TOUCHMEDONOTTOUCHMEIAMALIVE

Tuesday, December 15, 1970

Fig. 035

A letter from the king to his nemesis. To his brother.

My brother,

I will be a ghost that flanks your every movement. Time has come and you will regret the day you ever entered my life. I stayed still for so very long and let move in to plague our cities. Well now my people scream in terror at the blood you've shed. I've called upon a greatness to come and seize your head, and he will stay to the task until it is carried out. He brings with him his own small army, and there is nothing you can do to stop him. Consider this over, and know that I do regret that it ever had to come to this my brother. When I told you I loved you, well God dammit I meant it, but you brought it on yourself.

His people's king.

Fig. 034

From the Admiral's logs:

God left the world sometime last month. I'd been at sea for two weeks and was informed upon my return. We had thrown a large bash for the promotion of my first mate right before we left, and it seems that the moment we set sail he fled. It seems to happen like this everytime. I finally get close to seeing him and he turns and runs. A coward. So what's a boy or girl to do? He's made out to be this legend amongst these people, and then he threw a wrench into the cogs that power this once well-kept machine. My knuckles blistered in anger, and walking became difficult. I feined the use of the medic and went on a quest, but I only returned empty handed. The first mate joined me, along with a small crew of my captains. The frenchman seems to be going through some pretty bizarre troubles himself. Maybe this is what he needs. We came upon evil today. It's tentacles raised high, nine men died, and I killed them myself. Things aren't going the way I planned. They are exceeding expectations. I am not pleased by this. I've been listening to a musician we brought on board for some time now. I am paying him well to not stop playing. The harp does something to me. My skin has begun to peel back and my flesh grows more bare as each day passes. I am being torn from something I used to be, but it seems to be showing its ugly face more often in realizing its own death. I was lied to, and the beast was brought from his slumber. It's hard to put back to rest something that has already been dormant for several years. Was it worth all this? Your deception has sickened me and my crew alike. Can you still smile? How did he feel? Every hair on his body bristling to meet with you, and you were starving for trouble. Five captains raised their brows in deep anticipation for a frightful vengeance, and when not one came they were settled in an eerie way. Now one has taken upon himself to darken the deeds of past, and the rest and myself must set forth to set things right. I'm still the king's man, and his daughter is in deep need. I've ignored her troubles too long, but it's hard to return to her after such a stained past. She was greatly disheartened at my absence, and I fear I'll never quite be forgiven. I won a bet and got back my ways, but how do I carry on a deed I'm no longer sworn to? My nation worries and I have no sympathy. I will fulfill his one last wish and allow her to take the thrown, and then I will leave. I've already left. It was noted long ago that things could never play out the way he really intended them to. I'll take my captains and we will start anew. Nothing will come of this. Everything will come from this. Someone did die for this, and now they will live again.

Thursday, November 26, 1970

Fig. 033

I'm so in love with you.

You've got soul so deep in your eyes
It's not the color that swims, it's those things that lie beneath
You've got heart buried down in your chest
And you keep giving it up until the world's at its best
You've got me wrapped so tight around you
I'm falling more every day, there is no bottom to touch
You've got legs and they were made to move
So let's speed things up and give this thing some groove
-----
I've got a fire in my heart
It's finally left my lungs
I can breathe again
God, I can breathe again
I've got a purpose in sight
You've set me back on track
And I can see again
God, I can see again

How do you do this to me?
It's such a wonderful place to be
When I've got you here in my arms
Yea, when I've got you here in my arms

Wednesday, November 18, 1970

Fig. 032

I found this one carved into a tree. I'm mostly amazed that someone took the time to carve all of that out. The lettering was beautiful and ornate. It's truly the work of an artist.

"If It Moves, Kiss It"

The children are breaking down around us
Cogs stopped spinning by the smallest offset
The days seem to pass a good bit quicker
I've not seen you and I'm feeling better
December fifteenth my lungs set to failing
The sickness finally wants its earnings
So I will draw in my last breath
I hope you're listening to my final words
I spit and sputter and make no sense
But surely I loved you til the end
I finally let you crawl inside me
Take your spade and dig in deeper
The further you crawl the happier I'll be
'Cause you're the reason that I've stopped writing
Call it a blessing, I know that I do
But my future is ending now that I have you
Words are slipping and forming together
A drunken sailor says his goodbyes
My son, it's over and I must go
I can't imagine a world without him
But I'll carry on his old legend
We switched the viewpoint and I stopped bleeding
We flipped the lights on and you stopped weeping
All is well now, just give me your hand
The ocean needs a brand new captain
To the sea I'll take with the world behind me
A cradle left empty and dusty
With a sullen wish to fill it soon
But a world in need means it's waiting
Please forgive me for taking orders
I hope you're listening to this goodbye
I promise that it's not forever
I spit and sputter and make no sense
With a promise to love you to the very end

Friday, November 6, 1970

Fig. 031

They've come out with this new sort of bubble-gum. It has no sugar in it, but is still sweet. Supposed to be healthier or something. So I was talking to the owner of the company that is selling it and he starts telling me this whacked out story of some group of musicians that live on the streets in cardboard houses. Reminded me of Gypsies. So I go down to check out this "city" of cardboard houses, but it's no longer there. They seemed to have picked up and moved on. One box left behind, with this scribbled onto it...

