The closing of last year.

                                       
                                          The closing of last year.
                               Blessings counted, one by fucking one.
                                            By Mark William Darus.

　

            I frankly cannot believe I am still alive. Last year was without question the strangest one I have ever known in my fifty years of riding the life-coaster.

           Let’s start January of 2012, shall we.

           2012 rang in with me on a psycho leave from work due to a diagnosis of bipolar type 2/manic depression if you’re old school like me as well as one other thing. The length of this leave was well over 3 months in duration. There were eval’s and the building of medications to level me out as much as possible without getting the Lamictal Death-Rash, (glad I didn’t get that, but back them It really wouldn’t have bothered me.) Yeah, pretty sad…

         I went into this year broke and behind on everything. Oh well, you can’t rebuild without tearing things down and smashing them into tiny bits and clearing the debris. My family did help out, but one can only ask for so much.

          I went back to work toward the end of February 2012 with a level head, (well, as level as my head ever gets that is.) I had a new manager, loads of training to take and things there felt pretty good.

         When I went back to work though, I had no issue to answer peoples questions as to why I was out. I simply told them I was on a ‘psycho-leave for bipolar.’ You can gage people fairly well by watching their reactions to blunt answers said enthusiastically.

        The reactions so varied in display. Some would smile and say ‘go figure’ while others looked horrified and said ‘MY GAWD!”

          As counseling with my psychologist continued ever forward, I became curious to his line of questioning and how each session, he‘d periodically toss out two to three apparently random questions. After a while, those questions had a certain order to them. I did some research and asked him if he was giving the Hare Psychopathy Checklist Revised.

         Where my mind was in early March 2012:

         As things generally happen in my life, I had just started research of child psychopaths after the Chardon High School (Chardon Ohio, USA February 27 2012). My mind, perhaps being more able to focus on psych-meds, I could sustain the ability to seek and find answers to questions my mind asked me. My mind is always asking questions as I see things that make no sense. Before last February though, these thoughts/questions/drives would merely last a day or so and I’d get bored and find something new to ponder. Well, in late February, I could focus.

         As I said earlier, I asked my psychologist if he was giving me the PCL-R.

         His reaction was expected. He smiled and simply said, “Well, you did say you’ve read psych books since age 12 and that I should be smarter than you on this. Apparently, my aim was good, and your sight better than I’d expected.”

           “So I was right?” I asked.

           “Yes. I’m sorry, but our time is through.” He stood, extended his hand to me.

          That was that on with my psychologist. I have no hard feelings.

           I still had my psychiatrist, and is she ever cool!

            It was with that research I happened on the psychological works of Dr. Robert Hare and Dr. Hervey Cleckley.

           I’ll share with you the link for the PCL-R at the bottom of this entry.

            A few words on the works of Dr. Robert Hare, born 1934 Calgary/Alberta Canada. He spent over 35 years studying criminal psychology. Author of several books: Snakes In Suits: When Psychopaths go to Work: 2006 (an eye opener to say the least), Without Conscious: The Disturbing World of Psychopaths Among Us, 1993 (a must read if you are into psychology.) I frankly think this man is a genius.

           Dr. Hervey Cleckley, born Augusta Georgia USA 1903, passing January 28 1984 was a pioneer in the field of psychiatry. His book, which you can find the PDF on the Net titled The Mask of Sanity, I believe to be the best psychology book I have ever read! Dr. Robert Hare devised his PCL-R test in part on the work of Dr, Cleckley.

                      March 3 2012 I started Psychopathy: Another Life.
                     This was to be the baby of my mind: My Brainchild.
                       My thoughts, beliefs, my inter-workings, if you will.


                 I shared this with both my psychologist and my psychiatrist. My ‘cologist smirked at this and said, ‘I expected no less of you, Mark. Good luck!’ My ‘ciatrist was enthused to no end, shook my hand and smiled so beamingly it could have cut the densest of foggy drives. ‘I can’t wait to read your thoughts sent out!’

              And so it began from a literary standpoint.

          The thoughts and interpretations so easily mated with words that I could not, and still have problems believing, they came from my mind.

           This blog has not been well received by everyone in my life. That’s okay though, not everyone likes the blunt truth of psychology, or its writers manipulations to make vital sense, and why should they? It’s like this: Those that read romance novels hardly ever read Clive Barker or Stephen King.



          Set the chronological fuck-up machine: Fall 2011:

           I started on a bowling league for the first time in years. Somehow a I felt some need to prove myself in the world of strangers. I gained a great deal from this. I learned how to become a part of a team with men once again. >I’m sorry, but the team-building exercises I had for ten years at Progressive Insurance but really lack in all sincerity.<

          I started with an average of 143 and over a season took it to a 191. The following summer league I bowled a 297 game. Sadly, due to lack of cash, I could not continue the following fall season of 2012. That sucked, but there was nothing I could do after I got canned in August 2012.

           Not much changed between March and July of 2012.

           About Mid-July, I was at a Big Lots store and saw a digital camera and bought it. Like psychology, I’ve always had a love for photography.

           It is truly funny how things work in my life.

            In mid August I got terminated from Progressive Insurance after over 10 years of loyal servitude before the mast for a timecard fuck-up. Granted, in the twelve months prior to this, I’d seen many others become non-employees and was flabbergasted when I had heard while I was on leave about them giving the companies ’coaches’ the ’take-this-or-be-gone spiel.’

            The music stopped at that point in my employment there, and I was left chairless.

           Good thing I am Nonviolent in nature, isn’t it?

         I wish I could say the same about others I know currently under the ProgDar there. (ProgDar: Progressive Radar.)

        Within a month of getting fired, I had my first photograph used as a book cover. I cannot express how my mind went nuts over that! Further, when the second book cover happened about a month later.

          Count my Blessings? Oh, yeah. Something was happening, changing within me. I knew it, sensed it and lived it.

          I have never doubted that some power, faith, inner subconscious belief can make things occur and bring shining moon glows cutting heavy cloudy nights and slice the murkiest of hazes and fog and show reason to be and inspiration. I have spent a great deal of my life expressing this belief to others as they reached their tiniest last strand as they asked me to waste them so they could get to heaven/nirvana/Valhalla without having to commit suicide. For me to end their lives and take the guilt from them for their wish to die.

       I frankly didn’t think I’d see it for myself as it happened.

        Somehow, I did though.

         I’d be lying if I said the thought of suicide didn’t cross my mind about a half dozen times though.

        I even went Facebook on one desolate and dank night when my meds were off about my wishes to die.

       I was caught, and the Cleveland Police arrived at my door. Thanks, BEX.

        They took me to the hospital.

          I didn’t even get a padded cell and expressed that I felt slighted by this. I was discharged about 8 hours after admittance. I learned a lot about how Cuyahoga County treats potential suicidal people )I can’t say ‘victims’ though.( I walked home from there. I wrote about the experience. They never even called my psychiatrist. I called her later that day and told her what happened.

       She is so cool! She said: ‘Cool! Can you get her to see me today?”

       “Of course, Dr.”

         As most times when seeing her, she’d schedule me for the last appointment of her day.

                       
         She’d bill for 15 minutes but her and I would talk for well over an hour. Sometimes we’d go to two hours over passionate discussions of the human condition. From all recollections of others I’ve known with meetings with psychiatrists, this simply does not happen.

            I understood full well why my psychologist no longer wished to work with me. He knew my score on the PCL-R, and I cannot say I blame him. Most in the this profession need to fear being sucked into the vortex of psychopathy.

          Counting my blessings yet again: My psychiatrist had no such fear. In the coldest of thinking and calculating on my part, I‘d wonder: Was she merely using me as a case study for her benefit? I really hope so. I hope she writes a book about her cases, her observations, hunches and thoughts. At more than a few points during our months together, I advised her she’d be an idiot if she didn’t use her sessions with clients to further the world of the human mind.

          I am happy to say this: Since I lost my benefits four months ago, we still chat and she reads this blog. Thank you, Dr! It is so nice to have you in my corner.



                                 November: Comes the dark time.
                                           Sort of, that is.

