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test [Nov. 6th, 2013|06:37 pm]
Xeno Star
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Epilogue 0II. [Oct. 29th, 2013|01:46 am]
Xeno Star
The leaves cast a spray of shadows into the smoke from my cigarette. The Summer has been tense, but still pleasant. I've escaped Stadius (Dallas) without having my probation revoked. An end to ten years of a special kind of Hell is in sight [see "Decade X", July 26th, 2008].

I'm talking with my Mom in her backyard about how life in Dallas fell apart; also a lot about Kristin. I apologize to her for saying what I said when Kristin died. Shortly after it happened, she told me Kristin was in heaven, cheering me on. I told her Kristin had renounced her faith; that if I were to believe what my Mom believed, Kristin was in Hell.

I felt bad for so selfishly refusing an attempt to comfort. So five years after the fact, I apologize to Mom for it. She floored me with her response.

She told me what I'd said changed her thoughts on her religion. She said she knew Kristin was a good person, that it didn't make sense to her, for a good person to be eternally punished. She figured maybe sometimes people take the bible a bit too literally, that maybe the rules aren't as well-defined as people seem to think they are. I listened to this as I swallowed back some tears; a response to a mixture of emotions: shame, pride, astonishment.

We talked at length that day about Kristin, about addiction, about spirituality. It was probably the last heartfelt talk we had about serious matters. The conversation was beautiful, unforced, amorphous. Our relationship is still good, but after this particular conversation, I surged even deeper into my love for liquor. I abandoned my newfound desire to heal and change. I would later steal a check from her, write it to myself in the amount of a few hundred dollars and open a bank account with it, all while piss-drunk. I won't say that was precisely what distanced us emotionally, but of course she felt she couldn't trust me.

She kept her distance emotionally from that point on, and I don't blame her.
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EPILOGUE 0I. [Dec. 24th, 2012|02:35 am]
Xeno Star
Right now I'm watching stuff I filmed around the time I left this place back in 2001-2002. It's a series of tapes spanning at least three years, maybe more, entitled "Deconstruction". Eighteen+ hours total. I cringe constantly as I watch a drunken, fucked-up manchild stumble around in front of the camera, lone and with various friends and family. He's a jerk; lost and confused and just SO FUCKING FUCKED.
July 2007:

I met up with Joel at his house in Rowlett. He boarded the U-Haul and we began the six-hour drive to Amarillo. I think now it was July. The old, doomed Honda Accord rode behind us on a small trailer, and we disappeared into the Sun while fireworks shot up into the sky.

I'd pissed away everything except my freedom, but I'd come close again and again to losing even that. No job, girl I'd been with for years running from me, questionable and sleazy liasons marring my free time, a bunch of broken, dusty shit crammed into a truck. Running like hell back to where I ran from before.

The guy I call my brother in this writing is actually much more to me than that. We used to get fucked up and mesh our brains in a quest called Music. He was a father figure to me at times. I admired him on a number of levels, growing up and growing inward. I loved him and looked to him for logic and reason. In the end, I betrayed him just like everyone else. That is part of the reason we are riding in this truck, into the Sun.

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EPILOGUE 00. [Dec. 14th, 2012|02:57 pm]
Xeno Star
Summer, 2007:

The rain is falling in sheets around us. She has gone from being in my arms to jumping up onto me, wrapping her legs around my waist. I stand there like that in the downpour while we kiss. I tell her between kisses and drops of of rain that I'll always come back to this memory. She tells me to come back any time I want.

I still have her small, plain silver ring. I haven't gone back there until today.

I leave her in a bare room, in a house sliding into dissent, with no food or water. No television or phone. Just my radio, MP3 compatible. She says someone will be coming to get her. By the time her last kiss is drying on my lips and I'm getting into the U-Haul, I have ceased to care. I turn and look at the pale face in the second story window only because I know she's watching me. I wave goodbye to her, her face slightly obscured by the reflection of the grey sky overhead.

I turn away and get into the truck. Time to go get my brother.

