Crawling takes on Stretching Legs. Beginning to walk again...

Lady Warrior,

Spending Saturday/Sunday with you was incredibly special to me for so many reasons. It's nice to be around one whom doesn't mince words, isn't afraid to say something totally wrong for the sake of a laugh, and simply be themself (or) themselves.

When I first looked into your eyes as you exited your Grand Am, I felt something 'thud' in my heart that I haven't known in such a very long time. So long in fact I'd thought being able to feel for anyone that way was a lost cause, and dare to think, they feeling the same way.

We embraced so quickly, so fully, drawing each other closer into a oneness from two separate lands. Neither of us hesitated in the least. Such a wondrous body-mind-sharing, it lasting a good span.

As our time grew, you gave of yourself, showing me areas of your lands offerings. Seriously, that was awesome Prime-Rib! The band was good.

One of the many things remember is you when you talk. In this area you have answered a prayer I thought was never heard: To be with someone who speaks with the energy, attitude and sheer excitement that I do! You have so much LIFE and POSITIVE vibes that like me, you let it spill from you as freely as exhaled air.

I like the way you carry yourself. You have confidence, unbridled.

I have to say you tested me on something in regards to our level of nudity/pureness to one another. I hope I didn't disappoint you on this. You sent me signals in many directions, so I quickly backed off repeatedly. I hope you understand this.

Relax: You layed me flat on my back, resting my head in your lap. Your firm fingers moved over me. My shoulders and neck and arms, your clay. I was poor clay, and kept tensing up. Sorry, this ground has become so unfamiliar to me that going rigid has become a way of life. Opening my eyes, I see you looking down at me: Your necklace weaving about between your beautiful breasts. "You need to relax, William." I am trying, I tell her, yet actions don't always match words as I fail. I had to ask myself: Why is it so hard to relax at the request of another that is touching me in a way I have so wished for? Fear of the unknown? Fear of giving up control? Take your pick and I'm sure you'd be correct. To her credit, she didn't give up and snapped my neck chiropractic. Christ, did that feel good!!! I'm learning, though very slowly...

On the Shores of your Voices:though you never really said anything, I believe they must be suspicious of me. I can understand this. When we let another into our truer selves, there is always a threat to the NORM of how things run within us. Voices heard in the head and mind, are to some, the nudging of reason and conscience. To others, can be looked at as Instinctual Warnings that most fail to heed. Hell, my blog is full of stories that fail to heed these warnings and world is littered with the wasted and damaged souls that travel it blindly.

BTW: I am going to use: On the Shores of your Voices for a working title as I begin to write, if that's okay with you. Please let me know ASAP.

I want to help you with your memory gaps-fragments. Please send me your name/location history and dates and I'll dig into it. The next time we meet, I want to try something with you to see if that does anything to help. I will not tell what I am planning, but it does not involve drugs, swinging shiny metal/diamond objects or anything forced.

I want your Voices to not fear me as I do not mean to hurt or kill them. You've accepted them as they are, making them as much a part of you as your physical body. I respect that.

On Swapping Spit: The look on your face was priceless when I pulled out the Oral gel for your bitten lip! Yeah, you did get me when you removed your top in the room, so turnabout's fair play! :)

A Horse is a horse: Eating toast while watching Mr. ED, shaking my head and smiling. What a totally absurd thing to make us smile together after so many hours of smiling! Precious gift from somewhere else given to us. Here's you: they used peanut butter to make him do that. (that is such a Mark-Line if ever there was one. YOu beat me to it!)

As Silence takes hold, She sleeps: You looked so incredibly at peace as you let your soul-batteries recharge. I will never forget the gentle lines of your face as you allowed sleep to take hold, if only for a few moments in comparison. An angel contented, limbs unmoving, chest rising and lowering slowly. Eyelids gently pressing together like familiar lovers in soft embrace.

Stepping to the Old with someone New: Antique Store. So fucking nice! Talking, walking, sharing pasts as a few items brought back memories to lives past. Have you ever placed your hands on something in an antique store and got a psychic flash to its history? I'm not sure if you caught it or not, but did you see me sometimes touching various things with the back of my hand and looking away from it as I did this? (oh yeah, I'm sure you're thinking I'm a total headcase. Then again, You might not.) Walking out of the store, arm in arm, as snow-beads fell upon us, bouncing off our heads. You pointing out how they've accumulated on my Trailblazers bumper, giving me the gift of your a smile crossing your lips and kissing your eyes. You began to realize just how tired I was getting and I appreciate this.

As Cells Divide: Parting company. It was not easy leaving you at your place, though I knew it was needed. You suggested a two week lack of phone talking, emailing and such the night before. I told you then I didn't think I could do it. I'm a Leo with a Scorpio rising sigh, a Tiger on the Chinese/Japanese calendar, I can bend, but do you really want me to become a contortionist? I don't think so. But hey, I could be wrong. Been there, done that. I'll try to respect your wishes and I'm sure you'll make me understand yours. I think we understand each other quite well. I ask you this: Do you really want me to be something I am not?