                 My gas got shut off in November 2012. I can’t say I blame them. It had been a few months without paying for them to chop it off. Yet for as horrific as this would sound to a Northeast Ohioan, it really didn’t faze me. This is not to say I am totally without fazing, it just didn’t seriously disturb me. Why should it have? I was applying everywhere for a job, donating plasma for cash, basically doing the best I could to keep my animals fed. And failing. You do what you can do…

            This leads me to the stories I’ve yet to post about standing in the lines of humans to donate plasma. So much more like dairy cattle lined up for a milking, they are herded into buildings and sucked on for a bit. I was surprised by how many weren’t crackheads, heroin addicts or prostitutes after a bad night on the corner. I met recently former Ford, GM, Bank of America, Progressive Insurance, Allstate Insurance, Walmart, Kmart, Sears, Target employees. I also careened with the likes of full time employees of Red Lobster, Olive Garden, Perkins, and other companies as they were told there hours would be cut to part time after January One 2013. Go figure on that last part: medical benefits made American Companies run for cover. I smile though: Corporate psychopothy is alive and well… Amen.

            In September 2012, I met many that were recently hired by Progressive Insurance as part timers. Hmmm, would that have anything to do with the new mandates on full timer health care?

           November screams into December and thanks to my youngest daughters lead, I gain the job I currently hold. I’m also told I will have a third and fourth book cover.

         My new job is physical in nature. Unlike my ten years at Progressive Insurance, I do not have to apologize repeatedly for things I had no control over, further making me a corporate drone and emotionally lacking human. What price to maintain an income?

        This new job has me on my feet for 10 hours a day moving several tons of manufactured steel by hand every day. Am I making less per hour? Yes, about 7 an hour less. Does this job give me an ability to look at myself each day knowing I didn’t pass out line after line of bullshit? Absolutely!

        I could not have gotten through august to December of 2012 without Gretchen and Dave R and family. Your unwavering support was incredible.

                           Now in 2013: Outlook.

                      Hell, I got past 2012, I cannot see what 2013 has to bring…
                       I am an Idiot, albeit a happy one, afterall.

                          Here's the link to the PCL-R:
                                     http://arkancide.com/psychopathy.htm
                                 feel free to email me via rhinokorg@sbcglobal.net or my facebook email your results and your thoughts. You should know by know, what you share, will be anonymous.
                                
                                    I'd also like to thank the 68 countries that take the time to read this blog. Over 12,000 reads, and I thank you all!


                                      Mark William Darus.

              PS> Thanks to Santander consumer Credit USA. I called them today about paying off what I thought I had left owed on my truck. They told me it was paid-off and chucked the 250.00 I owed them. Pretty cool.


                                 

Merry Holidaze: part two

                                   Merry Holidays part 2: A cautionary tale.
                                           By Mark William Darus.

　

Set your Wayback machines to the mid-seventies. I’m like 12 or 13. Santa gave me this Absonormouslyistic HO scale Tyco slot car set. I mean this puppy had it all! It had banked turns, four level high cross overs, insane hairpin turns and cars so heavily magnetically made they’d never fly off the track.

The magnificently logo’d design so truthfully said: 68 FEET OF SOLID RACING ACTION!!!

This was true.

Looking back, I have to give my dad more credit than I did then. Being young, I simply thought we’d open the box and race. I’d forgotten how long it took us to make the Eldon track happen.

I was so antsy and irritated with dad saying, ‘we’ll make it, Mark. We have eat dinner first, clear the dining room table, take care of the dishes and then we’ll make it.”

It was 7:17 AM when I opened hugesaurus present that held “THE TYCO!” and dinner wasn’t until what?!?!?! 2-3PM?!?!?!?! I was freaking out, most sincerely.

Dad and Mom would exchange glances, and mom would ask “ready for another tea, Mark?” I always enthusiastically said YES! Mom: No one has ever made tea like you. I miss you…

Okay, so I was a prick even then. Everyone opened presents, I’d open theirs for me and they’d open mine to them (the cash given me by mom and dad to buy for my sisters and grand folk. Granted, I clearly had issues as I’d sometimes label them: To grandpa, From Satan (he kind of liked that though. To Holly from Ansta! You get the point, I’d toss curves into shit. I’d do this to see their reactions. Christ knows though, I never signed stuff like for grandma or mom. >Well, I did do odd things to the Manger set that my Grandmother made by hand, but I’ll get to that later…<

My tiny jammied frame just sucked it up though, but my mind kept running me silently. WANT SLOT CAR! WANT TRACK SET UP! WANT RACING NOW!!!!

I’m not sure who in my family would say meaningful things like: Patience, Mark. You look sad, Mark, didn’t you get what you asked Santa for? I think this had to come from my sister Holly: Okay, so we run the track around the Bird, over the cranberries to grandmothers rolls we go?

Okay, have you ever lived in a Northern climate during Christmas? You know, the fairy tale realm of a real White Christmas, a few inches of snow on the ground with icy sidewalks, temperatures in the teens for Santa to give you a bike and be told: Oh, you can’t ride that now! It’s too cold. If you fell, you’d split your head wide open!

Call me Southparks Cartman, my eyes were X’s, my lips resembled the dire EKG zig-zag pattern displaying obvious distress. All their words were meaningless to me! Mindless placations to either aide me or to simply make me less of a buzz-kill for them. It didn’t matter to me though, I was a punk-ass 12-13 year old male child and I wanted SLOT CAR RACING!!!!

Hours pass with the swift speed of slowly falling water over sharp edged stone to make it round and smooth.

In later years, I stopped cutting my hair. I liked the long look. Though I was never a hippie, persay. It did take a long time as it grew about an inch a month back then when I was 16 or so for it to cascade over my shoulders and become an embarrassment to my father. Now dad was bald in my total memory of him. He never did the ‘wrap to long remaining strands’ around the head thing. He simply had the ‘look at the top of my head. You either see the letters ‘u’ or ‘n’ depending on your angle,’ thing. He was always cool that way. He’d gone bald early in life, and it never bothered him in the slightest in my best recall. I grew mine long! It’s as if I was saying: Remember my slot car track torture dad? Well, this is me getting even.

I’m talking Cowsills Hair long.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BFy-yzj02FE

Yeah, I know each generation has to have some point of rebellion. It’s damn near mandatory if you look backward over time. In my life, these coming-of-age rebellions have spanned from, say: Men growing hair to their ass, women shaving their heads bald, men piercing their left ears when the hair length thing became passé, women going braless (I did so like this shift in the history of female fashion! I always knew there was a 50 percent chance that they were truly happy to meet me given their bodily signs.)

During the seventies, women wanted the life they had during WWII. ‘Back When‘. A time when women in the United States worked the factories for the War-Machine doing a Mans job as the men fought the Evil Foe and such. Women learned to like the independence they gained in the physical workplaces of factories, foundries and mass production. They felt a sense of belonging that wasn’t solely based on housework, their kids and their husbands status over backyard chats. In the seventies, after some 25 years after the Second Great War, they wanted equal pay for equal jobs. These women and their generation, undoubtedly propelled by their mothers words reminisced fondly about WWII stories, made an impact.

My sister Holly was a leading benefactor of this time period. Having a grandfather and father in the Cleveland Steel life, she easily got summer jobs during her college years that opened a doorway not normally desired by girls of her age. I say she ‘easily got’ a summer job, which she did. Back when, if you were a ‘Steel Man’, you could get you kid a two-three months of summer labor work job. This Summer Help would push brooms, keep bathrooms tiddy, dump trash, and perhaps shovel slag. Then, these jobs were a given like flack from a gooses arse. Unskilled labor jobs in the late seventies were a dime a dozen here. After Holly claimed her degree at Case Western Reserve University, she went full time at Republic Steel. No longer being some ‘summer-flunky’, she soon heaved a heavier shovel. She’s not the shortest woman in the world, but she is close. She heaved slag for years before getting into a Crane Operator position.

On shoveling Slag. Slag is a by-product of the steel making process. Look at slag like this: You eat a really tasty steak. Your body gets what it needs, protein and such (pure steel created) and eventually casts off what isn’t steel (the byproducts) which is little more than shit from your arse and it‘s your job to make it go away. Another way of looking at shoveling slag is this: Imagine your driveway, and your driveway is about 8 miles long. Now imagine a wet snowfall that lasts all year long that you must clear every hour of every day. Each tug on your shoulders heavier than the last as you lift. Thigh muscles burning with each forward push.

