"InsoM(a)niac...vol1" by Ottomic blue

"InsoM(a)niac...vol1" by Ottomic blue


insoM(a)niac

this is mainly up in hopes to motivate me to re-write the next dozen or so parts of this that are on a computer i will never see again..



The Albertson Boy

There are times when driving cross country, you feel lost. Too far away to turn back and not nearly close enough to your destination. When you are out in the middle of an abandoned dark highway with no cars in sight, eyes half open, loneliness setting in. Longing for a place to sit and make yourself at home, or at least relaxed, for even just a couple of minutes. Knowing that anything could happen and no one would know about it. Abandoned and lost. The utter feeling of helplessness as your over tired brain tries to make sense of the road and your body wanting to give up and collapse. Lost and alone. The epitome of isolation and sanity deprivation, barreling on relentlessly to find some place to rest.

This is what Jeff feels like all the time.

All the time.

You see, Jeff is an introvert, completely and totally. He was the type of guy who would rather spend his nights alone with a bag of weed instead of the obnoxious drunks out about town. True, this lifestyle did come with many sacrifices, but not much risk. Not much at all. Which also means not much change, which he was in dire need of. This 'take me as I come' attitude may be the only thing that gives him his confidence, for no attempt to be accepted meant no chance of being rejected. Unbeknownst to him why, Jeff has dealt with this depression his whole life. Without good reason, too. A loving family was what he was brought into, with much family and opportunity he entered this world. All in all everything was great in his life, except what was in his head. Maybe this is why he did what he did on the day that brought his demise. Maybe....

Sometimes our friend thought of himself as a mouse on a wheel, or more practically a man on a treadmill. No matter how hard one runs or fast he may go, the destination at the other end is nonexistent. Constantly exerting effort with nothing to show. Always running through life with nowhere to go. Time passes in our lives as the miles on this machine. Counting away a number, miles, minutes, years, a number. The longer we stay on our paths and the longer we stay to achieve our goal, the more tired we become.

There are times when running long distances when your arms and legs feel detached. Your heart pounds like an enraged prisoner on the walls of his fate. One with a sledgehammer. The more you strive forward the closer to collapsing from exhaust. Breathing sporadic, heart speeding, weak as ever.

This is what Jeff feels like all the time.

All the time.

This exhaustion came not from extreme physical labor, for work was not that strict. Mainly I believe it came from the insomnia. Extreme insomnia. When your brain doesn't halt its thought pattern long enough to doze off, sleep becomes a chore, a frustrating, tiresome chore.

Have you ever had a night where sleep brought no rest. The regeneration and recharging of ones self is not only diverted but replaced by utmost frustration. The feeling of vexation overwhelms you and it makes it harder to relax. The type of night where a baby is crying, a dog barking or an air conditioner broken. Or, if you prefer, narcotics or hallucinogens in your system have lost there fun but kept the 'upper effect'. You swear you have been sleeping for five minutes, but the clock has struck the hour. It seems as if every hour after that your internal clock goes haywire, awaking you in a panic. The anticipation and anger towards the inevitable moment of starting your day seems as drastic and sad as a convicts walk down death row. Muscles dehydrated, eyes red and dry as the Sahara, you move on knowing if the paycheck is not earned. A paycheck that in one form or another houses, clothes and feeds you. This added stress is another factor in your sleepless eve.

This is what Jeff feels like some of the time

By some ....... I mean all.

It is no wonder that to our protagonist's life is a series of unrealistic dreams and day dreams. Most of the waking hours, of which he has many, are spent with his best friends, horror movies. Only in this unrealistic dimension could people's true emotions and thoughts prevail in a way society could swallow. Life's darker side. The side that always intrigues the mind of the creative and wandering. He could see the originality and creativity every shot was made of. In a way, he felt he belonged with these creatures. In a big way. For instance let us not forget the story of the incredible Dr. Jekyll and the hideous Mr. Hyde. Opposites at the very core, yet it existing in the same being. Extraordinary, yes but unrealistic, no. Many psychologists may in fact tell you that some stories such as this stem from man's bi-polar tendencies. We may also discuss another metamorphic man, the werewolf......or wolfman if you prefer. Any individual no matter how normal or not could be turned into a beast if infected with its disease. Assuming you have been bitten of course, it seems every few weeks you live in fear. Fear of yourself and what you may do to others. Fear of the pain, claws ripping your finger tips apart, bone and muscle mass increasing under your already tight skin. Pushing, and ripping....tearing your flesh so wide apart you hear your tissue rip like old worn jeans. The hair growing all over your changing body, itching and making it all too hot to stay calm. No wonder babies cry when they are teething, the fangs ripping apart your gums reminds you of that pain you haven't felt in decades. A monstrous rage fills your every atom, animal instinct increased, a true animal indeed. This remains and becomes all you know for many hours until you return to normal, to fear and await the next change.....which is looming and eminent.

