-powered hand-held power-handlaser.

Willie, the squad’s science sergeant, was utterly flabbergasted. “Leapin’ lasers!” he exclaimed. “The velocity with which you aligned your laser’s trajectory with the position of that tractus dactylanus is incalculable!”

The squad laughed. “Why don’t you tell us that again, this time in English?” said Brando Blade, the squad’s lieutenant of lasersplosives.

Willie blushed. “All I’m saying is you’re the best, captain!”

“Damn right,” replied Jeremiah. The squad laughed again.

Jeremiah pressed a button to open the visor on his space helmet. He reached up and thoughtfully combed his moustache with his fingers. “Hey Willie, wasn’t that critter a little far from home, for a spacedactyl?”

Willie pulled out his pocket-sized miniature laser-computer from his pocket. “Hmm,” he said. “According to my calculations, that tractus dactylanus was 6.4516129032258064516129065 to the power of negative 9 parsecs – 200,000 miles – away from its home planet, the moon. Any first-year space-student knows that a spacedactyl only goes that far out if it’s…”

“If it’s running from something.” Jeremiah closed his visor so he could breathe again. “All troops set power-jets to combat mode. We’re goin’ to the moon, boys!”

All at once, the ten-person space-squad blasted towards the moon, their power-jets leaving behind a booming fireworks display of blasting power-fire. They cruised past the ancient abandoned space shuttles of the twenty-second century, soaring expertly around the poison nebula clouds and dangerous meteor fields that riddled their space-path. In about five minutes, they arrived on the surface of the moon. Up ahead, Jeremiah could see a group of eerie spacemen spookily laser-repairing their strange moon jeep.

Brando Blade spoke first. “Something about those spacemen up ahead give me the creepy crawlies,” he said.

“Don’t be such a scaredy-borg,” replied Jeremiah.

Brando Blade looked embarrassed and tried to assume a more tough-looking posture.

“There’s no reason for us to be afraid of a few spooky spacemen,” continued Jeremiah. “For all we know, they could be Good Guys.” With that, he holstered his power-handlaser and began walking assertively toward the spacemen. The squad followed.

Before they reached them, Willie tapped Jeremiah on the shoulder and whispered: “Captain, the sensors on my laser-computer are detecting an unusually high fluctuation in electro-magnetic frequencies.”

Jeremiah nodded and turned to Brando Blade. “Lieutenant,” he said.

Brando Blade looked spooked out. “Yes, captain?”

“Set… set your laser-grenades to Ghost.”

Dreamy Weamy

2010-04-02T14:45:00.000-07:00

We were at an outdoor McDonalds for some reason, I think we were starving and other places weren't open, including grocery stores. It was very busy, and there was a new system of ordering that I didn't understand. I spent half an hour trying to get a staff member's attention.

Then, a grey wind came and covered everything in dust. My friends and I took cover behind the particle-board of a construction site wall.

When the wind stopped, everything was different. Most people were gone, and something was wrong with those who had stayed. They stood dumbly and wouldn't speak when addressed. Some held pieces of rebar or baseball bats, but they didn't use them.

We spent the afternoon walking across the city, trying to find a healthy person. For hours, all we could find were the dumb people, but eventually we heard motorcycles. In a moment, four or five people that I could only describe as "serious suvivors" cruised by on racing bikes. They all wore black masks, backpacks and leather biking jackets. On their backs they carried assortment of weapons, including baseball bats, nailboards, and rifles. We waved and yelled at them, but they didn't even give us a second look. They were busy getting somewhere and surviving, and we were useless and potentially dangerous to them.

It was embarrassing.

Here is a poem that does not have a title, and no, this is not the title

2010-03-23T11:03:00.000-07:00

When they built this church
It was an architectural marvel
A pointed stone roof, stronger than the classic round vault
Gaping wide arches let in a fantastic amount of light

I'm glad I came here in Autumn
I'm glad I came here with you

I wonder when a pair of lovers first walked through this doorway
How often did people fall in love in the twelfth century?
That's not in the history books
There are no Latin records of who was kissing in the transepts,
No physical evidence of forbidden feelings scratched into the nave walls

Today the transepts are locked with steel bolts
But I'm glad it's twentieth century France
And I can kiss you
Right here

Answer: #2

2010-01-02T19:20:00.000-08:00

I AM TALLER THAN A CANNONBALL

AND

THE BOYS' BAND IS A SCAM

2009-08-01T04:18:00.000-07:00

I thought about when she asked me to lunch and expected everything to be back to normal. I brought it up right away, which launched her into a rant about how she is the victim and it is not fair. Then I would make a point and she would say "I guess I'm just a bad person." It went on for about forty-five minutes. She was being irrational and communicating very poorly. Something was my fault but I couldn't see how. Then she mentioned Tash. Then she said something else. Then I slammed my fist on the table and yelled "I DIDN'T-" and then she said "don't yell at me, I'm leaving." She'd left her bag in the car so I had to go unlock the door for her. People in the Subway were staring at us, I guess I yelled pretty loud. She yelled at me when we got outside, then she mentioned Tash again and I said "not everyone's like you, some people give a shit." It was a very clever line and it left her speechless and angry.

