To This Day

I'm short on words and short on time, so this post is not really written by me. It's simply a poem by Shane Koyczan. I saw this video, like many of you probably have, and I loved it. Great message, great poem, great animation. Read the poem or watch the video, or both, and then, if you have the time, feel free to check out more of his work. It's impressive to me, you may or may not feel the same way. Enjoy!

To This Day

When I was a kid
I used to think that pork chops and karate chops
were the same thing
I thought they were both pork chops
and because my grandmother thought it was cute
and because they were my favourite
she let me keep doing it

not really a big deal

one day
before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees
I fell out of a tree
and bruised the right side of my body

I didn’t want to tell my grandmother about it
because I was afraid I’d get in trouble
for playing somewhere that I shouldn’t have been

a few days later the gym teacher noticed the bruise
and I got sent to the principal’s office
from there I was sent to another small room
with a really nice lady
who asked me all kinds of questions
about my life at home

I saw no reason to lie
as far as I was concerned
life was pretty good
I told her “whenever I’m sad
my grandmother gives me karate chops”

this led to a full scale investigation
and I was removed from the house for three days
until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises

news of this silly little story quickly spread through the school
and I earned my first nickname

pork chop

to this day
I hate pork chops

I’m not the only kid
who grew up this way
surrounded by people who used to say
that rhyme about sticks and stones
as if broken bones
hurt more than the names we got called
and we got called them all
so we grew up believing no one
would ever fall in love with us
that we’d be lonely forever
that we’d never meet someone
to make us feel like the sun
was something they built for us
in their tool shed
so broken heart strings bled the blues
as we tried to empty ourselves
so we would feel nothing
don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone
that an ingrown life
is something surgeons can cut away
that there’s no way for it to metastasize

it does

she was eight years old
our first day of grade three
when she got called ugly
we both got moved to the back of the class
so we would stop get bombarded by spit balls
but the school halls were a battleground
where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day
we used to stay inside for recess
because outside was worse
outside we’d have to rehearse running away
or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there
in grade five they taped a sign to her desk
that read beware of dog

to this day
despite a loving husband
she doesn’t think she’s beautiful
because of a birthmark
that takes up a little less than half of her face
kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer
that someone tried to erase
but couldn’t quite get the job done
and they’ll never understand
that she’s raising two kids
whose definition of beauty
begins with the word mom
because they see her heart
before they see her skin
that she’s only ever always been amazing

he
was a broken branch
grafted onto a different family tree
adopted
but not because his parents opted for a different destiny
he was three when he became a mixed drink
of one part left alone
and two parts tragedy
started therapy in 8th grade
had a personality made up of tests and pills
lived like the uphills were mountains
and the downhills were cliffs
four fifths suicidal
a tidal wave of anti depressants
and an adolescence of being called popper
one part because of the pills
and ninety nine parts because of the cruelty
he tried to kill himself in grade ten
when a kid who still had his mom and dad
had the audacity to tell him “get over it” as if depression
is something that can be remedied
by any of the contents found in a first aid kit

to this day
he is a stick of TNT lit from both ends
could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends
in the moments before it’s about to fall
and despite an army of friends
who all call him an inspiration
he remains a conversation piece between people
who can’t understand
sometimes becoming drug free
has less to do with addiction
and more to do with sanity

we weren’t the only kids who grew up this way
to this day
kids are still being called names
the classics were
hey stupid
hey spaz
seems like each school has an arsenal of names
getting updated every year
and if a kid breaks in a school
and no one around chooses to hear
do they make a sound?
are they just the background noise
of a soundtrack stuck on repeat
when people say things like
kids can be cruel?
every school was a big top circus tent
and the pecking order went
from acrobats to lion tamers
from clowns to carnies
all of these were miles ahead of who we were
we were freaks
lobster claw boys and bearded ladies
oddities
juggling depression and loneliness playing solitaire spin the bottle
trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal
but at night
while the others slept
we kept walking the tightrope
it was practice
and yeah
some of us fell