This is what Jeff feels like all the time.

All the time.

A Sacred Place

Rock Strongo walked down the old dusty road one last time to say goodbye to this place. It was time to move on, and move on he would. The birds chirped off in the distance in their early morning orchestra, accompanied by the twigs snapping under his feet. The soles of his shoes had worn thin, thin enough that his foot formed to every rock in the path. Along both sides of the path trees grew to what seemed unfathomable heights for their eerily thin bodies. Branches folded over to meet each other in the middle as if Mother Nature constructed a tunnel to the clearing that was growing as he stumbled towards it. As he crossed the threshold crudely marked by a stone wall, he raised his head to view the sunrise over the trees. There was a large area cleared in the woods between the trees he eyed and stood under. Directly in front of him the road formed a cull de sac leaving a mound of grass in the middle. On the knoll was a six and a half foot tall concrete pillar that stood as a gravestone in reference to the family below. Rock didn't know these people, but that didn't matter, these graves were family to him. Most of the bodies buried in this cemetery were those of women and children, and had ben there for nearly a century. Circled around this column were grave markings of some of these very children, often Rock wondered why they all died so young. Chances are the lack of modern ideas and medicine retarded the healing process, sometimes fatally. Nonetheless this was a home away from home. Opposite the path he entered, across the circle, sat a large rock on which he sat and thought many of nights. Thought of things he should do, things he should have done differently, and most of all.....what he wished he had done. Bumbling from the grassy hillock he moved towards the boulder, arm already reaching to support this weary traveler. He used his already downward momentum to spin his body and sit, using his arm as a pivot point. Rock rested here and sighed hard enough to leave him breathless. He would miss this place but would be eager to leave. That's all he ever really wanted, and the time had come. To the left of the man that now faced the way he had entered, a hill spanned sixty feet out, Scattered with graves the slope led up to the stone wall that surrounded the plot, save the path. Outside of the clearing the trees watched his every move. Tall and strong they stood, and the full leaved branches formed a frame to the sky above. This was Mr. Strongo's favorite part of this place, because the sunsets were accentuated by this thick, dark, outline. In this outline, the tree limbs formed a large shape skull at the high point in the west corner; eyes and mouth lacking in leaves, allowing light to give life. On either side of this shape, the tress arched upward, creating a wing effect. Guardian of this place, watching us from above......waiting for the company Rock could provide.

An animal scurried through the dry leaves in the woods as if it was suddenly frightened. This woke Rock, and he realized he had been asleep on this sitting throne for quite a while. Unaware of the moment he drifted of to sleep, or what time it was now, he only knew it was long enough for it to be dark. The moon welcomed his drowsy eyes with the soft glow of a child's night light, but did not provide the same comfort. More animals rustled by, stirring the ground between the trees which now seemed eerier than ever. At this moment fear sent chills up his spine, he wondered why all the creatures moved in the same direction. As Rock peered over his shoulder he saw what they ran from, and now he was running too..............

The Dynamic Duo

Ben sat cross legged in the middle of his king-sized bed, internal monologue racing. How could he bring this up without sounding rude? Not that he particularly minded being rude, the repercussions are what he wanted to avoid. This was not at all a sensitive subject to bring up but he knew how much Barbara hated to be told what to do. He glanced up at her, apparently she was still talking. For Christ's sake, how long has it been? Glancing back down at the object of his desire, he blurted out interrupting her mid-word.

"That's it! Fifteen dollar fine for parkin' on the grass." to which she chuckled and passed the joint along with an apology. As Ben flicked the ash into the glass tray that sit between them on the bed, she continued to ramble on about work. She had always been a beautiful young lady that was maturing into quite the woman, and it seems all had noticed. On this particular day, the apple of young Mr. Cooper's eye was complaining about how hard it was to deal with the general public being so attractive. Any jealousy Ben could have was quickly squashed by the primped and poised ego of his better half. All that had passed through their relationship in it's freshman year, now three years into their involvement a level of comfort had set in. Peas in a pod they were since they first met, and they had separated very little since. Now he for the first time felt a level of trust he had never experienced, very little did he doubt her faithfulness. Though he was not comfortable with the amount of faith he had to have considering the fact she was always out, he put up with it. He didn't much have a choice, he was glad she settled with him and wouldn't risk it for the world. It was surprising how much our Benjamin had to open his mind and leaved behind much of his prejudices be comfortable around Barbara. A man shouldn't have to compromise himself for anyone, but he was infatuated. Brainwashed if you prefer. It had been this way since the beginning.

