Archive for May, 2014

24
May
14

Lorie and Her missing 66

66

Today’s sermon from the Church is about how sometimes it’s not about keeping the gun out of your mouth, it’s about keeping the gun out of someone else.

I was strolling along for my Friday night venture, my own personal  ’53 Stations of the Tokaido’. I had been meaning to wander into all the local pubs within staggering distance for a while now and tonight seemed a good night for it. My biggest curiosity was for a place called Arnolds; when ever I look far down 10th street to the east and see a group of cop cars parked to the curb with flashers on, they are more often than not in front of Arnolds. I was ready to see what kind of crew would show up – every time I’ve driven by the place they seem to have some hard core souls out there. My trip to Arnolds ended up being secondary to my night’s event because along the way there I came upon this woman who reminded me that it’s not always about me.

I saw this thin framed, large chested woman from a good block and a half away and could tell by the cadence in her step that she was not just drunk, she was full tilt smashed. When someone starts meandering in circles and teetering back and forth with spastic steps you know they have reached that plateau of inebriation which leads to disaster, or regret at the very least. People in that stage of drunkenness I typically leave be; they are in a different world that becomes hard to reach or stay in contact with. I tried passing by the woman (Arnolds was ahead some nine blocks) but she stopped me and asked if I was all right……asked if I was all right, that’s rich.

I said I was okay and she started gibbering a bunch of thoughts out that began to focus around one point. She had a friend she had lost around this locale, a 66 year old woman. “She’s sixty-six years old” she kept saying with tears in her eyes, “and she’s got no place to stay. She’s homeless now-that ain’t right to live in a world where a sixty-six year old woman got no place to go.” She cried some more and I felt bad but couldn’t come up with a consoling thought for her at the moment.  Her rant changed all of a sudden and she began focusing on herself, telling me how she was worthless, an alcoholic (evidence proved by the pint of gin she polished off while we stood there), how her mother was an alcoholic, how the state had taken her baby away from her. This sad scenario kept compiling as her story went on and I felt horrible for this woman. Alcoholism is a demon I have seen destroy many lives and there seems to be very little any of us can do for those that suffer from it but point the way and hope they take the advice.

She grabbed me all of a sudden and pulled in real close and locked eyes tight with me. “Please please pleeease” she cried softly. “Would you please kill me? I won’t hold nothing against you, just-I don’t want to live no more so just please kill me.” A man of lesser values could have taken advantage of this woman in a variety of ways. Her wallet stood slung inside her bra, she was an easy target for rape, murder, whatever…..I’m not that guy. I sat her down in the grass with me and talked with her for a while. I couldn’t cure her problems but I sat with her for a time and helped her get over that hump of wanting to die. She asked me to kill her a few more times but I convinced her that was the wrong thing even though it seemed like the easiest solution to her. I could only stay with her so long and eventually she got very anxious about finding her sixty-six year old friend who had no place to stay. This alcoholic with all her own personal demons and issues was more concerned about helping this other individual than taking care of herself…..at that moment I was more concerned with making sure this woman got over the anxiety attack she was having – wanting to be killed – than my own personal issues I was having that evening. That’s when the moment of clarity hit me. At times we are all angels, in a sense, to help one another down this road of insanity. I have more than my share of days where I would love to have someone just take my life because life can be so fucking hard, but I make it over the hump with the help and guidance of others (I don’t even have to know the person — I’ve had total strangers help me). In return, I am an angel for others sometimes and that is another reason why it is important for me to keep the gun out of my mouth because without me, that one lone individual out there may just give in and end it all and where would it all stop?

Her name was Lorie and I hope she finds her sixty-six year old friend because it’s quite possible that sixty-six needs an alcoholic angel to keep the gun out of her mouth……..Welcome to the Church.

19
May
14

Another Urban Jaunt and Siddharta

siddharta

 “She lies and says she’s in love with him, can’t find a better man…
She dreams in color, she dreams in red, can’t find a better man…”
-Pearl Jam Better Man

 I find taking long walks is a sound medicine for me when I suffer through pains of depression. Like so many, I become depressed about my failures in relationships. I know I’m not the only one who has them; how do I know that? Because of the statistics on divorce and the number of friends I have who have been through it. I become depressed about financial problems. I know that I’m not the only one; how do I know that? Because I see the number of unemployed and underemployed out on the streets. I become depressed about my slow failing health. I’m not the only one with health problems; how do I know that? Because I watch them every day as they use what strength they have to plod on their daily routine, struggling with myriad ailments.

Legend has it that Prince Siddharta was raised in a palace and shielded from the suffering in this world. Despite his father’s efforts to keep him from the aged, sick and suffering, the prince saw those in his kingdom and it sent him into a great depression. The legend goes on from there and eventually he gets to grow up and become the Buddha (so the legend goes) but I’m not quite to that stage yet. In fact, I see it as not being a depressing sight to see those suffering, rather I witness it and feel kinship to this world with them. We all suffer to various degrees in various stages which makes my walks therapeutic in a way. Granted I have to get going a while (this one clocked in after it was all said and done at 8 miles) but once I wear down my emotional stress, I manage to hit this point of clarity that allows me to see things more objectively….or at least less subjectively. I walk by a house that has half of one side burnt from fire, in need of repair but certainly no funds to do it. I pass by a black man walking down the street with his foot cocked 45 degrees to the left, most likely it was horribly broken and not set properly. I pass by a lady standing next to her motorized wheelchair smoking a cigarette, surveying the clothes she has draped across her chain link fence and I wonder is she having a yard sale or drying her clothes the old fashioned way?