I was unaware that it would end at this. The woman saved my life. I wouldn't have known it at the time. Her fucked up sob story. Laid off is such a bullshit term sometimes. No one seems to get fired when you're a case worker. Everyone is laid off. So she was "laid off". After all was said and done it turned out she had been caught fucking a random man in the back office of the gas station she was managing. She was a prostitute on the side. At least she had a babysitter. I can't really condemn her. I'm just glad I didn't know that then. So she tells me how she can't afford food. Her four-year old is staring at me intently the entire time. The damn kid must have been trained. The sixteen-month old is surprisingly quiet. All this, and she "makes too much money." Eight years as a God damned case worker and I can't even begin to tell you how many times I've seen that. What the fuck is too much money? I hated it. I still hate it. It pisses me off to think of how many people a day see it. So I look at the little girl, and I have no idea what to do. I can't do this to another family, right? This has to be where I break. So I did what I thought was right. For the first time I did what I got into social work for. I helped someone in real need. I gave the woman enough food stamps to last her at least a year. Longer if she stretched it. A week later I called her up and informed her that she had a check of two-thousand-twenty-six dollars and thirteen cents. I emptied my bank account for her. I feel it doesn't really need to be stated that I lost my job. So I took my cello to the streets. That's when I met the Cardboard House Collective. I like it here. And I helped someone. Karma could never have made so little sense. Karma could never have made so much sense.

Fig. 030

We've got to keep that little clear thing ticking. Turn the plastic knob there. Ok, now what does it say?

This could be the last time I break down. You do know that, right? Like, this could be the final chance to save me. You don't have to stand by and watch me suffer. Fuck, quit acting like you don't know what I'm talking about. You sit there with this disgusting smirk on your face, telling me your stories of a new artist. You tell me how much you love him. You tell me how much he reminds you of me. Let me tell you how much you remind me of no one. What the hell happened to you? You used to be so free-spirited. I remember when you knew what art was. You were so beautiful then. You fought for it, too. No one could take from you what you loved. The music you liked was so delightfully poppy that even I could not help but to move to it. It was all about love and the feeling of it. Now it's all about heartache and fights and war. In one day I watched you turn into this mangled wretch while I sank further into the ocean. My breathing was gone, and I fear you sacrificed your ability to live by saving me. I will not mourn your loss. It's time to start over. Let's start over. I'll start over. START OVER. startover... start.... over......

Wednesday, November 4, 1970

Fig. 029

Another piece from an interview after the announcement of the Admiral's trial.

It was postmarked Pocatello. How had they found me. I have never been hidden from the public, but no one ever knew where I was before. And certainly not them. They knew what I had done. I began to hyperventilate. I opened the parcel. All that was in it were a knife and a note. A note that read "You know what we want." Such a terrifying thing to write. Of course it was obvious. But was it? How did I really know? I could be quick to assume, though I knew what they asked was impossible. It was unfair of them anyway. I was not responsible for her end. Just her beginning. How dare they let me be the downfall of their poor mistake? I will not let them take me. Not alive, and we know that's the only option anyway.

Fig. 028

The rambling of an insomniac/alcoholic.

The sun is rising. Another all night long to compliment the all day long. 96 hours gone by with only 13 to close my eyes. Caffeine jolts through my system to ensure that I remain alive. Persistent. I'll take 3 more hours to rest tonight when my chores and errands and jobs are completed. Then it's on to the next social gathering. How do I stop this? Why the hell would I?

Tuesday, November 3, 1970

Fig. 027

From an interview with the Admiral.

It said to tell it of a yearning. How dare such a small, feeble thing demand so much of me? I yearn for so much. How can I choose one to tell of? The most recent. I'll display the most recent. But now how do I describe it. A thin neckline, but so much more than that. It's that point at the bottom of the ear where it attaches to the neck. It's the way the shoulder seems to curve perfectly. Too often the most beautiful curves are ignored for the ones to be considered voluptuous. And your collar bone. You are all too aware of how attracted to such a thing I am, and yours is perfect. The feel of it when I run it's course with my fingers. I am astounded. Do not allow the thought of this being a carnal yearning. It is so much more than that. It is a simple need to hold you close. To know that I have the right to claim you as my own. It is a yearning to do so every night and be amazed every night by you.

It is to be noted that halfway through his rant he begins to address someone clearly not there at the time.

Monday, November 2, 1970

Fig. 026

It seems he has returned to us, world. Rejoice in his clamoring. The retelling of this one may not be so gruesome. I expect he'll return to the ship soon.