My thoughts: I believe you to be a predator in some aspects. It takes one to know one and I have no problem saying that about myself in many areas of my life.

My truth: I have never had a first time physical encounter with anyone that lasted as long as the one we shared. Perhaps you have, but I haven't, and to me that means much. A first date crossing and reaffirming that meeting those in the digital world CAN make for a satisfying face to face.

As we, together, bodies willingly pressed against, minds full open and eating each other, contented. So long, beaten and battered after trying endlessly and never losing hope...

 

 

-Your William.

 

Mark William Darus 05142013

 

 

As I crawl toward another life...

                                                  A letter to my sister.

                            As I crawl toward Another Life: Unknowing.

Heidi: It was so splendid to have your arms around me! There's something about that DNA touching and such! :) My sharings with your son as we walked were so nice, but better yet, pure. I talk to your son plainly. I always have and never mince words as we've spent time. I see what I see and tell him my thoughts with all the kindness I can share slashing about with a chainsaw. I can't say I am a positive male figure in any childs life. I can say this though: I will be myself to them. I Will share my thoughts and beliefs without fear of reprisal or shame. I will tell them my insane thoughts, desires freely.

I had a mentor in my life like that: His name was Mr. Merhaut (English teacher: 11 and 12th grade). It was through him I learned to express and share. To rage into the dying of the light! (can't remember what writer poemed that line.)

While I was talking to David, i thought of uncle Bill. Sure, he was a drunk and tried to blindside grandpas will, but looking back over the cascading decades of memory, he was always good and right with me... He did a lot with me. I have memories of him taking me to Geauga Lake and riding rides with me...

And to think when all the shit hit the fan over grandpas will, I slashed the tires of his Jeep...

Am I a drunken uncle? Well, I would have a difficult time arguing this given my history and liking of bitter beers. Am I a Drugged uncle? Well, that's a subject open to interpretation: that oh-so thin line between the legally prescribed and other avenues for treatment without insurance coverage. Take some peace in this: I am still alergic to pot. I have my teeth without them going crystaline (Crystal Meth, first sign after fast weight loss, teeth begin to look like pale-clear geodes.) Heroin: Ah! ( i have often thought this one a nasty road to wander down, and for many it is.) It didn't work for me. Tried it twice, and the only things it opened was the fastest sense of euphoria and the defecation of my shorts. Yeah, twice was all that took!  Sorry, whatever mind gain there is, when you fill your underwear with fecal matter, you really need to rethink a few things.

Heidi: This weekend I am going meet a new woman. I have been chatting with her and talking to her on the phone for over two weeks now. When we talk, we speak for 3 to 5 hours at a clip. She found me from my blog and lives about 90 miles away. I am frightened, heidi. She talks the way I do. She says things fucked up and obsurd and makes me laugh. Her writings make me think in a way I haven't known in decades.

Heidi: Have I paid enough yet to go further? Have I tried enough with other women that fail to learn that I can go on with my life? yeah, i know in area's of my groin and heart will flounder, but do you think it's time for me to swim in different waters?

Her name is Lady Warrior. She lives near Youngstown. She is my age, just under five feet tall and 110 lbs. She has a daughter with Down's Syndrome currently having liver issues and in the hospital (so toss your prayer wagons to circle) . She makes me laugh, smile, Heidi. It's been such a long time since I've had this in my life. One having a mind that has an ability to catch me offguard and shred me into blind faith via smiles and an innocents I haven't felt in a very long time. Interests like mine: writing, psychology, photography and works hours as fucked up as mine. As the two of us share over the phone at a time while the rest of are sleeping and eventually wake up, our minds pleasantly collide.

I am scared, frightened. I think meeting her, physically so, might be like meeting myself. In female form. Sure, the sex would be awesome, and that would only account for 3 hours of a six hour gracing. Having never met one similar to myself, her finishing my statements, thoughts and such, I am taken a tad aback. >yeah, she could be a psychopath that has enough knowledge of me via my writing she could con me. I think I'd catch this as eyes lock on meeting: Predators know others of their kind. I'll take it from there. Still, it would be nice to be with another like me. I am planning on seeing her this weekend. Further, I have told Gretal this (I guess we'll find out how much of a homicidal maniac she is, right?) She is vastly different than any other human I have known. She can children to sing and play guitar. There is so much she could give to a peds oncology ward ) and I guess others could give their time that way ( I guess through that I just gave up on her.

I won't lie to you, Heidi: I'm scared shitless of doing a face to face with Lady Warrior. I'm 50 now, take bp pills and work out. At the same time, if I am to find another life, (my blog: Psychopathy: Another LIfe:) I guess there must be some point I take a leap of faith, right? Throw all caution to the wind, close our eyes while opening mind and take a step off a ledge.