So after the walk I am able to look back and evaluate what I have witnessed. My relationships on one level may be caustic, but on another level I was able to stop by and visit true, good friends who care about me and that type of love is a valued asset we all want. I have financial difficulties but I am not as down and out as the lady I pass who has all her worldly possession rolled up in a dirty bedsheet, sprawled out on the corner with that look in her eyes that says she has no idea where she’s going to sleep tonight.  My health, like everyone’s, slowly declines, but I’m still able to get out and take these long jaunts about the city and enjoy the air I breathe. So although I won’t stop dreaming and hoping for better things in my life, riches and all those other things we fantasize about, I have to remember that those things most likely will never happen. I can try to make them happen but if they don’t I can’t consider my life a failure. I just continue on and remember what all I do have and keep a Buddhist pecking order perspective on things…because even that mighty prince with all his riches and securities eventually threw it all away and sat under a fucking tree.

16
May
14

Vampire Chronicles: Initial Q and A with the Sanguinarian

vc-5

I sat at a table near the front of my newly christened watering hole; a place so close to my rental that I could stumble back blind drunk if need be. This evening I use it to sit down and sip on some good scotch ( a rare find in most small time taverns…they usually stock some piecemeal off-brand shit that tastes liked watered down kerosene) and gather my notes to write this posting for the Church; the vampire observations continue courtesy of research and the openness of a late twenties girl I call Red. Red is a blood drinker, classified as a sanguinarian. I have recently obtained a loose promise from someone to introduce me to the other type of vampire – a psychic – but until that ship floats in I feel I should go ahead with what I’ve found out about sangs.

Red made sure I agreed to keeping her anonymity as she leads a normal life in one regard and does not want to deal with being exposed to those closest to her. No problem. I’m here for enlightenment and education on the subject. She initially responded to a blanket request I threw out on the internet for vampires to get in touch with me. She politely agreed to answer questions as long as I respected that privacy.

DA: Red. I suppose I should call you that as that’s how your name is posted in the email – if there is a different name you would rather I use let me know. I will attempt, above all, to respect your anonymity but will need a name for reference point for any blog posts I write….again, I will use the name Red when referring to you unless there is a better name you would have me use.

RED: Actually I like the name Red, let’s stick with that for now. It’s not my real name of course but, that’s what my father used to call me because of my hair. 

DA: I find myself to be as ignorant as the common person and wish to start at square one understanding who you are. I can gather descriptions from the web about the definition of a sanguinarian and vampires, but I would like to hear, from your standpoint, how you would describe yourself. If you could approximate your age this would be good reference.

RED: I’m a 27 year old female. 

DA: Is the term ‘vampire’ offensive to you or can I call you that? You use the term sanguinarian (distinguishing yourself from Psions (psychic vampires) but I didn’t know if this is to differentiate yourself from the other clan or if vampire is a derogatory term-like calling an Inuit ‘Eskimo’.

RED: I guess I’m just so used to calling myself a sanguinarian. Probably also to differentiate myself from a psychic vampire. We are the same, but I feel we’re different too. I see us as having the same craving, the same “energy deficiency” they just feed differently. I’m a blood feeder and they feed from prana/aura energy.

DA: Could you give me a brief idea what your life was like prior to your awakening and if you can recall, what exactly it was the awakened you