In all honesty, If I can say there is one thing I am happy about it is my sister Holly’s perseverance when it came to being a steel worker/Crane Operator. She worked her arse thru the ranks and as Republic Steel became LTV, ISG, now Acelor Mittal, she still is in command of a seriously heavy fucking machine towering a hundred feet above those below her.

NICE!

Aw shit, I went further into an area that strayed.

But did it really go so far awry?



Well, men started piercing both ears, some carrying packs resembling a husky-esque purse, songs about unmarried women being pregnant began to spring out with Paul Anka’s (you’re) Having My Baby, (I really hated that fucking song. Such a disgusting abuse of musical instruments! However, Odia Coates vocals sounded emotionally felt, and great.)

This is out of time-based order here, but nearly almost everyone of both sexes went tattoo crazy, followed by body piercing. With tat’s of ‘MOM’ on an upper forearm of some Navy ensign far away from home and missing her, we blasted to full body Artworks covering entire flesh space that lead to magazines based solely on the subject. When it came to body piercing, we went from early Tribal nose piercing to lip, cheek and earlobe elongations to nipples, penis’ and labial areas where metal mates with flesh.



>>>going off on a tangent here, so bare with me, dearest reader. Of the hundreds of both women and men I have talked to about their piercing themselves, those that pierced their tongues, I so easily asked them: “Why the fuck did you do that?”

They always, and I do mean always, answered equally.

“I wanted to give him/her more pleasure.” they’d say with a smile.

They’d see my raised eyebrows and usually ask, “can you imagine it?”

“Not really. I can’t think of the splendor of lukewarm steel against my stout good fellow. But if I did wish such a thing, I’d merely ask her to take a few ball bearings into her mouth and say go for it, darling. I’m sure I’d have to pay for this event to occur, but I’d never want any woman in my life to plant a hole in their tongue, shove a hypoallergenic rod through it to make me feel, uhhhh, more aroused.”

They’d get a bit nervous when I said this. Go figure, if you’ve imagined yourself as the deer in the headlights across a road, you know how they must have felt. They’d usually look stunned, more often than not, their jaw would drop showing me their upper teeth.

“One thing I have to know though, if you don’t mind me asking you a question?” I’d sip my coffee and casually inquire.

“Uhhh, course not. Go ahead.” They’d try to sound confident, but more often then not, their words sounded more like a question.

“When you eat Skippy Chunky Peanut butter, do the hunks of nuts get stuck in the hole in your tongue?” To this day, I don’t believe I have ever received a truthful answer on this.

　

GOD DAMN IT, WHERE IS MY SLOT CAR TRACK???

Oh, yeah. How could I forget. It’s being held hostage in the fucking cardboard box!

The table did get cleared, dishes washed and tucked away for the next 11 and three quarter months and my father and I would assemble ‘The Tyco”.

68 FEET OF SOLID RACING ACTION!!!

I guess I learned this from my father. Direction are for idiots and morons. Just read the pictures and you’ll figure it out. This turn goes to this set of straights and another crossover piece. See it in the 3D he’d push my mind.

Over the years of my youth there was no lack of building toys in my background appearing at Christmas, birthdays or just whenever presents from good grades.

My parents had the coin and mind to know that giving your kid Lego, Lincoln Logs and Erector Sets created and inspired the ability of growth to a mind craving stimulus beyond school. At age forty, perhaps a tad year or two before, I began to build things. Working with wood, some came out fine, ie a cocktail table and end tables, some candles sticks, a shed created without a written diagram, I got lucky. That luck though, was based on the build things from those earlier toys given to me from my mom and dad, and of course, Santa.

So me and my father layed the track. He smiled as he’d say: No we can’t start yet. We have to lay the overpassess and the guardrails.

Well, it’s now about 8pm and we’re ready for out first race.

My heart is thrumping madly. My blue HO car sporty Richard Petty colors displayed is next to a car I can’t remember. We’re on the Start Line and I’m ready to run…

I can’t remember who said: Get ready, Get set, GO!!!!!

But we ran!

Fantastic!

Go to a week later.

New Years eve turning to years day.

My father and I that stroke of midnight decided to run the night for a marathon. We’d run our cars til they fell apart.

Dick Clark in New York made the ball drop.

Party people!

My dad and I made our historic run.

Lap after lap over 68 FEET OF TRACK, our cars thundered about its course. Sometimes his car gaining lead over mine to mine taking over his. We’d see our cars arses press against the guardrails punching through toward further speed. Small electric motors hissing as rubber wheels meet plastic roads. Pressing onward.

About an hour later, the Teddy and Mark Speedway went sideways.

My sisters had celebrated New Years in ways I’d gain appreciation for later in years down the road.

So my dad and I racing our cars, and Holly and Heidi enter the living room. My dad and I got our thumbs on the buttons running our cars for Supreme Male Dominance of this Household.

“How was it?” Mom asks. She’s had a few Chivas’ and soda, though I cannot say for sure.

“It was cool,” Holly said. “It was fun.”

And my sister Heidi, and who could tell what her face really looked like in a living room of xmas really looks like.

Heidi hurls at me and dad.

Her puke covers several layers of track.

Facial expressions cover the living room and dining room, though even then no harsh punishments would occur.

I don’t seriously you have experienced life until you witness a pair of tiny electric HO scale slot attempt to beat ‘heave hazard’. There is nothing quite like seeing the smallest of wheels splash and hurl bits of vomit about.

　

　

This goes down as one of the best xmas’ of my life!!!

So real and so raw.

So human.

Mark William Darus

PS: I thank these two readers from across the planet for their Xmas present! I can't say I  expected this, but I'd be an idiot to say I didn't like it. Thank you and as you asked, you are permanatently held in my camera and my mind. Facebook friend me.... Yet still, thank you!!!

Merry Holidays!

                   Fifty Christmas: Hand Held to cynical. Part one.
                                       By Mark William Darus.

　

This Christmas I was given a view to see xmas’s past.

Perhaps it’s the medications working, but my memory seems to be able to run backward over time on a single day of recurrent memory.

Christmas day.

As tiniest memory took hold, I so remember the smells of childhood.

My older and sisters and I would desperately wait at the top of the stairwell for mom or dad to give us the ‘all-clear’ to run down and see what Santa left for us. The smell of English Tea always hit me first. Mom would make me warm tea in a Skippy Peanut butter jar. She’d make it for me with the right amount of sugar and milk. Delicious!

We’d run down the stairway, and through the childhood view of things, see the same things we saw the night before. Colourful room of magnificent splendor where all things looked brand-new to us. Packages shining against a fake fireplace.

Setting the wayback machine, Sherman.

I remember Christmas eves with my fathers mother. Besides funerals and weddings, this was the only time there’d be a gathering of the Darus’. The food was always great, and though my elder sisters have a different memory of this, I was still happy to see my cousins and uncles.

Their memories became twisted with their experiences and should be seen as real to them. I being younger saw things through lens’ vastly different and much less cynical then theirs.

I was about 6-8 then.

Granted at that point I had a knowledge of death. My dad faced his first heart surgery that back in the late 60’s to 70’s was a 50/50 shot at best.

Death? Well, that was when the nightmares become real when you awake and all you love is gone, right?

　

So many xmas days I’d run downstairs to see what Santa left for me.

More Importantly to me: How my dad and I would put them together to make work! Slot car sets, train tracks, Lego, Lincoln Logs and Erector Sets. During this wondrous point, my father and I would meet and work together. He’d give me his time, so incredibalbly important looking backward, so blown off by me back then. Sometimes hitting the rewind button hurts.

One of my fondest memories was that of my father and I building an Eldon Slot car set around 1970 or so. Wide track like that of Carrera 1/24 Scale. Cars would fly off the track and he’d laugh at me as hit the throttle too strong.

Years later, he’d get me a Tyco set. It would take he and I hours to make the track. So patiently we, by his guidance, would place the guardrails on the corners to keep the cars from blasting into the otherness of living room furniture and dogfood bowels.

End of Part one…

　

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Mark William Darus. 12252012

Earth Angels: Those that see and respond.

                            
                Finding self while walking with Strangers: Earth Angels
                                         By Mark William Darus.

　

I awoke about 3pm this afternoon. I let the dogs out and while doing so, filled their food bowls. Both dogs romped about on the white surface of the snow and seemed happy in doing so. As they did so, I replaced my sleep clothing and donned items more suitable for the outside world.