Isn't that what faith is all about? What we're willing to do, toss ourselves over, face perhaps    a type of death of soul or being, for something intangible and maybe better and recreate ourselves anew.

           a sense of allowing ourselves to feel innoecent once again like a rising child seeing its first butterfly?  This infant, smelling its first rose, mothers dripping tit while hungry, his dads first fart while wondering appartnment walls are always white, closet doors never close and their is so much noise unrhythmic unlike when they were in their mother.

         I am scared, dear reader.

          I think i need to take   this step into a darkness I've been afraid to. If i have any emotion left...

Perhaps to recapture them once again.

     Mark William Darus 05102013\

Amanda Berry, Gina DeJesus and Michelle Knight. Escaping after ten years.

           Amanda Berry, Gina DeJesus and Michelle Knight. Escaping after ten years of captivity.

                              FAithful reader, Know this: I live within a mile of this!

                        Imagine what has occurred here.

                        Sure, It must be disgusting and lewd to say the least, yet...

                        Think of the thought processes involved to create such a thing.

                        How do you keep three women alive for over ten years, one giving birth to a child, and do this without notice by anyone? Guess the perpetrators made the rent payments on time, or mortgage payments/ and such... (keeps the landlords in the clear, right?) I could quip something like: And this didn't happen in Utah, but I won't though I guess I did.

                        I don't mean to sound cold, but I will as I am good at it: How much would it cost you to keep three women and a child fed for ten years?

               Furthermore, at some point, they had to get sick by either flu, colds, feminine things between 17 and 27 that would have required scripts to treat. Sure, the perps might have had female accomplices that could have pretented the symptoms to gain the needed scripts, though I seriously doubt it. Kind of hard to fake a fever in Cuyahoga County Health Systen though one could stockpile antibiotics. Then again, it depends on who the attending is and how little sleep they've had.

               Control freaks of serious psychological realms would never let it go on for ten years. Psychological maniacs, rarely have such spans of patience to allow something to go on that long with the same subjects, not the mention to birthing of child into. Seriously, let's be real here.

              Most captures tire of their prey within days, maybe weeks, perhaps months. But a decade? 3650 days?

                  <side thought. Tonight: When I discussed this with my work partner, I asked him, "when the six year old was brought out, was it blinded by a light it had never seen before being raised like a mole in a basement?" This is one of the things that has lead me to this entry. That and reading the news reports. Got me to think the way I do, close my eyes-stretch my limbs full-out, and ask the questions I do. Part of my process, dear reader. I think most of you know this by now.>

                  The press runs as they should and do:

              "We and our law enforcement partners will continue to work shoulder to shoulder with the Cleveland Police Department to answer the many questions we have," Anthony said. "The FBI will bring every resource to bear to bring the full weight of justice for those responsible behind this horrific, horrific case."

               Full weight of justice... Well, what else could he say?

               I really hope they do on this one.

               Ten years is very long time to be held in a basement in my hood. You cannot go outside without others being in scream range.,

               We are talking not a burb of Cleveland but city proper  itself, You cannot toss a stone without hitting an others house or car. Most properties are a mere twelve feet apart.

               Yet, apathy does grow rampant here, in my area of Ohio's heartland. We have grown so accustomed to screams, cries, yells for help that most dismiss them as crack junkies getting fouled, whores getting stiffed after the stiffy falls limp, or just someone fucked over.  Yet no one ever calls 911 over this. Sure, when the bullets fly, people call the Fuzz, Five-oh, Coppers.

                Take some time, and I am asking the impossible as I write this unless I toss a vid here, and I just might try...

                 Imagine a life of total fear elevating  every single day over ten years under the total control of those that had created it.  How well would you get acquainted with the walls, floor tiles and such?

                  My father was held in fear many times though more propelled via boredom. When my dad was in the hospital for weeks after a heart attack as they did in the late 60's early 70's, he'd tell us not how many ceiling tiles were in his room, but how dots/indents were in them. He'd then go on about the number of rooms in Lutheran Medical Center and total accounts. Mental  Calisthenics and so forth. Go figure, he was a boss in an analog world. A time when math was calculated through mind instead of touch screens.  He thought, and did this most well. I got this gift, DNA?, from.

                     I hear my father now. He thanks me for what I have just said about him. More over, I hear my mother and her father, Orlon. They can be such

                   I like and detest the conscious dreams I am given from my late mother and her father. Their voices in my head both embrace me with a gentle hug around my body as their questions drive like a diamond drill into my brain. "nice, Mark. Go further. Can't you see there is more here? "

                  I have to say this: I can't wait to earn my way by your sides again, lock head and go at it!

                 YES!!! I CAN SEE THERE IS MORE HERE ON THIS STORY!

                 I have to ask this question most sad and disgusting:\

                 What man is so strong to control three woman and a baby for over ten years of captivity and not replace them in several months if not for a sense of silence or peace?  we're talking ten years....

