"Order some golf shoes," I whispered. "Otherwise, we'll never get out of this place alive..."

    A writing style that I admire very much. One that brings the author and reader directly into the fray. There is no distance nor restriction on what will be read. He was there. He was experiencing it firsthand. You are there with him. You are experiencing it firsthand.
    I want to be a writer. That much is known to those who keep my company. Though, I attempt to emulate writing styles so I can better understand how certain people write. One style I could never emulate, nor will attempt to, is that of Gonzo. Thompson was a brilliant, though depraved at times, man who created a new style of journalism and writing. It destroys the boundaries classic authors had. Not only can you feel the dust on your skin, but you can taste the rum and feel the bite of the sand fleas.
    My time has been spent reading as of late. Questioning authors and what brings people to their writing. Trying, in vain for the most part, to understand why these people wrote the way they did. How they wrote the way they did.
    Somehow I have developed my own writing style I am told. Not sure what that style could be, but it is a style I am fond of. Names are for the fickle few who do not take the time to understand a character. Those persons who read a book from cover to finish only to say they have read the book.

What did they gain from the book?

    As far as I am concerned, those persons who read to finish a book in place of enjoying a book are to be pitied. How can they desecrate and tarnish such a gift as the ability to read? Do they not wish to gain anything from those words authors spent hours writing on paper, and countless more time attempting to bring it to these people who destroy what is writing?

I pity you fair reader.
For you will never know what joy lies in words.

Hello There, How Are We Today?

    Not entirely well I am afraid to say. My inspiration, which was one fledgling, hit a hill and went rolling. I wrote and wrote for days on end. Here I am now, stuck without any ideas what so ever.
    I smoke, drink, and kill myself gradually in an attempt to bring my muse back to me. She wants nothing but blood these days, and I am not willing to slit my wrist to feed her. The alcohol with which I once fed my soul now only burns it.


The days when suffering was easy are gone.
The days when I did excessive amounts of drugs are gone.
The days I enjoyed are gone.

    Funny how that works, no? I become comfortable somewhere, and I only find myself suffering more so than I did in the previous place. What is life but, and I quote Octave Mirbeau, "an immense, inexorable torture-garden"? Perhaps I take that out of context? Most likely I do. Those things that make us great only destroy our humanity in the long run. Is it so much to ask to suffer as I once did?
    I know what you are thinking to yourselves. "Why does this kid whine so much?" And I retort with how my suffering brought a sense of gladness to my life. When in a depression my mind was more clear than if I were completely sane. I rationalized perfectly. I thought purely. Most of all, my writing was perfection as far as I am concerned.


Perhaps I am not meant to be a writer?
Then why is it the only thing I long for?


I miss the drugs.
I miss the alcohol.
I miss the people.
I miss the sense of mortality.

And so I leave you, after reading this choppy post, with a simple statement.
Who the hell cares about us but ourselves?


    Go forth and listen to The Octopus Project.

What They Found
The Way Things Go

Dance, Dance, Dance, Dance To The Radio...

    The two middle windows are open letting in a late summer breeze. It is not cold but not hot. A nice mild day to exist in. Existence in and of itself is something that is reproachable by many. As is my existence as far as several are concerned.
     Existence, I have tried to end mine on countless occasions. Few know this and I failed on those countless attempts. I was not out for attention. I was not out to hurt myself. I wanted others to hurt. Everyone, I wanted them all to hurt so bad that they could understand what I felt on a constant basis.
     I have loved and I have lost. Loss seems to be the constant with the love on the other end. My life is lived in a detrimental manner. I intend to kill myself. Not in a fast manner or to end something abruptly. My body will be destroyed slowly because there is too much beauty in this horrific world. People are so bad to each other and I feel it.

I feel it down to the very inner being of my soul.
     No one can solve this problem but me. Why would I want to solve this 'problem' of loneliness and neglect? Telling myself constantly that without the unhappiness and loneliness I can never cherish when I have something so true that truth is an obsolete word. I want to love again, but I fear that love will end the way it did in earlier attempts.
Life feels pointless to me.

I want to live so bad that to kill myself would resolve nothing.
     Would resolve one thing though. That one thing is whether there is a God or not. If there is then I am living improperly in the eyes of those that do believe.

Should I meet God.
What would I ask him?
How could He create something so beautiful such as free will and allow people to corrupt it.
     No one can help me in this. I am alone and will deal with my grief and such non-sense as I always have. To destroy and give birth.
     They tell me I think too much about things that do not matter. If I did not think about those things then who will? How will they perceive them and would they use their thoughts to harm others?
     I refuse to see any more people hurt. Martyrdom seems the only way at this point. Selfless altruism at its preceptive best.

     I leave you now with a few songs as is custom:

To the center of the city where all roads meet, waiting for you,
To the depths of the ocean where all hopes sank, searching for you,
I was moving through the silence without motion, waiting for you,
In a room with a window in the corner I found truth.

Joy Division - Shadowplay


Do you find this happens all the time,
Crucial point one day becomes a crime,
And Im not the kind that likes to tell you,
Just what I want to do,
Im not the kind that needs to tell you.
New Order - Age of Consent

Full of glory never seen,
They made it through the whole machine,
To never question anymore,
Hypnotic trance, they never saw,
They walked in line.
Joy Division - Walked in Lines

I Can Barely Define The Shape Of This Moment In Time...