I brought the dogs in, gave them snacks and they ate as I left the house.

Chilly air hits me as I walked to my truck. Brisk air, biting at the nose as footfalls create a ‘crunching’ sound with each step forward.

I look about me. A film of white covers objects of steel, raised concrete and wood.

A season attempting a foothold over the land. Wishing for its rightful place here at this time, taking baby steps to later walk and reach a full run.

I start my truck and open my gates. I glance at my tiny pond, not frozen, I feed the fish in it.

I reenter my truck, back out and head to the ‘Morning Store’ where I have gotten coffee from for over 18 years. Best coffee in Tremont, Cleveland Ohio: Tremont QuikMart.

Having coffee that I take a huge swig of, I light an L&M with full inhale, and begin to drive.

It’s always fun watching people develop ‘winter feet’. That area where they acclimate themselves to driving their vehicles on ice.

I go by the West Side Market area of Clevelands Westside. Bustling with life and energy as people happily walk about visiting it’s many bars and restaurants. Long-haired blonds with skinny legs, men in t-shirts, brunettes in low-cut tops. Nice.

I decided to hit the upper area of Edgewater Park. This became very interesting indeed. Apparently the salt trucks did not visit here. I saw tire tracks aiming at trees, utility poles and sidewalks.

                       

Speed limit 10MPH. No shit, I did about 5MPH and spun out twice. There is something to be said about the sensation of losing control of a two ton object at such a low speed. You truly view things a tad different with each near miss of a curbs, trees and poles. My breathing and heart rate stayed the course as I powered my Trailblazer forward.

I cackled like some child on Xmas day getting a slot car track with each close call avoided.

Eventually finding a place to park, I gulped a beyond large swig of coffee, it’s spillings covering my grey beard and dropping to my lap, creating a familiar warmth.

I set my camera in place after wrapping her leash several times around my right arm and left my truck.

　

Ignorantly wearing a baseball cap instead a head covering worthy of this time of year, I walked on.

Looking around me I was immediately held by a beauty that can only be seen this time of year here. It’s ability to be cold in air, stark displaying of leafless trees against foreboding skies and yet bring a warmth of heart reaching the mind.

Oh yeah, I was psyched for this.

I started firing shots left and right. I saw a family sledding and spoke to them.

Watching their children thundering down the slope, their parents cheering them on, sharing words between us. Seeing their children pulling plastic sleds behind them, their massive smiles, I could feel their tiny hearts pounding violently in their chests. Triumphant, exhilarated, wanting another turn at bat, another round. C’mon mom/dad, just one more time!

These things hit me hard. I don’t know why though. I soon walked away.

I leaned against a tree and lit a L&M. The tree was icy and leaning against it soon took me downward. Gravity works and in little time I was on knee and one foot. Being someone that has never really hated the feeling of falling since I learned how to ski in the ninth grade (thanks Mom!) I let myself fall down.

When I hit our great Mother Earth, I saw this, and took a shot.

This was the beginning of a sunset that has me writing this entry.

　

How’s that for windy intro? Yes, I know, I do get highly wordy and most gusty in my mental tossing’s here as well as on Facebook. Well, perhaps not so much on Fbook as here…

　

Wrong hat on head, tiny winds blowing across Lake Erie slowly numbing my earlobes, I strolled across crispy ice covered grass.

CRUNCH-CRACKLE-CRUNCH: Each footfall took me further on with the sounds of car horns above me. There were no birds chirping, no gulls crying yet the sounds of jets heading toward Hopkins chimed overhead.

Vibrant nature captured me. Bare lonely limbed trees, water crashing over cold rock with the background of changing skies of shades of greys and blues. I’ve always held the changing of seasons in my city by the lake. This year I can try to capture the miniscule moments once again.

I thank my god of “otherness” for this. When I say ‘otherness’ it may be the same god you pray to. Any of you that have read my blog knows my thoughts. What you have as a higher power is what you have. Makes no difference to me as I don’t judge. I don’t judge your country, nationality, creed or anything. Atheists to me are the same as anyone else.

We all share this place. We all work, and sometimes don’t, with one another. We talk and walk with one another, share close space in check out lines, bump into each other at gas stations, and tend to all agree over increasing prices.

We’re connected and are one, whether we like it or not.



Sorry about that, I do off on tangents that seem to only make sense to me alone.

　

I start pumping pics. I walk down an odd set of stairs and hit a beach I have never seen.

I find a fallen tree over the sand and begin to fire more photos.

“Are you okay?”

\ I hear a womans voice from nowhere. I thought I was like walking on the moon here, alone.

There is a lady and her man, arm in arm, looking at me. Behind them is a snowy white blanket against rock and dead trees.



“I’m, fine. Isn’t this gorgeous tonight? Why do you ask?”

“You’re crying.” she says. Her man shares an expression of concern.

Concern?!?!?! My mind runs on this one. Concern, over me??? I do inventory with my free left hand, my right holding my camera. I discover their fingertips hitting water that seems to be coming from my eyes. Startled, I step back in shock and hit the wet sand with my ass after stumbling over a fallen log.

“Are you okay?” her man asks this time. They pull each other closer as a jet screams overhead to Hopkins Airport.

Well, I have always been an idiot when it comes to personal falling/impacts. After learning skiing and correct way to fall, when I do tumble, I can laugh it off as if never hurts and must look funny to those that see it as I simply go into a Jello glob and ‘THROP’ about.

Laughing, I smile at them and say: “no, really, I’m okay.”

“But you were crying.” She looked me solidly in the eyes.

Her gaze hurt! I felt pain! I wanted to run, but couldn’t. I wanted to hide under a fallen tree, burrow into the sand like an ostrich. Her eyes somehow drilled into me like a titanium bit, going further than it should have. I looked at the cold water of Lake Erie, thinking…

　

　

“Don’t you even think about it!” He said in a genuine tone of compassion.

“About what! Huh?” They were both looking at me. I have never felt so utterly small in my life. My mind ran the gauntlet of a myriad of psychological things: Fight or flight, reject, project, deflect. My mind ran verging on short-circuiting my brain.

And their eyes never waived as they look down at me.

Fuck, Shit, Run! Just run…

Run, Mark.

Mark, Don’t let them into your kitchen.

Don’t kill us. We’ve held you in one piece.

　

They step toward me and my body on sands I’ve never known.

I am so frightened. I don’t cry. I don’t feel anything. I killed those parts of my life and have done okay this way. This gives me strength…

Her right hand held by his left, they both reach down to help me stand. The view behind them from my angle show the clouds, water and landscape in a beautiful moment.

Laying on cold wet sand, I am sobbing. I can feel my body heave air in and out with no control. Hearing my own sounds as I snort and blubber things from nose and mouth. My glasses are shot with moisture, there is snot going toward my mustache. I Idly think: Well these photos are a bust…

Looking up to them, raising my upper body to my knees, I bury my head between my knees. Like a worthless version of Sonic the Hedgehog on a Spin Attack, I didn’t move anywhere.

I am a flesh-ball on this Earth. Standing 5 foot 8 inch frame reduced to that of a 2 and a half foot booger of space. A mere fly dead on your windshield at 60 MPH on freeway.

My mind runs to earlier this week, and I say out: “I just started a new job!”

“You’re name is Mark, right?” she asks.

“yuh-yes,”

“You were crying and didn’t know it.”

“So, what does that mean? How’d you know my name, not that I care at all…”

“But you do care,” the guy says. “if you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be crying in the first place.”

“Oh yeah, and you didn’t want to bed your mother.” I express in retort.

“Mark, no one without emotion can do what you display while taking pictures.” she spoke as my eyes locked on her face. She is brunette, slender and has big green eyes.

“You are at a turning point, Mark.” the guy said as he smiled at me.

“HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME!!!” I demanded.

Never changing expression, she softly said to me, “you spoke aloud as you split. It’s okay, really…”

Their hands embraced by each other, I lifted my left hand to them as I met their eyes.

They lifted me up.

They both threw their arms around me.

Angels exist. And I Really don't thing religion has anything to do with this.

Mark William Darus.

post script: I dedicate this entry to Five Women. Two of these women are my sisters, two are my daughters and the last I've known for over twelve years now. They all have an equal place in my heart. You cannot put them together in the same room though. I have wrestled with this for a long time and I fully know the only time this would ever happen at my funeral.

