Download - A Midlife Look at Childhood Sanity
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I sat cleaning out my closets for a garage sale, and I stumbled across a box of old sketch
books and paintings I had done many years ago. And in the bottom of the box was a binder I had
thought was gone forever. In that binder was poems and stories I had written in that long ago
time. Most were made up, a story for sorts. But some were real. They were all from the heart.
Deep inside the heart. Where the light of day is never seen, but the heat of passion rages with avengeance. The first part of this book tells a story. I wont ruin the story by trying to explain it
other than to say, much of it is true. This was a very dark period of my life. My paintings echoed
the pain of my poems. And my poems, they were the body of my paintings. Most of those
paintings are long gone. Some were sold, but may were forgotten or destroyed. But the poems
and the stories they tell, somehow they managed to survive. The tale is a dark one, often
teetering on the fine line between sanity and insanity. I had one light during these times. Now
long forgotten, but yet, always in the back of my mind somewhere. When I started writing this
book, memories, both good and dark, came flooding back. And so did she. I search the internetand found her. I couldnt believe what I was seeing. But there she was, on the screen of my
computer, staring back. She was never more than a good friend, but that was all she needed to
be. We both had struggles back then, trying our damnedest to get through, and put it all in a
dark closet in our minds. Most all of what is written here was originally written between 1988 and
1989. I open this book with one of my favorite poems, by Mary Mackey. It is a poem, that while
written a long time ago, it still has deep meaning in todays society. I hope this story envelopes
you, dearest reader, and makes you think back, way back. This time was real for all of us, at
some point or another, growing up was not so easy.
Jake Oreshan
May 2008
Cover photo by Tracie Cochran
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The poem When I was a Child I Played with the Boys appeared in "Split Ends" published by Mama's Press, Oakland, CA. and has been reprinted with
the express written permission of the author.
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When I was a child I played with the boys
When I was a child
I played with the boys
and (because I was the only girl)
they made me
be
the Indians
My name was Fox Woman
and they hunted me
like dogs
My name was
White Bird
and I flew to escape them
My name was Last Star
the last
of my people
My name was
Sunset
for they caught me
and burned me
My name was
Wont Talk
for I never
betrayed us
Time after time
the boys shot me down
and I came back
Red Witch
Wild Chanting
Came back
Ghost Dance
came back
Bad Dream
came back
Cant Forget
and Crazy-With-Grief
I know where they went
those boys with their guns
theyre still hunting Indians
look, you can see
their names are
Spills Blood
and Kills-Without-Mercy
copyright Mary Mackey, 1974
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Table of Contents
Part I
The poetic storyTrees, flowers, people and everything in general
evil
time
contact
the tree of life
winter
I, the flower
crazy?
give it a rest
thoughts
The girl, the boy and the troubles
Her (part 1)
Her (part 2)
An ending
Security
Past, present and future
Yesterday
Today
Tomorrow
See me then, now and no more
Nighttime, dreams and baggy eyes
Sleep
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My moon
Part III
The stories
The mirror of sanity
How to build a dirty bomb
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Part I
The poetic story
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Trees, flowers, people and everything in general
evil
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I wish to feel
what life has for me,
all thats good
and evil.
the good is good
and the evil even better
to watch and feel,
to see what it can do.
to see who it can harm.
to watch
with wide glaring eyes,
to see it all unfold
before my very life.
time
the morning light is dim.
a bleak, cold day ahead.
people are extremely mad
to be up at this hour.
rushing to and fro,
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afraid of being late.
late for life
late for death
contact
why are people?
strange as can be.
a machine out of control.
we no longer run our lives,
they are controlled,
not by the brain,
but rather
by contact.
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contact with a fucked up world.
a world no longer able.
to let us live as humans,
but rather
we live as zombies
the tree of life
life is but a tree.
in season it is vibrant.
a living giant.
in other seasons it is bleak.
a dead clot.
cluttering up nature,
making a mess.
there are times when
a fresh new growth,
will vibrate the Earth with life.
and others
when the growths are slowly dying.
they fall to Earth in reality.
we all live like so.
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but do you
know where you live?
winter
the land is no longer.
a green mass of life,
but rather a blanket
of white which covers
the dormant, sleeping world.
in spring, when the blanket is unfolded,
and the Earth is woken,
and yet some of the world
never
wakes
up.
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I, the flower
the flower blows in the wind.
my life dances like the flower.
the wind
my destiny.
blowing me toward the right direction.
the petals
my lives.
as they fall off,
a piece of me dies.
as the stem grows
I enter maturity.
the leaves fall off
my hair grows gray.
