Lindsey

I tried to create a face. It wasn’t one to replace my own, or even one made of imagination. The face I was reaching out for was one that holds a place in history I couldn’t ever possibly explain.

I wish I could say that there was something life-changing or monumental that caused me to think about this person. But, the truth is is that it most likely came to me due to a misfire of a series of chemicals in my head, which was most likely caused by a glass too many of wine. It did come to me at a pivotal moment though, the point when I had to decide to lay my head down to sleep or to continue my drinking. If this hasn’t made it obvious enough I’ll spoil it for you, I chose the latter.

it came on like you’d imagine these things would: Softly and silently, trying its best not to alert me to its presence. At first I was mislead, I thought for sure that the features I was thinking about belonged to at least a dozen others who would’ve made far more sense than the one that came to me eventually.

I wish I could say it was a pleasant arrival. But to be honest the shock of its appearance dominated my perception of the whole ordeal. I wanted to think of it as something other than a fluke but I just couldn’t find the justification for the memory. I eventually came to terms with the reality that the nose, and eyes, and mouth, and ears, and chin that were drawing themselves with invisible hands in the place in my head that I try not to admit exists too often.

See, I have reason to believe that this face no longer belongs to this world. it no longer weaves its way through crowds of people in a city, nor does it act as the solitary witness to the confessions of trees. I don’t want to believe it, but I can’t help but think that this person and their face belongs now to the dirt and an ether I’m not fully convinced exists. Which terrifies me because I’ve never once dwelled on the way the dead blink or how they smile at the strangest things.

I don’t even know if I got the details right. I’m sure there’s a picture somewhere, buried in a shoebox or a computer folder that I’ve long forgotten about. Yet, I couldn’t be bothered to do that type of searching, because honestly, it might’ve proven my imagination wrong. I’m not saying I didn’t search, because dear god I did. I just wasn’t disappointed to find proof of the face in a place that belonged to me.

Yet, regardless of all my beliefs the face came to me anyways. And with it it brought a host of other thoughts too trivial and useless to mention. But with those futile aspects, I had a desire to discover. I wanted to be proven wrong, I wanted to find a sign of life. if for no other reason to be confident in my ignorance of the situation. So, I did what all idiots do when they need answers, I went to the internet.

I tore through all of the digital means that I could think of without any results that satisfied me. I found nothing, not a single trace, which was just unacceptable, yet it was the conclusion that I was forced to deal with. No confirmation one way or the other. Just more possibilities, probabilities, and a slew of other imaginary qualifiers.

The real sad part to this whole thing is that I had no intention of renewing contact or even revealing myself in any way. I didn’t want to know how the hours and seconds that make up this life were treating her. I didn’t want to know what new music she was listening to, that would’ve surely changed my life. I didn’t want to know about her husband who I’m sure must’ve appeared, assuming that she survived the things that would’ve made that impossible. To be completely honest, I’m not sure what I hoped to achieve by seeing that face in a place other than my head.

My best guess is that I wanted to latch onto something from my personal history that wasn’t a slave to my unreliable mind. But I’m not even sure it’s that either. There’s a part of me that believes that I’m truly a selfish person and I simply wanted to see something that proved that the world didn’t turn without me signing off on it. I wanted to see a face trapped in a limbo, awaiting me to give it the go ahead to pass on to someone else’s imagination.

The Rampant Lands Pt.1- The Sea And All That’s Left Behind

(For an introduction to just what the hell this is, click here)

No one ever mentioned how everyone would be shipped. There were plenty of technologies that could’ve performed the task admirably, so the choice of large boats seemed odd.

Rita couldn’t remember the last time she was on a boat. She knew for certain she had never been on one so large. Somewhere along the way she heard that when vessels were this large they were called ships. She didn’t particularly care about the exact difference.

Watching the crew operate the ship was a good way to pass the time. Adults scurried all over, pulling levers, tying ropes, tending to different machines. Every once in awhile one of her fellow passengers would find some ounce of ambition in their chests and offered their services. Each time they were politely asked to take their seats again with assurances that while the responsibility of the ship was not theirs, there might be a task for them on the return trip.