but I want to tell them
that all of this
is just debris
leftover when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought
we used to be
and if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself
get a better mirror
look a little closer
stare a little longer
because there’s something inside you
that made you keep trying
despite everyone who told you to quit
you built a cast around your broken heart
and signed it yourself
you signed it
“they were wrong”
because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a clique
maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything
maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth
to show and tell but never told
because how can you hold your ground
if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it
you have to believe that they were wrong

they have to be wrong

why else would we still be here?
we grew up learning to cheer on the underdog
because we see ourselves in them
we stem from a root planted in the belief
that we are not what we were called we are not abandoned cars stalled out and sitting empty on a highway
and if in some way we are
don’t worry
we only got out to walk and get gas
we are graduating members from the class of
we made it
not the faded echoes of voices crying out
names will never hurt me

of course
they did

but our lives will only ever always
continue to be
a balancing act
that has less to do with pain
and more to do with beauty.

I Got Nothin', I'm Too Tired: A Blog Post

(Listen, here's the thing - the month ends tomorrow, and tomorrow starts in seven minutes. I have been focusing pretty intently on school as of late [just survived another semester. word.], which has led to a significant lack of potential blog topics. Now, I realize this is a rarely read blog, and nobody has actually noticed this, but I apologize nonetheless. So, with all of this school nonsense on my mind, I decided simply to post a little snippet from one of my papers. You're reading it out of context, so, uh....sorry....and you should know that this guilt I mention is from an incredibly silly/ridiculous incident in my life, not something that would typically be guilt-inducing, at least not to the degree it has been. The focus of this class was compassion, or literature of compassion, or compassion and suffering. It really just depended on the day. Also, please forgive my strange dashes everywhere - I'm addicted to them and I don't care who knows. Also, you may notice that this paper, or this portion of it, doesn't sound very academic. Deal with it, academia is a joke.)

(Update: tomorrow now starts in negative 19 minutes.)

            In like manner, we run from fate, we run from suffering, but we fail to realize that we will always be outrun. That which we fear will meet us. We cannot continue to run:

“For fear, real fear, such as shakes you to your foundation, such as you feel when you are brought face to face with your mortal end, nestles in your memory like a gangrene: it seeks to rot everything, even the words with which to speak of it. So you must fight hard to express it. You must fight hard to shine the light of words upon it. Because if you don’t, if your fear becomes a wordless darkness that you avoid, perhaps even manage to forget, you open yourself to further attacks of fear because you never truly fought the opponent who defeated you. (Life of Pi, 162)

Instead of running from fate and avoiding suffering, perhaps we would do well to rush headlong into fate, and accept the suffering coming our way. For, whether we are ready to accept it or not, it will come, and it will not stop to ask questions.

            Compassion allows for this, for fate to do its worst, and for suffering to take its toll. With compassion, pain is temporary, setbacks are not set in stone, and progress is always possible. Learning to be compassionate means having compassion for others, and having compassion for self; it means loving patiently, forgiving consistently, and helping tirelessly. Compassion for others means their concerns are your concerns, their success is your success - their pain your pain. Compassion for self means forgiving oneself, learning to be self-sufficient and self-reliant, and yet accepting the help and hope and forgiveness offered to you by another. Compassion means standing tall in the face of the storm, and accepting suffering as the weathering effects necessary for a smooth, polished, and enduring existence.

            I have carried guilt and shame with me for years, and have never sought to remove them from my life. They were reminders of a bad decision, and necessary barriers designed to shame me into shaping up. Only now do I realize that ‘shaping up’ requires compassion, that pretending to suffer – which is what I have been doing, attempting to create an artificial and superficial suffering by holding past decisions over my head – means nothing, but learning to stand tall through real suffering is where true strength of character is forged. Developing compassion prepares one for life; prepares one to say yes to life - to say yes to that which life expects, and to have the courage to have expectations of life. 

