So, this is now....that is yesterday, and who knows about tomorrow.

Here I sit in the silent twilight of a dawning day. O please, hold the dramatics...it's just another lonely night. It's dark outside, other than the beams of streetlights shining down upon this little apartment complex where I'm doin' time for doin' it all wrong. Other than the music, I hear nothing as the roommates sleep silently and the world is resting in preparation for Monday morning's drudgery...but not me, O not at all. I loathe sleep. That little surrender to the end of the day, resigning myself to an end of possibilities for the time at hand, that tiny peaceful moment right before I know I'll be transported to the following morning full of responsibilities, societal norms, and time constraints is so despised by my heart I'd rather sit alone and bask in the gentle nothingness. It caresses my soul, warms my heart, and allows my mind to breathe in the freedom of vacuous contemplations. It is in these hours I find all things are thrown in violent affront to my cognitive grinding stone, and broken down into simplistic trifles and complex emotional scars...with a little sunshine thrown in, just for kicks.

Who, what, where, and how am I? None can be answered. I discourage the comforting and mind-numbing cliches like, "You're the sum of your experiences", "You're a unique being created for a purpose", or "You're your impact on those around you". I'm glad you can be so fucking zen about the whole thing, but not me. I've committed sins all across my sphere of influence, found redemption in karma's sweet release, done it all again and never looked back. What am I? Just another organism wandering this dismal planet in search of a little sunshine into my little demonic cave of horrific torturous regret guilt, blame, lamentations, and a tiny dabble of self-loathing. Where am I? The fringes of a college party town...the edge of what was, but way beyond the sight of what's to come. A constant reminder of every little fuck-up, with the endearment of those who've seen me through it all...so yes, there is a light into my seemingly pessimistic world. The people around me who love me with deepest care, sacrifice their time to bring a little brightness to my word, my sincerest fans make it all worthwhile even if it's not always easy. So how am I? I'm awake...focused..drawn into the music: The slurring lyrics of obviously foreign accented passionate expression, the banging drums keeping the beat of my heart pressing onward, the guitar riffs washing over my brain like paint dripping off a spherical glass ball all bring tranquility to this place. I feel love, hate, disdain, loathing, hope, fear, guilt, happiness, and even a tiny bit of mischievousness thrown in there somewhere. Complexity is the modus operandi of a wandering twisted soul.


Twisted, not evil mind you. I've bent my moral fiber through so many philosophical loopholes it's a wonder it hasn't torn into a thousand apologetic strips. I played all sorts of mind games within the assumptions of myself and others, and came out on top even if it pushed me to extremity. I don't do that any more...it's half my problem. I sit alone soaking in electronic movie entertainment, musical comfort, ingest alcoholic release, sip loathing out of a whiskey tumbler while the ice cubes cool my lips like a gentle whisper of, "it's going to be ok, you'll be numb soon" through my aural cavern straight into the recesses of my ever-reeling brain. I love my booze...it fixes so many hurts in the body, mind, and soul, but fear the ramifications of constant self-medication, so I save it to share with my beautiful associates. A good whiskey on the rocks or the micro-brewed perfection of a Flying Dog or Magic Hat beer seem to always make me at peace with the world. My times on my front porch watching my fellow residents pass by on the way to wherever it is people go with a smoldering cigarette in one hand and long-necked brew in the other are some of the most treasured I have. Kicked the cigarettes though; figured that was no way for someone who'd lived through as much as I have to go out...but I miss them. The combined mentholated burn in the back of the throat quenched by ice-cold crown royal, then rekindled by the warmth of 80-proof indulgence can fix just about whatever ails ya'...but I don't do that any more. I'm trying to do what's right...whatever that means, so I sit alone in the darkness trying to make sense of it all.

what is "it all?", you might ask. Why thank you for your inquiry, I'd be happy to share. "It all" is the realization you've been traveling through life at 180 mph and 8,000 rpms right towards everything you ever thought you wanted, then spinning off a guardrail into the shock of a frigid ice-capped river, only to barely drag your hypo-thermal body onto a stone-topped island in the middle of the flowing stream..."What the fuck!?" is right. What did I do's, and what just happened's, and what do I do now's, and all those wonderful little quandaries bottle-neck right before you can process any one or the other, and your brain goes blank. I like to think of it as a...grayish hum, or white noise, or as if you've descended into the static of the television. That's where I am. I had a college "career", good job, promising future, good friends, money, vacation days, everything I ever needed and more, though I never saw the reality of what was. I had it, but I lost it...or ditched it, or destroyed it...any way you look at it, it packed it's shit and left without ever saying good bye. I would share that whole process, but it's all going in the book I'm hoping to get published one day if I can ever plough through all the gritty details...anyways.

I'm 21 years old living in Central, SC on the outskirts of Clemson University which I previously alluded to. I have three years of college education, but not enough money for the fourth, or enough money for just about anything (he said, candidly). I work for the maintenance department of the apartment complex I live in (because I almost got evicted for failure to pay) which though seems extravagantly glamorous (haha, or not..), involves picking up bratty college party kid's beer cans, blunt wraps, unsticking used condoms frozen to the side of buildings, pressure washing, driving around on a golf cart trying to not look like a hobo, writing warning notices, and cleaning up after their childish escapades, as well as cleaning and refurbishing apartments between tenants. I hate it...it's below my intelligence level, yet I love it for the fact that my self-loathing spirit thrives on manual labor. I wrap up in the morning with my fleece jacket over my hooded sweatshirt, duct-taped jeans covered in paint splatter over flannel pj pants, a wool winter hat, gloves, hunting socks, and rubber shoes then grab my coffee and face it like a man...that's right, I'm "that guy". The one who knocks on your door at 9 AM to replace your A/C filter, change your light bulbs, check your smoke detector, or whatever it is you request. Glamorous, like I said, but more about that later. I have another equally "unskilled labor"-type occupation. I work for a small event and promotions company out of Greenville, SC (our largest nearby "city") that handles parking and crowd management for events. I'm independently contracted for weekend work usually between 4 and 6 hours and compensated with the impressive rate of 7.35/hr. God bless America. Essentially, I yet again, stand out in the cold trying to keep blood flowing to my extremities and check parking lot passes until the game begins then either "guard" (observe really) a side street leading into the basketball arena during the game or stand to the side of the student section and observe drunken fools screaming profanity with obscene signs and gestures extended to the opposing team to report to our beloved boys in blue (more on them later, too). None of it matters...or means anything...to anyone except for free rent and a whopping $180 a month income. However, as dark and dismal as this all sounds, life is fun, love is alive, people are beautiful, and nothing hurts. My passion for writing poetry and my book about how I got to where I am keep my hopes and dreams alive, along with kind and caring words and actions from friends and family. My apartment is my sanctuary away from the monotony of society and all it's sleights, and I love it as deeply as you can love any place.

So that's my life right now, very very basically. How about you? I'm Anonymously Anomalous, hear me.