When The Rampant Lands first came into sight, the excitement was marked by the buzzing of skin and widening of irises. Rita felt a bit of shame as she joined in with the others as they called out for more speed. The remaining water was only an obstacle that needed to be ignored and conquered. Continue reading

Welcome to The Rampant Lands

(Warning, evidence against my current status of sane lies ahead)

There was a time when I had grand plans for this blog. There was an intricate blueprint including different columns and features. Yet, as the years have gone on and have refused to stop most of those designs have fallen away. This blog in turn has become mostly something of a dumping ground for anything that I feel like sharing. Essentially, I’ve lost focus and I’m not exactly upset about that but because of this I find that it’s necessary to write these sorts of introductions whenever I begin something that is somewhat different in nature than other things you may find here.

Let’s just get right into this.

There’s a place in head, a place that I conjured up sometime during my senior year of high school. I don’t think I realized it at the time, but it was a world that I invented as a safe zone for my imagination. I don’t know if there was a specific event that triggered the emergence of this world from the abyss, but before I even recognized its existence I a name for it, The Rampant Lands.

I never considered someone who couldn’t handle the real world around me, but slowly The Rampant Lands grew as I began to realize that the shield of high school and adolescence were going to be taken from me. Soon, I was no longer laying in bed thinking about the days that had passed but I was dreaming of this world and the characters inside. The stories that played out for them were inherently fiction, but I couldn’t deny that there was a certain sheen of realism coating the images in my head.

Basically, I was retreated to The Rampant Lands as a way to shield myself from the real world. By adding a layer of imagination between the things I believed were plaguing me and myself I felt like I was somehow able to exist, better? Eventually I started to write down the tales that were more persistent in The Rampant Lands, some of those stories may have even shown up on this blog, I’m just a little too lazy to go back and check. But, like most of my bigger writing projects, The Rampant Lands entered a state of hibernation that for all intents and purposes was supposed to be permanent.

It was recently though, when I began cautiously visiting The Rampant Lands again, lord knows what that says about my stability, and I’ve felt compelled to share. So, for the foreseeable future, the majority of this blog will become a place where I tell the tales of The Rampant Lands.

Now, let me be clear. These stories are abstract, vague, symbolic, and wholly personal, just like any self respecting coping mechanism should be. A lot of these were written years ago and most likely show this. The release schedule is not set in stone and I have no idea whether or not this project will ever be finished. But, if you’re still interested,

Welcome To The Rampant Lands

 

Sluts Will Save Us All

The world is full of mistakes. The list is vast, the list is long and includes things like the fact that The Bachelor has more than two seasons under its belt and don’t even get me started about the decision to put raw onions on the McRib. But, there’s one misstep that is making a blitzkrieg march towards the top and that particular item is basically how we fucked up, well, fucking. Continue reading

Jesus, We Should Talk

First off, please don’t call me a backslider. I know that if you consider just the part of my life that matters to you, backslider is the appropriate term, I get that. The more appropriate term for me should be born again atheist. Yes, I agree that that makes me seem like the edgy cool kid from a 90s teen drama about “alternative lifestyles”, I’ve come to terms with that but, as the phrase suggests I think there’s a version of my story that you don’t know, because I don’t really buy into the whole omnipotent thing. Continue reading

Murphy’s Pub

murphys_edited

Recently I’ve been reading a wonderful book called Come Here Often by Sean Manning & many others. (which can be purchased here) It’s a wonderful book of essays about the writers’ favorite bars, or at least the bars that hold a certain place in their hearts. This has inspired me to write about a certain bar from my own history and what position it holds in my own sorted past.

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                I hate Murphy’s Pub. I hate just about everything about it. From the cheap shots that they pour down the patron’s throats, to the barely legible bass heavy music, to the Discovery Channel-esque feral display that is commonplace on the weekends. It’s a place where souls go to sleep for a night and the decisions made by drunken synapses run supreme. It exists where it should not and like an open sore it festers there. The people who frequent it are vapid, aggressive, sex crazed, shameless, and blind.

                And goddamn if I don’t wish I could be one of them again. Continue reading