They finished smoking and prepared for bed. They cuddled and whispered sweet words until her green eyes could stay open no longer. Ben clutched her as she slept as if someone would come snatch her away in the middle of the night. He found comfort in the smell of her hair and the warmth of her body. He had never loved anyone this much, and never thought he would. He gripped her tighter for a moment and sighed, inhaling her aroma with a slight grin. As he drifted to sleep he felt every muscle getting lighter, floating away. 'Where would they drift to tonight?' he wondered with his last thought before he was swept into a dream. A nightmare.

Ben had nightmares all the time.

All the time.

Another event less night

Jeff lay across the couch, pipe in one hand, lighter in the other. Eyes half drawn, breathing slowing down. Sometimes he fought off sleep as long as he could just to stay up and smoke. As if it would comfort him in some way. Such as the aforementioned male found such comfort in the scent of his lady, Albertson found comfort in a cloudy room. He slept well when he was stoned and the room smelled of herb. Breathing deep the presence of Maryjane, grasping his pillow between his arms as if to identify this scent with a faux companion. Often when the night brought its cloak of stillness and the dark overtook the light, depression sunk into this hermit. Loneliness became overwhelming and pressure grew beneath the skin. Often when he grew upset he felt a warmth beneath his skin, his muscles where tight and hot. The pain was overwhelming at times, tormenting himself, his brain hurt. Dear Jeffrey sat up from his slump and reached for the blade on the table. It was a dull fold out knife about three inches in length. He held it up and flicked it out in his chubby hands, running his stubby fingers across it. The blade was reflective in the light, allowing Jeff to look into his own defeated eyes. Jade kaleidoscopic windows to his own hell. The knife was about an inch away from his forearm now, he held it with his right hand so tight the tendons in his fingers burned. Though his intentions were to slice himself open, he was always apprehensive when he did so. I guess any person naturally flinches when danger is presented, but he swiped down and pulled away before he could feel the cut. Even now alone in his room his self esteem dropped as he felt weak and scared again. As a pink hue appeared, and a red line through it, his eyes brightened. The blood started to run, very slowly. It was not a deep cut at all.....aye, a scratch, a scratch. But nonetheless, the pain felt good. All the heat in his body rushed to the one spot, leaving a cool chill in its absence. Goose bumps grew across the back of his tanned arms, hair standing on his neck. As the blood collected, Jeff raised his arm to his large lips and licked it clean. He enjoyed the salty taste, but could you call it salty? Could anything this organic and original be compared to any everyday cabinet spice?

This habit that Jeffrey had was not frequent enough to do any real physical damage, but he had to hide the scars. Others speculated and asked questions sometimes, he did not like the attention. Often afterwards, when the scabbing cuts started to itch, he regretted doing so........but at times its all that helped. Unsatisfied with the mere cat scratch.....he went for something sharper............He went to the drawer in the desk across the room and fumbled through it blindly. The blood that was still wet on his arm ran down towards his wrist now, tracing the dominant muscles. The tip of his middle finger ran across what felt life a small flathead screw. He recognized this as the one that held together the two halves of his silver utility knife. Fresh razor blades. These cuts were always so mush more successful, but way more dangerous. He was much more apprehensive about this, sometimes it went to far. He sat down on the couch and extracted the blade. Staring at the shiny tip he felt cold sweat on his back. Slowly he pulled his thumb back on the retractor and put the knife down. His first sign of self control.

He needed to vent however so he picked up his trusty notebook and began to write............

A Nightmare on Locust St.