My saint,

I dreamed of you. Of us. They still seem less real though coming true has followed through. I'm not sure where I'm taking it, and I am more than frightened. It makes no sense to me how I can seem so lost when with every dream before I felt so in control. Love on a new level has set me back and I'm scared of you. You have some fancy control over me, and by it I am enamored and thrilled, but also terrified. What if let you take it all and then you leave. It's an issue I have. Maybe this magnificent return of past to present will tangle it up and tear it out of me. I want you to have it, but I can't seem to let go. A blade to remove the grip will set upon the machine and let the cogs return to spinning. Come into me so I may come into you. I crave you like a wolf does, and I need you to know me as a garden. This time I will be the rose. I will be beautiful for you. I cannot let this fear of recession to the rear of your mind drag me down. I must remain steadfast at the forefront and fight back every terror. It has been ages and still I live. Welcome to dust. Welcome to rebirth.

Forever great,
Admiral Admiral

Fig. 025

The Admiral resurfaces?

Woman,

You are so gone away. I've got the hypocrites all down and sreaming. They lost their faith in everything they never believed in. They saw you down and out and up and in and they shook like straw that billowed softly in the wind. I called you a dream and then shook myself from sleep. I ripped your cold dark grasp from me and now you are failed. You lived around me and when you tried to take back your own life it was gone. I never held on to it because you never asked me to. You wanted so badly for me to believe it wasn't the center. Well now I know, and you seem to have forgotten. My life does not revolve around you. You do not have rights to distribution. How dare you become angry with me when I tell you my business at last minute? Should you not be satisfied in the fact that I told you at all? I will stop here for fear of tearing apart anything we might still be. Never again to be what we were, but we still have a shot at something. A friend in me will be here.

No longer yours to claim,
Admiral Admiral

Friday, October 30, 1970

Fig. 024

The last call of a man beaten apart by harpies and sirens.



I've been looking around trying to figure out exactly where I went wrong. I was turning this town all upside down, oh what was I to do? You let me hang it all out when what you wanted was in and just be leaving alone, so I was ripping apart and trying to get a head start. Trouble was I set behind me all the tools that I need and now I'm slipping away. Oh my chest is on fire while it's collapsing my heart and burning me to the ground, so the devil slips out and he starts calling you name and you start playing his game. Tell me right now how you found out and started moving around when the dark was oh so loud and wouldn't let you shout but I still heard your words. "Back away my son, I'm blowing down this wall and we'll be setting it free. Your hands are mine and I will do what I wish so you can shut your mouth. Forget all that you've seen." But my eyes were wide so I never saw a thing and in forgetting it brings all the things that I did not need. Now I'm looking around trying figure out how to leave it behind...

Monday, October 19, 1970

Fig. 023

I love that look in your eyes.

Sunday, October 18, 1970

Fig. 022

From a tape transcription. The origin of the tape is still very unknown, but our scientists are working around the clock to figure it out.

A kid. He was just a kid. But drop from the world. I dare you. How many kids does it take? We watch him slide from the pallet and fall to the Earth. We hate him for his youth and vitality. Do you even understand. He has what you had. You could find it again inside of him, and yet you show him your scorn. Fall apart. I dare you. Allow his tempting soul to twist and tangle with yours. A game, free for the taking. You'll not succeed though. We don't play that way. We have a whole new method. Success. There is no such thing. There never was. It was all an elaborate April fool. They got you. Your world was rocked. Show me your mind, mangled with disdain. Tell me where you are from. Tell me all that you have done. Spill your guts, lest this knife do it for you. Welcome to the world we live in. You were always here, you just couldn't come in. Well here is you invitation, we expect an RSVP. I must leave now. The captain beckons and I am his. Enjoy your dolls until I return. Be the boy.

Friday, October 16, 1970

Fig. 021

A declaration of independence.

They call it a car. She calls it a home. I call it a beast. I become sick. Violent retching. All is well now. To finally be beside her. This is awkward only in the fact that it is not awkward. For so long we played cat and mouse. I'd catch her, only to loosen my grip as a fool might do. No more games. We are not animals. Not of that variety, anyway. I crave her like a wolf does. That phrase only tickles me now. I used to mean it in such a feral sense. Now it comes across in a metaphorical sense. I need her. What is all this? It's funny how we play in these circles. Years go by and everything changes. Nothing ever changes. We run free on a track. That does not even resemble free. We explode into the air, encased in glass bubbles. Will it be too late before we learn to break through? Or is this how we break through? Do we simply continue to try until the glass shatters. If so, am I shattering it by making headway this time? Will I lose out again? Perhaps I will only crack it this time. God, I hope not. I feel like this must be it. Watch me. Just watch me. You'll see.

Monday, October 12, 1970

Fig. 020

From a brief conversation I had with a bum.

I call it a pillow. The pavement. Cold. I have a strong distaste for cement. It's not comfortable. I hate sleeping here. Boxes for blankets, it's just no good. And fuck what some prick who owns a restaurant says. Those dumpsters don't belong to nobody. I'll take from them as I please. The idiot throws away perfectly good food, and I eat like a king. Aside from my pillow, it's not so bad. I just need a pillow. I like being homeless. You got nobody to report to. The food is good. Sure, rainy nights are kinda bad, but you get through them. You don't need anything else. They let me read at the library. I've read a lot of books. I like it. But yea. Thanks for the change pal. Have a good one.

