the flaming sword of the BITTER

Do all people reach a point where dreams cease to be a solace and instead become torturous?

As a child my sleep was filled with night terrors. My parents told me all the things parents tell frightened children when they have a nightmare, "Honey they're just dreams, nothing to be scared of," "they're your dreams you can make them into anything you want," and even the ridiculous, "next time you have a nightmare just think of Jesus, he'll save you." My nightmares had a way of taking that which made me feel safe and secure and turning it on me, no place was safe for me and worse when I fought back the nightmares only grew worse as if to show me the error of my ways. For 12 years I slept in a nightmare realm and suddenly one day the nightmares were gone. My dreams turned to pleasurable rambles through full and rich worlds. I loved my sleep because I would have the most amazing adventures or surreal experiences. Just recently however my dreams have started to turn more unpleasant. Nothing nightmarish (though to some they might be) but they have pointed their topics toward things I would rather not experience. My subconscious is working out all those urges, fears, and abstract desires seated just below the surface. My dreams now cling to me throughout the day, pestering and poking at all those things I would rather ignore and leave undisturbed.

I can look back while I was growing up I watched the adults around me, they got no pleasure from their dreams, instead they seemed more wear them down. Every night the same thing, more work. The days they didn't remember their dreams were the days they seemed rested and worth a damn. There are hints of a pattern developing here for me... I can't help but feel depressed by the idea of that being my fate.

Is that what I have to look forward to... a life enslaved by even my own dreams?

So quoth Strange at 16:56 UTC | 0 BITTER pills | BITTER traces (0)

I had a dream last night. I don't remember all the details but I do remember the terror and the scars. For one reason or another I had been condemned to execution by beheading. There was no fear in the sentence nor even the moments lying with my neck on the chopping block but after the axe fell and my head rolled....

I remember vividly the spin of my equilibrium as my head fell away and the appearance of my body jerking spasmodically; the wrongness of it still clings to me even now, hours after waking. As my head laid there I tried to reach out to catch my body and there the real terror sank its teeth in, the crippling fear not of death but of helplessness. I had no arms to reach out and catch myself with, no way to save myself or control my fate. I couldn't even cry out in protest. I was totally at the mercy of those around me.

Then where I was once lying with in a basket I blinked and woke up on a table. I have some abstract knowledge that my body was unrecoverable but that my friend had found me another one somehow and managed to reattach my head. Some part of this process also brought me back to life. I was so thankful to have arms and legs again, means of defense and locomotion. The fear never left me though, every moment of every day there after I was jaded and tarnished, somehow fractured by the ordeal. Even now I still remember it, I still feel a twinge of it creeping at the edges of my perception like some predator at the edge of the campfire light.

So quoth Strange at 17:18 UTC | 0 BITTER pills | BITTER traces (0)

From the pain comes the anger.
From the anger comes the flame.
Let your flame light your way.
Let your flame light the world.

The BITTER is the only renewable energy source.

So quoth Strange at 15:18 UTC | 0 BITTER pills | BITTER traces (0)

When I was a rebellious youth, head full of lighting, soul full of vis, and body full of vigor, I cursed Corporate America for its evils and swore I'd never join its ranks. Now years later, I'm staring blankly at the walls of my cubical through eyes that grow dimmer every day wondering how I came to be seduced by the corporate world.

There's no real wondering to do though, because the reasons are plain: comfort, money, security. I naively sold my soul to the proverbial devil with the hope that it was only a lease with the option to buy. I'm fighting it as hard as I can, trying to retain my humanity, trying to maintain my When I was a rebellious youth, head full of lighting, soul full of vis, and body full of vigor, I cursed Corporate America for its evils and swore I'd never join its ranks. Now years later, I'm staring blankly at the walls of my cubical through eyes that grow dimmer every day wondering how I came to be seduced by the corporate world.

There's no real wondering to do though, because the reasons are plain: comfort, money, security. I naively sold my soul to the proverbial devil with the hope that it was only a lease with the option to buy. I'm fighting it as hard as I can, trying to retain my humanity, trying to maintain my individuality but everything about this place seeks to break you, make you uniform, homogeneous.