                 I have little doubt this will become a best seller and a huge movie.

                 Being me: I don't think the innocent are, except the baby. Sure, we had no problem believing the 444 days hostage crisis, and Canada was our friend sheltering our kin, REagan took over. We followed other distractions.

                  Okay, let's face it here and now.

                  How many predators would hold a captive for ten years unless the captive was with them for whatever reason?

                   Think about it for a minute.

                    Sexual desires? Sure, maybe a few weeks fantasies... I can't see it going further even when I place my mind into the worst of predators.
                   
                    A dominance Nine Inch Nails fantasy like Head Like a Hole. a week and a bit. The guy suspected is my age, and I wish to meet him and talk to him. I'd have a hard time believing listening to Judas Priests Free Wheel Burning made him do this. 

                    I so wish to be proven wrong.

                   I look at this whole thing as a great con job.

                 I don't really care how sick the psychopath was on this except the the simple fact that unlike holding political prisoners, he broke a record!


               I think both the women and their supposed captures are guilty of something. This will make for a huge movie.

                   The child born of this: the only true victim. All our hearts should go out for it! Caught in bastard form of Neverland.

                For the record: I have to say this. Except the child, all are guilty of some area of this. Ten Years held captive? Sorry, even in the sorry apathetic wasteland I live in I find this hard to believe.

                  I am writing currently  my thoughts on the movie that will arise from this. Let's see how they compare. Granted, I'm sure will be more graphic, BUT IN ALL HONESTY, EVEN I,  STEPHEN KING, PETER STROUSE OR CLIVE BARKER COULD TOP THIS! So wish me luck.

                I guess this entry got a bit longer than  I wished. I don't care, really. I'm not sure how it got italic, but that's cool.

               I have a hard time believing any control freak would/could support and maintain the lives of 3 females plus kid and not kill them and, and dare I say this, resupply them quickly from proven method.

               I could say I am so glad they are alive and sound so contrite wishing them well. I could say so strongly say I wish for the truth to be brought forth, though i know that will never occur anywhere but OtherVille.

              If there is one expression and thought I hope you hold high: Give your thoughts for the child of this decade of absence.
   
                    What will that kid grow up with?
\
                  I am not done with this!

                    Mark William DArus 05082013
              
 
                   

               

                       

               

                     

                        

                       

                        

                       

                    

This will all be over tonight,

                         "I want to go home," her voice whimpers as she attempts to die...
                               This is where we can all be together tonight.

                                              by Mark William Darus

                              "you don't understand." she cries, tiny figure leaning over a huge bridge explaining. Rusted metal backgrounds slender human form in contrast. An ore freighter snorts a blasts below, her face turns white like a sky in January.

                              "Don't you understand?" Looking so small to me , yet hugely grand with her emotional display.

                                Tugged and dragged like sludge at the bottom of a shallow pond. I, like a moth to killing flame, go to her. Approach her as I watch her shift unceasingly like some Olga Corbit of the damned. "How can I help?" I ask.

                           "What makes you think you can stop me?" her voice splashes against car horns, ore freighters and the phucking general idiots of Cleveland Ohio.;;;\

                           "I don't think anything will make a difference to you,." My stance changes, sickly more for my Nikons view than anything else. Ready for to capture her face as her last foot leaves iron form as her body begins to fall.

                          She calmly looks at me. Her peaceful smile greets me. She is ready for death.

                         "Puh-lease, is there nothing I can say to hold you to last a bit longer with us?" I gave my best. Every encounters with Suicide-Pilots always grant different results. You have to still try, toss your arse out there.

                           As her left foot parted company, she descended quickly.

                           Idiotically, tossing myself to an iron girder with left arm stretched to catch her. My chest registering pain when slammed into am I-Beam..

                   Her eyes puncturing mine. Smaller and smaller she grows as her fragile body goes from a tall bridge into brighter deaths impact.

                             If my arms were longer...

                             If I hadn't failed yet again.\

                             I am so tired. Why do I see what others dismiss?

                    Her last words to me,  nailing me like Christ to  cross.

                   I reach for her.

                     There's a sunrise rising somewhere.

                       A moonrise taking hold across plains a half world away

                     This will be all over tonight.\


                        She so wants to die and go home.

                      This child of all of us tells me about disgusting abuses she had no control over. How uncles and aunts used and worked toward the death of her soul.   
                       "Mark. Don't you see I want to die? Are you so stupid?"\

                       "Fine. You want to die. I'm going to try though,...


                       "good luck,"

                            my left shoulder hurt on impact.

                          I got better.;..

                                Her last words echoing in me.

                               "This will be all over tonight."


                The teen female rate of suicide has risen huge in the last ten years. Why is this? Is this just in the United States or is it globally?


                    Why so many of our daughters find death more appealing?