Yet they all mean so very much to me.

Christ know's I've given you all many areas of my life to rethink your thoughts on me. During this process, I can imagine what you thought and such. Sorry for this.
My road attempting to allow myself the feeling of emotions is not going to be easy. That's okay by me.

MERRY CHISTMAS TO YOU ALL!

Another Life: Day Two

                                            Another Life: Day Two
            When physical aches bring personal satisfaction of feeling alive.
                                            By Mark William Darus.



It has been so long since I felt physical aches and pains of working. Honestly, I can’t remember when the last time was but it surely must’ve been over 25 years ago.

It had to have been when I worked for a company called ABAR MFG. When I wasn’t grinding 3M Oiling Rolls or driving the trucks, I hoisted 50lb bearing boxes, lifted bearing assemblies or tore apart hydraulic and pneumatic cylinders that ranged from 12 inches to 30 feet in length.

Right this very moment my arms are throbbing quite well. My fingers are developing pad calluses which will become my good friend a few days/weeks down the road and my cuticles are swollen and highly red in colour. My lower back is doing the : ‘You fuckin’ idiot! Left with your legs’ routine as I feel something like a dozen midgets jumping up and down on it like some Oz version of Michael Flatley’s River Dance finale. I’ve always been blessed with great legs. I think this came from running track and cross country back in high school and downhill skiing. About 20 years ago, I could leg=press 500 lbs. I bet in several weeks, I’ll be able to repeat that.

I’ve never been a hugely body-proud person. Frankly, I’ve never really thought much about my physical appearance and seldom ever dress appropriately. It just doesn’t matter to me what I looked like and have never had an issue conveying that to others. I’ve never judged anyone on their appearance, lack of hygiene skills, or weight. That’s just how I am. I take people as they are. I also don’t really care how they look at me. It is truly astonishing how many people are offended when you say these things to them face to face.

Okay, let’s have some historical fun. It is the holiday season, after all, a time for smiles and warm memories.

When I was a kid, my dad worked for Republic Steel. He was the second generation steel worker in the family, following my grandpa, my dad’s father in law.

When working swing shifts, (for those of you that don’t know what ‘swings’ are, they are 8 hour shifts that run around the clock. Basically 11PM to 7AM, 7AM to 3PM and 3PM to 11PM. Think of it like the saying: We’re open 24/7! From an Industrial standpoint in the USA, it has nearly become a thing of the past) and dad would be there for dinner, he’d tell us what my sisters and I referred to as Dad’s Lost Limb Stories.

Imagine the horror and shock my sisters and I were subjected to listening to him talk about this person losing a hand from and unfortunate sledgehammer accident and how the severed hands fingers still twitched after moments later. He’d go on and on some guy losing a chunk of thigh when a Signode band let go on a 15 ton steel coil and whipped-slashed and caught him. He was quick to say it didn’t hit his serious vien and mom, who’d been a surgical nurse would add: The femoral artery, Ted.

He’d tell us about tow motor, crane and trucking accidents that always drew anything from mediocre hacks at the flesh to full blown gushes of blood shooting like an oil well hitting pay dirt.

All while we would eat wonderfully blood-red steak, Chinese food <and those noodles always reminded me of the very same tapeworms my mom told me about from her surgical nurse years> , and my all-time favorite Spaghetti and meatballs. There sincerely is nothing quite like talking about free flowing blood, hunks of flesh clung to cold steel while eating pasta with red sauce. This type of thing is something to behold and cherished. I thought it was both great and hilarious!

With all honestly: I loved that time in my life. My sister Holly seemed excited by dad’s stories (possibly one of the very reasons she studied journalism could have come from dads stories of work. I think this also played a hand her becoming a life-long steel worker.) My sister Heidi handled it differently. In all honestly, Heidi never did develop the perverse and disgusting sense of humor that Holly and I grew to either make people laugh or puke with our straight forward thoughts and words we’d express.

I’d call this the Amazing difference of siblings. You are tied together by blood. You share the same memories over mutual points in space and time, though varied over the distance in years apart from one another. To me it goes back the Mesh Theory of the mind: What catches in your mind might slip through mine and vice versa. No sweat, it’s all good! To put it another way, some people can quote every Major league pitchers stats while others can tell you about every minor player in the American Civil War regardless of how obscure this person was portrayed or the massive impact they had on history.

Subtle point, though worth bearing mention. In the time I started writing this entry, most of my aches and pains have subsided. I am not suggesting that all pain can disappear by simply writing them off, but having a passion for something in this life truly helps. As the saying goes in Navy Seal training: It’s mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it won’t matter.

I have to say these last twelve months in my life have been the most turbulent and off-setting in my entire life. I’ve experienced poverty on a scale I didn’t think I’d ever know. I have had help with this from the loyalty of others and for that I am most thankful. Granted, I don’t think this aspect is over yet, but things are looking much better.

I never lost the intrinsic value of Hope no matter how dark things got. I attribute this to being blessed with the mind I was given by my parents and the spirit from Otherness. Everyone has their beliefs of a god and savior. Even with Atheists and their beliefs in themselves over all are huge in their lives. No different than me, you hold those beliefs firm to your heart, deep to your soul and very being of your existence.

Some things, long hidden and self inflicted may be returning to me.

I have come to understand myself greatly in the last twelve months. To the very things that make me ‘tick’ as a human being as I searched my eternal question: What makes us human?


I believe psychopathy is not a lifelong affliction. I am in the most profound of minorities on this, though there are others that share this kernel of thought.

From a medical aspect though, a person can rewire their neurons to the point of no return. Basically saying: you can waste the emotional part of your brain, the Amygdala, over time and with your sheer will power to create Emotional Lerposy. This is close to changing a hardwired circuit pattern on an electrical board: When doing so, some currents change flow in a different direction, causing the original design to fry, become useless and unfixable.

And yes, I think Emotional Leprosy is the best way to describe what those like I did. I kind of like that line/title <Emotional Leprosy> and declare it for my own.

I’ve described on this blog how this occurs in earlier entries, so I won’t ramble on now.

I cannot say I will ever return to being an emotional human being again.

I do know things are ever changing within me.

Yes, once again…

We all have our own paths we must walk. Most of us have no clue as to why we walk them yet stroll across the mine fields >mindfields< with the innocents of a happy-go-lucky Black Labrador Retriever walking toward its master over a field of razorblades.

There is such a huge pain factor in learning when it comes to personal growth.

I will never ask for forgiveness in regards to my thoughts or my actions.

I am what I am: a changing part of this world that gives up on no one.

God knows, when I go to sleep to later awaken, I’m sure my body will hurt somewhat like those the day after a car crash.

The aches will pass as all things do in time…

Mark William Darus 12202012

Another Life: Remembering and Rebirth

                        Another Life: Remembering and Rebirth.
                                   By Mark William Darus.

　

I started a new job at 4pm 12182012 and ended my first day at 2AM 12192012.

This job is industrial in nature, far and away from the work I have done for the last twenty years.



Far removed from dealing with irate people blasting petty complaints over the slightest things. Example 1. “How much is the pet coverage on my auto policy?” they would ask with a certain tone.

“Pet coverage with free when you have comprehensive and collision.” I’d answer enthusiastically.

“Well, that’s all fine and good. I don’t have any pets!” their agitation grows.

“Okay, I understand. It’s just a free coverage we offer should you have pets. It’s absolutely free.”

“Bullshit, fucker! Nothing’s for free! <they’d give you just long enough to start talking before they would cut you off> “Look! I’m on a tight budget! I know you’re charging me for this!”

“But, ma’am/sir, we’re not charging anything.” I’d maintain a calm tone of voice as I always did. >what I really wanted to do was say something like: “Look shithead, it’s FREE! Do you understand what free is?”>

“Well, you don’t seen to be understanding me! If I were you, I’d be figuring out how to lover my rates without a lack of coverage! You best be doing this, or I’ll have your JOB!!!”

You know, I always wanted to say to many of these idiots: Why, is there something wrong with the job you have?”



It was surprising how many people would get so perturbed that they’d make totally ludicrous statements like: “I want your boss!” >not: I want to talk to your boss…<

Having mostly female bosses at Progressive, I often wondered how they’d respond to: “Okay, cool, I guess you’re tired of your husband and want to step out! Eh?”

