Repressed: subjected to, affected by or characteristic of psychological repression
Repress: to inhibit or suppress.
Hullo again, my friends and readers...
I fear that I must now do something which I have never before attempted--I must needs repress not merely the memory of one person, but the entire summation of my time with that person from memory. Places, touches...any emotional attachment to this person must be wiped clean in order for my "resurrection" to continue.
Once, I steadfastly felt that my beliefs in the sanctity of marriage could not be dislodged. These walls were breached by a cunning vixen who lured me in with the promise of friendship--once there, the true depths of her seduction became apparent. My training teaches that every touch, every emotional response that one receives through interactions with other humans, plants and our world at large leaves an emotional fingerprint. Therefore, removing the entiretity of a person with whom you share more than a casual acquaintance with leaves one with innumerable fingerprints on their psyche--the weight of this task, now committed to paper, has broken me to tears.
How can I forget? How can I just rip a major part of the last four years of my life out? Hopefully I can find an answer soon, as this weighs heavily upon my shoulder.
It harkens back to the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, where Jim Carrey's character attempts this very act out of desperation. Though I am not at mind's end like him, this person can not live within my thoughts and be congruous with my new mindset. In actuality, repression is not a strong enough term...this person must be expulsed from my memories, like so much rotten fruit from the mouth of a homeless person. Repression only inhibits these memories...inhibitions can be recalled, resurface. To expulse something is akin to exiling matter. It shall NOT be allowed within my walls again.
I'm not sure where to begin...the beginning? Our first "meeting"? I just don't know...this is so large I can't get a grasp on it...
I'm sorry, I....
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Issue 10: Apologia
Written, pencilled and inked by: Heath Parker Lail
Apologia: language of origin--Greek.
The definition of said word is "a defence or justification of one's beliefs or actions."
Hullo, my long-lost friends.
I fear that there is no defence for my actions over the past few years, merely an explanation, which is also unsatisfactory. Unfortunately, that must suffice for now, as it forms the only coherent words that I may now speak.
Who I once was became lost, consumed by petty desires of the flesh, the promise of quick fixes for problems that probed far deeper than merely the skin, and materialism. I once felt very confident in my abilities to not give into the desires of the flesh, but I was merely kidding myself. I, like many others before me, fell to the notion that one could have their cake and eat it, too. Stupidly, I have followed that road to its bitterest of ends, which led to my overall cynicism, melancholy and increasing mood swings these past years. I sought to bury these things under the pretense of false laughter and merriment, a coping mechanism which had served me well in the past, but failed miserably here. During previous instances, my laughter had never become an integral part of that which damned me...it saved me. In this particular weakness of mind, spirit and body, laughter, like all the other emotions, bubbled in a cauldron warmed by my own passions and desires, the fires stoked with whispers and promises as old as the Earth itself. I fell into an abyss of up, down, left then right, over and under, then over once again, sacrificing my true happiness for moments of canned happiness presented through short bursts of "togetherness". I now know my enemy on this front, and am prepared to confront him upon the field of battle the next time his head should rise. Though this may never die, I feel prepared to combat it until I draw my last breath.
Secondly, I gave into the promises of Earthly fixes, instead of turning to my God, who is strong enough to heal any wound, repair any tear as though it never happened. I humble myself before Him now, asking forgiveness, though I do not deserve the mention of it, much less the opportunity. I thought I could handle whatever came, but I now know the weight of being separated from my Heavenly Father through my stubbornness and stupidity. It is more emotionally draining that any physical weight that could be placed upon me, and causes one to reevaluate your entire looking-glass through which we each view the outside world. I am ashamed of my behaviors, verbal freeness-of-mouth, and general lack of respect I have shown my Creator (and His creations)since--well, 2006. Thusly, I now reacknowledge that He, and not myself, should be the Captain of my vessel, for He knows best for me. I will attempt to follow His direction as best I may.
Materialism also took over my thoughts...for the first time, to a certain extent, I could keep up with the Jones's, and I did with reckless abandon. If I wanted it, there was plastic, if not paper, to grasp it with. Though I quickly learned that these "happys" were momentary in relieving my pain, it is the nature of materialism to grow unchecked once unleashed. I see the errors of my ways, and have put checks and balances in order to remove the urge to put myself in this situation again. Never again will objects take the place of people to give me happiness, as people have much greater effect on your life than things ever will.
I close tonight by saying this: Hang onto your hats, the real ME is back in charge for the first time in years, and you'll be surprised at the changes...pleasantly surprised:)
Tune in again tomorrow, when the changes begin...this feels RIGHT.
Apologia: language of origin--Greek.
The definition of said word is "a defence or justification of one's beliefs or actions."
Hullo, my long-lost friends.
I fear that there is no defence for my actions over the past few years, merely an explanation, which is also unsatisfactory. Unfortunately, that must suffice for now, as it forms the only coherent words that I may now speak.
