>The Diaries: Death to santa III – Die 2010

>to my best friend, kind, strong, patient, loved and missed a lot…

Dear diary,
It’s the end of the year when we meet to compare notes on how the plans to eliminate santa and take over the world have advanced, again. What can i say, i’m sure glad this one’s over…
How the year was you ask?
Pretty much the most fucked up year of my life. When i’m 90 and taking my umpteenth hike on Mars with my pals and pet Venetian(rare breed of feline-like creature found on Venus), and as we are sitting in our camps trying to spot which star is the earth, and they ask me,”Say ben, what can you tell us about 2010?” I’ll go, “Say what?”,sick the venetian on him(and make him walk back to camp). I think I’l name it bob.
If anybody asks me what’s so bad about 2010, you know what i’ll say? I’ll tell them to pick a month.
The 2009-2010 segue was the most fucked up ever for reasons i reserve mentioning, coz you, my dear diary, have been known to spill prematurely…maybe i’ll ask the guy doing my biography in 2050 to throw that in.
It has been a year of so many knives in the back, a pocupine hit on me once. I know, right? Wasn’t even holding a scrubbing brush or pineapple!
Where do we begin? Again, pick a month…off the top of my head…july. Found the ass wipe colluded with the stupid suppliers to skim extra cash from us. And we wrote him a polite notice saying before the company is dissolved we shall take the liberty of deducting the amount he stole from the supplier and us, before giving him his stake. It was my idea to throw in the “fuck off you incestous piece of shit”. I curse the cunt that bore him and it shall forever bear the burden of the mark of cain on it. Why i say these mean words? Because, diary, in December of 2009 we consoled a ‘close friend’ because his momma died and catered to th funeral/cremation from our pockets, to help the ‘dear friend’. Flash forward to August 2010 and we find the dead woman is alive, my account short 150k, and a case time barred. Pretty much recipe for revenge…but i can’t stoop to his level. Enough of the knives now.
Oh, yeah, i quit my job too. Not fired, quit. It was for several reasons actually…depression, need to graduate, screwing investors by the big man, and the big one…fucking with my money. But we are still pals with my boss, aren’t we Mr. Boss man? (Boss man:”fuck you, ben!”)
Yes diary, i’m letting it all out! Pick a month.
I read somewhere that misfortunes come in threes. Pretty sure they were wrong there and left out “multiples of”. So as i waded through the mud of lies that enriched the jungle of betrayal, i looked for that lone ray that broke through the canopy. That small beam of light in the distance that made you forget you were getting swallowed up into the murky existence, that you will give up and die and be absorbed into the very system you abhore. In the face of all the negativity, greed, lies and predictability that had become my environment, i had a ray. Small, steady and strong to guide me. In the darkness that had become my heart, body and soul, i stumbled around and almost gave in to it, but i had a hand to guide me out of it. And finally i did come out, a strong middle finger aimed at the world, “fuck you very much, but my soul is mine to rule.” All i have is a couple of deuces left as i fix the rest of me. Alas, the one that guided me was weakened by the battle, and i swore to stand by them through thick and thin, good or bad. One good person is worth all the suffering in the world.
Yes, santa came bearing gifts, gave the bad kids the bikes and remote control cars. But for the kids who were good, he threw up in our presents, as if the lump of coal he was giving us wasn’t bad enough. You know what we did? We pooled our pieces of coals and made a fire, then we grabbed one of his reindeer, the one with the red nose, and cooked it, and it tasted good prickled by santa’s bitter tears, as the rest of the good guys beat up santa for the deed and location of where he got the coal. We left him the hooves though. Coal is the new oil, bitch!
So you know why i know 2011 will be a good year? Because i am taking fate by the nuts. If it doesn’t play ball, we give it a little squeeze.
So dear diary, please inform 2011 that 2010 has been wiped from history, there shall be no knocking. Neither shall there be a “we’re selling girl scout cookies” routine, no huffing and puffing and no, we didn’t leave bread crumbs to show us the way back. We’ll take the goddamn house down and build the road to our future through it!
As we push all the sorrows, sadness and disappointment with 2010 into the grave, we wash and cleanse ourselves in the rain; a sign of hope and fresh begining for the new decade.
Hello 2011, this here leash goes on that scrawny neck.


Ben.




~Happy holidays pals, may the alcohol bill and decibel limit not be a buzzkill as you usher in the new year. Don’t drunk drive~

>New dawn

>Themaliz candle flickered wildly because of the partially open window. He watched it struggle for a few seconds before it went out. It was completely dark now. He liked it this way. The artificial lighting, fluorescent light, is sometimes too harsh.
He gazed out at the gathering storm. The dark clouds, and the trees being tested for resilience. Funny, that was him some time back. His soul, the clouds; his will, the trees.
He shut the window and lit the candle again. On his desk was a stack of sheets. He thought of dusk, dawn, the dance and now a full circle had been completed. It would be a new dawn in several hours. He couldn’t fight off that dull throb of guilt gnawing at the edge of his stubbonness.
What would he write? Wouldn’t it be easier to send an intermediary? Better yet, go himself? Nah, it wouldn’t be that easy. He continued to stare at the stacks. Where to start, where to start.
“I’m sorry for being such an ass.” Ha, the understatement of the century. He really was sorry, he just felt so bad about it he could barely contact her. Sure, the silence would exercerbate the situation, but what could he do, at present he was helpless on where to begin. Kindred spirits, that’s what they were. He understood her every action, she was practically him when it came to making decisions whether good or bad.
He stared at the papers for a bit, before pushing them away from himself. Was there any need for lengthy speeches? Not with her,
[sleepy,]

