Although I could do my stories forever, Vincent was
teaching me things. There was more I could do. I didn’t know it then but it was
called lucid dreaming.
The way it worked for me anyway was to spend the day
concentrating on something you wanted to see in your dream. A person. The trick
is on this and it’s very hard to do is forget them. Wipe them completely out of
your mind. Usually from the time you climb into bed to the half hour or so
until you fall asleep. To do this I would concentrate on something else or
occupy my mind in something completely different. I wouldn’t dream of what I blanked
my mind with, I would dream of the person I was thinking about during the day.
Next was the control. First I was able to control my
surroundings, this was done by actually forcing yourself to realize you were in
a dream, kick in your logical thinking. The way to do this is to harness your
paranoia. Spend a period of time getting in the habit of studying your
surroundings. Is this Real? Is it? can you touch, can you sense, can you feel,
can you control your own body? can you speak? can you smell? If any of the
answers ever come up no, your dreaming. Once you brain says yes I am in a dream
I just started thinking where I’d rather be and I’d be there.
After the control around me came the control of me. So
many times I wanted to speak but I could not, or move and I could not. Rage did
this. Anger at myself for being helpless. I had to get mad, I had to get so mad
it felt like I was breaking through a concrete wall with all I had, but then I
could move, then I could speak. All of this took years, and wasn’t really
perfected until I was in my mid 20’s. I would only experiment with it when I
had to have closure with someone I could never see again, or lost contact with.
It takes a lot out of you. If your starving when you wake up, you had a lucid
Memory, this is a tough one. I had the ability to
remember all of them around this time, but at some point in my life I lost
control or it was too much for me. So I came to the conclusion that we as human
spirits and being are not meant to remember all of our dreams. It’s also
dangerous to our sanity to force control of them. So in my genius I forced
myself to forget how to remember. (I still kick myself for that sometimes). I
dunno if I could reacquire it I never really tried. Once I was free and the advent
of the internet and cell phones, closure came differently. People had every
means to contact you, if they did not they had no more use for you. You just
walk away. So anyway, I can dream it, but it’s a hit or miss if I will
Also this is a process of desire, you have to want
something to happen bad enough, it may take days of attempts and failure but
when I stayed the course sooner or later, it happen.
was visions. I had nothing to do with these. A vision is frightening. No skills
needed. You would find yourself as human and mobile as everything or everyone
The only 2 visions I had to this point was one of My
stepfather, just beating me relentlessly. No belt no bed no vice just him and
me in a black blank space and I was going to die. I was terrified. But
something happened. I just, it just come over me to try and fight. I could
never beat him, he towered over me. I was maybe 100 pounds and 4 foot
something. He was 6 foot 3 and easily almost 300 pounds and he was ripped. I
used to watch him lift weights like Jesus he lifts me on a dumbbell. I just had
enough, not in my fucking dreams, not in my night, not in my peace. I grabbed
that mother fucker by the throat and screamed with everything I had. I just
kept screaming all kinds of things to the effect of stop, no more, it was
pretty vulgar believe me. I just don’t remember exactly how it came out I was
to mad I think. He turned into a snake in my hands, fell to the ground, and
just slithered off into the black. He never came back to my dreams again, and I
awoke a changed man. I had no more fear of my wrongs, or the punishment that
followed. Wrong right none of it mattered from there it all ends up a beating.
But I think I’m getting ahead of myself.
My second vision was me falling off the kiem street
bridge. I would plummet down to the river and right before I’d hit the water
I’d wake up. I used to think this was where I would commit my suicide. I pulled
this from a dream interpretation as well, It does fit.
To dream that you are falling through water indicates
that you are feeling a loss of control while being overwhelmed by powerful
negative emotions or uncertainty. Feelings of having completely lost all
support systems or coping abilities. Feeling completely on your own with no way
To dream of falling and never hitting the
ground represents feelings of losing of control with a constant sense of
impending failure. It may also reflect feelings of having become a complete
failure and never being able to do anything else ever again. A fear of having
no end in sight to your continuing failure.
So up to now that was it. My life was a constant retreat to
anything safe. Until I chose to fight.
