There is a train of thought here that will probably leave me before I even come close to finishing what I am now writing. This is not a blog that will be at-some-later-date finished or continued. This is a dying thought. A moment of brilliance caught within a passing pulse. I will not do it glory or justice before it leaves my brain and this post unfinished. This will not mold anything to greatness.

Bloodsucking…It was crawling on me. Barely noticeable. Tickling my sides. It was racing at a goal further up my torso. It was a huge and yet oddly thin Tick. Very big around. Thin as paper. After a soul crushing day and night after a hope killing hell, it sought to suck more from me. It saw something left. Something I do not now see. Perhaps with time. It was after it with all its vigor. It has been burnt. It has lost it life. How long had it waited for a meal. The promise of whatever it saw in me had put a new life into it. Had it lay dormant in forgotten hung-up clothes. Bloodsucking things, at least arachnids and some similar beings, have a way of going into a stasis or hibernation. It is a lifeless state that they stay in till enough warmth presents itself and then as if having only lay for a brief nap they wake and assault. A type of desert life had been the first of this nature to really catch my attention. A television program once informed me of it. It would burrow near a half-dead-dehydrated-plant-of-the-desert and wait. Life signs cease. Then when a living thing, bodily warmth, approaches it wakes and exits the sand for its meal.

Corpseeating…Jackals, hyenas, family. Large families on both sides. Deaths, funerals, and lonely retirement homes all the way back into earliest childhood. I don;t react to death, and they call me or look at me as if some sort of monster. When offered something of the deceased’s I first think “Would I use this?” I then think “would anyone else use it more than me” and finally “would it hold greater meaning to anyone else than me?” If I would not use it I pass it up. If the other two questions can be answered yes then I pass up on it. It does the dead more honor and keeps their memory alive better if it is with someone to whom it holds great meaning and whom would use it often so as to often fondly remember them. Far too many others become sneaky, hide, back stab, steal, fight, curse, and behave like rabid dogs who have stumbled upon a meal with no concern for what it once was and meant. The wishes of the deceased are far too often the last considered or ever even spoken of. It becomes a ravenous battle and not at all about memory or feelings of family. All is tossed aside in the face of greed and avarice. More than once Last wills have disappeared so that earlier or no edition of it shows up. A mad grab similar too looting leads to people crossing state lines with things they don’t even understand or care about. I have no need or desire to feed on corpses. I do not react to death. The person was alive and will be remembered for that time, now they have left like everyone else will. I may be a monster for not mourning, but I am no corpseeater.

This last one could far too easily say too much or offend everyone I am considered close too. So I am purposely trying to forget what I can before I even type the first words of its entry.

Guiltgoats. Scapegoat is an easy label for others to affix me. They seem to revel and find great joy in its adherence to my person. It allows them freedom and power through their judgement of me. Others eat it up and rush in for the glory I bring them with false accusations and assumptions. I have dealt with it and survived. One way is the few normal good people I manage to occasionally surround myself with. I look the part. Think of any wrong any evil and I look the part. I was made to look so by divine command. No matter how I dress or cut my hair it sits on my features.  No righteous purpose has yet been revealed as to why, but this is the way things are with me…Shouganai. This is fine, I deal and have found a few good people. Still the deviants see in me a brother and come to me feeling okay in confiding the most unholy of perversion as if it would be nothing to me. I am quite often disgusted with what the worst of society tells me as if it would not even bother me. I have had the worst types of humanity I can possibly imagine proudly tell me their evils in glee as if with a fellow in filth. These people, no, these foul things… I hate them. They disgust me and cause a rage to rise within me. I look the part, so when I try to warn the proper authorities I do not get believed. If anything it becomes assumed that I am applying my thoughts to these dregs. I could never be a part of so many horrible things that people have proudly approached me, in public, and whispered all giddy as if finally able to confide in something worse than themselves, as if I will praise and encourage them. These are the hardest to deal with. They deserve worse than anything a normal person could come up with. I could deliver. I would rot for it though. As if I had done wrong. Lately a new trend, one I will not be able to live with much longer, has started. The nice, good, kind, upstanding, normal people I collect and try to befriend and help…The ones that make it bearable. They are now approaching me with smiles, even in the most public places, and whispering horrid blasphemies. Sick things. Bad things. Things they would never ever tell anyone else. It is inevitable that some will read this. It is inevitable that others whom have not done wrong and innocently approached will read this and misconstrue it to mean them. This will, without intention, harm good people who have stayed so. I can not take it though. To be told every sick fantasy, urge, and deed by once good people. To listen to such fine people speak like the devil. These are not mere sexual thoughts and wants. They are twisted things that will only bring them down and cause sorrow. WHY, WHY TELL ME!?! Is it that no one will believe me if I repeat it (despite my constant attempts at honesty even to be called brutally honest and completely devoid of tact)? Is it that you would assume that I do commit worse? These people get to know me better; they are good people and should see my good points (some have voiced good points of mine that I was not aware I had) and know that I do not like the kind of weird my life is. There is good weird, adventurous weird, interesting weird, and then the bad-depressing-sick-abnormality that is my life. I strive to be normal. I voice to these people the hatred I have of the disturbing weird that my life is. They know I am the last one that wants to hear this stuff. I am no Jesus I do not compare and may be one of the furthest individuals from him (I respect his work). I am not a catholic priest sitting in a confession booth. The weird shit I have had to deal with that is naturally my life is more than I can handle and gives me so many problems, WHY PILE YOURS ON MY WEAK UNCAPPABLE SHOULDERS? I can not bear the burden. I can not erase the deed. Why do they suddenly act as though they have transferred it to me? I have to stop this one short I can not type even a fifth of what needs placed here. It is too much far too much for me to deal with and to even try to type as that is causing a foul vomit to rise up my throat and burn my tonsils. I will leave on one final note, one part that must be typed. The sick things, they are even (they the once good people, the few to show me I can know normalcy and decency and will not always be shunned to dwell with the foulest humanity) asking me to help them commit some of the acts, to participate as it would really make them enjoy it more. I did not ask this befall me. I am no martyr or saint. FUCK YOU HUMANITY! FUCK YOU!

I can’t carry this. I am rebuilding my life for the millionth time with less support and friends than ever. The struggle is perhaps more difficult, memory is weak. I can’t take this too.