>9 crimes

>After much soul searching i decided to name this post 9 Crimes. It’s after a song by Damien Rice with the same title.
Unlike most of my recent posts this one won’t go through the normal vetting that see’s posts thoroughly edited or rewritten, many of them making it to the draft-never-to-be-published pile.
I’m writing on what seems to probably be the final curtain call on the most important relationship/bond i’ve ever had with another human being.
True friendship based on trust and mutual understanding is hard to come by, in my case it’s happened once, and with the rarity of the occurrence comes the problem of identifying the cycle it’s on. Is it dead, is it reborn stronger.
In a romantic relationship its always easy to identify when you are about to leave each other, and moving on is never such a big deal. It just a matter of gathering yourself up and going. Plutonic relationships on the other hand, you never know.
I guess my point is, at which point is it ok to let go in a plutonic relationship? When can you say you are officially no longer bestbuds and turn into strangers passing each other on the street? No more encouragement, consoling, or the now and then shake to snap out of wallowing in self pity.
The pain of losing a best friend can be equated to somebody close dying on you. It’s actually the same thing, the same hole is left in your soul. The same mental torture of the ‘what ifs’; what if we stuck a little bit longer and found a working solution. The questions are endless.
A bestfriend is all you have when you are stuck in the cold dark pit of your mind and tell people you want to be alone. He/she is the one who will come anyway and stay with you despite what you say. They will take on all the bullshit you throw their way when depressed, wipe your tears and remind you that you will get hurt and battered, but when you keep that hope alive, you will come across the few who make all that pain worth it.
As the game of passing each other the loaded gun continues, all we can hope for is realizing nobody has to fire it, it can always be dropped and things can be worked out.

UPDATE:
One thing I’m learning is, there is a big difference between a romantic relationship and that platonic (mostly) relationship with your best friend. I’ll not generalize this since it was a unique experience, so will presume everyone has it differently.

Your best friend is your lifeline, I know mine was.

With an ex there is always a fallback position, friendship; that is where it all began anyway, or should have. This is why all exes who skip the friend bit end up bitter against each other. With the platonic thing a fallback is always a difficult thing to find because you are either friends or not, no safe fence position. Yeah, how does one go from being the most important element to your life to a nothing? How do you get to that line when nothing like a knife in the back is involved?

When you get dumped, or break up with someone there is usually the several months of wallowing and picking yourself up. And of course, the blues music to get you through the day. With a friend I never have any form of transition between the act that leads to the end of the friendship, you just nothing them like they never existed. Not with your best friend; you don’t wallow or have self-esteem (ego) issues. Remember this is the most important non family person in your life. You just don’t get rid of them.

With break ups there is always the broken heart. But broken hearts heal, empty souls can’t. The emptiness and dent in your soul is nothing anything can fix except the one who filled it and left. I would gladly pick a thousand heartbreaks over one empty soul. It’s more of numbness, it’s a part of you that dies and you walk around looking ok and acting normal, but you really aren’t. The sense of humor stays and the charm doesn’t go down. But nobody would know, the only one who’d notice it isn’t around anymore.

It’s a sad state of affairs, friendship going down the drain for no apparent reason. But friendships can’t be forced on so you just chill and let things go whichever way they choose.

Curtains

He looked at her, into her eyes. That face he’d grown to love more each day, when he didn’t, couldn’t imagine he could love any deeper. That one who had proven to him time and time again, there is no limit to what the heart could give.
She puzzled him a lot of times, her denial, saying one thing and doing another. All contrary to her preaching. She talked of love, and facing it and showing it rather than saying it. “That is what works,” she always said.
It worked for him, a man taught not to say what he cannot do. To live by action, where what you did was the philosophy of what you were. She was his, for a while. She stood by him, for a while. She let him her heart, for a while.
Survival, the drive behind all living things, the reason the dying spasm, as they hold onto that that thread that releases the soul from the body. That’s what she awoke in him. That’s what he wanted to share with her. For she had held onto it for him when he didn’t want to.
Hurt, was what she started to give to him, when he tried to share. Pain, was what he got, when all he had was love to give. He could still see it in her, but survival was all he could think of.
It’s not ok to betray those who have been there for you, but reality is, you can’t force them to be with you either. They have to make that choice, otherwise, you are better off alone because you can’t help it, than hated because you tried to force it on an unwilling soul. That is the way of the wise, you can only try for so long before you are allowed to give up. You cannot see the future, only God knows the future, and he likes those cards close to his chest.

They had been through the dusk, survived the dawn and made it through the dance, maybe it was time for curtains to fall on what would have been a great adventure.
With all that in his mind, he pulled the covers over himself…and prayed for sleep. Tomorrow will speak for itself