            Perhaps expectations really are just premeditated resentments, and it is not wise to expect much from life, or from those around you. Perhaps expectations are just a naïve trick of the gullible mind. But I refuse to believe it. I am learning, now, that developing compassion affords one the opportunity to have expectations – to have expectations of life, of self, and of others. You see, a person striving for compassion – a person expanding to include more and more – will not resent unmet expectations, but will lift one who has fallen short, whether it be themselves or someone else, and will always find meaning in life’s refusal to comply. We create resentments when we selfishly assume we have been wronged; it is not the unmet expectations themselves that we resent, simply the unmet cravings - the unsatisfied demands. Resentments spring from selfishness, compassion allows for none. Resentment is a bitter pill that brings jealously, bitterness, and more resentment; suffering is a bitter cup that, while painful, is filled with meaning and leads to compassion, help, and hope.

Not Necessarily Necessary

I've made a life of not saying what I'd like to say, what I ought to say, or what I need to say.

I've made a life of not allowing myself to feel what I'm feeling.

As far as I can tell, this is fairly normal - there is nothing unique about my situation - we all keep quiet when we want to share, and we refuse to feel when feeling is all we can do.

I'm writing this because, well, it's necessary.

I learned something this week - a lesson from a fictional character to, of course, another fictional character - but fictional or not, I loved it. Sometimes speaking may seem unnecessary, or too soon, or too late - and sometimes maybe it is - but I don't want to keep letting that stop me. There is a difference between unnecessary and wrong.

So feel what you're feeling.

Joy

Pain

Hope

Fear

Love

Confusion

Happiness

Sadness

Confidence

Doubt

Say what you're thinking.

Thank you.

I'm sorry.

I missed you.

I still do.

Stop.

Go.

You're wrong.

I'm wrong.

Yes.

No.

I've made a life of silencing myself. In all honesty, it's been a pretty good life, but I think I'm ready for a better one. So maybe I'll try this whole speaking and feeling thing, and see how it goes. Maybe it's a good idea...maybe it's not. Join me and we'll find out together - it'll be an adventure, and everybody loves a good adventure.

Honesty it moderation, and with discretion. Please. People are fragile.

But seriously....

Sometimes, things just need to be said.

It's always necessary.

My Own Dream

If I could write out my own dream...

Can you imagine what I'd see?

Can I imagine what I'd see?

If I could write out my own dream, where would it begin, and where would it end? Would you have a part to play?

Would you like one?

If I could write out my own dream, what sort of dream would I create? Would I be happy, or sad? Myself, or someone (or something) else? Alone, or surrounded? On the ground, or in the sky? Would I obey the same rules that govern my waking existence, or would I create my own? Would I say what I want to say and hear what I'd like to hear?

Or would I remain silent and, perhaps, hear what I'm afraid of hearing?

If I could write out my own dream, would I ever want to wake up? Would I prefer my dream to reality? Would I wake up disappointed to discover my dream was just that - a dream - then spend each day simply watching as the world went by, passing the time until I could slip back into my dream?

I wouldn't, would I?

Or maybe, in order to avoid this disappointment, I wouldn't write a dream, but a nightmare...

I wouldn't do that either, would I?

If I could write out my own dream, I'm sure barriers would fall. I'm sure I would be free.

Right?

If I could write out my own dream, what would I fear more - sleeping, or waking? Complete control, or the unknown - the mystery? My own answers to my own questions, or questions that remain unanswered?





If I could write out my own dream...would I dare?







If I could write out my own dream, I like to think I'd get it right. But maybe it doesn't really matter. Maybe I should remember and embrace the fact that I can't write out my own dream - that what I put to paper tonight is not what I'll see once my head meets my pillow.

Maybe that is freedom.

Maybe I should just live my dream instead.

Excuse Me While I Sing to the Sky

Shhh....

Slow down. I'm tired of listening.

It's nothing personal really, sometimes it just gets old.

And it's not that I'm actually tired of listening to you, that's not it at all - what you have to say is important to me - very important, in fact, and I really appreciate your willingness to share it.

I'm tired of not being heard.

I've discovered a pattern, and I'd like to share it with you. You may read all of this and decide it was a tremendous waste of your time, or that I simply spend too much time thinking, or that I don't know anything at all. And that's alright - I won't be upset, and I won't even judge you. But if you'd at least think about it, that'd be great. I'll be writing (obviously) from my point of view, and speaking for myself because, of course, I can't speak for anybody else. But I am willing to bet that there are other quiet, maybe a little awkward, introverted people who feel the same way, and have had similar experiences.