Water. Just something about me and water my whole life. The rain, the lakes, the ocean, the bathtub, the shower, just something about being alone in water or being on the water with me that just seemed to reset my brain. To wonder what was under it, or maybe feel it run over my face. It was like an desolate paradise to bring in or put out anything I wanted. I was never bothered by anyone in the house when I bathed. I mentioned before I would write about some dreams I would have and the birth of my writing creativity I believe. I always had great reading comprehension and considered myself fairly well spoken. I was pretty proud of that although my public school peers didn’t share my point of view. My bedtimes were very early, younger years was 6:30pm as I got older it jumped to 7:30 then 8:30 when I couldn’t get all my homework,chores and babysitting and every other fucking thing done in time. It wasn’t like I was dancing in my underwear or watching T.V. Usually when I was short time the easiest was to drop the homework. Later I just dropped it so I could have free time to go to my room as quickly as possible, or the attic.
But finally as I lay in bed staring at the
ceiling. I would trance myself into another world. The following is a glimpse
I began to picture the edge of the universe, A
hand from the creator. Releasing a comet and in the center of it was an orb. It
was the orb of our destruction. The entire world. Why it was released upon us
was to be found out later but never the less it was to be our end. Something
however went wTong. At some point before it finally struck the earth, the orb
cracked. A small chip along with the orb fell to the earth. In an instant on
impact, everyone on the earth dropped dead where they were standing. No reason,
no fire, no war no plague.
Except a band of children, Teenagers, everyone
from age 12 -16 seemed to have survived. So now what? Well fast forward about
10 years, no one grew any older. However we figured out what had happened and
the earth had turned outlaw.
Anarchy, no government no
order. The orb was first discovered and acquired by 2 friends. Chris and
myself. Something however was amazing about this discovery, whoever held the
orb would suddenly be surrounded by an incredible barrier. For 50 feet in all
directions only the person who placed it on the ground and stayed inside the
barrier had complete protection. He could not be shot stabbed impervious to
everything, he just couldn’t die. But inside that barrier on a blood moon at
its fullest it would reveal things to its bearer. What happened, what its
purpose was. Fragments, but the pieces of information were put together.
Most importantly revealed was the chip in the orb that
saved and froze in place all of our lives. Myself and Chris agreed we must find
this chip. At the ten year mark it was finally recovered. The orb had a natural
attraction to it, but only at certain points of time. We had to watch for the
right star, and see if it would glow. When it did it only partially glowed like
a compass. The brightest side was the direction we walked for a day, then
When the chip was found the question arose, now what
should we do. Chris saw power, he knew if the chip was kept safe and the orb
was in his possession he could rule the current world with an iron fist. I knew
if the chip was placed we would all die, but given enough time maybe a way to
undo all this would reveal itself. We may be able to somehow get everything
back, or at least do better than this. We fought for the orb, with everything
we both had. He eventually rolled me to a cliff, and right before he kicked me
over to die I grabbed the shard out of his blood soaked hand.
Chris gained his power, and was crowned king of the
known world. He mustered vast armies and gained control of everything and
everyone, Places too desolate and remote were called out-lands and off limits
to everyone else. Anarchy was gone, the world had fallen to a supreme military
and magical force. Any major uprising the orb was unleashed, and with the power
in it Chris was invulnerable. He could slay millions by himself. He labeled
himself a God and it all went to his head.
I was to hide in seclusion for many years in the outlands. The shard was fashioned around my neck and I sort of became a recluse. From time to time I would slip into towns to barter or trade and people would whisper of me. I finally was approached by some people forming another resistance. All others were crushed by Chris, and this was nothing really new. The difference was the people. Their names were Alex, Charles, and Brian. After I rejected them and began to walk back to the out-lands, they had a suspicion I might reveal their identities someday to the wrong people. So killing me was the best option. They jumped me, successfully got the drop on me and out comes the pistol to my head. The trigger was pulled. A shot rang out,nothing Happened.
I will be sure to add more if I ever have the time.
Fifth grade. My first year in the public school system. I was introduced in Mrs. Murphy’s home room in Franklin elementary. Heather, my friends, my crew, my influence. All gone without so much as a notice. I was sent to school my first day in my old private school uniform with a tie which was promptly laughed at by all my peers. Mind you at this time, I hardly heard a swear word let alone said one, Still had no idea of girls and sex, barley knew what being cool was. I made a real great impression raising my hand on every question and standing up out of my desk to answer it (That was sarcasm). By the end of my first day I was known as the private school pussy and was either alone at recess or getting beat up. My bicycle was the only thing that kept my ass from getting kicked all the way to school and all the way home.