I, as the flower, am old.
and we both shall die.
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crazy?
my world is glum and gray.
faces all around.
voices , many voices.
all around.
swarming in my head.
why are there so many people.
with so many goddamned questions.
and why do they all ask me?
I just dont know.
I really dont.
is the world really this mad?
or am I really just this crazy?
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give it a rest
in the shuffling madness,
throughout the world.
I bang my head
against the wall.
a wall of brick and blood.
we are all insane.
everyone of us.
somehow.
sometime.
we have all thought of it.
dont deny it.
with people coming down on you.
friends.
parents.
loved ones.
even that dick down the street.
coming down on you.
coming down hard.
not letting up.
not until youve cracked.
not until youve lost it.
and with no sanity left
you lie down
and go to bed.
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thoughts
why are people such dicks?
why the hell cant they let me be?
I know people love me and all,
but enough is enough.
theyre enough to drive you nuts,
nuts
maybe thats exactly what they are trying to do.
maybe they want me out.
instead of throwing me aside
theyll drive me crazy.
put me away.
maybe it would be better there.
I dont have to put up with their shit!
anyway,
Ive had enough.
I could act crazy.
help the out a little.
then again
maybe I dont have to act.
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The girl, the boy and the troubles
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her (part 1)
eyes of blue,
hair of gold.
when Im with you
my whole body shakes.
you have this unbelievable energy.
it tears me inside
when you are mistreated
by anyone,
even me.
I try never to make you mad
but at times,
well, I guess it happens
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her (part 2)
I wish.
I wish that I could explain what you do to me.
I mean, exactly how you make me feel
when I am with you.
I dont have a worry in the world.
nothing bothers me.
you are like a goddess
standing there
with your flowing blonde hair.
I watch you.
all the time.
and wonder,
what does he have that is so special?
why cant I be him?
its not worth the worry.
I love you and no one can stop that.
its deeper than anything Ive ever felt,
deeper than anything I ever will
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an ending
our friendship has grown.
although its been a short
three years since we met,
four since we saw.
I realized very early
that if I were to love you
I needed to try.
by changing myself to suit you.
I thought Id tried,
but I failed.
I tried again and again.
you swear it was two,
but I say it was three.
I guess thats irrelevant
because youre so special to me.
I could never leave you.
not in a million years.
but soon it will happen,
well go our separate ways.
and now my question to you is,
will I meet with you again?
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security
I hold you,
tight.
you are so warm.
you are my blanket.
when you cover me, you give me security.
you let me know that Im real.
you protect me from evil.
you show me whats good.
whats right.
whats wrong.
you help me when I am in need.
you teach me when I need a lesson.
you show me when I need to see.
you give me warmth.
you give me security.
you are
my security blanket.
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Past, present and future
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yesterday
the morning light is blinding.
another day, another try.
maybe the wrists today.
yesterday was hanging,
tomorrow will be drowning.
if I had the balls
I should have done it
tomorrow.
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today
I saw the sun this morning,
and for the last time, I thought.
my mind was made up.
I set about my ways.
out come the blades.
sharp as hell.
a small trickle of blood
and out I went.
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tomorrow
water running, hot.
almost scalding.
itll burn my skin.
two cement blocks.
one on my stomach.
the other, to crush
my skull.
and drown me.
under scalding,
hot,
water.
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see me then, now and no more
in the past I was a child.
a small boy on a farm,
growing up with the air.
in the present I am a person.
no longer a little tyke,
but not yet grown to be a man.
and tomorrow,
in the future,
I am nothing but forgotten.
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Nighttime, dreams and baggy eyes
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sleep
the light was fuzzy.
the haze, almost distracting,
clouded my vision.
my coat,
warm,
tight,
and secure.
my head rests gently.
the walls padded.
so comfortable resting.
my tired, weary body.
finally at rest.
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no sleep
the sun is setting,
and I wish it to set no more.
I wish the night away.
at night they come
all my thoughts,
all my fantasies,
all my visions.
visions of death.
annihilation of the world.
and,
of myself.
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edge of night
the sweats pouring off my face.
I awake in the still.
the night is dark.
a single bird sings.
his song is sad.
the dreams are long.
too long.
too long and scary.
Im scared and afraid.
afraid to go back to bed.
afraid to close my eyes
and dream bad dreams again.
the bird is in my dreams.
he dies.
his white feathers, red.
the dreams are bad,
and the night
is dawning.