Now, I don't talk a whole lot, that's a fact. I'm not a man of many words, I don't need to be heard to feel validated or important, and I don't need to constantly hear the sound of my own voice. You may think I've already contradicted myself, but bear with me. I have been informed, many times, that my silence, my lack of speaking, my quietness (I don't know why I'm rewording it so many times, you know what I mean) makes some people uncomfortable - it makes them feel awkward, or it makes them feel like I'm judging them, or that I hate them. Well - I'm sorry, I'm not, and I don't.

Now that we've cleared that up, let me teach you a few things. These may only be true of me, and no other quiet person that you know, but here they are.

The fact that I'm quiet does not mean I have nothing to say, the fact that I'm quiet almost always has nothing to do with any sort of awkwardness (at least on my part, maybe it makes you feel incredibly awkward..I guess you'll have to deal with that one), and the fact that I'm quiet does not mean I don't understand what you are saying or what is going on around me.

What does my silence mean? Well, it means that I'm paying attention, that I'm listening, and that I'm learning. You should try it sometime. Seriously. I'm very confident in saying that I can learn more about the world and the people around me in a day by primarily listening and paying attention, than you can by primarily talking. You might be amazed.

So why am I writing all of this? Well, because of this little pattern that I've noticed. You see, I've made it a goal of mine to focus on those around me more, and to focus on myself less. In working toward this goal, I've made it a point to talk less and listen more - I've found it's pretty easy to dominate a conversation, but I've also found it to be counterproductive, so I try not to. But in doing so, I've noticed that when you make it a priority to give voice to another, you run the risk, at times, of losing your own.

And I'm not ready for that.

I'm not ready to lose my voice because there are times that I actually have something to say. I'm not willing to lose my voice because, believe it or not, I have things to say that you need to hear. I'm tired of not being heard because that which you won't hear is, at times, exactly what you need to hear, and the assumption that my silence is an indication of indifference, ineptitude, or just general awkwardness not only negatively affects me, it does so to you as well. In short, I'm not ready to lose my voice because I have a voice, and really, that's reason enough.

(This is basically how I feel at times. Poor, picked on me..)

"A voice is such a deep, personal reflection of character."

- Daniel Day-Lewis

I guess what I'm really getting at is this - it might be wise for you, for all of us, from time to time, to take a deep breath, slow down, and remember we're surrounded by people, all of whom have voices. Take some time to listen. Take some time to learn. You might be surprised to realize that even the quiet people, the awkward people, and the introverts all have things to say, to share, and to teach. So try it - take some time to be still, to be silent, and to listen.

It is clear to me that we underestimate the value of a voice - of our own voices, and the voices belonging to those around us, and it's time to stop. It is important to be heard, and it is just as important to hear. Tom Hiddleston, of Thor fame, is quoted as saying, "For myself, for a long time...maybe I felt inauthentic or something, I felt like my voice wasn't worth hearing, and I think everyone's voice is worth hearing. So if you've got something to say, say it from the rooftops." 

So excuse me while I sing to the sky, and speak from the rooftops. 

And join me in realizing that every voice, no matter how small, or how silent, is worth hearing.

"The voice of intellect is a soft one, but it does not rest until it has gained a hearing."

- Sigmund Frued

(Side note: I am fairly confident that some of you, as you're reading this, might think that I'm writing about you, or at you, or because of you. Don't worry, I'm not. The thoughts that prompted the writing of this random, 'sassy pants' post have been stirring around in my brain for a long time, and are added to, or subtracted from, on a daily basis. I pay close attention to interpersonal interactions and communications and these interactions are what made me want to write this. You may notice a reference to a conversation we've had, maybe recently, maybe not recently - don't take it personally. Although I'm basically pointing fingers at the hypothetical recipient of this post [did you notice how it almost seemed to be addressed to a specific person? It wasn't actually addressed to anyone, but written that way intentionally] the entire time, I realize that communication and conversation is a two-way street, which means there is just as much blame to be placed on me for any and all ineffective communication I am a part of. I didn't want to write that half of this post because it never would have ended.)