I went to a local furniture store and bought him a pillow immediately after this exchange.

Thursday, October 8, 1970

Fig. 019

A letter from the Great Admiral Admiral to his crew, in regards to his loss of control.

My Crew,

It's four in the morning time. Hand in the jar. So to speak. Bottle pressed hard to my lips. If they bleed then I can at least feel it. I tried so hard. I couldn't compare. I was stuck in this park, withering beneath the tree. No sunlight ever saw me. I don't want your sympathy. I just need you to understand why I have failed you time and again. Alright, we'll do this your way. It was her. She was every fault. I fear I might have made her up at this point. I know that she has lost me. I am no longer tied to her moorings. I am now spinning even more out of control than ever before. I will be leaving you in the morrow. What will it take to make you understand? I am alone. Completely alone now. She no longer exists. Not to me. I have collapsed. I am nothing. I made a pact. It is done with. How I am even alive escapes me. It's as if he feels this is my hell. The one thing I thought I was meant for has turned out to be a complete sham. Where will I go? I shall leave you the ship. I will walk. My feet are already mangled from my trials in the city. No desert can tarnish me more. I pray you will all eventually forgive my illness. Return to your families, should they still exist. This life is no longer yours to claim, unless you want it. I truly love each of you, as you have stayed fast in my search.

Farewell,
No longer your Admiral

Tuesday, October 6, 1970

Fig. 018

His father's last words. They were spoken with ferocity.

My first mistake was touching. My next was tasting. Sin had never felt so ripe on my tongue. It was sweet. Juicy. I was in love with it's intoxicating scent. Inhaling was that next mistake. Back to the touching. We'll dwell on it a bit. The amazing feeling of her hip bone pressed in my palm. My fingers moving ever dangerously closer. Hands sliding up her body. the way they bend along with her curves, shifting slightly at the point where her ribcage begins to rise. feeling each rib as I slowly pass. My hand gently cupping her neck as I pull her face closer to mine. Tasting. We're tasting again. Next will come other tastes. Salty, bitter and sweet. Sex is wine. It is palpable. For hours after I still taste her. Thrusts go from slow and steady to rampant and carnal with no warning. She wants more out loud. I beg her not to break me inside. I will break her inside. Slapping and screaming and clawing and creaking and moaning. She is not ready for this. I am not ready for this. We must grow up somehow.

Fig. 017

This last will was found hastily written on the inside of a Starburst candy wrapper.

This is what was left behind. That and a key. The key meant nothing. That wrapper meant everything. The cigar box that held them yearns for you. I tell him to be quiet. I tell you to be still.

Thursday, September 10, 1970

Fig. 016

As it so seems to be the most frequent thing to appear here, another letter from AA.

My dear,

It does seem that it's been a while. I miss you. I need you. I am still recoiling from your last blow. I think that is what has me so shaken. You know I only get messy when I'm shaken. Not that these fools can stop me anyway. But I feel like they don't have the right to know. These women mean nothing to anyone. They are simply cast molds of you. Appearance, that is. You know I'd only whet my intellectual appetite with the real thing, my love. I just need something for the carnal. You won't provide, so I do it myself. Most of them don't even mind. So what does it matter, the few who do? They aren't exactly productive citizens anyway. I'm doing the world a favor. I'm sorry, dear. I'm babbling. Please, just come home. You're needed now more than ever. For my sanity.

Yours,
Admiral Admiral

Wednesday, September 2, 1970

Fig. 015

From an interview with the Great Admiral Admiral, in response to the question "What do you think of the court's claims against you?":

It was Sunday morning. His voice rang through the building. He was weaving a story. A beautiful story of a man full of love. It was Sunday morning. The man wanted everyone to accept his way of love. This, of course, would not happen. And those who wouldn't accept started to grow angry at this mans public displays of affection. It was Sunday morning. So they hung him. But this man's message of love was carried on. Turns out he had inspired some folks. It was Sunday morning. These folks, though, they liked his message so much that they began to fight for it. A bit counter productive. They carried out wars in his message. They killed for his message. His message of love. It was Sunday mourning.

Fig. 014

The origin of this piece is unknown.

I drag my glass blown heart in the rain. It's jagged edge was causing me pain, and so I ripped it out, all in vein. You are so cold. We call it insane. I want you gone by morning light. I dare you, look around this place. There is nothing here for you. A God loved. I, a man, loved you. You returned to neither. You have allowed yourself to become a pawn in war. A senseless war full of blood. Full of massacres. Full of hate. You, who is so loved. You, who is so beautiful. You allow yourself to become a weapon.

Tuesday, September 1, 1970

Fig. 013

This is what appears to be an excerpt from some journal of sorts. It was found written across several matchbooks.

The wind has chilled me to my bones. I have a jacket on. It does me no good. No good. Ha. Isn't that something? Music blasts all around me. Only I hear it. I've been standing atop this bench for an hour now. I am cold. Where are they? I hate waiting. I am composed. I must wait. They will know it has come when they arrive. I hear footsteps. I see orange. It is time.