                   Compelled by this child's words, I wish to dig into the granite.
]

                         I watch her body get smaller and smaller beneath me as  it falls and sways about as winds greet her. Like a slow motion movie with haphazard frames of motion skipping about.

\
             I remember her face.  I remember what she wanted me to share another nite as her face became smaller and smaller as it fell to the Cuyahoga river.  Her face, so beaming as it plumeted to the darkness.

               Her smile, so triumphant.;\

                    
This will be all over tonight.
\
Mark William Darus 05052013




                


                



                       


                        

                             

Happy May Day everyone!

                                             Happy May Day everyone!
                                                by Mark William Darus

                 That last entry, (As You See Me Naked), was both a horror and pleasure to write.

            Horror in regards to a woman, though suggesting that men  protect themselves, knowingly committing an act of possible murder when idiot males decline it.

          Pleasure from letting people know quite simply: if you Pay to Play, you might pay more than you think.

           When I write about others experiences, I try to express my words from the vibes I get from them telling it. I've gotten more than a few negative reviews and some that were very nice. Some believe I should have called the police on this woman, to which I told them I couldn't. I'm no journalist, yet, there must be a firm level of confidentiality in what I write.

             I was asked the question several times: "but what if he has a wife or girlfriend and infects them?" I guess that goes to guilt and blame.

        Who is more guilty?

       The infected hooker, the boyfriend or husband that pays them to be a sex surrogate?

         I've received a few emails suggesting I am guilty of not trying to stop her. That I am every bit as guilty as she is. I personally don't believe this. Is that not like blaming every living person in a convenient store heist if the hold up guy kills someone and no one tries to stop them?

             If a person were to write that pulling the trigger on a gun could kill someone, are they held the same as those that chose to hold the gun and fire it?

           Sure, some would counter: "But she is knowingly committing murder and you did nothing!"

               Nothing? I did write and post it. Had I run, panting feverishly to the police, how do you think that would have been received? You know, if for no other reason than to show the apathy of law enforcement, I might just try this someday down the road. Think about that for a moment and tell me how how I am wrong when it comes to confidentiality

                 Yet, and based on my beliefs, I think she was honest when she asked them if they wanted to "strap on." I could, and may toss a twist into this and say something like: "Do auto manufacturers say that buying and driving their products could kill or maim family members?" when I post this line on the blog as an entry review.

              Let me say this: The thoughts, stories and beliefs of those shared on my Psychopathy: Another Life are there for a reason. It is the choice of each of you to choose your meaning to each entry as you read it. Is it wrong or right, black or white, evil or not? Well, that depends on your mindset and place at any point in time.

               I am not afraid to write and post what I do. I will not make excuses for my thoughts, though I may attempt comparisons.

               Why do I think the next set of emails I get will ask the question:

                "So, where do you draw the line, Mark? A spouse killing, tax fraud, school bombing?"

                Thinking forward, sometimes in reverse, I'd say: "What line is that exactly? Is there a box you would place me in, as you hold yourself inside,  for me to think out of? To me, there is no box or line. You take all things as they come, individually and treat them as such."

                Have a great May Day, everyone! Find something in yourself to call your own and run with it!

                And to think when I was a kid growing up that May Day was a time when we should fear the USSR. The day Communism would rear its head and take us over!!! This is what we were taught by parents and schools alike.

              I think individuals want peace and harmony.

              I think  most governments wish the same for their  people, children, except my United States anyway. God knows, from an economic stand point, peace does not trade on well on Wall Street.

             Happy May Day and Beautiful Spring to all this world.

(photo credit to Gretchen Phillips)

             Mark William Darus 05012013

             

Balance.

                                      As a writer of such dark human elements.
                                                There must be beauty.

                     I have often found it with their voices and smiles. Amazingly graceful, uplifting and inspirational.


                                  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LveS3tx-6cQ&NR=1&feature=endscreen

MWD04292013
find some peace in your life...

As you see me naked.

                                        As you see me naked.
                                                 I am lethal.
                       The thoughts of Sylvia B. by Mark William Darus

I have no fear taking off my coverings before you. You paid me to do this.

Cash from your pocket flowing like water from a blown pipe, wanting more of me, expecting more of me. Allowing yourself to fall victim as you think yourself the predator.

In slender moments shared, your eyes become flaming beacons toward me, beaming energy, fueling me.

Removing my tank, slowly lifting it over my breasts, you shift your posture uneasily. I watch you as I get hungry.

Painfully slow, I lower my knee length flowered skirt before you. Revealing my shapely thighs and grey panties, I hear your breathing increase. Deeper and deeper you inhale as your chest bulges, your pupils widen to take me further into you mind. Into a fantasy you’ve held most dear, perhaps forever so.

I begin to think of my childhood every once in a while at this point of an encounter.

I remember my father. He was a good man taken way too soon. He was 43 when he died of cancer. He’d make me laugh, cheer me on when I failed at something, show me love.