"Love Notes"

2009-07-21T21:51:00.000-07:00

On Sunday night I thought about love and girlfriends. I took notes down to help me sort my thoughts out. They also inspired me to write some sweet poems. As the night wore on, I feared that I would "disregard them all because I wrote them late last night." To counter this, I decided to disallow myself from reading them until Wednesday. Well now it is Tuesday but it is night time so really that's close enough. If you get bored you should skip to the two poems.

Here it is, word for word:

Love Notes
Reasons to fall in love:
-Hawksley Workman tells me to
-A focus in life that doesn't beg all the focus
-A healthy relationship would make me feel needed and therefore give me purpose and will to succeed
-Would be able to confront sexual insecurities.
-Split the rent (just kidding but seriously).

Reasons not to fall in love:
-Time-consuming
-Requires serious commitment
-Other people have other stupid problems
-Emotional risk
-Sexual insecurities may pose a problem

How to fall in love:
-Meet new people (criteria: intelligent, moral, rational, positive)
-Seek out groups and situations where some criteria are likely to be met
-Spend considerable time with people for whom attraction is felt.

Twirling on the ice you beautiful drunken queen
My friend who was also my first love
I wish you well and hope you change

Wading in the water
On that August day that I had you all to myself
I was filled with joyous thoughts of
Hope, love, optimism, and wanting to kiss you

This Joel thing* is bad closure to this chapter of my life. It is a dirty time and I want it to go away.

Things to keep in mind in the pursuit of happiness:
-Remain in contact with people (any people). Try to have at least one social event a week. I suppose these will have to land on Friday/Saturday/Sunday.
-Get a great place with no problems. Total privacy is a must, but be sure to balance this with the first point.
-Keep organization in mind when looking at places. Excessive laziness/messiness perpetuates depression.
-Sleep. Water. Foodgroups.

I think that these are good thoughts+poems, but I fear I will disregard them all because I wrote them "late last night." I think this may in part be due to me remembering them too thorougly and dismissing them as "already locked away" rather than reflecting on them. So, I will read this on Wednesday at the earliest!

It is 11.42 pm, Sunday July 19, 2009

---
*[Joel was the roommate who stole my food.]

Bombed-out, or just dilapidated?

2009-07-15T16:23:00.000-07:00

Germany, WWIII

I was in Germany at the start of the war and quickly captured, for I was a well-known and important Canadian. However, I managed to escape almost immediately in the confusion.

Escaping the military prison was only the first step, for I found myself right in the middle of downtown Berlin. It was a highly nationalist war, and military personnel and civilians alike were after me. Prison guards hot on my tail, I ran into the street and hopped on the back of a transport truck that was stopped at a red light. To my knowledge I had lost them.

The truck drove through the ultra-high-density ruins of the former downtown. Were they bombed out recently, or just abandoned and delapidated due to the economy’s terrible plummet? I did not know, but the fact that it was already becoming a public landfill suggested the latter.

The truck stopped near a pile of some White Metal (washing machines, dryers). I wondered if I should bolt or try to hide in something inside the truck. The cab door of the truck slammed as I looked for a crate or something that I could fit in.

While I was scrambling, I heard a man’s voice yell “out!” in English. I decided to play dumb and hopped out onto the gray rubble of the ruins. I waved, pretending to be a mentally challenged homeless person. I looked the part with my long blonde beard and ragged clothes.

He stared at me for a moment, then spoke. “Run off then. They might have a lead on this truck, and they’re less likely to catch you if you run off now.”

I was awestruck, how did he know I was a Canadian fugitive? How did he even know I was in there? In my awe, I said only “How did you know?” He just smiled and got back in the truck.

I made my way to my rich politician friend’s home. Him and I had an argument, I don’t remember what we said. A table was tipped. Throughout the argument, I feared more and more that his loyalty had faltered.

Whether or not he had anything to do with it, German soldiers appeared on a rooftop across from the window. Shots were fired, one flew threw the table. I did not even look at my friend’s face as I soared through his door and down the stairs, as far down as I could go. After countless flights of stairs, I ended up at the doors of the casino on the ground floor.

I tried to fit in, but I did not speak German. Patrons of the casino looked at me susipiciously, and one spoke. I waved and moved along.

As I made my way towards the door, I noticed the Trifecta was present! Berkley, Chris, and Andrew had infiltrated the casino and were disguised as foreign workers. They were smiling and looking at each other and having a great time with this fun new scheme.