Good God, the crap phone reps have to take is amazing! If you ever saw the movie Office Space, >thanks to DB for cueing me on this film< you can get an idea of what it’s like.

You do phone work enough years and you really do develop a certain numbness in your tone that sounds good at work, but doesn’t translate too well outside of work. You apologize repeatedly for this events you had no control over in the first that the words ‘I’m sorry’ become totally meaningless. This too, runs into your life outside the job, making others close to you acutely aware that you seem totally insincere. Sad part is, you’re not insincere at with them.

I can’t remember who said this, but it holds true in many forms: Look into a mirror and repeat your name a thousand times. You will feel worse after doing it. It becomes further meaningless the more you repeat it.

The same goes for things like: I’m sorry. I can try to fix that. Allow me to apologize…



Imagine having a job where you find yourself saying the above three things about anywhere between 60 to 100 times a day, quite often doing so many times in the same call. Now, multiply that by 261 days a year (average working days less vacations) then multiply that by 5, 10,15 and 20 years and I think you’ll get my point.

It’s surprising the things you encounter with phone work and the truly ‘special’ people you speak to. Now this wasn’t only at Progressive Insurance as I had done phone work at an alarm monitoring central station as a dispatcher.

In the years I worked as a dispatcher, I’d heard an amazing about bizarre things. This company: Security Associates International. We handled: fire, burglary, hold-up alarms as well as medical alarms )you know, like the ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!’(. We also handled temperature alarms for major chicken and pig farms and nuclear power plants.

Can you fathom a high temperature alarm at a nuclear power plant? Yeah, that can’t be good! Lol….. We always expected to hear about mushrooms clouds blooming over Nebraska or Pennsylvania.

Of course, had Chernobyl had something like this, well, perhaps things might have gone differently.

I remember a night me and my shift boss were pulling a double-plus. We’d call a double-plus working anywhere between 16 and 24 hours straight. We were at hour 18 of work and he gets this fire alarm from some small town in Bum-Fuck-Egypt USA. Well, this town, like so many across the USA has a volunteer fire department. He calls the pager number. In seconds he’s on the floor, laughing and crying like a maniac! I mean, seriously, I can’t remember a time when I saw someone laugh so hard I thought they’d hyperventilate.

“Dude, you okay?” I started to laugh as well. Why? Not sure but I think exhaustion played a part.

“M-M-Mark. C-call the num-berrrrrr on-my S-Screen.” he said while cackling freely.

So I did.

I dial the number.

What greets me for a pager message?

I hear this evil sounding voice that says: “THE WEAK SHALL PERISH!” And no, it wasn’t in the Bible-belt.

“JESUS CHRIST GREG! THIS IS THE ONLY NUMBER LISTED HERE!” At that point my eyes blast water like a sprinkler and I began to laugh hard I pulled a stomach muscle.

Two other dispatchers, who were kind enough not to call off that night, came over to us.



Meanwhile, Greg’s nearly turning blue, I’m laughing like a lunatic. I pointed at the screen and said: “Handle that!”

Next thing you know, everyone’s laughing.

Four of us sent multiple pages and never received a call-back.

Guess we didn’t fuck up though as the company didn’t get sued. That time…

I got this one alarm that almost freaked me out. It was on a medical system with audio. I hear this lady shrieking! It sounded like she was dying. “MY GOD! HELP ME!!! OH GOD! I’M CLOSE, JESUS!“ I try to reach her over the two-way: “Ma’am, are you okay? Do you need an ambulance?” Well, you’d go by the protocol, ask twice and dispatch rescue. So I did.

Twenty minutes later, I get a call back from Watch Commander. He sounded like he was about to hurl. He said we’d scarred his EMS people for life with this call.

“Uh, Sir, what did they find? It sounded like she was either having a heart attack or suffering severe pain.” She had a huge medical history, which we’d convey while dispatching. At this point I’m thinking: oh shit, was she murdered?

“What they found, after breaking in her front door, hearing her screams… Sorry, God, uh…”

“Are you okay?” I ask him.

“When they went upstairs, after calling for Police back-up was, well, disgusting!” His voice is getting an edge, a harshness.

“They found your 83 year old woman riding on her 47 year old boyfriend and let me tell you, she wasn’t in pain!”

I lost it! I began to laugh. Luckily for me, this Watch Commander did the same. Apparently while she mashed flesh with Studly Screw Right, she’d hit the alert button on her pendant.

“Oh, I bet you will never let them live this one down.”

“You know, son” he said. “Is there any way I can get sent an audio of the alarm?”

Feeling confident as to why he wanted it, I quickly said, “For Quality control, absolutely, Sir!”

He starts laughing and thanks me.

Within 3 months after starting at the alarm company, I was training new hires. The turnover rate there was sort of fierce. Here’s one of the reasons why.

I’d have a trainee with me their first day as just an observer. Numerous times, we’d get a ‘failed to test’ alarm. These were always medical in nature. One of the requirements for most medical alarm systems for the elderly or disabled is to have them press the ‘check-in button’ on their pendant. Depending on the severity of their situation, they’d have to do this either in 12 or 24 intervals. When you’d get a fail to test, you’d first call the home. If no answer, you’d call a Police Dept Watch Commander and have them send a squad car to check it out. If the Sub (subscriber) had hidden key info, we’d pass this to them. If the Sub didn’t, they’d break into the dwelling.

Many was the time we’d get a call back saying things like: “You need to call the next of kin. She/he has passed.” That was what we’d refer to as a gentle callback. This didn’t happen very often theough.

More often than not, we’d be told things like: “Son, her corpse is so still you could use her for a diving board!”

My personal favorite were things said, like: “Well, this ain’t good. She’s been gone at least X-number hours (and depending on the month of the year and location) She smelled like spoiled pork and covered with flies. I sent the Meat-Wagon. You gonna cover the NOK (next of kin.)?”

“You betcha. I got it covered, man. Thank you and your troopers, please.”

I always liked how they’d tell me, “Roger that, brother. You sound like you got it.”

In my mind, while calling NOK’s, usually leaving messages on answering machines to call us immediately, I’d say prayers and such for the families.

When training others, you have to give them some slack. After all, how many jobs does the average person have to deal with this kind of thing, right. I was always a good trainer. I could read them fairly well given my background reading psychology books. If they look upset, as most would, understandably, I’d tell them to take 5 minutes, go outside, have a smoke, whatever.

In my years there, we’d lose about 50% of trainees after a call like that. I believed it a natural response to a situation they felt blind-sided by. Depressing in so many areas, they freaked out and ran. They ones that came back though: Some of the best people I have ever worked with.

Now what’s funny were the numbers of NOK’s, when given the bad news would respond with: “It’s about damn time they died!” I lost more than a few trainees after those calls. Go figure…

Then the holidays would roll around.

Who doesn’t love the holidays? Families and friends getting together for a joyous event. The amazing smells of turkey, prime rib, a Honey Baked Ham.Baked Brown and Serve rolls, garlic butter on top. The intoxicating whiffs of fresh cobbler, not to mention people that have been intoxicated for hours.

So nice, so peaceful.

That is until the fire department arrives and their house, questioning why their alarm company sent them. Most people with fire alarm systems have a ‘dispatch immediately’ rider for all fire alarms.

After dispatching on a fire alarm, we’d call the location. When verified, via passcode, we’d attempt to call off the fire department. About 94% of Fire departments will not call off their crews. Keep in mind, long before any Holiday, we’d send Sub’s a notice to either shut off their systems while cooking these feasts or simply call us to have them put on ‘test’ mode for several hours. Most don’t read them or follow those memo’s.

Most cities fine people for false alarms, back when it would be between 500-1000 dollars a false alarm.

Well, the Sub’s failure for doing the preventative measures we suggested generally made for fairly irate callers. It is truly amazing how much an over-cooked bird can cost ya!

I’m getting tired now, so I’ll close this for now.

Before I do though, I must say this: I love my new job. It’s extremely nice not having to say you’re sorry for things beyond your control. It’s nice leaving a shift and smiling on your drive home. It’s great being able to talk like a real person with coworkers and not having to think how saying the words: “shit, damn it, hell or fuck.” Will cost you your job!

It’s 5:33AM here, and I feel great.