RED: It seems long ago. I miss those days.
I came from a normal middle class family who were all very loving and caring. I grew up with an older sister and a younger brother. My oldest brother is 10 years older then me, so he was always away at college or different states. As a teenager, of course, the world always revolves around you. For the most part I was a happy, silly, outgoing girl around my friends and family. I guess I should mention that though I was a happy person I had a cutting/self mutilation obsession. It started around early teens. I would cut my left wrist, making sure not to go too deep, just surface wounds. Could of been from frustration, anger, or a day where I just felt the need to cut and see blood. It became an addiction/fascination.
I started noticing changes around the time I turned 19. There could have been little things before then, but I guess 19 is when I felt ill the most. I got headaches a lot which turned to migraines.  I ALWAYS had some kind of issue going on with me. I love my mother to death, but she would get to the point where it got on her nerves if I said I felt sick. She said I had turned into a hypochondriac. I’ve always had problems sleeping. It seemed to get worse with age though. Ever since I was a child I’ve never been a morning person so I was late a lot to school.
One night, I can’t remember when,  I was with my sister and her boyfriend. We were watching “the Big Lebowski”. I started feeling very light headed, almost to the point of blacking out and my heart was pounding. I had to have my mom (who was annoyed from being woken up at 1am), sister and her boyfriend take me to the hospital because at the time what I thought was me having a heart attack was actually me having a huge panic attack. 
As I was in the hospital room that night I think is what changed me or started the “process.” Everyone (my family) was trying to talk and laugh to calm me down as they stood around the bed I was in. Two nurses came into the room to draw blood for tests and one decided to put an IV in my arm, just in case I would have to stay over night. The first nurse had trouble finding my vein, fishing around in my arm with her needle, so the other nurse suggested putting the IV in the top of my hand, which took. As she filled up her vials she talked with my sister about traveling. The nurse must of not been paying attention because she looks down at my hand and said, “oh my god! Dont look down!” and of course, I did.
As everyone in the room gasped I looked at my hand and my blood was literally pouring out of the open IV that she had forgot to close off before switching vials. I remember feeling completely calm about it. Seeing the blood drip off my fingers making a small pool on the floor. It was the strangest feeling. I was excited almost and calm at the same time. She closed it quickly and wiped off my hand with alcohol swabs apologizing. The doctor came in after to tell me all was fine, I just had panic disorder and had a big panic attack.
I went home that night with blood still stained on my hand where she forgot to clean It off. That’s when my cravings started…One night I remember being upset. I had a strong urge to see blood and feel that feeling I felt when I would cut myself. I hadn’t done it for a long time, which would of been half a year or a little more. It was like a ritual when I’d decide to cut myself, making “preparations.” I made the first slice across my wrist and I loved the first moments when blood would start to appear out of nowhere. My heart raced with excitement as I drew the blade over the same wound once more, deepening the cut. More blood. To my surprise, I didnt want to stop hacking away at my skin (as twisted as that sounds). I started getting the same tight feeling in my throat. Without really thinking about it I licked my skin and sucked at my wound. I wanted more, so, (trying not to get too carried away) I opened the cut deeper. It was an intense feeling at first then turned into a calming, content feeling.
It pretty much took off from there.

 

08
May
14

Vampire Chronicles: Misconceptions, Disbelief

misconceptions

When I first started looking into this obsession of mine, the one that led me in search of blood drinkers, I was bombarded with an assload of naysayers, disbelievers, skeptics and outright rude sons of bitches. One of the methods I used to try and contact the vampire community involved that modern day stand-by of social media; Craigslist. I saturated the CL listings in a close vicinity to me with short, concise requests for vampires to get in touch for the purpose of investigation/studying. My initial replies from those Craigslist ads were people who felt they needed to take the time to email me and tell me that vampires weren’t real. Their correspondence closings usually ended with some snide remark so I’m sure they felt they certainly showed me. I pressed on and ignored them and eventually was contacted by this twenty seven year old vampire who called herself Red. My back and forth Q and A with her has been enlightening and pushes me on to find out more but I feel I need to lay some groundwork as to where my head’s at on this situation so as not to be misunderstood by those reading my Church blatherings.

Those Craigslist trolls felt I was crazy, naive or a thirteen year old with a hard-on for the goth scene; an understandable mistake because my posts were pretty short winded. I didn’t want to go off on some tirade there on a site that’s infamous for being the want ads of the internet- long winded speeches are what blogs are for. I anticipated running into some vampire wanna-bes (‘vampiroids’) and was prepared to blow them off at a moment’s notice because I was (and am) in search of are those who feel there is a medical – or even spiritual – condition tied to the craving for blood they have. I am not prone to believe the Hollywood stereotype or feel these people are the undead servants of the devil…I don’t even think the devil would want to waste time fucking with some of those hipster cultists that claim to be vampires because they wear amulets and powder themselves down with white talc. A few of them did contact me but after a few short back and forth conversations they proved themselves out to be fakers.

True Sanguinarians tend to be a reclusive sort and not the type to parade around in some posh nightclub. Red doesn’t parade her vampire status to most of her friends, even those closest to her. In a sense it would be like someone back in the 60’s coming out of the closet and trying to tell people they were gay or someone trapped in the body of the wrong gender. If you had a condition that made you feel the urge to drink any body fluid – blood, snot, piss…you can see it being kind of a social taboo. Case in point? Coprophagia – there’s one for the ages: people who eat shit for the zeal and sexual turn-on from it yet they certainly don’t bring that up for discussion in crowds of their friends. That’s a stark comparison and I apologize to Red, but what I mean is, our society frowns on the drinking of blood regardless of any tie-in superstitions it has to the devil, Christopher Lee or the boogyman. This is why Red hides away. This is why Sangs throughout the world stay in clandestine covens where they even become suspicious of their own. This is why I approach her slow so as to assure her that I am not here to condemn her, poke fun at her or anything other than listen to what she has to say about her life.

So now I’ve at least given you a briefing, a disclaimer, for this pursuit of mine and will write (in future posts) what Red has told me about her life. I continue to hunt down more Sanguinarians but as I have stated, they are a reclusive sort…not easy to gain their trust. Perhaps I can persuade them with a pint or two of my own? A payoff of sorts; talk with me and get a bit of red. I continue down this road of query…




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