(New and improved side note: I borrowed, without permission of course, the term 'sassy pants' from the one and only, world famous, unequaled and unparalleled Laura Christopherson, who, being the genius that she is, coined the phrase "sassy pants blog post." Many thanks to her for inventing such a wonderful phrase, and for not being offended [hopefully...] by my stealing of it. Check out her blog! Do it, or I'll judge you.)

Guest Post! What?!

(Alright folks, here's the deal - Sometimes I don't have anything to write, but I set a goal to post something every month. This is a problem. Well, it used to be, but then I invented the idea of guest authors - ta-da! You're welcome blogging world. I can't believe nobody thought of it sooner.....

So meet my wonderful friend Erica Ellen! She is one of my favorite human beings alive, she is native, which makes her even more awesome, and she was kind enough to write a post for my blog. She is pretty dang awesome. Word.

Now, just for the record, I did not assign her a topic. Fo rizzle. I did not make her say these things, I promise - she wrote them so I posted them.

With that in mind...Enjoy!)

Kyle Joseph asked me to be his very first guest author on his rarely read blog, and then told me that I could write about anything.. which is the worst thing you can tell someone like me.

in a flash of good judgment,  I told him that he needed to tell me what to write about, and he said,

"Whatever you'd like - you may have noticed the blog has no point, so anything goes! It can be serious or funny, long or short, fact or fiction, happy or sad.

"I know that provides no direction, but sometimes that's good?"

then I gave him options.. one option I knew would really grind his gears..

a list of why dark chocolate M&Ms are better than Skittles

the other option is the subject that I've decided to write about, but I've renamed it..

because I'm pretty sure Kyle Joseph has a lady friend that he won't tell me about, annnnnnd

I don't want her to think I'm a creeper.. even if the title would've been just to make him feel awkward. which is one of the reasons I keep him around.. because he is so awkward.

so I give unto you, the rare readers of Kyle Joseph's awkward life story..

Twelve Reasons Kyle Joseph is One of My Favorite People Ever

1. He is willing to listen to whatever ridiculous thing you have to say.

     Which for me, is a good thing, because I am a pretty ridiculous person.. and I don't see why he would ever feel the need to make an exception for me. So, I'm going to assume he does the same for most people. It doesn't matter what stupid thing you are talking about, he will listen. Granted, he is totally making fun of you in his head, but he's pretty good at keeping it to himself. If you're fortunate enough to be stupid, you won't even realize that he's making fun of you if he does happen to verbalize it. Which isn't often, he is a man of few words.

2. His favorite Disney Princess is Belle. Not Cinderella, not Aurora, not Jasmine, Belle.
     This is significant because Belle is the most admirable of the Disney Princessess. For one, she is the least skanky Disney Princess. She's also the most independent, she is intelligent, and she's not afraid to be different. The other princesses are whiny, and want/need to be rescued. Belle is the heroine. Also, if any of the other Disney Princesses had been put in her situation, the ending would not have been so great. The beast would have died, and we wouldn't have a ginger prince. Or the beast would be alive, rockin' the single life, and Gaston wouldn't have had to ask more than once.. but I digress.

3. He will kill giant spiders in your trunk, despite being like... little-girl-afraid of them.
     Once there was a huge, and ferocious black widow in the trunk of my car. I didn't know it was a black widow, I just knew that for the past month, there was a spider that kept spinning webs, and I was scared to put things in my trunk. So, not knowing he's scared of spiders, I asked Kyle if he would kill it for me. We went out to my car, popped open the trunk, and looked around for the spider. We found it, I was super creeped out.. we took a picture, then Kyle manned up and killed it. We named her Gail.

4. He is not afraid to tell you how dumb you are for liking Twilight.

     In 2007-2008 I was under the impression that the Twilight series was fantastic. In February of 2008, he told me why Twilight is the worst thing to ever happen to the written word.. and he did not hold back. I totally cried. It was on facebook, and it consisted of three very long wall posts.
     "The books are unhealthy and quite repetitive. There is no character development and the main characters are annoying. Yes I didn't think they were all that bad at first, but things have changed. Again, the only reason girls like the books is because they just sit and picture themselves with Edward. Us guys don't do that ( I didn't anyways) because Bella is whiny and completely helpless, not to mention self destructive."
     That is just a small portion of what he said to me.. even if it all made me cry at the time, I'm definitely a better person for it.