FUCKIN’ A!

Mark William Darus 12192012

Another week coming: Who will make further deaths?

Another week coming in America. My Presidents speech and my thoughts.

By Mark William Darus.

　

OH MY GOD! JUST A FIVE DAYS AWAY FROM DEATH BY THE MAYAN CALENDER!!!



Like that was a real threat at all. Back in Y2K didn’t people scramble about? Hun, Christ my god, hon, let’s get the back up gennie from Home Depot running!

　

“Fuck, Brah! I ain’t walkin twenty seven stories to get home again. I’m a doctor, I’ll find a place to sleep when power goes out…”



　

I believe that no matter what our elected leaders most recent speech conveyed did little more than place a bandaide over a shotgun wound. Let’s face it, how could he provide little else?

　

How does one speak about areas they and their staff our so unfamiliar with they could hope make any sense of? I almost hate to say this this way: But they don’t live here and see the shit that happens everyday in the hoods that cris-cross America.

Obama did speak words about this. Thank your higher power he did! He acknowledged there is no easy way to solve such an issue.

No shit!

When you break it down to its simplest form: Mass Killings is way easier than say: Find another job, gain entrance to a better school, get beyond a drug test, and find a way to waste people for little further reason than we can.

　

Let’s take a look a mass killings, shall we?

　

How truly hard is it for someone to commit an act of homicidal mania on a mass scale?

　

Not hard to accomplish.

Born and raised in downtown Cleveland Ohio, I could see hundreds of ways mass killers could jump out and trash lives. If this could be done in Cleveland, tell me where higher populations like New York City, Boston, Los Angeles this somehow does not occur?

I cannot remember what movie this line came from, but it did: ‘A thousand throats can be but by a missioner man with a knife.

　

How real is this kind of fear here?

When my GF, her son and I left a good store, the cashier bid us a peaceful journey to our car….. A peaceful walk to our conveyance? I wanted to kill this woman! She held firey red hair and svelt in frame. I told those with me I nneded to pee, and walked back. I met her eyes. It is so seldom I meet another like myself.

I endeavored to her” “ Are you at all?”

“like you? I smelled you. Nice to meet you.”

　

Perhaps in order to fight internal terrorism, one must do as I have for decades.

　

Think like a terrorist and how to kill to make a point.

Back in the late 1970’s I learned how to make weight based detonators using simple Aurora or Tyco slot car tracks to deliver death and destruction.



If you want to stop school killings, you must think like them.

　

I think I can do this.

　

What more do people need to read?

　

I can do this:\\

　

I hate my mother, father, sneaky uncle.

I want them dead.

　

My kindergarten teacher saw me pee. According to mom and dad, I’ve been scared for life by this…

My sitter caught me. I had my hand on my penis looking at National Geographic. She yelled at me and my penis went soft.

　

Back when I was young, I learned how to make both large bombs and detonators. Christ knows, there have been plenty of areas of personal life I could have applied this to and didn’t. I read a book, that like psychology books, changed my life forever.

　

How disgusting my was my childhood? I knew how to kill someone without annihilating his family. Even in the late seventies, I could waste a father without nailing his kids and wife/girlfriends.

　

Late seventies. I was what? 14-17?

　

Even back when, we knew how to make bombs, firebombs that would take out hundreds like Dresden, with multiple blasts, we still didn’t do this.

　

　

　

My personal beliefs.

As the United States falters further, we will witness further school slayings and mall disasters.

People die.

And when you really look at it, does it really mean anything at all when it comes to the age of the victims?

　

Are the dreams of an 8 year old held higher thru expectation than that of a sincerely recovery heorin addict as gunshots….

　



We are in the strongest of countries on the Planet, aren’t we? Isn’t it this very aspect that makes us sleep better at night?

Those with some sense of conscious think and dream differently.

　

Mark William Darus 20162012

Sandy Hook Elementary school shootings

                                   Second shooting spree of the week!
                                      There is no longer any safe place.
                                        Our youngest get gunned down.
                                             by Mark William Darus

　

We’ve seen high school shootings. They’ve become most common place here from small town America. We’re had a history of the Bell-Tower kids on college campus’ that sniped at and killed others from the God-spot of higher ground. Hell, we even had a nut that backed up his rusting pick-up to a school of Amish kids and gunned them down. Amish kids, lambs to a slaughter.

Well, if those weren’t the makings of movies, this latest will surely be.

Son of kindergarten teacher kills not only mother but some of her students and others. Total kill count: 28 including the shooter, though I really don’t his death should count.

　

They guy killed a bunch of elementary school kids.

Okay, think about this…

You are walking a hallway, you and somewhere between 7 and 11 years old. You’re talking about upcoming xmas, video games, nasty homework and some asshole starts firing at you.

You see your friend get hit, blood splashes around and sprays over you. Stunned, you either duck, run or try to hide.

Even at that age, you instinctively know fear if you haven’t already learned that from video games.

At that age, you cannot tell the difference between male and female screaming as puberty is a tad down the road. That is, if they survive this span of minutes in time that will affect them for years/decades to come and most probably bankrupt their parents from the cost of psychotherapy here in the United States.

Imagine your child, nephew, friends kid:

“and I hope I get the Project Runway Barbie and…”

“Why’d she have to ask us to write a paper on Sherman over break? I’m gonna cut and paste…”

“My dad said he’d take us to Vermont to ski! I can’t wait…”

“I need to tell santa I want my moms cancer to go away..”

And bodies hit the floor, stopping all words spoken sharply.

The stench of iron fills a hallway and hot metal vaporizes blood as it passing through tiny flesh.

A blink of an eye passing, and peoples children are now dead and injured. Writhing heaps of small bodies in agony thrash about one tiled floors. The sounds of crying after moments of agonizing silence fills the air, echoing off steel lockers.

There are children under the age of 12 on the floor. Their blood creating rivers upon shiny floor as their hearts begin to stop pumping. As they fail and die. Innocently they walked this Earth. Innocently they passed.

Innocent.

At this point I could so speak of the Innocent dead of wars that rage eternal across our so ‘enlightened’ planet, yet on this I won’t.

This killing spree was not the result of any religious, political or war over oil rights.

I think this was the case:

The sad pussbag Lanza, will be found to have issues of a psychological nature. I think we’ll hear people saying things like: He always said his mom had more to say about her students than him…” I am so tempted to play, Stings Be still my beating heart as I write this, but I will not. “All she talked about was her kids and shit, man. It’s like he didn’t even exist to her…”

I’m listening to Los Lobos: One Time, One night. <it’s better fitting, I’ll share the link.>

　

Bottom line: More people are dead in my country, and these are tiny children.

The United States of America spends more money worried about outside threats than the internal ones that fill our land every day of the every damn week.

I’m sure your tired of numbers, but I really don’t care.

Pearl Harbor: death count: 2,402

911 death count: 2996

Granted, the American Civil War had single dally kill rates much higher than that…

Antietam: 3650 dead

Gettysburg: 7058 dead (day three)



If you consider this: The American Civil War in just two battles totaled way beyond any foreign enemy total kill count. Hell, our civil war killed more people than all the wars this country has fought combined. Over 500,000 Americans died on their own soil for their beliefs.

　

As you read my words, perhaps absorb my thoughts, I have to believe you have a mind that thinks. I do not care if you laugh at what I say or not.

I think my country still feels some need to kill for no reason other than it can. Our budget is defense based: If we can’t find an enemy to thrust against, how can we justify our budget? It must’ve hit these men of power hard when Russia killed the Cold War.

We just shifted gears, heading to the Mid-East. Sacrifices our children for oil?

Cool. And it is cool. We let it happen. Each and everyone of us.

I ask again as I have a few times on this Blog: When was the last time the American people ever voted for war?

Are we so ignorant one cannot vote on a subject that sends our people to battle and perhaps die? Are we so ill educated we cannot make an informed decision? >and if that is the case, why did this country fail to educate us on this?<

Are we little more than mindless, thoughtless babies to those elected by the people. I find it hilarious on this: They trusted the peoples judgment to elect a leader, yet won’t give us any power over the conflicts we enter into and those we )and I say we because whether you vote or not, if you work and pay taxes, you are funding the killing machine. I have never voted as I know it doesn’t matter in the big picture. I pay taxes when working though. I know more of my money goes toward human destruction than preservation and growth. Yeah, if you work, we’re all guilty. Guess that gives us a right to bitch and be pissed off.>



At this point I could say I am sorry to friends and family over my thoughts. Can’t do it though. I am not saying those that died for the United States died in vain or anything like that. I do believe the foot soldiers, Marines, Air Force and Army did as they were ordered. They preformed bravely and many died. I can’t imagine the horror of flying in a Bell copter and seeing your best friends faces exploding before me. Can you? Have you?

