hung.

The thing is done.

Now the sword can sleep.

Ooh-rah.

The past three days.

I probably should've written about everything as soon as it happened. I guess my first instinct isn't always to run straight to the computer when bad things happen. I'm calm enough and aware enough now to go over it all in my head. So I will.

Thursday

We had the senior banquet. Dave drove me and I left my car at Sid's. Well, near Sid's. There's a nice circle full of abandoned buildings that we leave our cars in when Sid's not supposed to have people over. I had to sleep there one time.

Anyway.

The banquet had good food, and a dj. Dave and Sid had smoked a blunt in the car and I think it got me a little stoned. Maybe not, but I was feeling out of it at the banquet. And Dave's girlfriend looked beautiful. I had a crush on her, before she was Dave's girlfriend. I danced with her. I don't think Dave saw. I don't think Dave saw that time.

I had the dj dedicate a song to her. That was stupid. Dancing with her was one thing, but this was just undeniably fucking stupid. It was her favorite song. Dave's girlfriend thought Dave had dedicated the song to her. They'd been having a fight, and it seemed like the most perfectly goddamn adorable thing for him to do to try and reconcile with her. She cried.

I didn't even think of that. I didn't even think of her assuming that. I don't know how. Of course she would assume it was Dave.

Dave realized it was me. I don't know how. He asked to talk to me outside. Not in an angry way. He was serious, but he didn't seem mad, I remember that.

What I don't remember is what happened outside the banquet hall. The last thing I remember is following Dave through the door and staring at his stupid cowboy boots and reaching into my pocket.

I know I should remember. But I can't figure out if I blacked out or not. I didn't lose time. At least, I don't remember losing time. I didn't blink and find myself inside. I just can't remember. I've been trying to think of what me and Dave talked about for two days and I know something happened, the details are just beyond me. They're like a dream that slipped away upon wakening.

So I can't remember shit. Nothing new there. What bothers me is the last thing I do remember: reaching into my pocket. Sid's gift was in my pocket.

The thing he got from his brother. The knife.

Dave must've gone home or something after that because I haven't seen him since.

I asked his girlfriend to drive me to my car while we were dancing. I was too honest with her on the ride home, I don't think she appreciated it. I drove myself home and stayed up all night watching public access channels and smoking cigarettes my dad thought I didn't know he had.

Friday

I slept fine, but I was exhausted in the morning for some reason. I had to go to senior's last assembly and give a speech. I wrote it that morning. It went well. I got more applause than I expected to. Everyone told me I did well.

It was a good day, actually. I was just kind of surprised Dave wasn't there.

No one wanted to hang out after the assembly. Alex had a date with Sabrina, Sid had to have his septic tank pumped or something. So I went home, took more of my pain medication than I should have and drank my dad's beer. I knew he'd notice, but I didn't care.

Dad called around five, said he had to work late that night. Shouldn't wait up for him, order some Chinese.

I should note: beer and Chinese food do not mix well. As I was tossing some of the empties into our big bag in the basement, I puked a small stream of pisswarm Coors Light onto the aluminum. As I was wiping my mouth I noticed my cat staring at me from the corner of the room. My cat's name is George.

George's eyes flash like motherfuckers in the dark. They usually flash green, though, because his eyes are green. They were flashing blue now though, a bright piercing blue.

"George, what's up."

George meows a lot. It's like having a conversation with Chewbacca or something.

He didn't meow, though. He lumbered over all fat and black and shook his head at me. He shook his head like a person signing "no". Just like a person. I reeled back and tried to ignore the way he was looking at me. The way his eyes seemed older than mankind. Predatory.

I tried to play it off cool. "You're a fatass, George."

And then the cat opened his mouth and fucking spoke to me.

I wish I was kidding.

His voice was like Patrick Stewart crossfaded with Treebeard: "You are mistaken."

I admit, in hindsight I really wish I had decided to say something rational and ask a question or something. A conversation with my cat might have been enlightening at this point. But I didn't.

I screamed and ran out of there. I spent all night in the closet with a comforter around my shoulders and my rifle in my hands. I haven't seen George yet. I am not sure if I will speak to him when I do see him, or if I will shoot him.

Saturday

I haven't spoken to my dad yet. I haven't even been awake at the same time as him since Wednesday. I don't know what to tell him. Or where to start. I spent all day driving around aimlessly in Worcester, stopping in diners and banks, and then spent the evening sitting on the goddamn computer. I was watching some weird videogame webcast earlier that got interrupted by some old trippy video and the audio cut out. That's been the extent of the excitement.

It's 1:33 AM now. Its technically Sunday, I guess.

I graduate from high school later today.

I have to give a speech there too.

Sid gave me a gift.