Rock's pupils grew as they tried to adjust to the oncoming darkness. The trees moaned as the swayed in the wind, singing the baritone to the symphony of horror before him. Leaves blew in sudden gusts, as if the hill in the graveyard was the castanet. Shhhhh Shh Shh Shh. Shhhhh Shh Shh Shh. The clouded sky now barked down to earth a deafening thunder and the cymbal crashes of lightning bolts. The perfect score for this dreary night. Rock now turned and ran from the force pouring through the trees like sand through ones fingers. Pouring out towards him. He ran and was forced to hurdle over the stone wall directly under his guardian skull in the trees. The darkness came from behind his sitting stone, and chased him up the hill. The ground crunched as his weight landed on the dry sticks and leaves of the woods. He ran deep and fast into them, shoulders bouncing off of the trees he had no time to avoid. A few minutes into this escape Mr. Strongo's stocky legs found him into an open field. To the left was a grassland that stretched into the distance, beyond this was a main road that could lead him back to civilization. To his right was a garden, full of large purple flowers he had never seen before. In the moment he stopped to realize his new setting, he noticed that he was no longer being followed. Tentatively he walked to the garden to examine this odd new plant. This plot of land reserved for the growing of flowers spanned thirty square feet, all off which was full of different plants. An array of colors in no particular pattern, but was pleasing to the eye enough to draw an escaping man's attention. None of these flowers, however, was familiar to the eye of this traveler.

Now crouched and reaching for the purple oddity in question, Rock flinched as he heard a noise from behind. As slowly as his tired muscles could move him, he stood up. He heard it again. And again. Soon he recognized the sound as raindrops hitting the floor of the field's's wooded boundary. Then came the rain. Fast and hard it came, like sheets of water, soaking his open flannel shirt and the vintage rock 'n roll shirt beneath. Seeking cover, he soon forgot about his curious garden and jogged off towards the inevitable connect to the road. His black steel toed boots sloshed in the grass below how, splashing water up onto his ripped blue jeans. A soft jingle could be heard as his loose change and wallet chain swung with the rhythm of his run. This accompanied the rain to give another one of the worlds natural music. Running to the rhythm he tried to concentrate on, to bypass his thoughts around his aching muscles and shortened breath.

It seems like he was running from something all the time.

All the time.

Even when he was a child he ran from these things. That's really how this started, and why he had come to this place to say his farewell. With all his heart, Rock wanted to believe that moving far away would solve this, so this was to be his last time here. As he ran off towards the street that would bring him way he remembered one of these childhood memories.....

A young Rock curled himself in the fetal position, blanket clenched tight over his head. As if this cloth could somehow protect him from what he knew was out there. The air was getting stale and humid in his makeshift bunker, making it harder to concentrate. He knew that if he did not focus one hundred percent on keeping the closet door closed, the beast within would get him. The jostling of the doorknob had ceased and now there was a series of large thumps. Fear was gnawing away his focus and the wood was starting to crack. He could take it no longer and pulled the covers off of his head. The rush of cool fresh air hit his face and gave him chills. Another loud crack was heard, and the door was now in half. With the agility of an arachnid he leapt from the bed and land on one foot, and stumbled into his bedroom door. As fast as one could move he was out of his room and slammed the door behind him. Holding it shut with all his strength he raised his head to gaze the horror that lay before him.............

Jeff's Journal p.36

Z?

When you sleep you're weak, physically and mentally

The dark brings creeps, dreams bring insanity

Senses dulled in sleep, vulnerable, reactions slow

Sleep with a bat by my side and a knife under my pillow

Doors and windows locked, not really worried about that

But in my dreams it seems I'm always being attacked

Demons come crashing, ripping right through my brain

Causing pain so strong it might drive me insane.

Breathing in the dark, I feel I'm being watched

Somehow I'm lost even though my trail is marked

Tick tock of the broken clock hypnotizes

Tricksters in the dark with many surprises

Up their sleeves, committing evil deeds

To me, you see, when I fall asleep and dream

The demons are so close now they're under my skin

See them crawling into my flesh, so I slice myself open.

Monsters in the dark-on the creep

Scared so stiff-my blood could freeze

Ghosts in my dreams always haunting me

And that's why I preach-Question Sleep.

Another troubled sleeper

There are certain mornings when it seems half of your brain is awake while the other lingers behind in it's slumber. You can feel your mind and eyes conscience in the cold cavern of your sleeping skull, relaxed in it's own sensory depravation tank. An 'inner' body experience, when the imagination can run as ramped and in as many directions as a swarm of ants, bringing along the thoughts connected to your waking life. At times like these, if you are lucky enough you can watch your own brain at work, as if this dream was a movie you could see and feel.