Then there was mom. Christ, what a bitch she was! She’d probably still be if she hadn’t suffered an unfortunate accident when I was 17. She was in her car when it happened, parked in our driveway in a suburb of Chicago. Her cars electrical system freaked out and sparked a fire. Somehow, her door handles failed as did her power windows. It’s truly amazing how much smoke fast food bags can produce when they pile up in a foot well! Dense smoke quickly filled the cars interior and she died, pleasingly slow as I witnessed it outside the car. Her eyes, panic filled. Mine, smiling as she passed.

Bummer.

About a year after dad died, she dated men that like an old Donna Summer song :loved to love you, baby…

They’d party, she’d drink to get numb and instead of fucking her when she passed out, they’d go after me. I, about 13 then, tried to fight them off, but she loved bad ass biker types who bested me by sheer weight alone. Over powered, they’d thrust their dicks at me any way they could in any hole of mine they could easily get at. The smell of whiskey or bourbon from their mouths as they smash their face into mine, the smell of my mothers Calvin Kleins Obession on their necks and chests. Sweat, salt, semen and the disgusting rank fumes of dense foot odor surrounding me while pinned to whatever, where ever they chose to take me. Thrust after thrust they’d go. My vagina, torn, anus bleeding or sore throat from deeping it. Pain, both physically and mentally.

Anguish.

I remember crying and reporting it for a while and it got me nowhere. I didn’t dress or act like the other kids at school and was often looked at as ‘different’. I was a subdivision at school: I didn’t really fit in anywhere into the mainstream.

I unhook my deep purple bra from the front. You seem to make a ‘gulping’ sound when I do this. So expected, you never disappoint me.

“Get undressed, baby, get ready for me!” I’d give my best airy Amy Grant voice. Like Lemmings, they’d always do as told, happily walk right off the cliff without rational thought.

“Yeah, you look so good, baby! I can’t wait to take you into me!”

I’d drop my panties like a bad habit and stand before you.

“I want you so much!” You stand and walk to me, boner bouncing around, it’s head looking like some tiny albino Darth Vader helmet.

I, sucking in their energy, desire, single-minded drive, smile and say: “baby, want to strap on a rubber?”

Surprising how many of say: “nah, it kills the feeling.”

“Kills the feeling, right, baby. You got it! TAKE ME! ANYWAY YOU WANT IT!” I loved the band Journey.

Kills the feeling. So right you men are. Moms men never covered up. One of them gave me a gift.

Glad you got your ‘feeling’ as I infected you with AIDS!

I’m sure you’ll die faster than I have.

You guys can be so stupid, can’t you?

-Sylvia’s thoughts, my words.

-Mark William Darus 04292013

Authors note: Her name is not Sylvia B. I respect those that wish to remain anonymous. Yet it needed a name, so she agreed to the one I chose. Talking to her was little short of amazing. She was frank with her words, speaking with complete candor while gently describing some fairly horrific events in her life. 

As I wrote this out, a single song played with each word typed. Over and over again I played it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XD6RdI1QqCg


We sucked down gallons of coffee as we sat at a Denny’s on the Ohio border town of Findlay. I will, at her request, describe her in generic terms. (yeah, like that’s going to be easy for me, right?) She stood about 5’4”, perhaps 110 lbs, light brown just over shoulder length hair. A tragically pretty face with huge glowing blue eyes surrounded by pure white sclera’s. I say tragically because her face looks so innocent and undamaged. She carries herself with what 63% of the male population would describe as a knock-out, kick-ass, oh-so-fuckable body. ( I personally believe the other 37% of men, homosexuals, either overt or covert, may still be attracted by the confidence in her stride and stance. She dressed for our meeting in blue t-shirt and nice fitting jeans with a wide leather belt. No jewelry. I could be wrong on this though. Judging by the waitress, female, she also attracts women.

At her request, we sat in the farthest end of the Denny’s. This was calculated by her and I soon discovered why. At 4:30 AM in the morning, very few complain when someone lights up a Salem 100 and splashes their ashes into an unused water glass. Seriously, how can you not love Denny’s Restaurants? I lit up my L&M and toked in to meet her.

“Trust me, they won’t pitch us aside.” her cool voice stated. More often than not, the workers would do as a Styx song and light up.

I wish to thank her for her honesty and sharing her hearts desire: To give a type of man in this world exactly what they want.

Chechnya: Are you the next Taliban? Sounds like home to me in the USA.

                                 Okay, the Boston Marathon bombing sucked. Seriously, what a way to end a race? Cross a finish line and watch others get nailed by shrapnel as a bombs go off.

                      Yep, that would bug my day a bit as few things do as hunks of plastic, bb's and recently heated metal fly into my friends limbs, severing veins, muscle, killing sight hitting their retinas...

                   Clouds of white puffs ascend as panic takes dominance. People bolt and run wildly. Running into one another without care.

                  There is blood and death in the field of vision.