I wished that I could join them, but I was a wanted man.

Dream 2

2009-07-09T11:22:00.001-07:00

My house was not a shared house with one room per renter, it was a shared villa with one cottage per renter and a swimming pool. My landlord, Del, lived in the nicest cottage, it was in a tree or something. Del had to give the villa up because he broke the law somehow. He was reflective and sad, which is unlike Del because in real life he would probably just get mad. As a parting gesture he removed a sign by the swimming pool that said "No Nudity" and "Be Safe," and replaced it with a sign that said "Get Naked at All Times" and "Be Dangerous." The renters laughed, not because it was funny but because we felt sorry for him. I was getting his room. I wanted to cry because I was sad that Del was leaving, which is unlike me because in real life I would just be relieved.

Dream 1

2009-07-09T11:19:00.000-07:00

It wasn't automatically clear, but it seemed to be set in a world where the Roman Empire survived until today, except Caesar Octavian and the characters from HBO's Rome were all there.
-A new execution technique was around: two poles spaced about 6 feet apart each had one two-foot chain attached to them. The last link on each chain would be shoved through the criminal's hands, making their hands the last link on the chain.
-A girl was playing with a fake one in a school gym. After the revolution (there was a revolution I guess), she was hanging from one dead.
-Mark Antony gave a speech about the troubles Rome is facing, and then Caesar Octavian gave a speech about how Rome will pull through, he spoke of our "mortar deflectors" and superior navy.
-Technology was high but style was still ancient. A "mortar deflector" was a giant stone tower with a face carved into the top, something came out of the face's hat that blocked mortar shells.

Hadley, you are talking about Dungeons and Dragons but I don't even know what the H that is

2009-07-06T13:37:00.000-07:00

WELL OKAY THEN LET ME TELL YOU.

Dungeons and Dragons (DnD), is a roleplaying game. One person, the Dungeon Master (DM), makes up an adventure and and setting to play it in. A few others (usually 3-5 people) make characters to play the DM's adventure. It is a number-based and dice-roll-based game, so upon creation the characters have certain scores for strength, intelligence and things like that.

(More complicatedly, the number in their abilities affects the numbers in their skills, like "hide" and "ride" and "intimidate." Rent, my Halfling "rogue" in Berkley's adventure, had a dexterity bonus of +3 and put 4 skill points into "move silently," so his "move silently" skill is 7.)

The dungeon master says what happens and where they are, and the players say what their characters do. It is a form of storytelling, so more description makes it better. The way we play, we have lots of dialogue and plot-advancement. Some other people play with lots of number and dice-rolling and killing monsters, but that is boring.

It goes like this:

Dungeon Master: You all wake up in jail cells. Rent and Declan are in one, and Hamnet and Iskra are in the other.

Hamnet: I call the guard over. "Oh guard, please come here!"

Dungeon Master: A burly man with mutton chops comes trundling through the dark hallway to your cell. (in a gruff voice) "Quiet demon!"

Hamnet: "Demon? But I am no demon! There has been a terrible mistake, let me prove it to you!"

Rent: While they are talking, can I fit through the bars of my cell? Since I am a 30-lb Halfling?

Dungeon Master: You can try, but it would be a tight squeeze. You will have to roll a dexterity check.

Rent: my dexterity is 16, so I have a bonus of +3 to my roll. (rolls 20-sided die). I rolled a 13, so +3 is 16!

Dungeon Master: You make it through! In a moment we'll roll a move-silently check to see if the guard notices you. Meanwhile, Hamnet and the guard are still talking.

Hamnet: "Could a demon do this?!" I'm going to try to cast Charm Person on the guard.

Dungeon Master: (rolls a die in secret for the guard). He is mesmerized by your spell. What does Hamnet do to cast this spell?

Hamnet: I am dancing! "Da da da, hey mama, how do ya like them apples, hey hey" (waves hands in a twisty dancing motion).

Dungeon Master: Et cetera.

Dream Log 31 May #2

2009-05-31T17:02:00.000-07:00

People from high school. Time machines? We were all sitting in individual old-plastic coloured plastic things. You know, that yellowy colour? Maybe they were originally white, or maybe this colour was in during the 80's?

We went forward in time. When we arrived in the future we were all old and some of us were married. Because we still had our lives even though we went to the future as young people?

I wish I remembered more.

Dream Log 31 May (a.k.a. sex day)

2009-05-31T17:00:00.000-07:00

A guy I knew and his very attractive girlfriend and I were at a swimming pool or something. His girlfriend was in a skimpy bikini.

She was a bit of a jerk and needed my help with something that involved pulling on the front of her bikini bottom a little bit. She said I pulled too much and she got mad. I could see that her pubic hairs were neatly shaved or waxed. But nothing more. She had a very nice looking body.

