It’s finished. A few slight oversights aside, it is ready for Amazon and BN.com. I kept getting feedback that my first book was quite long. Anyone who got through that work and felt that way will appreciate the fact that this one comes in at a whopping 278 pages so its much shorter. I would still recommend reading the first book though as this one picks up where the other left off. With the first book, I had to lay a lot of groundwork and with this one, all I had to do was simply touch on some of it as a sort of reminder. As a stand alone book, this one still has some good chops, but I think to really get into the characters, it will benefit most people to give Rumbling Heart a read as well.
All I really have left to do is type up a Synopsis and upload the work and it’s all done. I hope this book satisfies my loyal followers as it focuses on the same characters as the first book and continues to explore their lives. There are at least 2 major twists in this work. They are so big that they are pretty hard to miss…in fact, they may club you in the face. Be sure to check out the Facebook event as I will be giving away at least 2 copies of RB to those attending. Great thing about the event…you don’t even have to go anywhere or be somewhere at a specific time. All you have to do is click attend. Your support is greatly appreciated.
As I write, I’ve started to figure out a few things about the world and why nothing ever seems to change. The world isn’t real. I go out and I attend classes and I watch other people as they go about their day and I realized that what they all do seems almost pointless. I see people go out and drink and smoke and party and it seems to help them deal with what the world is, but I’ve never looked to those options in my life.
I feel like I’m reading the same book over and over again with slight editorially differences from edition to edition. The style changes a little, but it’s still the same old tired story. It makes me think about what is real and what is it that we make up to either make ourselves feel important or to make it seem like our lives have some sort of meaning. I spend 8 months writing and perfecting a book and it was supposed to be some monumental feat. It’s supposed to be some life changing event, but it wasn’t. I’m still just as meaningless and non essential as before, and I think I’m ok with it.
I will finish my planned works and just call it a day. Besides, the world isn’t real, right?
Unrealistic transformation, hidden revolver
Bursting bulbs, the lights, the tone will be fine
Cheers or jeers, I don’t care which
Collision into hindrance happens regardless
I look over to the mirror, dim luminescent glow
The colors I wear, dark and dazzling
I see my hair draping down and consider it fine
The rings on my fingers click against the crackling hiss deity
I look at the door, listening, that relentless vociferate
Repetitious existence, hundreds a year, yet still neurotic
Welcome thy dead souls, intrude my horizon
It’s what they expect so I exhale, and cry again
Enervating and worrisome, and loosening my grasp
The phantasmic ritual recovers memory, inception manifestation
I walk to the door and carry my affliction
They will all get to see what they paid for
Static is all I hear and it might as well be silence. I’m not sure what it is I am listening for, but I know it’s more than this. Highlights and twilight beckon and I am not certain of very much anymore. Nothing new I suppose, confused incontinent mind unable to grasp my foreseeable future. My fingers spitting out toying words and subject matter of the 7th degree; not making much sense as I deal with illness and dizzying tiredness. I’ve lost 6 pounds of water weight just today and I am not sure if I want to look at that as a bad thing just yet. I inhale bottles of the stuff, yet it melts off me as my mild fever comes and goes. I dress in layers, warm ups covering my legs and I even place the wool cap on my head, but I can never seem to get warm enough. Two blankets I place over my body. The one I feel on my torso is soft and comforting while the other is stiff, its material eliciting an itch which I cannot help but scratch. I toss it from my chin as my patience is beyond exhausted.
No longer can I rest so now I must write and express and tell stories no one will understand, but I write them anyway. Words keep coming, but no sense is assigned. Mindless and tired, sometimes we do things out of habit more than for survival. While not bothersome, my habit is never being able to let my mind sleep. Even when I do sleep, I am restless and my body tosses about on the bed till I am sitting on the floor once again harboring delusions of fanatic assumption. I crave sleep. Admittedly, I sleep to dream and dream I do, but my mind, forever writing its stories, battles my fantasies and forces touches of reality into them. While I imagine others sleeping and snoring and perhaps unknowingly smiling in their slumber, I can feel myself moving, twitching, unable to let myself relax.
At times, I cannot tell if I am dreaming or waking up. I force myself to become self-aware which is both a blessing and a curse. Blessing so forth, the knowledge of dreaming, exhuming the fossils of my nature and the demons of my past, yet the curse lingers. Knowing my mind is lurking and hiding reality from me, sitting, waiting to procure enough sentiment to cause my logic harm, I tread lightly and wait for the storm to arrive. Still, I cannot help but let this happen for dreaming comes much easier to me that the realism of the world outside my bedroom door, for in my dreams, I can create and write however I like without fear of prudence and judgment. In these dreams, I can see her and only her and she makes me feel normal and real and safe. Her hair long and flowing, her body small and almost fragile. I look into her and she stares back, looking into my nothingness and finding what is hidden and blackened by disdaining aberration. However long the night or complacent the façade, she tears it all down and reveals what is real and I begin to feel content. The opening of my eyes enemies my infatuation and need to be with her, but I know my time with her is limited, so I must revel in its glorious splendor.
Been sleeping quite a bit lately. Then again, I have been staying up a lot longer than normal. Somehow I have managed two 30 hour days this week so of course once asleep, I stay asleep for upwards of 14 hours. Today i actually hit 16 hours, only waking because i figured 16 should be more than enough. Plus I need to make sure I am not all out of whack come Monday, first day of spring classes. I wish i were having worth while dreams at least. Maybe the sleep would be better if i were, but sadly my tiny muse had yet to visit me the last few nights. It does worry me, but its likely because I am focusing on other things and other people.
Did have a dream about high school that was somewhat graphic. I was in a math class in my old high school when the teacher told us to open our books and answer a few questions. I did this, but the the teacher went on to demean me in front of the entire class, calling me names and trying to embarrass me. I was somewhat self aware in the dream so I got up and slammed and broke a desk over him, leaving him sprawled across the floor in a bloody mess. I apologized to the class and left. I went down stairs and into the main office where there were two pianos. I sat down and played for awhile as more people noticed the songs I was playing. A small crowd gathered and I played on till my teacher made his way down and accused me of assaulting him, blood still on his face. I told the people why I struck him and they instantly turned on him.
Waking up, I wasn’t sure what to make of the dream. Honestly i didn’t recognize anyone in the dream either so I could care less about it. Unless there are certain individuals who are playing important roles in my life present, I am considering the dream pointless and if I become self aware, I just do anything I want and don’t care about the flow of the story my brain is trying to tell me.
I went back and looked over my previous “In Dreams” post and realized I had written a ton…i mean, it’s approaching ridiculous as far as length. When I write, I do just that…write. Sometimes losing track of time and just going on and on, especially when I have a story to tell.
Going over the dream I realized I may have mused myself. If i really wanted to, I could take that dream and turn it into a mighty fine story. I think I am going to do just that. The circumstances are pretty strange, but it has a pure heart so I think I can build a world around it. I can develop those characters into real people and tailor a great romance, something that may be a bit much for the macho men out there, but I have a feeling I will be happy with it. Well, I guess I am off to get started on it. Hope it goes well. Where is my musical ammunition?