On this particularly cold and rainy summer morn, Ben was in one of these trances. He was trying to hold on to sleep as long as he could, even a subtle depression would make him want to sleep the day away. It was warm in the large bed they now shared and sweat sat still on Ben's laying body. Barbara's shirt was damp with both their perspiration on her back and around her shoulders where he held her. This was uncomfortable enough to draw attention away from his sleeping mind. Hot and sticky, but he held her there still. Close and tight. He would lay in bed and hold his love on these weekend mornings on a regular basis. All his life, Ben had trouble sleeping, and did very little of it. Often on mornings they both could sleep in he would wake up hours before her, and lay there in bed as long as he could......holding her, watching her, just having her for his own. No longer could our friend lay in twisted sheets and sweaty clothes. He crept out of bed, scooting across on his ass like a child making it's way down stairs. Moving out of the door, his foot pushed back on it to close it softly. Not that it would have woken her, adverse to her partner in many ways including this one, she was a heavy sleeper.

Turning right out of the bedroom he shuffled to the bathroom, stretching his arms above his head on the way. He leaned his left arm out and flicked the light switch on, squinting as his pupil's adjusted and cowered from the bright flash. Dark blotches clouded his vision as his optic nerves recovered from their shock. An odd shadow appeared in the mirror for a split second and though he didn't believe it, he chalked it up to be one of these blotches. Along the right side of said mirror it seemed there was a figure behind him, rather a silhouette of a figure. The imagination does play tricks, and he couldn't of seen what he just saw, so it must have been the lights. This is what Ben told himself until the goosebumps resided, he did what he came for and proceeded outside to have a smoke.......

An Introduction to the Nightmares...

.....As the door shut behind our young hero, he realized he was no longer home. Rock grew cold, a cold that grew congruent to his fear. It felt to him as if his heart was now pumping in the warm blood it should, but expelling an icy frost into his body. A dryness caked over his now widened eyes, as they were largely exposed to the stale air. These eyes now gazed upon their new surroundings, and old stone building. Constructed mainly of large boulders, it reminded Rock of a dungeon that belonged in an old castle in the movies. In fact, it was complete with chains, shackles, moss and the like. This dungeon however housed no mythical dragon of the old days, or white bearded prisoners, withering away from years of starvation and neglect. It seems the prisoners of this jail were all.....born with a specific birth defect. Conjoined twins. Rock was not fearful of these people in general, but the grotesque nature and extremity of their deformity. The first couple he saw were joined at the head, more specifically, the right side of one's face was morphed to the right of the other's. Almost as if they whispering a secret to each other and melted together when they touched. A car wreck was made where the head-on-head collision occurred, sending cheek bone fragments askew. Skin now stretched as if they spent the first half of their lives pulling apart. This in and of itself was odd enough, but these two were also somehow demonic in appearance. Their skin was an odd tone and covered in liver spots. Rib cages protruding and visible through there scrawny chests. Somehow the pole-thin upper arms met at the elbow with muscular forearms the resembled that of Popeye's (or so thought Rock). Further down these appendages where horrific, oversized hands whose fingers pointed and moved like spider legs. These two brothers stumbled in a clockwise circle in their caged off area like fighters sizing each other up. Side-stepping in rhythm with each other, and their eye contact never breaking. Growling and salivating like canines, they snapped at each other with an intensity one could only assume was meant to kill.

A pair of high pitched shrieks pierce the air and sent a sharp pain to the boys ear drum, breaking his concentration on the two. He blinked rapidly and renewed the moisture of his eyes and clarity of his vision. A vision that was now directed towards the cause of these shrieks.......a second pair of twins. These two appeared to have been burned severely at some point in their lives. They lay on their backs, opposite each other, attached at the knees. As one of their thighs ended at the kneecap, the others thigh began, replacing the calf and foot was a thigh and hip. A thigh and hip, of another being, another person. How difficult this affliction must be, our friend thought. Now, this particular pair as previously mentioned was burned. To a crisp. Perhaps a lack of legs prevented any hope of an escape from a burning house. Perhaps an angry and scared pair of parents didn't (or couldn't) accept this monstrosity. Either way, the skin that covered the entirety of this creature that lay across the floor was telling the story. The eyes of the brothers were melted over, leaving both blind. They screamed and howled, but used no words.....making it easier to regard them as an "it" rather than people. Poor, unfortunate people.

A second interrupting noise broke the stride of Rock's racing thoughts...........

A large door seemed to appear out of nowhere on the wall to the right of young Mr. Strongo, it creaked open and out walked two large men. Two large men in executioners masks.........