Can't believe the superintendent didn't cancel school today. Some people can't get out of their driveways around here, and Southbridge is still all torn up.

I had grad rehearsal, too. Then me and Alex went straight to Sid's. We hung out there, then went and got Taco Bell.

There's this drink at Taco Bell. We always have it. Mountain Dew Baja Blast. You can only find it at Taco Bell. We never order anything else when we're there, and we only go to Taco Bell, so it's all we drink.

I drove us home. I think. I remember driving too fast and yelling at Sid and then I think I was alone in the car for a bit, and it was weird. There were no other cars on the road, and the road seemed more twisted than usual. I mean, I am in rural Massachusetts, oh land of hills and windy trails, but the road was twisting like a corkscrew and the telephone poles were all jutting out at awkward, irregular angles. And I drove so fast. Every corner was a near miss. I didn't check the speedometer.

Then Sid's in the front seat and he's laughing with me about something but I'm not really laughing, just coughing, and I hear Sid start to sound worried.

I got us home okay. I assume. I'm here now and Sid's not here, so I guess I drove him home.

I think I was driving.

All I can think of is something Alex said today: "The best times in life are when you almost lose control."

The banquet is tonight. I'm wearing my suit, red tie. Mouth's feeling better. Still not sure if I'm ready to take on a steak, though.

I need a fucking cigarette.

"Wash the day off of me,"

Went on the class trip today. Felt like it might be good for me, even if I didn't feel like going. We went to an amusement park.

To Six Flags.

Six Flags New England.

In Springfield.

We got there early in the day. Went on the good coasters early, most of them twice. Got the blood flowing. We hit all the spots. We ran out of things to do. We were wishing for a reason to go home early.

We got a tornado warning.

No one took it seriously, at first. There hasn't been a dragon in these parts in a thousand years. Why worry about it? Some people got too worked up over clouds. This was New England. We know about the rain.

The staff seemed to be taking it seriously.

We decided this was a good enough time to leave. As we were going to the buses, we started hearing things, like that a tornado had touched down in Springfield. I said "oh, Springfield."

I remembered stopping in Springfield on the Amtrak one time and encountering various interesting homeless people. I had an amusing anecdote to share.

Then someone said, "We're in Springfield."

The staff didn't exactly want us to leave. They said we could, but they also offered to let us take shelter in the buildings. We wanted to leave.

So we did.

So we drove through Springfield right after the tornado did. We saw cars overturned, trees uprooted, buildings torn to pieces.

So we watched the windows like hawks.

So we recorded ourselves with video cameras and called our parents and girlfriends to say I love you.

If we had left a little earlier. Or a little later.

I almost felt like I had trouble staying awake.

I can only remember the ride home in flashes.

Flash one: I am looking at a building that has had its roof ripped off. I'm fumbling with my backpack.

Flash two: I'm zooming in on a cloud in the distance on my camcorder. Everyone around me is exclaiming nervously.

Flash three: We're driving past a horde of sirens and flashing lights.

Flash four: I'm at the school on the phone telling him he needs to talk to the principal about me driving home.

Flash five: I'm arguing with a cop about being let onto the warzone my road has been turned into.

I got home.

It was still there.

I feel like I've had my skin torn off and the wind is pulling at the exposed flesh and muscle.

I've been trying to calm down. Stop the flow of adrenaline. Stop watching the news.

I lowered my body into the lukewarm bath and sat and slapped water onto my neck and chest. I remember exactly what I said to myself.

Painography.

Life has been so fucking weird the past few days.

Doctor told me and my dad it looked like one of my molars had been taken out with a pair of plyers.

We never found the tooth.

In case you're wondering, my mouth hurts like a bitch. I've been borderline delirious from Percocet. I'm getting fitted for an implant or something later this week, for now I'm just chewing out of the right side of my mouth.

My dad got mad when I kept insisting I didn't know how it happened. I still have no memory of that nine minutes.

I was forced to take a week off of work and start therapy again. Now that school's out for seniors, the only things I have to do are go to graduation rehearsal and therapy. Sid's invited me over for hookah the other day, but I turned him down for reasons that should be apparent.

I don't mind talking to John. John is my therapist's name. He's relaxingly normal. After I told him about what happened at work, he suggested we try to do some kind of repressed memory thing, but I told him I wasn't ready for that. He asked me a lot about dreams and stuff, but I don't remember my dreams that often.

He said that it was important to try, but that he wouldn't rush me because of the state I was in.

What state? Yeah, it hurts, but I'm fine, like, emotionally. I can't be shocked by violence I don't remember happening, can I? People are acting like I'm crazy or something.

I'm just confused. And kind of stoned off these meds.

Anyway, me and John talked a lot, went over the alloted hour again. A lot about my dad and stuff, and how I like my job. Not so much about the time loss, for some reason.