I stumbled onto some photos of her a long time ago, but right now I can't even remember what she looks like.
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From the Restored Drafts Zone. [Jan. 2nd, 2010|08:44 am]
Xeno Star
"her eyes resting on dunes" as you see it right now, sans the quotation marks, is what popped up this time, like an entry from Feb. 25th, 2007. Hm. Her Eyes Resting on Dunes.. You may hear that phrase again. Believe that if you do hear it again, it will be true. What a barren field her gaze has scanned these past years..
I am a Desert
Slain Earth and Barren Heart
Glinting steel for veins
raw mirror and glass
dust: my liquid parts

thrumming machinery
inside a tomb of particulates
the wetwork of a dumb, animal scientist
descending infinitely

Beneath a Sea of Dust
Her Eyes Resting on Dunes..
Awakening came slowly this morning; no jolt, no anxiety. Just a gradual and fuzzy realization of awareness. Stirred around for a bit, longed for the errant laptop that floats around this apartment, somehow wound up checking my phone to see who'd tried to raise me in the night.
Joel or Eon wants to hear a song we worked on back in Stadius [Dallas]. An old friend wants to speak with a human being. Seeing as how I can't really help my old friend out with that, I decide to track down the song Joel or Eon wants to hear.

I sift through the old folders, the file system of a disintegrated machine: my ancient ex-number one Girl, Luna.

*It's still there..
*"Super Ice Brothers" is listed in the Projected Discography section of the News on the SK9 site. Slated as a release, even though I told Joel or Eon that "Super Ice Brothers" is definitely not SK9.
Try searching Limewire for:

Artist: UK9
Song: Super Ice Brothers
Album: Stardust Winter
I suddenly realized that I'd left SK9 hanging wide open, that I'd left all my Projects hanging wide open, and that I'm no longer cool with that. Could SUN help me cauterize those wounds? Help me seal all these unfinished works away?

I've been working on some new stuff. Most of it is aimless; ethereal, abstract, grip-the-emotion and squeeze it out through softsynth and samples shit. Don't know where it's going, but it's SUN, and I may start writing again, may start again and try for something.. some kind of end for these Ghosts Beneath the Sand, these gaps in Completion left behind by my aspirations..
Water the Desert.
Last Summer, IXxy.. just to let you know, I went back to the Industrial Zone. I went back and took pictures for the SUN project. I laid in the dirt and kissed the head of a mummified animal and felt like I'd brought that mummified head back home.

I looked into the desperate azure sky of that place through beads of sweat and felt like some insane loop was being completed. I missed you.
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SUN. [Dec. 9th, 2008|12:28 am]
Xeno Star
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Sinister. [Sep. 9th, 2008|06:31 pm]
Xeno Star

okay. guess they ran with something else.
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Decade X. [Jul. 26th, 2008|06:56 pm]
Xeno Star
i remember
Jonathan's dad was a drunk
there were mouse droppings on the floor
and mice were your bedmates.

Jonathan's mom, however
was nowhere.

scumbag landlord,
we were gonna' teach him a lesson.

the house was unoccupied
i'm guessing my mind was as well
[crank and forties, Ladies and Animals]
and i laughed as that fucking piano burned

piece of shit el camino
the getaway ride
figures that a mexican kid was driving it

i was homeless and in love
though i had a room in an apartment
and had no room in my heart for Love.

i fucking laughed as that Love burned.

i remember
waking up for the first time
to pigs throwing the door open
and rushing in the room

my cheap, old stereo system
staring blankly back
with some purple and white stickers on the cassette bays
stating only "9"

i was laying in bed with my Love
wearing only some schoolgirl-looking skirt
man, i bet they laughed.

i remember
the Sterile White
the Graphite [my only Saviour]
the Wine [Burgundy]

over and over again
going back, back, back
to a cage

key to the lock was my mouth,
filled with bullshit

razorblades, contempt and bullshit for ten fucking years

ten-thousand dollars, many wasted relationships, domiciles and dreams aborted...

for $250.00 worth of roof damage.

sleepless nights, AA/NA groups, drug counseling, mental hospitals, binges, inability to find employment, suicide attempts, ammendments to probation, medication, pissing in beer cans, wailing under those fucking razors, the traps; the mousetraps, the constant fucking fear of 20-99 in prison, the Beast in the Tower...

over with, tonight at Midnight, so far as i know.

figures it would be on the twenty-seventh.

so be it, [Pyro]Beast.
i thought you'd get me, afterall.


i'll see you in the next life
and i won't let you do your damage.
that fire in your bowels will be an INFERNO next time.

and Ruine Black will burn to the ground
while i burn to the Heavens,

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Invert Six. [Jun. 4th, 2008|06:00 pm]
Xeno Star
Hard Sun beating down on glistening flesh, now tense from days in the Yard.
Time supple and loose, might have been forty-five minutes or nine.
Waiting on No. 5 to take me to the Station

so i can wait for No. 6 to take me to the Den.