Dream Log 28 May

2009-05-31T16:52:00.001-07:00

It was a dream of being poor. I was sooo poor and hungry. I worked at 7/11. I was walking to work and saw a full, unopened bag of Dad's Cookies. I was super-pumped to get this for free and snatched it up.

There was a man standing on a box near the door (you know, a box of ice or whatever they have outside those stores). I stopped to tie my shoe on the box and I saw him pull out a gun and walk towards another person behind me. I didn't dare look fully back, but I could see that he was mugging someone. I slowly curled up into a ball on the ground, hoping he would go away. My eyes were closed but I could tell it was him when he pulled my empty wallet out of my back pocket and my iPod out of my front. I whimpered "please don't shoot me." He left without the cookies (thank goodness).

Fin.

I hope that's not how I would actually act in that situation. I think I would just freeze. Or maybe turn around with my hands up.

Dream Log 29 May (More sex!)

2009-05-31T16:43:00.000-07:00

Out of doors at some kind of meeting or event. I talked to women and made out with two on seperate occasions, and I wanted sex with them but neither would let me even fondle them, even though they were naked! Their vulvas were tiny and strange. [I think vulvas have always been weird in my dreams.]

When I wasn't kissing these pretty young women, my attention was brought to a kid from work who kept running away because he was scared. He had a nameless friend or dog that kept running with him too. Some actors I knew kept chasing him and he would get more scared.

When the actors were gone I had an opportunity to chill with him and try to calm him down so he would stop running. Adults nearby kept gesturing that I was going about it too slowly. We were on one of those metal-frame domes that some playgrounds have.

Fin.

Dream Log Late May

2009-05-31T16:33:00.000-07:00

I was at my old old house working on something with a girl from Outdoor School, it was not school-related but it was important. She was busy with paperwork and asked me to phone her friend about something. I complied since what she was busy doing was so important.

The young woman on the phone chatted an joked with me, it was quite comfortable and fun. She said "do you swing?" and I said "what?" and she repeated herself. I knew that she meant to ask if I have casual sex for fun, and to imply that she would like to have sex with me. I said "sure uh, where are you right now?" She let out one of those laugh/sighs and said with a tired smile in her voice "look, just call me in a couple hours if you're still up for it, O.K.?" I said "all right, see ya."

Time passed and I think I fell back to sleep. When I came back to the dream I was in a large, classy centre with lots of wood in its design, and there might have been plants for sale? I lived there but had responsibilities. The young woman I was to "swing" with was going to pick me up in a car. Andy from the drama department (who I have spoken to once, years ago) worked at this centre behind a wooden counter and hung out with me while I waited. When she arrived I got in her car and suddenly remembered something I needed to do. While I was doing that I remembered something else. I worried that she would get impatient and leave.

The dream did not have a proper ending. Woke up in Bonerland.

No I would not have sex with Reagan's friend whom I don't know in real life.

Dream Log mid-May 2

2009-05-27T13:35:00.000-07:00

Had to go somewhere in the University with mom. We were walking, and I saw Wylde from the army. He looked newly handsome, his body had grown to catch up with his head and it no longer looked stupid and baby-like. He had stubble too, which helped. He was with a group of middle-aged proud-looking men, some of whom were in ceremonial RCMP uniforms.

I said "hi" and he told me that he was training to become an RCMP officer. A man with a black moustache and an RCMP uniform came up and made a joke. Mom joined the conversation and flattered Wylde, saying she was surprised to see me talking to such prestigious people.

Mom and I went on and passed through an art gallery. One exhibit was of fish encased in plastic rectangles, and the plastic rectangles were held up on different levels by poles. Some terrible punk teenagers were roughhousing near them and bumped into one, making it spin.

In the next room Ariel from grade 9 was there, she said someone had just knocked her over and run off with a fish sculpture.

Dream Log mid-May

2009-05-27T13:32:00.000-07:00

Evan wanted me to participate in a video-game party. There was a misunderstanding about the location and it ended up at my house. This stressed me out because t.v.'s aren't supposed to be in the common area, and no drinking was allowed. Evan wanted me to sign something regarding liability for the party, but it didn't look very good to me.

Anna Mazurik is an International Hero

2009-04-05T22:31:00.000-07:00

It was summer of 2008, and Miss Mazurik and I were in the middle of the largest desert in the world: the Sahara.

We had been on a rusty plane that was headed to Darfur, and that damned old rickety four-seater fell right apart in the midst of some heavy turbulence. The crash was terrible, I vomited on my t-shirt at least three times as the plane shook and twisted, first through the air, and then through the sand. We were thrown so heavily into our seatbelts that I felt as if I might rip in half at the waist. I could hear glass breaking and felt the warm blood of the pilot and co-pilot splash into my face like a tsunami. Gallons and gallons of blood.