I'm not really allowed out, or in the mood.

I've been bored. Watching crappy free porno vids. Not even really excited by them, just out of vague curiosity. I look at how the shots were set up, the composition, the aesthetic values. Porno has more aesthetic values than most people recognize. I know that's weird to say, but it's true.

One site I was watching videos on was all fucked up. I can't remember the url. The videos seemed normal at first, but they started skipping and the audio sounded like Godzilla was trapped in a porn studio or something. Just, really really fucked. That's the only word I can think of. The video was all distorted, it'd go from grainy to vivid to static and back again.

It gave me a goddamn headache. The noise and sight of it.

Like I said, it's hard to remember it exactly. Probably 'cause of the percs.

I was allowed out for graduation rehearsal. It was nice to see some people, but I felt uncomfortable in the crowd. I kept jumping when people said something to me.

I'm just frustrated, I guess. Think I'm just going to stop taking these pills. I feel like I'm in a goddamn fog, stumbling and grasping.

And people wonder why I don't do drugs.

I hate the outdoors.

Just, being in the open, it bugs me. Gets under my skin. I can deal with it, act normal at a bonfire or whatever, but the feeling is always there underneath, gnawing at me. I was taking a walk back to my car and I went through this path with trees alone and I just wanted to scream.

Anyway, I made it home, but I haven't slept. I keep staring at the clock and thinking about when I was a kid.

I've always been a clock-watcher. Mom taught me that it was important to allot your time wisely. An hour for reading, an hour for homework. I know, I was a fucking dork.

One time I was looking at the clock on a Saturday morning. I was twelve years old and I had just woken up. As I watched, the clock went from 7:42 AM to 8:01 AM.

Nineteen minutes.

It happened again the next Monday after school at detention, except this time when I came back to myself I was knee deep in mud in the woods behind my middle school.

I told my therapist, she sent me to a doctor. Thought I might be having "absent seizures". They said "absent" in French or something so it sounded more official I guess. Basically, they thought I was having a seizure in which I was completely catatonic for a space of nearly twenty minutes.

Never mind the fact that my catatonic self would've had to've walked half a mile into the fucking forest.

They glued wires to my head and read my brain waves and flashed bright lights in my face and made me fall asleep with the bulbs still sparking an inch away from my nose. Tests came back negative. I wasn't epileptic, I didn't have any manner of seizure disorder.

They tried to tell me I was drifting off because of my ADD. I know what drifting off feels like, I've been that way my whole life. This wasn't it. They essentially shrugged at me, and I never got an answer.

It didn't happen again for six years.

To the day.

Yesterday.

I checked the clock at work. It said 3:46. When I came back, Eric was snapping his fingers in my face. He asked me if I was drifting off again. I checked the clock and it was 3:55. I wasn't drifting off.

When I came back to myself there was blood in my mouth.

Resurrection.

THE SUPREME DIARIES OF BROTHER SOUL

So, yeah, I guess the whole "writing reviews" thing didn't work out. I kind of wanted to be Roger Ebert, but over the past year I've come to realize that I can't stand critics. I don't want to be the kind of person who picks apart another person's art. I like appreciating beauty, and I like discussing great films and comics, but to be the kind of person who tries to tell other people what to like and what's good and what's bad takes a higher sense of self-importance than I possess.

I've realized a few things lately. The most important was why I came up with the idea of "The Supreme Diaries" in the first place. I am in search of the Supreme. I'm not sure why I capitalize it, but it seems appropriate. The Supreme is the highest level of truth and order evident in the universe. It is the cloud that I want to stick my neck into and let the moisture dot along my neck.

The name Brother Soul reflects what I have discovered: myself. My soul. I am a firm believer in the existence of the soul and that I need to maintain the integrity and purity of my soul. The "brother" part just sounds cool to me.

So, I'm Brother Soul. I'm in search of the Supreme. And I'll be writing about it here.

I had my first confirmation class with my pastor this past Wednesday. We talked about what it's like to be a pastor, what some of the beliefs of the United Methodist church are. I was raised in this church, its influence has hung over me spiritually since I was a small boy. The best thing it did for me was instill in me a desire to do help people, to accept all people, and extol the virtues of a gentle life.

I'm still not sure if it's the right path.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm met to lead people spiritually. I can't really know until I discover my own truth.

I'm sorry of this type of dialog offends you. I am familiar with the grounded atheistic rhetoric, having espoused it myself for a few years.

But the fact remains: there must be an opponent. A flip side to the coin. Sometimes I wonder if it's Joshua or if it's Abel, if it's a savior or a victim or a sacrifice shot with an arrow of mistletoe.

Or maybe a champion.