Vodka in my bag makes it easier to sit in the sun.

(cum was drizzling all over my hand mere hours before)

I hold the plastic disc in my hand while i smoke, wondering why the Beast in the Tower still mocks me.

Didn't i do my Time? Have i not layed my guts (albeit haphazardly) out on a number of burning Summer Tables, expecting Catharsis while receiving nothing but more fuel for my anxiety and paranoia?

A ladybug with spirals for antennae in that disc.
Stupid fucking fate.

Ten minutes early, No. 5 arrives. No wonder i have such trouble getting around here.
This Pit can't even run a Public Transportation System properly.
I'm sure the Beast sees to that.

In the No. 5.

I sit in the very back, taking nips of liquified potato, feet propped up, farmer's tan quite apparent. There is no reflection in the window. I am a Ghost of the City.

A Ghost.

At the Transit Station.

Dust rises ominously in the Wind, a shroud for a dead town believing itself to be growing, to be alive. I can see the Santa Fe building and the myriad other buildings IXtinda and i infiltrated between 95' and 98' roughly, looming in the skyline.

The color of everything is wrong.

And of course, the No. 6 is running late.

In the mirror of the bathroom at the Station, i see a tired-looking zombie with scraggly hair looking morosely back at something pretending to be alive.

I wonder if the people on the south side of the Station are afraid of me, if they can smell the disquiet on my body.

I certainly would not be surprised if they did.

We do smell of that sort of thing. Even as apes rising (or falling?) from the muck, i think we did and still and do posess an ability to smell fear and anxiety on our siblings.

Something chemical, probably.

Survivalist shit, you know?

No. 6 shows up late, after i've been watching the wind throw empty beer cans and veils of dust around the deserted parking lots and streets for a good hour.

I get on and head toward the back.

The Girl i'm in love with is on my mind, but a number of pointless memories are pushing for space in all that Dead Wind. I unscrew the cap and pull from the bottle in my backpack, hoping no one's really paying attention.

We're all trying to get somewhere without much to go on, right? Why would anyone care if a guy with farmer's tan and military-esque clothing takes a nip in the back of the bus?

But someone looks. And i play it off, pretending to not be able to find something in my bag.

There's a sign above my head declaring War by means of Red Bar if i drink on the bus.

It's alright. I'm not drinking..

I'm Drinking.

The nice-looking houses roll by, the little restaurants slip silently into the Summer, the cars loll stupidly in the streets, the crippled and able tend to their tasks with sullen faces, and i just watch, feeling very little, if anything at all.

I now sit in the Den, waiting for my Love to come keep me company in this Hollow Hovel painted Embryonic Orange by the setting sun, watching the dusty, old sacks covering the west window flap in the breeze of some Strange Summer wind..

Old Xenosaur X driving pleasant screws into my head, taking nips of soggy french fries and drags of hand-made cigs dying by my mouth as the Great Eye slips down..

Dust and Debri..

Dried sweat, cum and the faint decade-old smell of incense..


Transit to Another Era.

Light and wind transporting me to another Era, though i desire not to stay..

[the sacks over the window were once used for hauling Potatos]
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Otherwhere. [May. 16th, 2008|09:07 am]
Xeno Star
beat the alarm this morning
no photo necessary;
got it by fifteen minutes.

"just one more day" i tell myself
as the Bottle smiles from the floor
"one more day in the Yard" i say.

tomorrow, i will tell myself the same thing.

sunburn and rebar
not being the only stinging regret on my shoulder,
true exercise today will be comprehension.

not even one year in Ruine Black,
in some Otherwhere,
and i've already deconstructed two lives.
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