I awoke to the sound of Miss Mazurik counting “one-and-two-and-one-and-two,” with an exhausted sense of urgency in her voice. I painfully coughed up some sand, thinking I might throw up again, but luckily I suppressed it. My eyes were closed, but still I could see the terrible Saharan sun piercing through my eyelids. When I sat up and blocked out the sun with my blood-covered hand, I could finally open them.

Upon doing this, I found that the plane was nowhere near. I looked over at the sound of Miss Mazurik’s voice, and saw that she was performing CPR on the co-pilot. I did not know CPR at the time, and the amount his chest bent in under her compressions looked unnatural. The pilot was gone, but I could see what looked like limbs and torso-pieces already half-buried in the sand.

And then I looked at my leg, and a spear of pain shot through me like a bullet from a Sudanese rifle. Three bloody shards of metal the size of dinner-plates were sticking out of it, two in my shin and one in my thigh. “Miss Mazurik!” I cried. “Miss Mazurik, oh, please, please help me!”

“Stay calm,” she replied. Her voice was completely composed and very alive, despite the intense energy she was putting into reviving the co-pilot. “You’ll be O.K.; Jerry is the one who needs me right now.”

I fell back into the sand, crying and screaming like a wounded infant. The pain seemed to come in waves. I would yell and yell and until it faded from my attention, and then I would wonder where the pain had gone and it would flood back again.

Hours seemed to pass until I heard her shouting: “Live, damn you, live! Wake up! Wake! Up! God! Dammit!” I rolled my head over to see her compress his chest once more, twice, a third time, and stop. She checked his pulse and then, with the urgency of a soldier in battle, quickly tore three rags from his shirt before running over to me.

“Shh, shh, you’ll be fine,” she whispered. She knelt down beside my leg and I felt a painful pressure as she pressed part of the torn shirt around the base of one of the shards. Her face completely painted in blood, she looked up at me and said: “You should close your eyes now.”

I did as I was told. As she pulled one of the shards out, it at first felt strangely cold and painless. Then it grew even colder, almost freezing, and then the coldness turned into an intense pressure like an orgasm of pain that filled my legs and spread into my abdomen.

Before this sensation was over, I could feel her place another rag around the bottom of another shard. This time the coldness didn’t even happen, just more and more of the pressure until it was doubled and it felt like my legs would explode and my belly would burst open in the front. Then my closed eyes saw purple clouds form in the top of my vision and spread downwards, filling more and more of my sight until I believe I lost consciousness.

This time I awoke to the sound of sand scraping against metal. I was tied to an airplane wing that was moving along the sand like a sled. A full bottle of water was in my pocket. I bent my head down to see in front of me, and I saw that Miss Mazurik was pulling me with a makeshift harness of electric wires. To my amazement, she was running.

I mumbled incoherently before taking a breath and calling out to Miss Mazurik. “Where did this water come from?!” To which she replied, “You mean the water in your pocket? I dug a hole in the sand and placed the water bottle in the middle of the hole. Then, I spread a sheet of plastic over top of the hole and tossed a fistful of sand into the middle. Eventually the moisture in the sand condensed along the bottom of the plastic and dripped down into the water bottle. You should drink from it.”

I did as I was told and it tasted heavenly in my dry mouth, sliding down my parched throat.

Days passed with her continually pulling me in this metal sled. Night would come and I would fall asleep, but she would keep on going, never stopping. Not even for a drink. Over time I began to see her as something more than human, something not of this world. Something of an immortal goddess.

An extraordinarily mere ten days later, we transitioned from hot desert to sweaty jungle. Miss Mazurik foraged an impressive spread of fruits and vegetables for me to eat, and informed me that we had entered Sudan, and were a day’s run from our destination in Darfur.

“Shouldn’t we try and find the closest town possible?” I asked, my mouth half-full of delicious pineapple. “So that we can fly home and forget about this mess?”

“No, we can make it to Darfur and stop the war,” she said. “I believe in us.”

Don’t ask me how it happened, but 28 hours later the war in Darfur was over. It seemed that Miss Mazurik had discovered the most perfect and fair solution to the power-struggle, and presented it to all the key influential people involved. When she was done, Darfur was united under the new government of “The Janja-Liberation-Justice-Equality Region of Sudan.” Despite a world-wide cover-up, I happen to know that the Janja-Liberation-Justice-Equality Region of Sudan is the most free and peaceful region in the entire world.

Also, on the drive to the Al Fashir airport, Miss Mazurik discovered a cure for AIDS. When she presented it to the U.N., they informed us that it would be the single most life-saving and world changing device to ever be discovered in the history of humanity. They predicted that AIDS would be eradicated by 2010, and that the public would be informed a year later. Everybody would be cured of AIDS before even knowing it.