5. He won't get mad when you call him in the middle of the night to cry because your douche-bag boyfriend dumped you over a text message.
     It was around 1:30 am, on a school night, a week or two before finals.. and I just needed to cry and tell someone.. so what did I do? Well, because I am a horribly inconsiderate person, I called my best friend. He answered, didn't get mad, and he listened to me cry like a baby, because that's the kind of boy he is.. the good kind.

6. He has a Kermit the Frog-esque voice.
     Coupled with straight sarcasm, it's an entertaining mix.. and who doesn't love Kermit the Frog?

7. He wants to find Sasquatch, and is kind of obsessed with skinwalkers.
     I will never forget the day he told me about installing (or delivering) something (an air conditioner, maybe?) at the Skinwalker/UFO Ranch. The way his eyes lit up, you would think that he was a child that just met Santa Clause. He's gone skinwalker hunting. He loves the ridiculousness that is Finding Bigfoot. I wouldn't be surprised if he went into the wilderness to practice his squatch calls.

8. He still has a myspace page.
      He has an old school song, a picture of the gate to skinwalker ranch, and his mission address.. And a ton of old pictures of him in ill fitting clothes, and bad hair cuts. Sometimes, as in like maaaaybe once a year, it is almost worth it to remember your myspace password to look at all of the magnificence.

9. He likes to have popcorn for dinner.
     Which is a good thing, because I have witnessed him mess up EasyMac. Yeah, EasyMac.

10. You can win back his friendship with a bag or two of Skittles.
     In high school, I needed a partner for co-ed for cheerleading. Practice every day at 7 am for a week to perform a dance once is not my idea of fun, and that's a lot to ask of a boy.. but I asked Kyle anyway. He showed up for practice, and since he was the smallest boy, the two seniors decided it would be a good idea to have him be the flyer in an all-boy-basket-toss.
     I will never ever ever ever forget the sight of him flopping around like a fish out of water as he flew up in the air. It was mixture of glorious, and hilarious. I still kind of feel bad for asking him to do it.. but only kind of.. to make up for it, I bought him a ton of Skittles, and we are still friends.. so obviously it works.

11. He will sing Disney songs, "I Believe in a Thing Called Love," old school Taylor Swift songs, and Kelly Clarkson's hit single, "Since You've Been Gone" at the top of his lungs with you.

     We made the long voyage from Cedar City to Roosevelt together once.. and if you have never made that drive, let me tell you, it is a long and boring one, but a necessary evil at the time. So, to entertain ourselves, we sang.. to be honest, I'm not sure if you could call that singing, but we did it.. and it remains one of my favorite "road trip" memories.

12. He loves the gospel.
     I can't think of many people that are a better example of loving, and living the gospel than Kyle Joseph. I'm super thankful that I had him to be that example for me.. because without it, I'm not so sure that I would have the relationship that I do with the Savior, and Heavenly Father. Which is kind of a scary thought, because I would definitely be a total hot mess without it.

Those are just twelve of the many reasons that Kyle Joseph is one of my favorite people ever..

and ways that I have taken advantage of our friendship.. I'm kind of a horrible friend like that.

-erica ellen

The Black

The night was cool - a frightening chill, unexplained by simple temperature, hung in the air. My surroundings, once so familiar, now seemed different - dark, and barren. My breath was short, the terrible anticipation gripped my chest, squeezing tighter and tighter until I was hopelessly at the mercy of its overpowering clutches. I knew what I had to do - I had spent many minutes (at least ten) preparing, and yet, I felt unprepared, and unaware of what was ahead of me. My journey was far from over - it hadn't really yet begun. The weight of expectation was heavy on my shoulders, like some sort of really big tortoise that you can't move because it's big...and also really heavy.

