Feel Different

He. Eheh… Um… So, while surfing my own webpages on the internet (someone has to), I came across this journal entry from Deviant Art. … Yeah, this was the year I graduated highschool… Hey, we all make bad decisions as teens, mine were just… Slightly more inner hateful than most…

“April 15, 2011,

It doesn’t cut. I tried and I tried, but it never cuts. I want to feel it, see it, taste it, but it never cuts.

I want to make it cut, stab it, destroy it, rip it to pieces. But, it never works for me. Why does it never work for me?

I couldn’t kill myself if I wanted to, I could hurt myself if I wanted to, I couldn’t become sick if I wanted to, I couldn’t even puke if I wanted to.

But, I want to, I so want to. I want to feel the pain, the sorrow. Being stuck in the normality is worse than being beaten, worse than dying, worse than rape, worse than torn families, worse than broken bones, torn clothes, homelessness, poverty.

… Because, when everyone else has something bad to talk about, you could never understand them, you’re just too normal.

Listening to: The screaming pain of you complaining
Reading: Your eulogy
Watching: You burn
Playing: With your mind
Eating: Your sorrow
Drinking: Tea


Tibby’s Important Life – part 2

(The autobiography of a young, self-centered Torbe, struggling through space to be the best doctor in the universe, as told through journal entries. Based on the rpg, “Stars Without Number”.)

May 31st, 3225,

Though my travels have taken me to many sectors, I still only have a small amount of twenty-three different species studied, nineteen of them being unintelligent creatures, and fourteen of those were animals. My first travels led me aboard Crow-Ian Sphtew, a carrier fleet, where I worked “pro-bono”, as they say, for the first six months, in order to keep a constant flow of specimens. It was easier to set up as a doctor and have them come to you, then to go out looking for consensual lifeforms.

A decision I greatly regret to this day. After two transplants, and five amputee-cybernetic enhancements, all of which I had to pay for myself, I was beginning to receive complaints of my work. Apparently, most humans prefer frail body parts, to steel, mechanically engineered ones. The mercenaries never complained, though, it was usually just the tech crew.

After traveling with the Crow-Ian Sphtew for about three months, their Captain, Du-gon, sent me down to the planet of Belate to gather some more medicals supplies. And of course, he ordered the pilot to leave as quickly as he had landed, once I was on the ground. A disappointing endeavor, as I am down to my last hundred grand of credits.

Belate is where I lay my new bed, and my pen, for the evening. Tomorrow marks a new day, and new days bring new chances to change the understanding of science as we know it today.

Look out, tomorrow. Tonight, you sleep so soundlessly, but at the dawning of the birth, you will be at the mercy of my operating table.

(What, have I now become a poet in the absence of specimens to study?)