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Bad dreams, backward jackets and whitewalls
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watch
the wall is smooth.
the eyes are wide.
I watch you,
watch me,
watch others.
why are the walls watching me?
little white buttons,
on little white walls,
in a little white room,
in a big white hospital.
the halls have cameras,
probing eyes.
following me.
the rooms have probing eyes.
they too watch me.
never leaving me alone.
always with a concern.
for my health,
for my life.
so that I dont harm.
harm they say.
so I dont fuck myself up.
ya know,
so I dont accidentally hurt myself.
slit my fucking wrists.
hang miserable self.
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even the outlets are covered.
so I dont fucking electrocute myself.
I could act ok.
theyd let me go home.
but I dont want out.
I like it here.
in my white, serene room.
all alone,
now,
and forever.
except for those damn
probing
eyes.
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come to me
Im here thinking of you.
and of you I thinking of being.
when I get out of here,
here in this goddamned place.
this place of hell.
but then again,
hell isnt white.
white and padded.
I cry for my sister
to come to her brother.
love is with her brother.
my sister is not my sister.
this sister is foster.
foster to me, as I,
I to her.
I think for you,
sister of mine.
and of you my thoughts
are constantly drawn.
I cannot pull away.
you are not like any sister, anyone,
not anyone could have.
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because brother and sister,
they cannot love like we do.
we love more than shows,
and show less than we know.
know about this love.
for we both try and hide it.
we alienate each other.
we didnt want to know
how we really feel.
so what happens?
I end up here,
in my nice white room.
and you?
you end up with that!
that other asshole.
what is he?
I am all of him,
and more.
you cant look behind my eyes.
you cant see what it is like.
to have to watch you
with someone else.
I want you.
I want all of you.
and do you know what?
when I finally get myself together
and get out of this rats shit hole,
I am coming to take you.
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to take you away.
far away,
from all of this madness
and insanity.
to take you right into my arms.
and hold you
forever
and ever
and ever
and never let you go.
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the final chapter
Im tired of war.
Im tired of fighting.
of struggling.
and of rebellion.
the final chapter is unfolded.
I sit alone, thinking
about a book I once read.
the ending was sad.
yet, it lifted me greatly.
everything came to be
in the final chapter.
alone, I am now.
no one but me.
the end is inevitable.
here in my room like cell.
the white is a god awful color,
it makes me even sadder.
I guess what is all comes down to,
this is the final chapter of my life.
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Part II
and more poems yet
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Untitled
As the bombs hurl toward us,
at four in the morning,
while we are all still asleep,
Im awoken suddenly.
I look into the early morning.
The sky is many magnificent colors.
Purples, reds and oranges.
I wonder, is it really the morning sky,
or is it the end of the world?
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Black and White
Can you tell the difference
between heaven and hell?
Do you know pain and pleasure?
Can you unlock the secret
of the universe?
Can you tell me why people die
when they get old?
Better yet,
why do they die when they are young?
Is life really that bad,
or do they want to experience
heaven
or hell?
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Maybe
With wild glaring eyes
I watch with great interest.
A tango, they say,
takes two.
And Satan has asked for my hand.
I dance with the devil
and for the final time in my life,
the diamonds shine in my eyes.
He beckons me to cross the line.
That very thin line.
Between sanity and the insane.
My choice is clear,
and one only the bearer of souls can deliver.
As I step across the line
my eyes widen.
A smile spreads across my lips.
For you see,
now I have truly found my home.
On the other side of sanity.
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Take me
Cant get by.
Death is watching closely.
My time nears
and with it comes many thoughts.
Fear is as small as a baby bird.
Who lies dying on the ground,
for having not been able to fly.
Tears flow,
as the rivers current
carries the young suicide.
Regrets have come,
but now it is too late.
For I have danced with the devil,
and lost my soul.
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Troubled
Im not doing too well.
My life is slowly falling apart.
I said to myself you need help.
So what do I do, go and see a shrink.
What does she do, she tells me Im,
Im just a little confused.
I told her to come home with me,
see just how fucking confused I am.
Im not alright, and nobody can tell me that I am!
How can someone, in three hours,
tell me, tell me that I am just a little confused?
I want to know why the hell everybody thinks Ill be ok.
Cant anyone see what I am going through?
The pain, the madness?
If it doesnt stop soon, Im afraid,
afraid that I wont want to keep going.
But I have to, I cant lose, I cant take the easy way out!