It was then that I realized I hadn't yet moved. "How long have I been standing here?" I thought, as I continued to stare straight ahead - looking forward, but wishing to remain behind. Every step forward would be a step toward danger and confusion - I would be walking directly into fear itself. "Let's start small," I said to myself, "just one foot in front of the other. Start with the right foot, its steadying balance will surely be required tonight - it would be wise to start on the right foot. You can do this." I tried, uselessly and unassuredly, to reassure myself, "You can do this. Can I do this? Am I doing this?" I was suddenly aware that my feet were moving - my feet were going where my heart dared not, as if summoned by an unknown source - dark, unseen, and unheard. A mystery to me, this source, to be sure, but not I to it, for it was calling me, pulling me in - closer and closer until all hope was lost, and with it any sort of cogent and coherent thought. I had entered the black - darkness now surrounded me. I could not see. I had my vision of course, but could see nothing. I looked around, but found only confusion, chaos. I pressed forward, I had accepted my fate (or, it had accepted me) and could not turn back now. I felt as if I was in a dream, a nightmare really, and could make no sense of this reality (could it be reality?) - surrounded by so many, yet completely alone - there was so much, and yet there was nothing. I saw many familiar faces - friend or foe I could no longer tell - passing me, following me, smiling - but what truth hid behind each deceiving smile? I could trust no one, of that I was certain, but why I did not know. This is the fate of one such as I on a night such as this. We are all wanderers tonight. We are all alone. On a night like this, the more you surround yourself with the presence of others, the more alone you become - the unnamed, unknown presence has you right where it wants you.

Time passed painstakingly slowly, and yet frighteningly fast. I moved about as though I was in a daze - unaware yet undeterred, a part of reality yet somehow, apart from it. Apart from myself.

If only there were a way to fully explain what I saw on this fateful night. If only I could convey the terror, the horror, the no good, very bad things I witnessed. But there are times when words are not enough, when what we have seen is too gruesome, too frightening, or too disheartening to share. And then there are times when what we witness is all of these. This was one of those times. The words I share with you now do not do this experience justice, and for that, really, we can all be grateful.

Where there had been chaos and confusion, like when you and your siblings realize there is only one cookie left, there was now silence, and stillness, like that awkward moment you make eye contact with a stranger, and you're both like: "This is weird, why are we doing this?" An unexplained moment of expectancy was upon us - my heart raced, my eyes narrowed...my elbow itched, so I scratched it...and I listened. I could almost hear it - impending doom. Certain destruction. Then, in an instant, as if commanded by the voice of the unheard presence itself, the floodgates were opened, and true madness spewed forth. Man, woman, and child pitted against one another in a battle for supremacy, all were alike, all were equal, all were enemies. Friend, family, these terms meant nothing now. Survive. Destroy. Hunt. This is now the world in which I find myself.

I move slowly at first, cautiously, aware that every move I make could very well be my last. I am not where I need to be, where I am supposed to be - my instincts told me it was not safe, so I waited. "One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand..." I could wait no longer - had my instincts betrayed me? I had not time to decide - I was off! Keenly aware of my surroundings, yet blind to them, I raced! Nothing could stand in my way, not now, not anymore! My target was in sight, but ah, the horror! The sharks of greed and selfishness circled it, feeding upon the helpless prey like...well...like sharks feeding upon helpless prey. It's worse than I ever imagined, fear, greater than I had ever known overcame me. One more step and I would certainly meet my demise. My instincts, the same instincts I had just questioned, had been protecting me. They had protected me and I had betrayed them - there was no helping me now. It was too late to turn around, too late to accept any other outcome than the one now staring me in the face. I was being pulled into the madness, with a quickness for which I was unprepared - it wouldn't be long now, my misery would surely end soon, the suffering, no doubt, will be brief. Predators don't wait, I will be finished shortly.

But then, in an instant that can only be described as inspiration. Or maybe it was an epiphany.....

But then, in an instant that can only be described as a flash of inspirational epiphany, I thought to myself: "This isn't how I go."

And just like that, I became one with the madness - I was no longer afraid! I was no longer the hunted, I became the hunter. I was not being pulled into the madness, I was creating it. I saw no people, I saw obstacles, but they would not stop me. I pushed, I pulled, I kicked - I crushed. There was no stopping me - there was a fire in my eyes, and my fists of rage knew no bounds - I would succeed. Kill or be killed - the law of the wild. Or don't kill and don't be killed, but do whatever you have to do to destroy the will of your opponents without ending their lives - this is a secret law of the wild that not many people, or wild animals, know about...this was now my law.