And thus ends my true tale. I hope that you, the students of the **(censored)** Collegium, will heed it well and know that Anna Mazurik, the saviour of Sudan, is the ideal candidate for senior pin. If a woman can survive a plane crash, pull a metal sled with a person on it for 5,000 kilometres in 10 days, end a war, and cure a pandemic all in the same month, think of what she could do for a high school.

How is he not sure if he's a virgin?!!!

2009-03-10T22:10:00.000-07:00

I jotted something down before I went to sleep last night; at the time I was anxious to post it in my blog. But now I don't know.

My high school Creative Writing teacher told us that you shouldn't include something in a piece if it's not necessary. She said you should always think about whether or not the final line actually adds. I think that's a great practice, as I sometimes end things with a line just to make it sound like it's over, which is usually not necessary at all. You can tell it's over because there is nothing more to read.

However, in the case with this before-bed-prose-poem thing, I think I'll dump the first million lines and leave you with the last few. Kay here it is:

---

Stopping by the arcade and seeing that you've left already, somehow convincing myself not to think of what you had probably done: leave with a group of horny college students and fuck at least one of them. It felt cold and empty all the time.

No one understood. No one, ever.

---

It looks like I'm confused about the tense I'm using, but it's all past-tense. But looks do matter. It's kinda writing as therapy, but the shit before it was worse. Well not so much worse as it was just the same stuff worded differently. With less detail.

So jeez, what does it mean to be over someone? It's been a long time. Not a year (a year since I fell for her, come to think of it), but long, and I still think about it and stress about it and write about it at midnight as I'm falling asleep. When I met Kaiya I completely forgot about Ashley, but Kaiya was sort of a rebound crush. It lasted a while, but I don't think I could get into her again. Too childish, and to make that worse she admits that she's childish and is proud of it. Used the word "love" too quickly as well. If she loved me we'd be in touch right now, I think.

On that mood, did you watch this the last time I posted it? I like it, it is better than the original. When I listen to it I wish it applied to me. I want to go through a break-up, like a real one. All I have to look back on is me getting shut-out, and trying to stay friends. That makes me feel small. People write songs like that about relationships, because relationships are what people do when they like each other. But I've only been a lone liker, romantically. I can make my poems vague so that they apply to relationships, but they're just about me being in love with a friend. And allowing myself to be abused emotionally, that was good too.

I use the term "in love" to describe how I felt about Ashley. I don't really care if it's true, just like I don't care if I'm technically a virgin, or technically bisexual. It's just fucking words. I know exactly how I felt and how I see myself, and if putting a word on it makes it easier to describe then I'll go with that. Wikipedia says that some scientists or whatever said that love is having positive feelings for someone that cannot be described with words. I couldn't describe it, I couldn't explain how I felt to anyone. And no one could comprehend that my attraction to her was fucking powerful, not something to make fun of me or lecture me about. "Maybe you should move on." I couldn't. I had the option of distancing myself of course, but that wasn't the problem. I couldn't want to.

No one understood. No one, ever.

I was about to tell a story of a certain example of my friends being ignorant to my feelings, but I am going to pass. Worst night of my life. There's your summary.

And now I've worked myself up. Writing this all out was kind of pointless, you know; it didn't help me sort any problems out. Just dug up old ones. My problems right now are school and stress. Friendulon is capable of really pissing me off. It's kind of disgusting to see a child act so entirely selfishly, with absolutely no regard for other people. She is so power hungry, and it seems like she only keeps friends because they make her powerful. Jesus, maybe she's a sociopath. Jesus, maybe I actually mean that.

You know how in cartoons, when a memory is haunting a character, sometimes they have the little image of someone saying something beside their head, and it's all echoey? Here, that's kind of what I mean (annoying video though, don't watch it all). Well anyway, I kind of keep getting that effect with Friendulon mocking me in that baby talk sort of way, you know? Like one person says "close the door" and the mocker goes "myeh muh moor." She's been doing that to me these last couple days. It haunts me not only because its fucking annoying, but I worry that it is a sign of me doing a bad job. And the fact that she has done it multiple times! Why have I not directly dealt with it?! If she does it again I will grab her arm and talk to her in the hall. If that doesn't yield results I must talk to her mom. I am such a shitty lazy coward sometimes that I let kids get away with things just because I don't want to have to tell their parents. Telling parents sucks, they come in all smiles and I have to lower my voice and be all serious. I'm bad at that, it stresses me right out. And then after that I have to do school, and deal with all the problems I have with that. I just want to go to bed for a year, and wake up an adult.

I was tempted just now to go back and fill in the part about the "worst night of my life." But I should really leave it.

Dream Log 1200 26 January 2009

2009-01-26T10:32:00.000-08:00

-Memory of it is vague.