I must be the one to win, I must be victorious!
I wont, under any circumstances, let them win.
But to go through this, its total hell.
No one should ever have to be treated like this.
You know something, the more I think about it,
I wonder if its not such a bad idea.
Maybe, just maybe,
this game has gone on long enough.
I quit.
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Game over.
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And you?
The early morning light.
The smile of a new born baby.
This is what makes me happy.
What makes you happy?
Is it the stick of a needle,
or the harshness of the pipe?
I help people.
I love people.
This is what makes me happy.
What makes you happy?
The chills when you need a fix,
or the teeth rotting from your head?
I write poems that tell,
and stories that think.
This is what makes me happy.
What makes you happy?
Is it lock up at the local jail,
or is it stealing so you can get more?
Everyday there is more of me
and less of you.
This is what makes me happy.
What makes you happy?
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A speck of color in a black and white world
I feel like absolute shit!
Oh yea, suicide has crossed my mind.
Many times in the last few days.
I dont have the balls to do it though.
I cant do it anyway.
I cant leave like this.
I couldnt live with myself.
But then again, Id be dead.
Anyway, to think what it would do to her,
not a chance.
She keeps me alive in this fucked up world.
Shes the reason I havent checked out yet.
I suppose shell never know she saved my life.
That is unless she see this fucked up poem.
Shed get a laugh at the language,
probably yell at me for swearing.
But thatd be ok, because wed laugh, and she,
shed be able to know exactly what she did for me.
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Untitled
Get up in the morning
nag, nag, nag!
By the time I get to school
I feel like shit!
Teachers, students, all fucking nagging!
Why do I put up with it?
I could end it quick. Real quick.
Why is life worth living?
Its not
Good bye
Bang.
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Eyes
The eyes follow me.
The watchfulness of a mother
keeping her child in view.
Never allowing me to slip from sight.
The eyes are death.
The rapid dog stalks his prey,
to kill and mangle some helpless creature.
They are calling for me.
The eyes are insane.
The raving lunatic, quieted with insanity,
in his comfortable padded cell.
Begging me to join this folly.
The eyes are crying.
The old mans family is watching.
The coppery casket is lowered into its tomb,
telling me it is time for hurt.
The eyes stare into the mirror.
And when I walk away,
the mirror is sightless.
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Have we met?
When I was young
I saw a flower.
The flower was dead.
It was dead for a long time.
Its petals were all brown and dry.
When I was older
I met a man.
I saw him all dressed up.
He wore a silk suit.
With a dead flower,
all brown and dry.
He didnt see me though,
I think.
I watched as he was buried.
As his casket was lowered into the ground.
I never met this man.
And he never met me.
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The poem
Im sitting here,
and with nothing to do
I decided to write a poem.
Should it be happy,
about a boy little boy who finds a balloon?
Or maybe it should be romantic,
about a man and a woman who fall in love?
It could be about a boy,
and he commits suicide.
It could be about a sunset,
a bird in flight,
a mother waking up her child
and the child greet the new day
with bright eyes and a lively attitude,
for this child is still innocent,
and quite young.
Or maybe it could be about
a person who is trying
to write a poem.
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Untitled
All wrapped up,
arms strapped to my back.
Nothing but four white walls.
Hallucinating.
My body melts from insanity.
I feel pain.
The pain of a thousand kidnapped children,
all wanting to go home.
Go home to mothers warm, cozy arms,
to get hugs and kisses,
over and over, hundreds of times.
But no, now they cry.
They are in pain.
All I want is to go home,
to mymothers warms hugs and kisses.
Hell yes, Im mad,
mad as a rabid dog.
He hunts his prey with vigor.
I hunt my prey with insanity.
And all because I was my prey.
I sit now and pray,
in my little white room
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A walk in the park
One day, not too long ago,
I was walking through the park.
The spring blossoms hung on the trees,
while lovers sat on benches by the thawing pond.
Anyway, I continued my walk.
I walked to the biggest tree in the park,
the one that has been there forever and
will never die, or so we think.
The branches ran wildly all the way to the top.
I admired the beauty of such a large phenomenon.
Anyway, I continued my walk.
I saw an old man sitting on a bench.
He was talking fast and with great enthusiasm,
even though he was alone.
I took a seat at the next bench
and I listened to the old man,
who rambled on about anything.
I was quite fascinated actually.
I sat for a time, alone,
then a woman sat down on my bench.
She was dressed quite nicely.
Perhaps she was a secretary,
on her lunch and she decided to enjoy the park.