Fig. 012

A letter from the Great Admiral Admiral to his love:

My dear,

You're playing with me. Using me. Rather, you're letting someone else use me as an pawn. I suppose it would best be said that I am an marionette, with you stringing me along, whilst you allow someone to tell you how to control me. I must tell you though, I am none to appreciative. You see, we puppets, we get to talking sometimes. An good bit of talk of cutting strings. Don't get me wrong, my love, I could never cut my strings. Unattached is a foreign concept to me, and I'll have none of it. I'm just sick and tired of this game. We're into Act III by now, and the whole thing seems to drag on. He has grown tiresome, your fellow. While I cannot cut my strings, I can certainly stiffen my movements and cause the paying folks to leave their seats. No one will see the final act. Ask him to leave and I will put on the most spectacular show you have ever seen; this I can certainly promise.

Oh, and maybe you should stop airing your dirty laundry around the other puppets. They come back reeking of a foul stench, and I pick it up like an disgusting, cheap liquor and simply drink it down. I accept the burn; the poison. We're old friends. But it does tend to make me wild, yes? Your house and furniture can only stand so much, can it not? I will be the end of it all.

One final thing: I've been charting maps. While I'm no cartographer, I do feel that my experience as an admiral does make me quite proficient at this task. Maps of our figures. You see, I need to know how our bodies work. It seems, though, from what I can see, that you only ever begin where I end. It's a map of we. No map of I exists, nor an map of you. Why is it that this is all I come across in an library of thousands of maps? Is it possible that only this map exists of our characters? Will you honestly not accept this? Think on it a bit, my sweet. Surely it will become clear. We pray it's none too late.

Yours always,
Admiral Admiral

Tuesday, August 25, 1970

Fig. 011

A letter from the great Admiral Admiral to his lover upon the discovery that she was expecting:

My Dear,

I do not understand how you expect me to allow this beast to live. Do you not understand the virility it will be born into? Born upon? Born with? Surely its head will explode with a vast knowledge and understanding like none before. Will it claim our ailment? Will this abomination last forever. Is that it? Do you need a toy? Well I will feed you this with utmost sincerity: I will kill it the moment it is born if you do not do it before then. He cannot exist. A third coming, it would be. The world would crush him and I cannot allow it.

With vicious anger and steady love, yours,
Admiral Admiral

Fig. 010

From the diary of a man full of demons:

Something is burning. Fret not, my dear. I've only set fire to your eyes. You will never look at me in that way again. Never. \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

You're bleeding now. No you aren't. You can't bleed. I find it an absurd idea that someone so cold could actually have blood coursing their veins. You never saw me standing there. You were so firmly rooted in your new found ideals that you forgot the old and forged yourself a new future. Fuck your new future. You're a joke. \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

I have a life that you should be calling up and wreaking havoc. The spare is locked in the closet. I'll need a backup. That much is certain. Certain. Nothing is certain? You have been cast aside. \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

FUCK

Sunday, August 16, 1970

Fig. 009

I'm three shots of rum in. Foreign rum from a tall shot glass. Rum that kicks you so hard in the face that you can only shed a tear and ask for more. She is lying on the bed, surrounded by an ocean of comforters and hand-knit blankets. She is beautiful. The colors of the blankets become an aura of sorts, or a border that will properly display her for all that she is worth. I lie down next to her. It is only then that I realize the lights are off. I am at a loss as to how such a blatant trait of the room has gone unnoticed. I turn over. Our face are close. Close in the sense that they are touching. That close. I can feel her hair on the side of my face, attempting to tangle itself with my recently shortened beard. The hair has nothing to work with, and so it tickles my face to show its anger. Her lips are slightly below mine. I've been looking at them all night. Longing for them. I use my nose to push her nose and bring our lips together. Fireworks. A typical cliche, but the only way I could possibly explain it. The rum did not prompt this. We prompted this. The rum just gave me the guts. Thank God for rum. It's not long before hands are under clothing, exploring new places. Her nipples are that small, soft type that I love. They resemble a the feel of a balloon that's exterior has been raised due to suction. If you cannot imagine it then I can only pity you. Shirts are gone. Ok, all the clothes are gone. A messy heap on the floor that won't be bothered until morning. And away we go. Later she has her head buried into my chest. It concerns me that she may be immovable. I eventually fall asleep.

Tuesday, August 11, 1970

Fig. 008

Something found written on a napkin in a diner:

There was toast in the oven.
We were having breakfast with your cousin.
Did I tell you she looks better
In that tight blue sweater?
Plus she's ten years younger.
What you mean, she's only 15?
You really think she's not ready?
She got a profile on the internet.
Talks about how much she loves sex.
I think tonight I'll make her mine.
Sleep alone, I think you'll be fine.
Or you could find another man?






Nah, I didn't think so.