                  

                   Crying, hysteria, faces a few seconds ago showing happiness now going toward pained expressions of sorrow, horror and complete terror.

                    Whiffs of lagers, ales and sausage vendors mixing with the scent of total human panic fill the street.

                       And when  silence eventually  becomes victorious, whom do we blame?

                       A factory in Texas blows to pieces, over a hundred missing from an ammonium-nitrate mishap. There is speculation of a dark coloured van near the area just before the explosion.

                       There were four people found dead about 30 miles from my home. They were  all shot in the head at close range in a basement. Drug deal gone bad? Unlikely, those tend to be more messy. Shotguns tend to go that way. Bad blood over a turf war gang related? Not likely. Those are not so pointed. It happened in Akron Ohio. Could ROC, (Russian organized crime, Triads (chinese based, big in Cleveland) Mafia, though incredibly silent in recent times finding other avenues to launder money thru ligit-business.

                     Let's face it: All the serious mob groups hold legitimate ways to cover their cash flow. Be it pizza places, deli's and restaurants that seldom have the same employees over a slender strand of months. (That aspect is their way of filtering others into the USA, under the radar. ) I've seen it in action and it works. These illegals are not nasty people. They do have a debt to work off though to those that got them here. Not so many years ago, I bowled with a Chinese team. I learned a great deal from them. Amazing. Their sense of family is like nothing the average family deluded by media and a sense that having, owning, controlling, is better than all else here in the United States.

                  I have to speak my mind here. I hope you would expect nothing else from me.

                 Let's go bonkers over bonkers over Boston!

                 Let's cover the world with photos of  Americans waiving the stars and stripes for all to see  a to display a solidarity. What for, for crying out loud? The bombers grew up here. They learned, presumably, all their  psychologically meaningful years,  here in the United States. They developed a value system from living here.

                 Apparently, graciously, they must've spent more time reading bathroom wall lore than that of the Anarchist Cookbook or their bombs would have killed more.

                 I have to like the way my countries media jumped at the chance to bring another country into it gather broader audience.

                  Chechnya.

                   As the the first suspect is gunned down, our flag begins to rise and people, most probably drunk after a sporting event, waive them madly. Pride in America songs crash onto the radio stations, calling for us to join together, rally around the stars and stripes and do...

                    -DO JUST FUCKING WHAT? WASTE ANOTHER LAND OF PEOPLE THAT HAD NO CONTROL OVER ANYTHING THAT HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA!

                    So the Middle East thing didn't pan out so well...

                     Should we aim our drones at North Korea and let them sail? Thank heavens KIA motors saw this coming and embraced the state of Georgia creating American jobs there a few years ago...

                     How many dead in the last twelve years have been created by our hands? How many innocent children never saw age 7 from our bombs and bullets shredding them to bits, leaving them with lost limbs, quadriplegic with nothing more than a mind to grow hatred rightfully toward us?

                  I do not blame the foot soldier. They did as they were trained. Like those dropping the bombs, what choice?

                  "

MOSCOW (Reuters) - The Russian-installed leader of Chechnya criticized U.S. police on Friday for killing an ethnic Chechen suspected of carrying out the Boston Marathon bombing and blamed the violence on his upbringing in the United States.

"The root of evil should be looked for in the United States,"

"They (the brothers) grew up and studied in the United States and their attitudes and belief...s were formed there," Kadyrov said. "Any attempt to make a connection between Chechnya and the Tsarnaevs is in vain."

Kadyrov, a tough pro-Kremlin leader whose security services have been accused of human rights abuses such as kidnappings and torture, questioned why the U.S. police had not been able to arrest Tamerlan Tsarnaev.

"Apparently the special services needed a result by whatever means to appease society," he said.

                  I said on Facebook I believed his words to be true. I stand by it. No one 'liked' it there. Go figure...

                 A few years back, and several before that, I've lived in a place where people get gunned down. Drugs deals gone south, Hookers gone independant, innocents killed due to piss poor aim. Killings in Parma Ohio, where a suspect of Polish sounding last name was taken into custody, was their Polish, Mexican, Puerto Rican, Italian, German, Israeli, Japanese, Chinese, ever brought to the forefront?

                  Chechnya.

                   Of course we did have that guy in Colorado blow away a theatre's worth of people for the opening of a Batman movie...

                Wow! How did we not go after Colorado after that terrorist event? C'mon, we all knew it was coming, didn't we? Didn't Columbine heighten our senses enough?

                 "mommy, I can't feel my arm," a child of five cries out. Her eyes, cloudy by tears her body creates looks at what is left of her tiny arm. Nothing below the elbow, all she sees is muscle and meat...

                  She deserves a better place.
                  Just get up and get away
                  To Mcdonalds.....

                   Oh yeah. Let's make the rest of the World go our way.

                   As I said before, the middle east didn't play out so well.

                    The last thing I want is another killing field for my desperate country to feel good about itself once again.