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She took out a bag and a newspaper,
never paying any attention to me.
Anyway, I continued my walk.
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You are
you lead,
I follow.
you talk,
I listen.
you look,
I see.
you sleep,
I dream.
you teach,
I learn.
you do all of this for me
and what,
what do I do for you?
I learn from you.
I dream of you.
I see you.
I listen to you.
I follow you.
you are you,
and I am you.
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Untitled
I watched you all year.
What you did to me was amazing.
You teased me into love,
although you never loved.
You lit my fire.
You made me burn deep, deep inside.
I wanted you, oh god, how I wanted you.
I dont know if you knew it.
I just wanted one time with you,
to show you my feelings,
to really tell you what I thought of you,
of what you did to me,
and mostly of what you meant to me.
I couldnt love anyone else.
I was always comparing them to you.
And as I sit here, all alone, listening to the Doors,
I think, I think ofyourlove for this singer.
And for a fleeting moment, I wished I were him,
so that you would love me.
But all I want is for you to love me,
because of who I am, because ofmywork.
All the work I do this year,
it will be a scar of what youve left behind,
for me.
I will see you in my work,
although others will be blind.
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I will listen to you, through the words of song.
You have saved me when all I wanted was death.
I wish that you could really understand,
exactly what it is you do to me.
I love you.
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Sun
I think, now that I see,
that the sun is beautiful.
So red and blinding,
as it sinks over the mountains,
and drowns in the ocean.
It sizzles as its heat is cooled.
The evening is cool,
for the sun,
has gone, for the night.
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Sun
Yellow light,
blinding brightness,
heat is thrown
thousands of miles,
to warm the heart of this land.
The yellow light
burns eternally,
forever.
The yellow light
is forever, ever,
until it warms no more.
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My moon
Moon beam,
moon rock,
big white hole
up in the night sky.
Lighting nothing,
being lit by the sun.
Just there,
to remind us
that we are real.
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Part III
The Stories
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The Mirror of SanityI
t was early morning, still quite dark and stormy from the previous night, but
none the less, it was morning. I threw myself out of bed, and with a splat I
landed face first on the thinly carpeted floor. This cant be happening, I
thought, as I picked myself up from the cold floor, noticed a drop of crimsonwhere my face had only moments before been lying. Damn, a nose bleed,
just what I needed right now. I dragged my weary body into the bathroom. As
I approached the mirror I noticed a wave like motion to my reflection. The
mirror didnt look right at all. I touched it. At first it was cool to the delicate
touch of my finger tips. But as I pressed against it, I noticed my hand had
disappeared into it. I couldnt pull it back out. Its just a dream, Im still
sleeping, I said aloud. It didnt work. If this was a dream, I was very deep
into it because I wasnt waking up. I decided, after a moments thought of
course, just to give in and see where the mirror would take me. As I
plummeted into the mirror, my body, where it touched the mirror, was cooledinstantly, and substantially. Before I entered the mirror I was already in there.
There I stood, looking at myself. I reached out my right hands, slowly
extending my arm toward my other self. As I did this I repeated it exactly as I
was doing it. Just like a mirror image! Wait a minute! This is a mirror, so it
must just me looking at myself. But when my hand touched my hand, there
was a sudden burst of light. My body felt as if it was melting. In a split second
the flash was over, and I was the only one left. I was gonebut I was still
here.
was looking around in utter amazement when I heard it. Someone calling
my name. But there was no one here. There. I heard it again. Hey dumb
ass, stop looking around, were alone now. I am you. Shit, this cant be
really happening. I was talking to me. I was introduced as Ekaj, realizing that
was my name, as a mirror image. Was I really going insane? I needed to know
right now. No, youre not going crazy, Ekaj told me. How would you know,
I asked? I am you, I know everything about you. I was starting to get
scared. I asked if there was anything around here to eat. I was starving. I said
that I already knew that. I should have known. As I started walking down the
street, I directed myself toward a little caf. I could smell a rich, succulent
aroma, but I couldnt find its source. I told myself that we would be there in aminute. There was Infinityville. No sooner did I finish my sentence and was in
the most screwed up looking place I had ever seen. In the middle of nowhere
was a bustling town. People, shops, cars, everything a town should have. But
it was all backwards, a mirrored image of how it should be. As I continued
walking down the street I saw many people that I knew. Was it really them, or
was it their mirror image? This was a fucked up episode of the Twilight Zone.