Mind you the fights were nothing, The bullying was nothing. The non acceptance of my peers was everything. I no longer had an escape in going to school, I didn’t want to be in school, I didn’t want to go home. No phone numbers of old friends, no contact. I was completely alone. I gave up on my grades, I hardly tried. Mrs. Murphy would send home these horrible reports that would get me whipped even worse because now all of a sudden, my grades mattered. They mattered because if I went to summer school I wouldn’t be home babysitting my brothers. Now I couldn’t do anything well at home or even at school. The school put me in touch with the counselor at the time, Mr. Kaccando was his name. My first intervention of some kind. I think they suspected abuse, probable they noticed depression. We would just talk, I never said much to him but he tried his best to get through to me. In retrospect he cared, I know he really did, but what could one person do against all that was happening? I couldn’t and I was definitely one person.
I struggled for peer approval, as hard as I could. Only to be used as cannon fodder for kids jokes. I wasn’t the king anymore, I was the Mcfly, a walking bulls eye. 65 pounds of chewed up white meat. Just nothing I could do about it. I was pulled out of bed and thrown to the wolves. These people had no kind of moral compass, no honor, no integrity. There were the 2 or 3 smart kids and the bad kids, wasn’t much in between. I never went for the smart crowd, I just couldn’t relate to them. All seemed to have perfect lives active in sports and some kind of decent life at home. Shit I only heard about in movies or stories. Mrs. Murphy kind of felt sorry for me I think. She would ask me a lot of questions I wouldn’t answer. The ones I did had a lot of negativity to them. I was sad.
It was almost like the summer was a prelude of what life I will never get to have and all of this now was not only makeup for the time he let me go, it was vengeance for thinking I had some kind of value in this world. Days and minutes were so long, an end seemed so far away. Every day felt like a lifetime. With every lifetime I began to make piece with my death. I began to understand I never belonged anywhere, and I never will. Everything was wrong with me from conception, all these days and people were doing is proving it.
This was the year I also contracted chicken pox. I got up out of bed I remember and felt an itch on the top of my head, it was some kind of puss bump and I scratched it till it popped open. I went out in the hall and said mom I got this thing i dunno what it is and I got the usual whatever go to school I’m late for work blah blah. So I went to school and by the end of the day I was itching everywhere so down to the nurse I went. Gunnar picked me up and promptly informed me of how bad I screwed up his whole day of whatever the fuck. But I guess the illness spared the whipping. I hated these fucking things. No medication for them, I itched liked fucking crazy, so I started tearing them off. Ended up with a scar on my arm and my chest. I just wouldn’t stop picking them. I used boiling water to stop the itching.
I remember a school store we’d have for Christmas. I had some money, I think I had been saving a few dollars in change I hustled here and there.I also used to starve for lunch so I could save it. So this was the bright idea of winning my family back. I ended up for a surprise buying the whole family something. Well before my eyes on the selling table I saw this really pretty regal looking pen. I thought for my stepfather, perfect. I even wrapped it. I was to scared to give it to him on Christmas, he was in a bad mood.So a day or two later as usual he was out on his couch, watching TV. I was in the middle of all my duties. I quietly walked in like a reverent little slave and laid it on the couch. His name taped to it and who it was from. I said to myself as I walked away, this will do it. This will touch him finally. I love this family, I want to be in it, not just serving it.
Before I got out of the living room I saw it fly through the air and clunk on the floor. I heard him say I have enough pens. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t think. I knew right then and there this was my life until I was 18. This was all I was, all I was going to be. A fucking mistake, a piece of garbage. A symbol of a dead marriage I never asked to represent. Where was my mom? working. What was I? Nothing. Fucking nothing. How could I be so worthless? I could no longer remember when I wasn’t. One man whipped all of my hopes and dreams right out of me.
My motivation to live was starting to slip. I also began to question my faith. Getting cut out of Christian schooling the only place left was church. The church we belonged to also never wanted me to be a part of it, they tolerated me for the sake of mother’s family and gunnar’s nickel slick smile and phony personality got him right in the door with the rest of those phony fucks. It became clear when they refused my baptism. It was clear I was never going to be anything more than a body that was there. My stepfather would show up with our whole family every Sunday, singing his heart out smiling and shaking hands with all his brothers in Christ, he was well liked and well respected as a devout Christian of the Plymouth Brethren and my mother loved the approval of him. I stopped reading the bible, I stopped studying bible verses, I stopped singing, I think if I even told anyone what my stepfather was doing, they would have helped him or cheered him on. All so blind to how phony this evil snake actually was. Even the devil knows the bible front to back. As do I.