But when did their families and friends: Americans all have any say in their outcomes?

Strongest country on the planet?

Be serious here….

　

If that were true, why do we have to buy our friends in other countries? We fund them with guns that always seem to get turned against us. I guess that has a simple answer: a few men here make big bucks in arms companies and make a fortune via research and development and shipment of weapons. In my country, it’s all about making cash, coin, gold, profit. No one is responsible, no one person is to blame.



It is an amazing colored Disneyland of putrefied death and destruction with total ‘plausible deniability’ cascading over the

　

　

26-28 people died on my soil today. Okay, not on my front lawn as it occurred a few states away from me.

On average 46 people are killed every day here in America from violent crimes.

What’s another 26-28, right?

Add to this the 3 death count from earlier this week.



Wow, 31 on killings in media attention.

Uh, 46 a day….



I believe I can globally say the world is sorry for the deaths at Sandy Hook Elementary School. Having readers from over 68 countries I believe this to be accurate.

I think this trend of school killing massacres will only exhilarate massively here.

　

“Americans Love a winner. What Americans can’t stand is a loser! No one gives a hoot and hollar over who placed second. The mere thought of losing is hurtful to Americans…”

-Gen George S. Patton. (besides William T. Sherman and Stonewall Jackson, I believed him to be one of the best generals this country spawned. The best general here was Robert E. Lee.)

I think the death bell will ring louder and higher reaching.

Sometime, the major cities in the United States will face this media event.

　

I still find it odd this happens in more less populated areas than major ones.

　

We all know metal detectors fail with most school systems… It’s with these nationwide failings that brings higher awareness for better metal detectors and the need for more funding. This funding never seeming to hit this area as others get raises that weren’t listed in the agenda.

　

Ask me and send me an email as to why I don’t vote on anything.



I stray, once again as I so often do on the subject of moronic death.

28 people died today. They didn’t die from a terrorist attack or a smart bomb. They just got snuffed cold by yet another American Lunatic on a mission.

I am currently listening to Stone Temple Pilots: Conversations Kill.

On that note I will end this.

I light another L&M Red, music blasting and I want to dance with someone now. I want more. Perhaps after writing like I do, expressing such, human arms around me would be good. Guess I’m lucky. Hookers around here only charge two dollars for 15 minutes of hug time.

　

How cool is that??? You get what you need without annoying questions.



How many school kids are going to get gunned down in the next three weeks?

Jewish schools don’t have the same breaks Christian schools do.

Are they next?

I don’t think so. I believe their security would never let this happen.

I hope to Moses, I’m right on this.

If I’m wrong, I’ll write about it.

　

In the last week there have been at least 355 killed violently in

America.

Next week, not sure, but the trend is going upward.

　

Keep your spirit alive!!!!!

　

Mark William Darus 20152012

Of Holiday Ex's contacting: a few thoughts.

 

                                                            
                                  The Holiday Ex's: Undying love.
                                        by Mark William Darus.

Hi,

Tonight you spoke to me of areas where past men said things to you that made little or no sense. You expressed a concern over their stating an undying love for you, while only two of them used the love word while you were together.

First off: I tried writing this while blasting Lionel Richies Endless Love. I thought it fitting. Failed miserably in all aspects. Made me nauseous, my cat ran upstairs and the dogs began to urinate all over the place. Sorry, Lionel, I loved Dancing on the Ceiling, but this song isn’t working.

Second: I switched to old school metal bands: WASP, Scorpions and Judas Priest. Most quickly, the cat came down, the dogs stopped peeing and I stopped barfing. Pretty cool if I say so myself.

Sorry for the sidetrack shit, but that is me in all regards.

　

I have some knowledge of you. A sense of you and what makes you what you are. You said that ’and that Makes me a target.” Well, sadly, it does. I don’t say this in an attempt to provoke change on your part. I cannot caution you against such a thing. What you are is what you have learned to be, and at your age, do not change the direction of your heart for anything. You have the biggest of hearts to help, aide, sooth others and teach others. That is a gift from somewhere that was created in you before you were born. A gift of spirit, if you will. Tender, kind and knowing while being understanding. This is something one should never toss away no matter how hard life hits them nor the relentless hits from those that acted caring for you for their own gain.

Undying Love: Well, when it comes to ex’s in our lives, this can take on many meanings, most of which are both sick and disgusting to the thinking mind.

Problem is, most people are emotionally based. When they hear such proclamations aimed at them, especially when they were the ones left by the other, their brain swims into waters best left alone.

People seem to have some bizarre drive for acceptance that propels them blindly down dark alleys. The average person would rather try to regain the attention of the ones that left them versus a brighter hope in going forward and taking a stroll down different pathways.

When encountered by ex’s, they hold, depending on the duration of the relationship, an arsenal of devices to attract the ones they’ve hurt. They say the right things: “ you remember when we went to…” triggering a place of a happier time, solid memory, causing you to fall backward before their breaking with you. “you know, no one understood me like you…” “Wow, did I make a mistake..” and my personal favorite: “ Baby, I’ve grown so much since then…”

Married men that are ex’s can be for worse. The smart ones begin asking how your life is going. They respond accordingly while adding bits of married life and its downside while tossing in elements of how things were better when with you. On this they attempt to provoke a predatory response in you. This starts with you beginning to feel superior to their wives. Over time, usually very short >a few hours to a few days< in duration, you open a door and let them into your life once again. This is a mistake.

As said so well in the movie The Lost Boys: “Never let a Vampire in your house, silly boy! It makes you powerless.

The more you listen to their words and fake emotion, the further you suck them back into you. Oddly, you let your own heart (emotionally speaking) become your prison. You trap yourself in a web your emotions and mind create.

And that sucks to high heaven if you’ve ever been there.

I’m not slamming you though. We all fall into the traps of others where pasts are concerned. Maybe it’s their gentle stroking of our egos, memories they share we thought they’d forgotten or simply just our own wanting to be wanted. We will fall many times in our life where love is concerned. We do this with open hearts and open legs, longing for some desire to be unique in anothers eyes and mind.

Why do men tend to do this more than women?

Well, we do it for many reasons.

When a man chucks a woman (or another man for that matter) they more often than not do this for a ‘greener pasture’ syndrome. They believe they can go further, get farther or to say the very least, have a less boring and predicable relationship with a shiny/newer partner. Women can be the same way, though their motives seem to be more economically/status based if their good at it.

With some, they wish to go after an ex because of their sheer desires for conquest over one they hurt in the past if for no other reason, to see if they can do it and succeed. When accomplishing this goal, they get a rush likened to main-lining heroin or a good snort of coke. To them, the rush is all they want. The time leading to it is merely needed foreplay to stroke their victim into submission.

With married men looking to their ex’s: They do this because they feel some sense of neglect or unworthiness. C’mon, when they say sex dies with marriage, it generally does. Men, being physical and visual in nature, base their lives on their prowess in bed and lifting heavy garden objects that once made their women sigh as muscles bulged moving heavy pots and fertilizer bags, that now make say they need to strike less poses and move faster.

I am not justifying unfaithful men. This is just the way it is.

This is one of the reasons men do contact ex gf’s while married. I find this odd though I think a mans mind is more prone to ‘greener pasture’ syndrome when wanting to hunt again.

Why do ex’s so freely use the word: Love?

Because it works in their favor. Besides a six week old puppy, a newborn baby with a sniffly nose, what else can make an ex melt faster than the word love?

They use this single word to play on your weaknesses.

The word love is so twisted, I hate you using it.

Do not let this time in your life make you cynical on account of others. You need to stay yourself and be true to it. This is your life and your very being above all else.

Ask yourself this question: Is it worth changing myself to feel less targeted?

Bottom line: You do not have to change yourself. Just learn to deflect shit that would cause you to change your life to a bad course.

　

Hope this helps you.

Mark William Darus 12142012