After walking for what seemed a lifetime, I saw her. My eyes couldnt believe
it. It was Muffy. What was she doing here? This was my dream. I ran to catch
up with her. She turned around when I yelled. A big pleasant smile, as usual,
I
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dressed her face. We rejoiced for a moment and then I introduced myself to
here. She said they already knew each other. I had to ask. Was it really her or
was it her reflection I was meeting? She said it was really her, her real self,
and that she was inside herself. I felt relieved. Someone I reallyknew. We said
our goodbyes and went our separate ways.
s my walk continued, Id forgotten about my hunger. I walked to the
edge of town. I told myself this was where I lived. A small apartment
complex. Very quaint and beautiful. I told myself that I didnt live here,
that I lived in a big beautiful house. I said that I knew that, but here people
lived where they wanted. As I walked into the apartment I told myself that I
would be leaving at night. I told myself that I couldnt not, however, under
any circumstances, leave. When I asked myself why, I said because I would
be helpless. I also informed myself that I would hear my name being called,
and not answer. For this was the beast, and he wanted us. Nonsense I
thought, but I said that I understood. Again, a sudden burst of blinding lightfilled my sight, as well as the entire room. When the light dissipated, there I
was, looking at me. I showed me where to sleep, we said our goodnights and
went to bed. I was fast asleep in moments.
A
I must have been dreaming, for I awoke with a sudden jerk of my body. In my
dream someone was calling my name. Wait, maybe it wasnt a dream.
Someone called my name again. There, I heard it again. I couldnt take it
anymore. I had to get out of here. I hurriedly dressed and walked out the door
as quickly, and quietly, as I could. The only thing that entered my mind was
someone telling me that if youre sneaking around, dont try and hide it. If
you try and sneak quietly, you will make more noise and people will know
what you are up to. I walked outside. The cool, crisp night was refreshing. The
stars, thousands of them, all sparkling, were making the sky look like a giant
fire cracker. Without the noise, of course. I walked and walked, occasionally
hearing my name being called. I walked toward the voice, for what seemed to
be hours. I had left the town far behind. I hadnt the faintest idea where I was,
or for that matter, where I was going. All I knew was that I had to find that
voice. I knew deep down inside that someone very close to me was being
hurt.
I
couldnt see anything, it was extremely dark. It wasnt so much dark as it
was black. The stars have disappeared. In their place stood two of the largest,
widest, scariest eyes I had ever seen. The eyes were glowing bright yellow.
They stared back at me with death in them. Before I fully knew what was
happening, an ominous and eerie voice began to speak. I am the dark. You
will watch me take someone very close to you. You can do nothing to stop
this. Nothing can stop this, or me. I have killed you, so you neednt worry. Oh
shit, this was real. How was I going to get out of this one? How was I going to
get out of here? That appeared to be the least of my worries at the moment,
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as I heard a very familiar voice. Jake, the voice called, its me. Its Muffy,
please help me! Oh great, how the hell did she back into this story? I said
goodbye to her two chapters ago. The dark stood there thinking. I dont
know, he replied. And with that, he picked up Muffy and ate her. Now I know
what you are thinking. What the hell happened to the story? All that I ask of
you, dear reader, is to keep believing. Anyway, where were weoh yes...and
with one gulp, she was gone, erased, wiped from all existence. Now that
thats finished, would you care for some tea? asked the dark. What the hell
is going on here? Scratch that last line, it makes no sense. There, its gone
and with that, he picked up Muffy and ate her. Everything went dark.
was awoken by a sudden bang. Oh boy, what a nightmare. If thats what
you would call it. Living in these padded cells gets to you after awhile.
Youre crazier than when they first put you in here. All I want to do is go
home. Ive been here for three weeks and Im not getting any better. No
one believes me. I told anyone that would listen, anyone who could hear,
about my adventures behind the mirror. No one believed the dark was real;
no one believed that it really did eat Muffy. What I can see of my arms and
legs through the strait jacket, is bandaged. The doctor said that I threw
myself through the mirror. He said that I was chasing after people with blood
drenched, jagged pieces of glass. Im told that I also tried to kill myself,
screaming franticly that there was someone inside me. So now, I sit alone in
this white padded cell. No one talks to me anymore, and I talk to no one
anymore. Solitude has taken its toll. The doctor stood at the door, his nurse
by his side. He hasnt eaten, he wont talk, the doctor said. its almost as if
hes waiting to die.
I
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How to Build a Dirty Bomb
This is a fictional story. Any relation to actual events or person(s), past,
present or future is merely coincidental.