It was just as simple as coming home from church, out with the belt. I finally began to realize God wasn’t listening. I was reading an empty book, I had faith in an impotent creator. Everyone lied to me. I used to think of my age and wonder how I got this far and how much further I could go. It couldn’t get any worse it just couldn’t. In my wails of despair in the attic, trying to think it out or decide what to do the subtle voice at my table I first started hearing now began to reveal his intentions. Something who called himself Vincent. He looked just like me, but had no fear. He was fear. But I wasn’t terrified. I could feel the presence of most people and their intention toward me around this time, I felt calm like I did when I was with my grandfather. The first entity in my life that didn’t want anything from me, or do anything for him. Or so I thought at the time. My demon, my ego, I have had many theories over the years. This is my best one, you can believe whatever you like I am not a salesman.
What I was until this point of my life was pure. It was innocent. It was an unbreakable shell inside of my soul of all that I currently posses at 42 as I write this revision. I was full of Love, Hope, Loyalty, Virtue. I don’t think this was to be tainted, or altered without incredible effort. Namely the things around me were put there by the universe to dissolve this fluke and put me back into balance. This was placed in me, this ego at this time to balance the light with the darkness in order to negate the light. The only option at that point I’d think. My ego was a loud manifested independent entity. That would enable me to combat this dilemma. For whatever reason the universe planned I am not to die yet at least in this point in time. Vincent had to be, and I had to face him. But that’s much later. As of this time, he became a part of me and I began to learn some new things. Darker things. Vengeful things.
I knew in my heart I had no chance to survive. I just wanted to die. I would talk to Vincent for hours. He told me I was meant to suffer I think in retrospect now perhaps it was the goodness in me. To this point there was just something I continued to protect, to safeguard. Kind of reminds me of a story a guy had when he remodeled our kitchen in this year he also built a deck. He went up to an ATM pulled out a few hundred dollars and automatically got jumped by a few guys. He said they beat the ever loving shit out of him but never got his money he held on to it for dear life. He fanned it out and it had blood all over it. I was in awe of this guy for coming to work on our kitchen the next day. Dude was a tough son of a bitch in my book all day long. If I had to compare the money was all the good in me, The purity, the goodness, the unknown war I would find my soul to later be in. It wasn’t like I was a saint or anything by any means. I could only call it innocence. It felt like Faust making a deal with the devil for the price of my soul. But I was fine with it. What fucking good is a lifeless soul? That was my reasoning.
I didn’t know or care where I was going, I just knew anything was better than this. He would protect me all of my life, he would be my nemesis, my avenger, my destruction, my evil. The birth of my EGO. From this point on. Things would be very, very different. He was consulted before everything, like the Hannibal in my A team. I was no longer alone. I had an ally, and he answered me. He helped me. He carried me through. The cost of Vincent was anything and everything I was,had, will have. The damage he would unleash was my only survival. Once I started seeing the possible, I never even dreamed of stopping him. He took all of my whippings. He pulled me into that empty lucid space and showered me with fantasies ,memories ,dreams ,rewards to come ,even the future. Most of all, he’d show me power. Not just the power to destroy, the power to manipulate, the power to guide, to absorb, to carry the weight. This was and is such an impact on my life at one point I may write more about it. It isn’t something I was ready to talk to anyone about for a very long time.
Life to this point. It’s been a journey. Even rougher not to mix past events with current events, to know this story must also be told because otherwise it would die with me alone. Kind of like the Mad Arab writing the necromnicon or maybe even the pilgrim’s progress by john bunyan. Probably both. But I must go on. This is finally my time. I am forced to only look at myself in the mirror. My first personal and fearless moral inventory, all that I am. The deepest the darkest the most fragile. My last attempt to heal, or maybe accept.
I used to work on small wood projects in my spare time, I’d call it tinkering. I’d tinker with just about anything. My first electric shock came from me trying to tinker with my grandfathers really cool marble clock I used to always play with.(His second gift to me when he died.) The motor in it went to shit and for some reason I tried to jam a fork in it to get it started again. Bad Idea. To be honest I still remember the shock like it was yesterday, Maybe that’s what first brought me to my career. I used to always work on my bike to,fixing this or that, adding cards to my spokes or whatever, changed the tires. I also played in the attic with my toys whenever I could. Electronics especially video games just fascinated me. If I had a quarter believe me it went to an arcade. Every Sunday after church the family would either go for ice cream or if it was too cold we’d go to the mall. All I had to do was some moderate begging and the family was happy to do without me.Lunch money went to Spy hunter, missile command, whatever. I even had an Atari 2600 I just don’t ever remember playing it, I’m sure I did but shit like that was done when I was babysitting my brothers.