                     Chechnya.

                     If my country decides to go against you guys, all i can ask is this: Are you accepting new applicants?

          

 Mark William Darus 04222013

                 
                

                  

      

                 

                   

                 

                   

               

                 

                      

54 hour work week and 6 hours to go... "I've missed you," she spoke, her words embrasing me, hands guiding me her body.

             I cannot wait for the time to let my mind run wild once again. So much stored and needing release. So much has happened, rightfully deserving my minds focus and abilities.

            Marathon bombings, Texas explosion leading to more homegrown wastings as four people were found dead in a basement, all shot in the back of the head gangland style.

            It would seem I came back at the right time...

            I glance over my right shoulder.

            She is there, a mere arms length away, smiling peacefully at me.

             "not long away, my lover. It's time for you to close your eyes and be with me for a while." Her voice, so soothing. She reaches for me.

              Til later today, my friends.

Mark William Darus 074202013

           

...and yes, there will be more...

                  Sunrise: Solon Ohio, USA after a twelve hour work day/nite/morn.
                                  
                   I'd like to thank those of you that kept visiting while I was offline. It was an amazing two weeks away.

                   Over the next few days I plan on writing my thoughts on the Boston Marathon bombing, an explosion at Texas, USA factory and some things learned on a road that had no electricity.

                    I hope these photos can hold you til then.

                 

Lakefarm park: Ohio USA

 

 

 

 

 

                                                           

 

 

 

 

I cannot wait to share with you what I've gained in the past two weeks. Two weeks without electricity and heat. Going to a gym after 10-12 hours of manual labor and benefits that arose from that. From a purely physical aspect: I'm developing a six-pack instead of ingesting them. that's pretty cool.

 

Hmm, what of Boston?

 

We'll see.

 

Thank you once again.

 

Mark William Darus 04182013

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                     

Going to be offline for a while. Sorry.

                                 

      I'm going to be offline for a while. I am sorry for this. Recent events will have me unable to post here. That's okay, as other matters are pressing me at this time.
           I wish I could tell you what is going on. All  I can say is I am losing weight at an uncontrollable rate while eating over 9000 calories a day.
           I know I do not have AIDS or HIV.
           My blood work is borderline toward other areas of illness.

            So what?

            Cancer? That would be the likely suspect.

            Let's face it, cancer is boring. It's treatment beyond painful. How many of us hasn't been anti-graced with its tales? Sure, one could argue: no pain No gain. I personally have known of only one miracle of remission, that being a woman named Anne, diagnosed with a year or two to live over 35 years ago. I think it was ovarian cancer, which I guess I can rule out.

            I think I'll take each day as is comes and try to do what I do.

            What is it I do?

             I know where my narcissistic view of myself would point me through the scope of a keen sniper...
              

"you can fight that! Hell, I haven't seen a nut in months..."

              I will continue to take Photographs, make insane observations/connections, and still love pissing people off with what I believe to be the truth.

             Though I have been known to be a craft-beer-drunk, most have known me to be just some asshole that had no clue as to what was appropriate or correct. I'd just say what I thought or do as I did. (in all honesty, well as honest as a pathological liar can be that is.) Sorry, but I always knew when I was being sick, disgusting and seriously blunt with my thoughts. I simply didn't care what you thought at the time. When people thought I was quick witted after something someone said, intelligent even,  I somehow knew where they were going and had a witty retort, remark in place before their final breath left their face. To most, this made me a humerous person to be around. Oddly, I can count the handfuls of laughs that hit me truly funny, and most of them were solidly based in the ironic areas of accidents others tragedies that hit others lives.

            I am an animal. Go figure, we're all animals. The human (Hooman) race is nothing but a grouping of wholes, both small and large, like a Dr Seuss story, of the haves and have nots. Attempting to pack up like a den of wolves, yet failing as self indulgence takes hold derailing it swiftly.

            I'm so very hungry.

           When you stroll into a Speedway wanting either gas, Tornado, or coffee, I'm seeking something else.

            Don't get me wrong: I love my job and my place in life, but I am still very hungry.

            I find it funny as I write this. There is only one person that knows about this hunger and she is so far away from me...

           Know this about Nonviolent Psychopaths: like vampires, their cravings reach a fever pitch, which brings them to hunt. Reaching a point of starvation to numb their desires, diving earthward with eyes and fangs full thrust, aiming.

 

I need space.

          

           

            What I'd like for all of you to learn is this: As long as your mind still works, as long as your eyes still see, ears still hear, skin still feels the kiss of cold or warm air running over it like a lovers touch: FEEL and let yourself FEEL!

            I'll write more when I know more.

Am I breathing underwater...

If you think of me, think of this theme song from the TV show House.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-LVSSa-rQU4

Band: Massive Attack. Vocals by the amazingly gifted Elizabeth Frasier (Cocteau Twins).

 

Mark William Darus 03292013