It is about a month ago, I am on the Caribbean cruise with my family. A large Japanese family is on it this time, I have little interaction with them. My father, however, gets into some sort of dispute with the man of the Japanese family, who is also the head of the family. We learn that the Japanese family is very badly off, and is on the cruise only for practical reasons. They show little interest in the activities or attractions on the ship, and when it comes back into the Florida port, they attempt some mischief involving a lifeboat. They may be trying to steal it to drive it back home to Japan. My father reports this immediately to the authorities, whom the Japanese family flees successfully, possibly using the lifeboat.

My family and I arrive back home, but it is not our real home, it is a dream home. Our backyard is vast and ends at the Ocean. The doors are all clean glass, and they open electronically. Wherever we are, it is warm. But when we look out into our backyard, we see the Japanese family has started a large open-air shop on the edge of our yard, where they can sell their things to the travelers of the sea. My father refuses to speak to them, and when they approach the house he closes the strong glass doors with a remote control (all three doorways, for extra security). My family and I agree that we might as well ignore them, we don't use the ocean for anything anyway.

There is a pond right outside our house in the backyard, and at one point the Japanese man tries to fish in it with giant hedgeclippers, yelling things at our house. It appears his family's store is not very successful, and that he needs to fish from our pond to feed them today.

Time passes. I awake one day to see some sort of covered stall right next to our pond, which is far off from the actual shop. For the first time since returning from the cruise, I enter the backyard. I approach the stall to find that it is not a stall, but a swinging bench with a roof over top to protect the users from the sun. On the bench are two large wooden statues: the Japanese man smiling and talking to me, who is smiling back. As I am staring at it, the Japanese man comes up beside me and says "Oh! Hadley, how are you?"

"What is this?" I reply, gesturing at the sculptures.
"Just one of my latest creations," he says.

He brings me to his shop for a tour. It is completely an art shop, full of beautiful things. There are a few more things of me, one of them is a sculpture of shiny metal portraying the Japanese man and I sitting on a bench together. The Japanese man tells me that I was somewhat of a symbol to him, but his family half-jokes that he used to have a crush on me.

a love story

2008-12-29T01:44:00.001-08:00

(not based on current events, so don't get excited.)

if you had a gross limb that had no purpose and only got in the way, what would you do
what are you talking about
just answer it
it got in the way? it was a problem?
yes
amputate it. what are you talking about
what do you think
just get out of the car. should have said it. should have said just get out, stop hurting me, if you're going to leave then leave. should have said it but i didnt. i wanted her to stay, even though i knew it was hopeless. wanted to convince her that she was being irrational, wanted to explain how i had done absolutely nothing to hurt her, and would do anything to keep her from getting hurt again. there was nothing more i could say. her mind was made and she would not listen to reason, at least not in the broken, stuttering form i presented it. finally she left, but not before further ranting on how i have hurt her. and the emotional trance i had been in since i kissed her so many months ago yet again led me to believe her. to trust her. she stepped out of the car and i said "bye," with the sad sound of thorough defeat in my voice as she closed the door and walked away.

tense change

i am going to be upset now. i dont know what i will do, but i am about to see what happens when i am very upset. first thing is: a glance in the mirror at her walking away. second: start car and begin to drive away. third: roar. loud and long, from the depth of my raspy man throat. i am going very fast, although i am not oblivious to that fact. i keep it just under ninety as i throw my mostly full vanilla milkshake out the window, reflecting for an instant on how being so disturbed is lowering my ethical standards. i stop for stop signs but fuck yield signs. whoa. o.k. whoa. O.K. this is how people die, this is dangerous. i do care, i do not want to die, i am not made nihilistic or suicidal by her attacks. emotion affects driving. emotion affects driving. driver's ed should be a month-long stress-intensive course that instills values and habits in you to prevent things like this from happening. so far not crying.

what do i do. this will not go away if i go to bed. you are at evan's party, i could talk to you. but i promised i wouldnt complain to my friends about her. i promised. go home, play guitar, try to relax. arrive at home, still no crying. but home is no different. i dont want to go to evan's party, that fucking arrogant self-righteous bastard started all this, i dont know what i would do if i saw him. what can i do here. i cannot sleep, bed will be a terrible place. i need to do something. should phone you. for my sake. my emotional well-being is important. answering machine. what do i say

i have not until this point tried to talk. what comes out is loud breaths, like a stalker, or a stabbing victim. i can't talk. breath, in-out. it is jagged and quick and harsh, similar to a sob, but not crying, i still haven't cried yet, good for me i guess. breath, in-out. better say something, or you'll think a stalker or a stabbing victim is leaving a message for you.
hey tash. um --
crying is now beginning. damn, this will not make for good communication.
-- this is hadley, uh, I need to talk to you because im very upset --
fight the crying
-- and if i stay here, i --
stop crying--
-- sorry, i wasnt crying before. i need to talk to you because if i stay here alone i will probably just... just collapse into myself. so this message is my obligation to go to evan's party and try and find you --
-- --
-- sorry i wasnt crying before, i swear. so im going to try and find you at evan's and i really hope i do find you tash because if i dont, and i, i hate to be a burden, but if i dont find you i dont know what ill do

and a break-down, followed by a goodbye. when the phone is hung up, the crying stops too, for some reason. so ill be o.k. to drive.

