Straight from the edge of ruin.

See, morey is not, as is, some who are. Not at all. morey is what is as morey, and not at all restrained by what is, or protruded by what is, or confined by what is, human. The morey bothers humans because he shows no respect to them, and no respect to the things they respect, and all humans have that one thing they respect which, if one should disrespect, a little button is depressed in that person's head and they go into anger mode, like when you're a kid at school and somebody disses your mom and you have to fight them for it. You don't know why and you're getting mad, but you're building that anger, it isn't exactly there but you have to put it there because somebody just insulted the woman you love and you know not how to react... Like when morey disrespected Hemingway. That could have bothered me because Hemingway understands what it means to have light shine through leaves outside quiet cafes, he understands the drink and the insanity and the smoke, the gun and the fist and the horn; Hemingway knows the silent moments in which man is imperfection incarnate and is dipped in a selfish solitude that makes God grasp at him with a curiousity akin to the God in Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions who just had to know what his human once in a world of robots would say when he came sliding down the mountain to wade below in the river spring. But the disrespect is not grounded! He doesn't know Hemingway, but morey knows know and is of not knowing that which is unknowable, so that he can paint and ride bikes and smile queerly to the derelicts of worldly 'burbs. Anywhere, anyone, any time, morey can drink in a character and like it without ground. See, he respects nothing. No value or tradition or religion or constitution, but if morey likes you it is for something as simple as a chemical cocktail and a series of events, an acid flashback and a circadian mistep, sugar you didn't want in a coffee you can't return because you're already at work, but it turns out being the best coffee you've ever had. And on that groundless ground in the wake of uncertainty, morey, that flittering thing likes and dislikes without reason, just passion, dividing heaven and hell on a cunt hair decision and riding insanity to divine inspiration that is the lohan. Be so enlightened as to see without seeing, to take texture from afar the way you take colour, the way your eye extracts it from a distance that could only be spoken of in a paranormal tongue by the born blind that hasn't the concept to take colour from distance. Live and let live. Do not understand morey, but hear him, the way you walk out of a hairdresser with the same haggard trot after she guessed your sign and that of your friends, told you how you fuck up and why and when, things nobody could have known, and nod to astronomy but pass it by, take and absorb and move on, like what you must do to the teachers and cops and faculty if you know who you are, and accept the morey as a commodity. Cause I've thought it over and that mother fucker ain't human. Nightrious Sat, 09/06/2008 - 09
Jan 17
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The Hillbilly Story

I was coming down from a week-long alcohol binge at a cabin I was living in down at the beach. I’d gone through this before, and after three days of not using I thought I was pretty much over the hump; no more vomiting, shaking, cold spells, flop sweats or hot flashes. My equilibrium seemed to be restored and I could make it to the refrigerator and back without falling over. I’d taken a handful of Valerian root tablets to help me sleep, and was lying under a quilt listening to a winter storm carry on outside.I don’t know how long I lay there, or what time it was when I became aware that there were hillbillies in my bathroom. I heard their voices first; a man and a woman talking in thick hick accents.The bathroom door was door was parallel to the bed on my right side; it was open wide and light was coming out. I was flat on my back, and turned my head slightly so I could see into the bathroom. I saw a woman in baggy clothes sitting on the toilet. She had stringy brown hair and was talking to a big man with long hair and a beard. This man had a roll of duct tape, and was doing something with it to a kid who I couldn’t get a good look at. He was partially hidden in a sort of alcove that was to the left of the doorway.My heart sped up. I was terrified and hoped they thought I was asleep. That they’d leave me alone. I kept my eyes closed, afraid I’d catch their eye. I don’t know how long I lay like this, but it seemed like forever.At one point I realized that the man had a gun, I heard him say, “Lets kill ‘em both”, and knew he meant me. In an instant I was out of bed, and out the front door. It was dark and the wind was blasting in off the bay. My feet were bare and I was wearing pajamas. The driveway was thick with ice and crusted snow. It was so slippery I couldn’t stay upright, and started crawling towards my nearest neighbor. His cabin was only about fifty feet away, but it seemed to take forever, the whole time I thought the guy was right behind me. I’d never met my neighbor; I knew that he was a maritime academy student. He was a regular guy. I doubted that he’d ever been confronted with the kind of freakshow I was presenting him with, but he handled it well. I was sprawled out on his porch, banging on the bottom of his door, my voice was almost gone but I managed to get across that someone was being killed, and please call 911. He ran inside grabbed a coat and let me into his truck. He wouldn’t let me in his cabin cause he didn’t know me.I sat in the truck shaking from fear and cold. Repeating pleasepleaseplease over and over to myself. I was sure the hillbilly would appear any minute. Three cop cars pulled into the driveway, lights flashing. In the instant they appeared I knew that no one was in my house, I had imagined the whole thing, and that had to mean I was insane, and that was far worse. A couple of the cops ran into the cabin, my landlord had come out of the main house and he and my neighbor were talking to the others. A lady cop came over and and helped me into the back of one of the cruisers. I was still shaking and she turned the heat up.The cops came back from the cabin and told me it was empty. I only wanted to go back and lie down, but they were adamant that I go to the hospital. Cause I was bleeding they said. I hadn’t realized that my hands and feet were cut up from the ice, and covered with blood.These cops were nice, and they hung out at the hospital as long as they could, when they left, they told me to call for a ride home. I was glad for that, not really up for explaining any of this to friends or family.At the hospital they took some blood, and I talked to a psychiatrist for about twenty minutes. She told me that I wasn’t crazy, I was detoxing, complicated by lack of sleep, and the Valerian root, that apparently can bring on psychotic episodes.I can’t say this knowledge made me happy, but I felt some relief that I didn’t have to continue life with the extra baggage of being nuts.