Monday, August 10, 1970

Fig. 007

This is a letter from the great Admiral Admiral to his love upon her return from space:

My dearest,

I am not haunted. You are not my lover. We fell apart long ago. Remember, it's as I told the boy. You left me behind. I mean, sure. I didn't really destroy everything. Maybe I made all that shit up. You know I need you to be capable of such an end. I can't die without you. And I can't kill you, so I'm stuck just living on. This really is your fault. You know that right? You put us here. You never should have ended things with me. That's what built this passion. You should have given me everything I wanted. Your body. I needed you. You were supposed to be a snack of sorts. Just one little nibble, then it was on to the next one. But I couldn't have you. That made two. And I picked one. But even after all this time, can you still not give yourself to me? I've seen it, but can I really not touch? Your breast, so round and perfect, not too large and amazingly perky, beckons to me. You figure, as if it were sculpted by God himself, beckons to me. I have lusted far too long. I am almost ready to just take it. Fret not, my love. We know it is no longer a matter of lust. I need you so much closer. Every passing year our link grows. I practically am you, now. The deeper in love I go, the more in lust you become. It is now I who must turn you away. It has become a disgusting game of hard to get. I can't have you because you do not love me. You cannot have me because you do not love me. I wish you'd stayed out to space. Oh, and there you are. I suppose I'll seal this up and hand it to you then. Oh, one last thing. Ignore the man with the blade. He only wants to help us make things better. You'll live. I cannot allow him to kill you. But you'll feel once more. You'll feel as you've never felt before.

Forever yours,
Admiral Admiral

Sunday, August 9, 1970

Fig. 006

A strain of thoughts as allowed by the high priest at St. Peter in Walton, MI:

The walls are covered in stains colored various shades of brown. I think a few look the color of rust, like blood after it dries. This is home. The window unit air conditioner hums it's soft, persistent whir. It is music to my ears. This is home. The carpets are ripped and torn at various spots, where animals had tried to find something deeper underneath. This is home. Your body is lying on that torn carpet at the foot of the bed. It is naked and battered and bloody. You look happier now that I have ever seen you. This is home.

Fig. 005

A piece of something that someone wrote for another person:

stick to the things you know,
like grapes and doing blow.
this habit has got you down,
so i'm constantly fucking around
with the girls in the alleyway;
skinny and frail but fun to play.
plagued in the back of a cadillac
just to get myself back on track.
yea, to get myself back on track!
to.get myself.back.onTRACK.

calm me down while i wait for you to turn around

Fig. 004

An excerpt from a man's diary:

I'd been preparing so elegantly for the day. I'd dug that hole so deeply into my chest, using nothing but a burnt and broken wooden spoon, allowing the splinters and I to become one. This slight, sharp pain meant nothing as I thought of the gentle moments ahead. I'd used exact measurements, makings sure not to miss one single millimeter. I needed you there, and I needed you there perfect. Ah, this would not work now. All that had sat upon my mind for the past week was our last encounter. How you sat and you pulled at the hairs on my chest. I could tell you were searching for a trap door of sorts. A way to let yourself inside. You were anxious and ready to claw your way in. The way you pressed your face into my side, trying to hold the scent of me. The scent of us. It lingers to this day, bitter and strong, holding the very essence of everything we had. The way that you gripped me so tightly as if by letting go you'd fall off the earth and and be forced to watch it spin delicately in place as you spun violently out of place. My longing for such action to take place has led me to this moment. And now you have gone, leaving me with a longing so great as I have become so much more a part of nature. A longing that exists in vain, as you are no longer the one I long for. I will feel the pain of every tree chopped at the base by the dull, sickening thud of an ax. I have become so much more a part of nature. I will shed a tear for every leaf delicately plucked from its stem as I recall the stark and disgusting events of that day. If only the tree knew, as I know, that letting them inside, doing the work for them, has such a low success rate. And I have become so much more a part of nature. It's terrifying and lovely and blinding and I want it more than life itself. Now I'm watching the earth grow smaller as I float further and further out. I can still see you, and all of those you surround yourself with. But only for a moment longer. Then you are gone. I have become so much less a part of nature.

Saturday, August 8, 1970

Fig. 003

The afterword, as told by the lesser known blacksmith and felon, John Riley:

I am cold. The room is dim, the only light coming from a lamp made almost 40 years ago. It's shape amuses me, along with the jeweled tassels that hang from it's shade. I am longing. I don't know. Maybe, just maybe, I am lusting. I can't really tell the difference sometimes. I know that I want someone to lie with. Literally just lie. But now that it crosses my mind, sex wouldn't be bad either. I am riddled with bug bites. They itched at first. I am baffled at how I seem to love one, want to lie with another, and fuck a third. Well, actually, I'd do all three with the first, only two with the second, and again all three with the third. Maybe all three with the third. I still can't figure out where my head has placed me for this. I saw the man dragged lifelessly from his cell this morning. It was quite a sight. He was riddled with scratches. Apparently the bites had not lessened in pain for him. I can't leave the prison yet. Not for another 3546334529 minutes. And even then, I'll only get 240 minutes out. Then it's right back there. Here. I really like these bars, I must admit. Nah, fuck the bars. They are too shiny. I want those rusted looking ones. Retro looking. that's the cool thing, right? My stomach hurts. I'm either hungry or I have gas. I never really can tell. Why the fuck is it so cold? It's not even December. I thought it only got cold then. I guess if we had gone to that 14 month system it would have been cold longer. We would have moved then, though. Fuck this place.