My target was once more in sight, but I was not the only one seeking this treasure - the heartless, nameless, shameless monsters of the night stood ready to pounce - on me or the target I did not know, and I would not wait to find out. It started suddenly, in an instant, I had no time to think - I grabbed the nearest bystander, used him as a shield to block the treacherous lunges of my new-found enemies, and snatched my target up. I came and conquered, and would not wait to witness the destruction of a people such as these. I chose my escape route carefully, instantly, and seized my open opportunity - I put an egg in my shoe and beat it. I did not look back, and I would not until I reached higher ground. There was no point, the lesser creatures were being consumed by the madness and I could not bear to witness their demise - I could not bear it because it could have been mine.

This thought may haunt me for the rest of my life.

I sought safety and found solace as I reached high ground. From this vantage point I could see all, but in their fits of uncontrolled rage, these animals, these fanatics could not see me. My pulse was racing, like words coming out of a nervous guy's mouth as he asks a poor, unsuspecting young lady on a date. My senses heightened, I discovered an unexplained urge to join the madness once again, but I refused - this is not sport, it's survival. I had done enough damage for one night, and I still had an escape to make.

The second wave of madness was quickly approaching - the unknown presence called out to me with every passing second: "You are weak. You cannot escape. You know how this will end. You cannot hide. Give up now." Its taunts, although harming my self-esteem, could not derail my plans. I responded to the presence the only way I knew how: "What you say? Get up out my business! I thwarted you and your hoodlums once, I'll do it again. I done told you once you son of a gun, I'm the best there's ever been."

And with that, I was off, it was not time to make my escape, oh no, not yet - but it was time to seek solitude and safety in a place these hooligans would never suspect. I walked directly into the heart of the beast, the source of the flame - I stood face to face with fear. The source of this madness surrounded me, I could feel its awful presence, but I did not fear. Like I always say - the closer we are to danger, the farther we are from harm. Just a little phrase I coined...

I was surrounded by fiends, monsters, and stinky people - I saw them all, but they did not, could not see me. I can avoid being seen if I wish - so that's exactly what I did. Insanity. That is all I heard, all I could see. In this frightful display of pointless derangement I found solace where there was none, safety where it could not be. I would survive.

I knew my time was short, my window of opportunity would soon open, and just as soon close. I must be swift as a coursing river. "One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi..." I was off! With all the force of a great typhoon, with all the strength of a raging fire I made my escape! I could not be caught, I could not be touched. Whether I was seen or not I do not know, it did not matter, the plan was in place - there were things then in motion that could not be undone. I made a decision to leave the carnage behind and I would not stop, I would not deviate from my now determined course. Tranquil as a forest I knew I would soon be free, but on fire within I quickened my already quickened pace to almost unthinkable levels - I could see my exit - closing yes, but there nonetheless. Surrounded by a blackness that somehow grew ever darker, I pushed forward. There was a struggle yes, the presence would not let go, and I would not give up.

Finally, after a herculean effort certainly powered by large amounts of turkey, I escaped. The presence no longer had any influence over me, and I stood, breathless yet full of life, back where my journey began. I had returned to where I should have stayed. It's like I always say - once you find your center, you are sure to win.

It was finished.

I had won. I was victorious.

I came, I saw, I conquered.

Morning came quickly - I awoke early, stirred by the harrowing memories of an unspeakable presence, an unfathomable horror. Was it a dream? Surely such terror could not exist in a place such as this. It must have been a dream - a nightmare not to be forgotten.

I looked out the window. This had been no dream.

"A red sun rises. Blood has been spilled this night." I whispered to myself in dreaded awe.

The hypothetical blood of innocent shoppers.

I survived Black Friday (Eve).

The End

p.s. The real title of this post is "Black Friday Eve" but I didn't want to give away the ending...

p.p.s. It may be impossible to separate fact from fiction, it may not always make sense and most of it never happened, but this is based on a true story.