when i see you in his backyard i smile and wave. you come to me urgently, you say just got my message, say "what's wrong". and then i cant talk. worse than the phone message. i am still in the process of breaking down. i manage three words and a gesture
i
can we
"sure, yes," you say, and we relocate.

and you hold me until i can speak. i cry harder than i have in front of a person since i was ten and fell off my bike. and you skillfully fulfill the role of being there. and i learn that you are there. and you are solid.

but now i very rarely see you. i visited you at work a couple times, and we caught up. but i am not a conversationalist. the exchanging of information was never what lifted me up when i used to see you every day. i wish something would happen that would force us to spend time together. an emergency road-trip that required the both of us. a zombie attack and you and me somehow end up together, and i fight fiercely for you and you learn of my love for you. that i dont use the word like you do, that when i say it i mean that i am dedicated to you.

or any excuse to take a break and watch the clouds with you, or something, and then i would hold your hand in that friendly way we used to in psychology class, you always said you liked how i held your hand.

i wrote a poem about the zombie attack idea. i dont think i ever mentioned that it was about you.

Dream Log: 0200 29 July 2008

2008-11-25T12:12:00.000-08:00

The Andrew/Cassidy/Chris/Matt house had a public restroom in it. A pretty girl, tall with a mohawk and punk/indie clothing and a hiking-pack style baby carrier came in to use it. I flirted with her before she went in. She told me that she had been jogging, as well as her name: Tyler. I hung around with the washroom in sight, wanting to talk to her more. I looked out the window at one point, and she was outside getting into a car driven by an old man, who I figured was her dad. I ran out after it, screaming her name like the end of a romance movie. The neighbourhood became that of my old house, and the car drove away through the entrance by the church. I took the short-cut through the walkway to catch up, and reached them at the Central/Attridge intersection. I told Tyler that she seemed like a really interesting person and asked if she would "like to hang out sometime, you know, like a date." She added that we could "smoke a ton of weed." I asked for her number, and it kept changing.

Possible inspirations:
-New infatuation with hiking
-Tyler looked a lot like a girl who smiled at me downtown
-Had not used marijuanna for 25 days, while previously accustomed to intaking it about once a week or more
-Now looking at girls other than Ashley

Dream Log: 0630 28 July 2008

2008-11-25T12:09:00.000-08:00

Tried to sneak into Louis' Pub with Ashley. They had a sign-in form that I tried to sign and mosey on in, but they asked for my I.D. I used "it's in my car" and walked out.

Possible inspiration: hung out with Ashley a couple days prior

Dream Log: 0300 25 July 2008

2008-11-25T11:54:00.000-08:00

Got a new house from parents, it was covered in grass like a hobbit hole. Inside it was cozy and unpolished and old. Was still in school. Met a gorgeous short blonde girl in grade eleven, things were flirtatious and great, except that she had a problem with my glasses and told me to take them off. Was anxious to show her the house. Held her hand in the hallway and was constantly looking for an opportunity to kiss her. Went to school library with her, got confused about getting past library gate after she had went in. Allie was working as the librarian, and I asked her for help with my bad breath. Caught up with girl and she looked upset and turned into a note that I tried to convince to talk to me. It soon became a normal note and I opened it, it was a break-up note that ended in "people don't leave their friends in the library." I yelled "at least this time I found out she was stupid early" and threw the note. Evan was there and I complained to him. I then realized that it was a simple misunderstanding, but I didn't have her number. I began looking for the note again and found a note-to-self byt Lauren Tall that had three poems about me. I bragged about them to Evan and read them over.

Possible inspirations: Ashley, being over Ashley and back on the market

Not sure where this was going...

2008-10-26T15:05:00.000-07:00

Sheila enjoyed jogging through the reduced gravity of the lower decks more than anyone else. The slow-motion falling of her hair. The slight but very noticeable increase in the length of each step. With every bound she could trick herself into believing, if only for an instant, that gravity had stopped and she was about to fly away forever. But then every time it would pull her back down, and she would be a little disappointed. It was much more satisfying too, to jog in lower gravity, because she felt like she was going faster for longer.

The only problem with the lower decks was that they were mainly for the crew, and therefore had no windows, real or fake. She couldn’t pretend that she was running through some abandoned building back on Earth, like she would in the fully-lit and warm corridors of the residential wing. It was called a “wing,” of course, to enhance the illusion that the ship was indeed a building on solid ground. The logical side of Sheila knew that it was a bit silly, but she could not help but go along with the façade, even though the rest of the ship was referred to in nautical terms.