2006
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He was sitting there, looking at the walls, waiting. God he hated white
walls. As he stood he adjusted his tie, straightened his suit pants and waited.
The foot steps echoed down the hallway. The closer they came, the larger the
knot in his stomach became. He had never shown fear, until now. As they
entered the room, four men the size of giants, chains in hand, John knew this
was the beginning of his end.
John Jackson, better known as Yashmir Kalaza to his small circle of friends,
was just looking to fit in, to be part of something special, a family. At 23, he
woke each day to the same old grind, take a leak, shave, shower and dress
for work. Day in and day out, week after week, month after month, year after
year, nothing changes. The same walk to the bus stop, the same seat on thebus, the same faces, everything just blurs together. But today was different.
Today would be the beginning of the end.
It was a quarter past 5 in the morning when John woke. He was restless.
Unable to sleep for more than a few hours, he decided it was time to go. As
he rose from bed, he looked at himself in the mirror. What a pathetic sight. At
five foot, six inches, John was less then average height. He could stand to
watch what he ate, less hamburgers and fast food, more salad. But in a few
hours, it wouldnt make a difference.
Into the bathroom to shower and shave. How easy it would be to end this
now, he thought, staring into the mirror. John liked mirrors; in fact, he had
them in every room of his apartment. He liked the way things looked in them.
Real, but somehow a dream or an altered reality. What he saw was indeed
himself, but he could imagine a safer place. A warmer time. An end to the
madness.
As he showered he planned his day, breakfast, and coffee on the way to
the bus, and then his masterpiece. John dried himself off and dressed in
khakis and an oversized sweatshirt. He grabbed a jacket and his knapsack on
the way out the door. The bus was late as usual, and the coffee was old. If
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there was anything in this world John hated, that was it. Old coffee. As he
took his seat on the bus, the normal dirt bags and pieces of shit smiled their
fake smiles and read their fake newspapers. All bullshit, if they would only
open their eyes they would see it. If they would only open their minds they
would believe it. If they only knew why, today, he was smiling back at them.
The ten minute ride to midtown seemed like hours. He couldnt wait to get off
this fucking bus and get to work. As the doors swung open and the riders
exited the bus, John stopped at the driver. Placing his hand on the drivers
shoulder, the driver handed him a brown bag. John smiled, placed the brown
bag in his backpack and walked off the bus.
It was spring time in the metropolis, for a change there actually wasspring. The park lawns were starting to awaken from their wintry slumber and
green themselves to life. The trees were just budding and the birds had
returned from a warm southern winter. Just a two block walk to the subway,
but every person he walked by pissed him off. If he made it to the platform
without killing someone it would be a miracle.
As he descended in to the subterranean lair of the man, the warmth hit
him in the face like a violent slap. Through the turnstile and onto the platform
to wait.
Wait.
It seemed like John did an awful lot of waiting his whole, short life. He always
had to wait. In line at the movies, wait. In line at the dry cleaners, wait. In line
at the store, wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. No more, not after today. Johns days of
waiting were over. He was going to the head of the line, to meet Allah
himself.
He could hear the train screech into the station, stopping to drop its load
of zombies. How could people live like this? How could a democratic society
like America be so blind? Dont the American people see what they are doing
to themselves? How they have become so complacent? So reliant upon the
man? John hated these people, his people were nothing like this, and they
were quiet and deep thinkers. John learned to be like the rest of his people by
the time he had finished the Koran for the first time. By accepting the Islam
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religion, John accepted the holy war as part of his religious duty. A war which
he was more than ready to wage.
John entered the first train and took the seat across from the conductors
door. As the cars filled, John couldnt help but think about what brought him
to this glorious day. How the society he had grown up loving could be in such
shambles. Heroes like
John Kennedy and Harry Truman were replaced with martyrs like Zarkowie
and bin Laden. For a brief moment John wondered, really wondered, what the
hell he was doing. The moment passed and he was once again focused on the
task at hand. Gently cradling his backpack, with its precious cargo safely
tucked away, the train pulled out of the station. The next stop was the Canal
Street terminal.
As the train pulled into the station, the conductors door opened and amiddle aged male smiled at John and placed a small thermos on the floor. As
quick as the door opened, it shut. John leaned forward, taking a quick but
subtle glance over his shoulder, and picked up the thermos, placing it inside
his backpack. He rose and exited the train, melting into anonymity once
again as he walked through the station. As usual, there were cops
everywhere, the normal scene since 9/11. What bothered John the most were
the dogs. Would they know what was hiding in his backpack? He took extra
precautions to avoid these hounds of hell as he made his way to the exit, andon the street.
