the monster vs the martyr .

the monster who created this mayhem has been called upon to write a memoir , so this is the first chapter , rather a droning prelude to the genesis of what will become a cluster fuck of a million random urges . . . yes . i am a writer first & foremost , as if you didn't already know that . i have been perfecting this craft since day zero , & the fruits of my written labor will live on long after the monster has dissolved itself into obscurity . yes . i am often quite disturbed , & the current temperature has my blood boiling with dangerous creativity . what better place to display this monster than here ? yes . this is a pointless exercise to engage myself in dialogue with this monster that i have forced upon you , & myself . consider this my way of separating the two entities . or am i attempting to understand who , in fact , i would like to be ? so long for merging the two . one has to live without the other , or the lines become blurred not only to the voyeur but to the creator as well .

i have already managed to confuse myself & the monster alike .
this is going to be quite interesting .

i haven't had much to say about myself lately , & maybe that's a good thing . that "off" switch finally embedded itself into my brain ; that little meter that goes from blue to red depending upon the level of rage , & in the event of a meltdown or some poor decision flips the script & tells my impulse to "calm down" . the meter settles in the middle of blue & red & i am no longer "on" , rather thrown into neutral & dare i say , balanced . in my case , there really hasn't been a middle ground . i'm always hot or cold , majorly raging or not so much . always wondering wtf i'm talking / thinking about . always battling with myself . agonizing over how i've made another person feel . beating myself up about things i simply can't (& don't want to) control . asking myself way too many questions , & never answering myself because that would be schizo . poor decisions , impulsive reactions , lack of discipline , too many mixed emotions , hormones all over the place , "why do i care ?" , i wish i didn't care so much , "fuck it ! i refuse to care" , criticized for saying that , damned if i do , damned if i don't , won't , blah blah blah we've been here before . this monster i have created attempts to overtake the martyr (dare i use that word) my parents mistakenly conceived . yes . i am part real , part fiction ; a prophet & a pusher , a walking contradiction . introductions are futile if you are unclear as to how you want to introduce yourself . if you have nothing nice to say then please don't say it at all . if any of this makes sense , which i'm sure none of it does , please keep reading . if not , feel free to forget you ever met me . continue on with your sanity & leave me to my own devices , which in this case is a big tin can of rockstar . come back in a year or two when the monster has completely consumed the martyr (dare i use that word yet again) & read the first chapter of this memoir with a new set of eyes . eyes that do not nor will not judge . eyes that will not tear into the deepest part of me with questions & bewilderment . eyes that know real from fake , sarcasm from honesty . eyes that no longer care to know what they see as long as they can see it .

i'm sure by now no one is reading this .
just know that i , the monster & the martyr (dare me to stop using such a powerful word !) are not here to sell dreams . rather , allow m & m to tickle your fancy & portray a technicoloric (yes , i , rather the monster , made that up) dreamscape that will transcend the basic principles of good versus evil . this is a game . you are my specimen . boredom is a helluva drug . . . . .