Fig. 002

A passage written on the cell walls of an unknown prisoner approximately 4578793 minutes before he died:

Aha! The staircase! It is actually empty! Oh, by the way, did I tell you I miss you? I do. There are no men in here at all. It's completely fucking empty. I was tricked. But I heard them! I know that I did. With their guns and their elephant machines and their horns they did make such a ruckus. It was beautiful. It is not here. Oh, but here is the real issue: you, too, are not here. What is this? Since when have you been able to force away the great stirrings that a volcano will evoke in you. We traveled these together for such a long time, waiting for the burn. This was our alcohol. Our ether. Some used ointments, but we used fire. Melt away the old, make way for the new. A simple concept. Yet now I sit here in empty staircase, next to an empty chair, and in front of an empty chamber where no musician plays and no animal roars. I dare you to explain it. But you could not. You are not here. I miss you.

Monday, August 3, 1970

Fig. 001

This is a letter to the boy Brian Hall upon the news of his running away from home. It was sent by the mariner known as Admiral Admiral. To this day we have no evidence of him ever actually commanding a fleet and therefore we assume the title is, very much like the good Admiral, a complete sham.

Dear Boy,

I knew what I was getting into. I told her I didn't mind waiting. I love her. It wouldn't be... Wait. Let's go back to that first statement. You see, I didn't actually know at all. But fuck, I sure thought I did. I mean, I could stay alive until she passed. I'd be there whenever she needed me, through every up and down. And when her time was up, finally mine would be too. So I made a deal. I'd not die until she did. But let's be real, when you make a deal like that, the thought "Oh shit, she might live forever," doesn't exactly cross your mind. And it's a damn shame. I wish it had. And here's the thing: I don't even age. I made sure of it because I thought it made the most sense. If she is 80 and I'm 82 then how can I take care of her. So I stopped at 37. So did she. Maybe that sounds cool to you. Living forever, not aging any more, but it's awful. Things get boring. The world changes, sure, but not fast enough. So I make things happen. I break things, I suppose. I spark revolutions. I make buildings fall down. I burn bridges in a literal sense. And she is all that stops me from setting this world ablaze. Well, she was. I'm sorry, you still have no idea what this is about. The shuttle that went up yesterday. You know, it was all over the news. Huge deal. A group of people are going to Saturn to look for oil. And then they are setting up base on the space station. Not the small one. Not that pathetic, frail looking hunk of metal that was put up there back when the USA had a space exploration program. The big one. The one that looks like a fucking moon. Look up, into the sky. You see it? Yea, that's the one. It's absurd. I really don't understand why we need a second planet. Well, I guess I do. But They don't know what I'm going to do. They haven't one god damn idea. Anyway, again I veer from my point. She is on the shuttle. Lucky fucking her. She left me here. After all of it, she left me here. Thing is, she's kinda pissed at me. I told her why we stopped aging, and she basically told me to fuck off. As if I should apologize for trying to make sure she never got hurt. Bullshit. So anyway, tonight. Tonight the world dies. So quit packing your bags, kid. No use in running away from home now. Go back out there and tell your mom you love her.

Forever hers,
Admiral Admiral

Thursday, January 1, 1970

I saw my god, but my god what have you done to me?