On a regular basis (though less so now that the cold of winter has set in) I find dead birds collapsed and crumpled at the steps of my building. I can't help but think to myself how poignant that is, the song bird who's silenced and grounded forever by the multi-national company. I think the saddest ones are the finches, bright yellow plumage, jovial song, the flirtatious way they dance and flip through the air; everything silenced as, in their ignorance, they dash their brains out on the brilliantly shining glass windows of my building. They flutter down as the last neurons fire as a matter of reflex and that caused by the force of the trauma and there they lay on the steps (sad and beautiful), sometimes for days because no one wants to see them. People are like that, they like to ignore anything that's unpleasant or uncomfortable, anything that disagrees with their perfect world image.

I can't help but feel a little like that bird sometimes the only difference is I don't have ignorance as my excuse. Every day I walk into that building fully aware of the fact that one day I'm finally going to dash my brains out on the brilliantly shining glass window of my building and I'll just flutter for a while before succumbing to corporate pacification. The thought has even occurred to me, what if its already happened and I just don't know it.

So quoth Strange at 23:59 UTC | 0 BITTER pills | BITTER traces (0)

ignorance is the night of the mind, but a night without moon and star; in that black the BITTER waits with teeth like the cheshire cat.

So quoth Strange at 18:06 UTC | 0 BITTER pills | BITTER traces (0)

Damion Rice- Accidental Babies.

Well I held you like a lover
Happy hands and your elbow in the appropriate place

And we ignored our others, happy plans
For that delicate look upon your face

Our bodies moved and hardened
Hurting parts of your garden
With no room for a pardon
In a place where no one knows what we have done

Do you come
Together ever with him?
And is he dark enough?
Enough to see your light?
And do you brush your teeth before you kiss?
Do you miss my smell?
And is he bold enough to take you on?
Do you feel like you belong?
And does he drive you wild?
Or just mildly free?
What about me?

Well you held me like a lover
Sweaty hands
And my foot in the appropriate place

And we use cushions to cover
Happy glands
In the mild issue of our disgrace

Our minds pressed and guarded
While our flesh disregarded
The lack of space for the light-hearted
In the boom that beats our drum

Well I know I make you cry
And I know sometimes you wanna die
But do you really feel alive without me?
If so, be free
If not, leave him for me
Before one of us has accidental babies
For we are in love

Do you come
Together ever with him?
Is he dark enough?
Enough to see your light?
Do you brush your teeth before you kiss?
Do you miss my smell?
And is he bold enough to take you on?
Do you feel like you belong?
And does he drive you wild?
Or just mildly free?

What about me?
What about me?

___________________

Who said the BITTER doesn't enjoy a good love song?

So quoth Strange at 20:20 UTC | 0 BITTER pills | BITTER traces (0)

"Fine! Go on in there and tell her that every day is a blessing. So you killed your baby. Shake it off. Think positive. At least you're alive. ... Hmmm. Kind of hard to sell when you don't believe it, huh? And you never believed it. You just wanted all that crap you went through to mean something. Well, it didn't mean anything. It never does. Welcome back."

— Hugh Laurie, "House, M.D."

So quoth scott at 03:04 UTC | 0 BITTER pills | BITTER traces (0)

OB Dept. Anonymous hospital Hold message:

"...can reduce the risk of S.I.D.S.. If you feel yourself losing control put the baby in its crib and walk away; never, never, never shake the baby, shaking the baby can cause severe brain damage or even death. If you have a mildly sick child and can't stay home from work we offer..."
------------------

I weep for the future.

So quoth Strange at 16:54 UTC | 0 BITTER pills | BITTER traces (0)

When you place blood on one pan and bile on the other, how do the scales tip?

October is feral, and in it, I wade in blood and thousands of razor-sharp memories and futures…

past, present, and future, the blood mixes; mine, hers, theirs, all of ours

and the BITTER simply stands back with that cheshire, mysterious grin and waits….

So quoth scott at 03:31 UTC | 0 BITTER pills | BITTER traces (0)

TOUCH ME
HATE ME
GIVE YOURSELF TO ME
AND BREAK ME

CUT THESE EYES AND I WILL SEE
KISS THESE LYING LIPS FOR ME
STROKE THIS SKIN AND I WILL KNEEL
BRUTALIZE ME; I WILL HEAL!

  — kmfdm, "brute"

So quoth scott at 08:02 UTC | 0 BITTER pills | BITTER traces (0)