At some point I got a wood model kit with a bench vice, christmas present I think. I mounted the vice on the stairs in the basement. 3rd or 4th step up. It also happened the 2 main places I got whipped were in my parents’ bedroom on the bed, or in the basement with my hands grabbing that vice. Funny enough one of my more memorable days was getting whipped holding that vice.
I still cannot remember what I did to get it that bad that day, but my legs buckled and I collapsed. I was already in lucid space I just didn’t come back fast enough I think. My neck and part of my face hurt. I went to bed and school the next day I never looked in the mirror because I never liked what I saw. By 2nd or 3rd period I started noticing the whispers and hearing the snickers… Finally one of the kids said I had a “hickey” .. I got real embarrassed I mean what the fuck was a hickey? Here I am thinking I have chicken Pox round 2 or something.So great now I got something else for everyone to laugh at as if my fucking face wasn’t enough for most, (lol still is I think.)
Well Mrs. Murphy pulls me outside to the hall. She asks me what happened, I asked her what a hickey was. When she told me I said with some eww in my voice I’m sure it was not a hickey. I just looked at her square in the eye and made her swear to God she wouldn’t tell another soul. She looked genuinely concerned, I almost considered her a friend with all the talks we had. I might have been in a weaker state of mind. She could have very well possibly been the first woman (excluding my mother) to manipulate me.I told her “my stepfather disciplined me.” She asked if this was the first time and I told her every day of my life. She sent me back to class and sure enough after lunch I was in the principal’s office with my first two learned swear words in my head. That lying bitch. Now I’m in deep shit. If anybody gets in trouble I have no doubt I will get into worse trouble.
So the principle took pictures of the giant welt on my neck that wrapped halfway onto my face and asked if I would undress. I guess at the time you listened to adults when they told you to do something. I just felt like I couldn’t avoid or dodge anything anymore. I had welts all over my body, I was stripped or told to strip naked for every whipping. Was mainly on my ass but I would fall, I would dodge I would wiggle. I would squirm. Sometimes I had a hand on my neck, sometimes my mother helped hold me down. But all the same you know, over time you just let go. accept your death, accept your life. Vincent changed all of that. Hope in salvation and safety in God was gone. What was replaced was revenge. I used to punch myself in the face of all my tears with Vincent like a drill Sargent screaming you need to live long enough on this earth to piss on that mother fuckers grave! With all my anger, I would. Whatever it took. The abuse was promptly reported to children and youth services by the principal.
It almost enrages me what people call abuse nowadays. Some kid loses their x box for a week or doesn’t get pizza on a Friday they can call Child protective services and get you arrested. If you called CPS or the cops yourself around this time and reported abuse, they’d laugh at you. If you don’t believe me, ask your parents. Not all children were precious, or entitled to shit.
Women nowadays can just whisper it and all of a sudden they are a victim. Nobody but the few survivors like me really know what hell is all about in an abusive situation. To look in the eyes of what you begged approval from for all of your life and see it crushed by blind berserk rage so evil so dark you just don’t know what ever stops them other than physical exhaustion. He could have beat on me for an eternity.
Child protective services back then consisted of a lady coming by once a month to gather the entire family up and sit in the living room where gunnar and my mother would stare dead at me when she would ask, did you mom or dad hit you? Yes I lied. The whippings now were finally over. The beatings to take their place, were just beginning. You can crack a rib, he fell outside. you can knock the wind out a small boy, he’s fine in 5 minutes. You can choke a boy not too hard, the marks go by morning. you can even raise your fist and scare the shit out of a child to the point they curl up on the floor and drop. Kicking is just as effective. After a few months went by I finally come to conclusion this was worse. No longer did I have the long walk upstairs or downstairs. I lost the transition ritual. Now it was surprising and shocking. Now I was told what I did after the first hit and by the last hit, I figured it out.
So now out of all of this going on, Some girl in the class started a liking to me, another one in my neighborhood too. She’d come by and say hi to me whenever we we’re all getting in or out of the car. I just kind of looked right through them both, believe it or not I was still crushing like hell on Heather. Everything compared to her. Really it compared to what I had imagined in my mind at night when I lay in bed and dream awake. My heart knew what it wanted, nothing around me even came close.
A few months later the CPS lady stops coming and I show up in school with a giant black eye. My face got slammed into the bathtub. Again came Mrs. Murphy with a friendly smile and a what happened. This time I fucking tripped. I had no problem being a complete and total nuisance and disruption in her class the rest of the year. I am amazed I passed. The song under me was made to describe a child’s abuse. I will admit, It has always stayed with me. In a darkened room.