Who I once was became lost, consumed by petty desires of the flesh, the promise of quick fixes for problems that probed far deeper than merely the skin, and materialism. I once felt very confident in my abilities to not give into the desires of the flesh, but I was merely kidding myself. I, like many others before me, fell to the notion that one could have their cake and eat it, too. Stupidly, I have followed that road to its bitterest of ends, which led to my overall cynicism, melancholy and increasing mood swings these past years. I sought to bury these things under the pretense of false laughter and merriment, a coping mechanism which had served me well in the past, but failed miserably here. During previous instances, my laughter had never become an integral part of that which damned me...it saved me. In this particular weakness of mind, spirit and body, laughter, like all the other emotions, bubbled in a cauldron warmed by my own passions and desires, the fires stoked with whispers and promises as old as the Earth itself. I fell into an abyss of up, down, left then right, over and under, then over once again, sacrificing my true happiness for moments of canned happiness presented through short bursts of "togetherness". I now know my enemy on this front, and am prepared to confront him upon the field of battle the next time his head should rise. Though this may never die, I feel prepared to combat it until I draw my last breath.
Secondly, I gave into the promises of Earthly fixes, instead of turning to my God, who is strong enough to heal any wound, repair any tear as though it never happened. I humble myself before Him now, asking forgiveness, though I do not deserve the mention of it, much less the opportunity. I thought I could handle whatever came, but I now know the weight of being separated from my Heavenly Father through my stubbornness and stupidity. It is more emotionally draining that any physical weight that could be placed upon me, and causes one to reevaluate your entire looking-glass through which we each view the outside world. I am ashamed of my behaviors, verbal freeness-of-mouth, and general lack of respect I have shown my Creator (and His creations)since--well, 2006. Thusly, I now reacknowledge that He, and not myself, should be the Captain of my vessel, for He knows best for me. I will attempt to follow His direction as best I may.
Materialism also took over my thoughts...for the first time, to a certain extent, I could keep up with the Jones's, and I did with reckless abandon. If I wanted it, there was plastic, if not paper, to grasp it with. Though I quickly learned that these "happys" were momentary in relieving my pain, it is the nature of materialism to grow unchecked once unleashed. I see the errors of my ways, and have put checks and balances in order to remove the urge to put myself in this situation again. Never again will objects take the place of people to give me happiness, as people have much greater effect on your life than things ever will.
I close tonight by saying this: Hang onto your hats, the real ME is back in charge for the first time in years, and you'll be surprised at the changes...pleasantly surprised:)
Tune in again tomorrow, when the changes begin...this feels RIGHT.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Issue 9: "What the Hell Am I Doing?"
After reading a multitude of old AOL Journals, I have come to the realization that massive amounts of potential are flowing away from me like so much blood from a person who is hemmhoraging internally. I can not allow that to continue...I feel that I have strayed quite far from my intended course, and starting now, this very second, things must be set right.
This Cafe has seen too much pity-party and not enough Parliament of Wisdom 3. My intellect has been suffocated under fetishes, stupidity and false hopes, but soon...tomorrow night, soon...it will come roaring to the forefront again. I've wasted enough time, and seen too many good people die these last few years to lose sight of my potential. If I do not choose my own destiny, it will never find me. I choose my destiny. Now.
Heath
This Cafe has seen too much pity-party and not enough Parliament of Wisdom 3. My intellect has been suffocated under fetishes, stupidity and false hopes, but soon...tomorrow night, soon...it will come roaring to the forefront again. I've wasted enough time, and seen too many good people die these last few years to lose sight of my potential. If I do not choose my own destiny, it will never find me. I choose my destiny. Now.
Heath
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Issue 8-"Tap Out"
I tap out....I give up. Im through trying to figure out which way Clarksdale is going. I dont wanna play hard to get anymore--is it not enough to have someone, without playing with their emotions and fucking with their head? It is hard to keep a good man down, but I don't feel like getting up anymore. The fight is fixed, and it's time for me to just accept my beat down. Accept that I'm playing second fiddle on a song that will never be heard.......
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Issue 7- "Uncharted iPhone Territory"
Fixing to turn in, but just wanted to say I've been hooked on the first Uncharted game and am in the process of downloading an Uncharted clone for iPhone, called Shadow Guardian. I'll let you know first impressions after playing with it tomorrow....
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Issue 6- "The Child Within, Part 2"
A paintbrush stroke
Can not replace a gentle stroke to your face.
A bright splash of paint
Can not replace your face as we splash in the water.
A story
Can not capture the raw energy of a night spent in Clarksdale.
A poem
Can not remind us of a quiet beach cove that, as yet, has not been.
But a simple smell of you, a taste of your hair
Can make me remember why I fell in love with you.
Can not replace a gentle stroke to your face.
A bright splash of paint
Can not replace your face as we splash in the water.
A story
Can not capture the raw energy of a night spent in Clarksdale.
A poem
Can not remind us of a quiet beach cove that, as yet, has not been.
But a simple smell of you, a taste of your hair
Can make me remember why I fell in love with you.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Issue 5- "The Child Within, Part 1"
To slowly stroke a pencil over a blank canvas, curving and looping with grace and precision. Lightly shading here, cross-hatching there, ending with a masterpiece of anatomy. Feeling the sweat of her brow splash upon my face as we make love, the wetness of her hair mingling with the slow moans she emits as I push, pump into her body...creating musical bliss. A slow crescendo builds unto the endgame, flashing lights and a popping noise as her back arches with the intensity of our love-making. Laying there, waiting.....
I love being a penciller
I love being a penciller
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