Walking onto Canal Street, John would make the short trip to Soho on foot.
He couldnt take the chance that a cabbie might be remember him.
Once he got to Soho, John found a nice spot to sit and wait. It didnt take
long before he had company. A nice dressed woman in her 30s sat down next
to him. Close enough so he could smell her fragrance, but far enough to be
an unassuming figure. She only stayed a minute or two, but as she got up toleave she gave John a quick smile and walked away. On the seat where she
had been sitting was a shopping bag. John rose from the bench, picked up the
bag and headed downtown.
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Staring him right in the face was the Bull, a fixture of American financial
opportunities. He had arrived at Wall Street by lunch time and all though he
was hungry, his nerves wouldnt let him eat. He had a job to do, and it was
now time to do it. The streets were filled with the lunch time crowds.
Hundreds of people hurrying by, in a rush to grab a quick bite to eat and get
back to work. No one looked at him; he was as invisible as the contents of the
packages he was carrying. The day was beautiful, for now. John decided to
make the short walk to the park around the corner, find a seat and get to
work.
As he arrived at the park, he was happy to see that it was no where as
busy as the bustling Wall Street had been. In fact, this would work better than
he had expected. He took a seat under a tree and placed the shopping bag
on his right and his backpack on his left. He opened his backpack and
fumbled around inside it, being careful not to remove any of the contents.John emptied the contents of the brown bag, as well as the thermos, into the
backpack. He had everything he needed; a cell phone, wire, black powder
and blasting caps. John gently removed five bottles from the shopping bag,
placing them into the backpack as well. As he carefully opened each bottle,
he poured in the black powder and inserted a blasting cap. Once all the
bottles were filled, the blasting caps were connected to the wire. John
removed the cell phone from the backpack and pried open the case. He
connected the wire to the circuit board in the phone, put the case backtogether and placed the phone back into the backpack. Everything was set;
each bottle contained 5000 spent U-235, or uranium hexafluoride marbles.
This is the same material that is used to make fuel ay nuclear power plants.
Twenty-five thousand marbles in all. John started shaking with excitement.
The uranium would make for a nice bit of concern, but the real excitement
was the hydrogen fluoride gas that would be created when the chemical
mixed with the air. For the first time in months, he smiled.
The weather was just perfect, winds blowing moderately from the south
and the humidity level was on the rise. If everything went as planned, he
would devastate the better part of Manhattan island. All it was going to take
now was the final walk back to Wall Street. John had no idea he was about to
be come famous, as well as infamous.
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He arrived at Wall Street at a 3:15 and decided to wait for the moment of
opportunity, closing bell. John sat on the steps of the New York Stock
Exchange, just under the enormous American flag. He leaned back and pulled
out a piece of paper from his pocket. It was a letter he had written to his
parents. A letter telling them who he was now. A letter telling them about thewrongs of society. A letter telling them that he was sorry and he loved them.
A letter he never sent. He was startled by the ringing of his cell phone. He
looked at the incoming message. It simply read Yes.
John rose from the steps, stretch and took one last look around before he
walked away. He made his way back to the subway terminal at Canal Street,
where he stopped and took his cell phone out. He looked at the time, 4:00.
He was now shaking with excitement, fear and desperation. He dialed the
number and threw his phone in the trash can. At the bottom of the steps he
though he heard it. It was done. It was the beginning of the end. John rushed
home and turned on the TV. There it was, every channel showed the chaos, in
living and breathing color. It was estimated that the initial explosion killed
perhaps a dozen or so. But the cloud, the white cloud of hydrogen fluoride,
was spreading like wild fire. The reports indicated that the hospitals were
being overwhelmed. People were complaining of burning to their skin, their
eyes and in their chest. People were dying in the streets. It was sheer
pandemonium. The street of lower Manhattan looked like a war zone, with
people screaming.
And crying.
And dying.
In the days that followed, it was estimated that the lower section of
Manhattan might be inhabitable for several decades, and the chemical
damage was undeterminable. New Yorkers, in all their resilience, finally
resigned to defeat. As the investigation mounted, there was a small scrap of
paper with a partial address found at the scene that led investigators to a tiny
apartment in the Bronx. As John stepped out of the shower, the front door
exploded inward. A loud bang and a blinding flash of light were about all he
could remember. The next thing John knew he was being paraded down the
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