Organize it. They don't understand how I can not know the order of my memories. It is bizarre to them that I have this collection of meaningless pieces of my life, and I have no idea what happened when. They want me to piece it all together. They want a compendium of my memories. A fucking memoir. I can't do that. One of my earliest memories is of my father feeding beer to our cat. I remember giggling and then taking a sip of beer for myself. Oh how nice it was to be three. I remember running around outside naked. I remember being hit by a car at five because my dad's girlfriend had locked me outside and I was playing in the road. It wasn't much of a hit, and I wasn't hurt. Not physically anyway. I remember stepping on a nail and it almost going through my foot. I remember stepping on a bee and the stinger being stuck in my foot. Two months later I dug it out with a needle. I was probably eight. I remember the first time I was ever stung by a bee. I swatted it with my hand while it was on my babysitter's porch rail, and it stung me. I remember being more shocked and scared than hurt. I remember sitting on a swingset and crying. I remember living in a housing project, and an older woman who would give the kids in the project popsicles frequently during the summer. I remember my first best friend. He was a chubby black kid, and I cannot remember his name, but I do remember that his initials were GJE, the same as mine. I remember when I first fell in love with music. My uncle gave me a cassette of the band KISS and I was amazed. I eventually stole most of his other KISS cassettes as time went on. I remember thinking wrestling was stupid until one day when I saw a pay-per-view that my uncle was watching and one character betrayed another. I became enamored by the story behind all the senseless fighting. I remember fighting senselessly often as a kid. I got bullied a lot. I was a thin kid until middle school. I gained a lot of weight and lost all confidence. I remember the first girl I fell in love with, way back in fifth grade. I remember crying when she moved. Lenaya Lemoine. Short blonde hair. She was beautiful. I remember breaking a kids nose against a wooden pole because he pushed her. I remember the second girl even more. It was sixth grade, and her name was Krystal Gagne. I remember when she started dating the one kid that bullied me the most. I hated him even more. I remember the day they were caught making out under a table. I have no clue why the fuck there was a table, or why we were all sitting on the floor, or why some people were hidden away and such, but I remember the hurt. I remember leaving that school halfway through seventh grade. I remember her coming back into my life in eleventh grade. She was still just as beautiful. I actually became her friend. Three months later I moved out of town. Let's go back to younger. I remember waking up countless morning when my mom would make eggs with cheese. I had a different mom then than I do now. I remember her boyfriend throwing a fish tank at my head. I remember another boyfriend calling me a pussy when I cried because I had been stung by a bee. I hate bees. This mom stopped contacting me sometime around ten or eleven. She just recently came back in to my life. I remember leaving home at eighteen. I remember drinking. A lot of drinking. I still do that. A lot. I remember Alicia. I remember her showing us the bunny. It was named Maybelline, because it looked like it had eye shadow due to the black rings around it's eyes. I remember the white Russians. She kept making them and I kept drinking them. I remember sleeping on the floor because someone had passed out in her bed. I remember scooting up close to her and putting my arm around her. I remember her pressing against me. I remember her whispering "Downstairs. The couch," and getting up and walking downstairs. I remember slowly following. Stumbling. I remember being sixteen and sneaking over to my then girlfriends house. Her parents were out of town. I remember sneaking in to her window. This was not even necessary, as her sisters already knew I was coming. I remember the Eminem song that played on repeat. It was her favorite at the time. I remember one thing progressing to another. I remember my first. I remember my first kiss. She was obsessed with me, and I was scared of her. She bit my lip. I remember developing a thing for biting. I remember angry sex with one girl where I bit down until she bled, and she only begged for me. That night ended in confusion. I remember drinking every night. I remember Alicia telling me I wasn't wrong in it. That I was only looking to relax after countless 12 hour work shifts. I remember changing. I remember blaming her for it. I remember hating her for it. I remember the night I all but cheated on her. I remember that person well too. I remember hurting both of them more than I've ever hurt anyone else. I can never atone for what I did to either. I remember treating my best friend like absolute shit. Which one? Pick one. I remember being cheated on. I remember such confusion. Of all the it could never happen to mes to be written off, I never saw it coming. I guess that's the point though. I remember wanting it to work. I remember being so angry. I remember breaking my wrist. I remember Jess. She told me days after that she realized she did not love me. I was heavily medicated and highly irrational. Days after that I was heavily medicated and drinking just as heavily. Months later I was homeless. I remember sleeping on the couch of the one person who I really trusted to be there for me. I remember months after this violating her. I was drunk. Go figure. It was never brought up afterward, and I can't swear to it that she remembers. I remember having such a thing for her. I remember drinking so much that I pissed myself. I remember drinking so much that I punched through any number of objects. I remember drinking so much that I tried to climb onto my roof with no clothes on. I remember stealing bikes as a child and rebuilding them. I remember getting pissed at my aunt for getting me a toy car set I already had. I remember writing songs of a violent sex I knew nothing of. I remember years later reading them and being startled by how accurate I had been. I remember Kat. She woke me up after fifteen years of being asleep, and I eventually threw it all back in her face. I remember hurting everyone who ever loved me. I remember wanting to die.

I saw something beneath me today.

You were my last hope. You didn't know. You'll never know. I'm pretty sure you don't read this. I have never had such a chemistry with a person. I don't know. It's like sparks were firing off. Electricity, and I wasn't grounded. I was taken aback by the approach, and the next few days that followed. It still stings to go to that spot downtown. It shouldn't. It really shouldn't. We were so short lived. I remember every day we spent together. The fireworks. The sushi. When Vikki said to me I could date you, that it was alright with her. How much the idea made me smile. How much I smiled when you said yes. The walking robot. The way that we lied together, naked. You were not ready, so we just lied there. The way you were so worried of how I'd think of you, when all you were was golden in my mind. The secret dock. We never did find that waterfall. You saw me fall from my bike, and I was so embarassed. You cheered me up though. When you sang Paramore for me. It made me shiver, how beautiful it was. You came to my sister's graduation. Met my family. Everyone really liked you. We climbed that tree. It's still my favorite tree to climb. I love it. I can't go back for a while though. We went to your little town. I almost drowned, and your sister's advice saved me. And I thought the bike situation was bad. I still hate myself a little for that moment. I must have seemed so pathetic. You sang at your high school's graduation, and it was beautiful. You kinda faltered at one part, but it wasn't as big a deal as you thought, and you still sounded amazing. And at dinner, I could tell you were upset, but I had no idea that it was that. I was crushed. I had just made you that mixtape where every songs title had the word love in it. I was such a fool. And then I destroyed everything. I'm still trying to rebuild it. And now it seems I may get the privellege of seeing a friend get everything I lost. Hey jealousy.