     I found out how my father died, realized lies and falsities, found a family I never knew, came to love and dearly missed people, and here I sit pondering it all. This is the first time I have had much time to myself since I have been here in Ohio. Not that I am looking to be reclusive here. I am here to learn and research; to find the truth.

     My father died, not alone as is always said, but in a lucid state in utter bliss. Maybe not in the best manner possible. Though death is rarely in a manner that can be considered 'best' by few. Those who can consider a death 'best' are those that see people as objects and are hardened to this world and life. As I have heard, and sincerely believe with all my heart, his last words consisted of:


I have two children. A daughter and a son. I have never been happier.


     I believe these words as in his death he no longer felt pain. I miss the man I never knew. Cried many a night and worried I would never come to know him. Distanced from those who had the information I craved.

Distance has never, and will never, stop me.

     Some, if not most, of these people think he walked out the door and will walk right back in at any time. The one person who accepts what is is the person I am with now. She has a mind and it is quite like that of what I believe her father's was. The more I learn the more I see I am reincarnate. Not that anyone has ever, or could ever, replace what my father was. What he is.
     Those people create their own world in an attempt to cope with what most of those who knew him best admit. When my father died the world lost out. The world will never know what an impact it took. I can never realize what an impact it took, but I can gain an idea from how people talk and remember what they do.

     My father will be remembered. I will not ruin what precious gift he gave me. There will be mishaps and screw ups, but I will never trash what I have received. This man I never knew and never will has been, will always be, my father. There is not a thing he could have done that would cause me to not love him. I live my life in his image and ask myself, at this point, what he would do when troubled.

     Nathan Wayne Burney is dead. The door will never open again with him to come through it. I refuse to disillusion myself to believe it no matter how much I want to believe it. At this point all I can do is 'shine on' and accept the loss yet never forget the world's.

     I leave you now with two songs and song lyrics:

Thought I oughta bare my naked feelings,
Thought I oughta tear the curtain down.
I held the blade in trembling hands
Prepared to make it but just then the phone rang
I never had the nerve to make the final cut.
Pink Floyd - The Final Cut

So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here



I wish you could have met him.

Life Is Alright On The Rhine...

...but not here.
I did the grown up thing and attempted to put things aside in an attempt to bring closure to myself and to her. In all honest belief I feel that I attempted to do my part. On hers I feel she did not. In my mind her intentions were for her to brag upon what she is going to become. To let me know I lost something great.

What a bitch move.

This is why I am done for now, and hopefully, for good. The cynic in me is only strengthened through this marvelous act of selfishness. Altruism is dead in all. My attempts to be altruistic have failed and allow me to know that no one can be the epitome of what that word is meant to say. Words may just be words and ink (or pixels in this case), but to some extent, and I go against all I have ever said, they do have a meaning behind them. If you enact to be a word then you should live up to what is required by said word.

Too much hope and cynicism in one post. They will strangle each other eventually and I will be left without a page to let all you people who do not check out this site know that life is just peachy in this small town of waste and decay.

Beirut - Rhineland (Heartland)

Truly gladdened...

It Makes Me Truly Glad

No one reads this and that makes me happy. For if someone, to say someone I know, read this then they might know how I feel. If they knew how I feel then they would know I was lying the entirety of the time I talked to them. That would make for some awkward situations in conversation, no? Like the times they ask me how I am doing and I say well. Not to say people ask how I am doing or anything (unless prompted in someway i.e. "How are you doing today, Soandso").
Aggravation is what I feel these days. Sheer aggravation at everyone and everything anymore. Why? The questions that only I can answer for myself, and if only answerable by myself then I am quite screwed. As of late I have wanted to do nothing other than give up due to this aggravation.
I really wish I had stayed in the Military. Life was simple and the few fights and bit of, for lack of a better word, drama that broke out were easily resolved. Here people are not forced into confrontation and that is what gets them. We, as a people, avoid conflicts. Some of the people I know avoid conflicts to the extent that they would rather ruin their own lives just to not see Soandso. Why?
I find myself wishing I had never seen some of these people again. To have never told them that I was back. That would have saved myself grief and the feelings that come with it. For you I wish I had never met you in the first place. When I say never I mean it. Not that I dislike said person, but instead that I dislike the way I feel towards them as it makes myself feel empty. Makes me want to give up.

Oh well. To vent and release is what this box is for and that is exactly what I have done.

I Wish I Had Never Met You

What is Home?

What is Home?

I had this gut feeling that I would be happy again once I was here. Now I am here and yet I do not feel that happiness in my gut any longer.
What happened?
I miss the people I knew and the people I loved. They understood and I came to bond with them in a way I have never bonded with anyone before.
What happened?
You can never go home again. No matter where it is and regardless of how happy that place made you feel before you left. The customs and normal every day things you once did fly out the window, and then you learn to live a different way. I can never return .. neither can you.
Why not?
That is a good question, and that is a question I wish I could answer; I cannot. I love my family and, to some extent, the friends I have. They, well, did not change as I had expected them to. The same life continues and no one grows while I feel I am beyond what I was. There is more for me to offer than what is asked of me.

School in the fall?
Doubtful.
Where am I going to end up in life?
Will I die unhappy?

Will I die regretting that I did not do more to cease this bland existence?

Hello There Kiddos

So here I sit eating a very disgusting MRE and talking to my 'battle buddies' about getting the baby privates with an MRE bomb. Now, do not fear for the baby privates as thisbomb will not hurt them, but scare the shit out of them. They have CBRN (Chemical Biological Radiological Nulear) next week and that means they need to get the feeling of riot gas now. The sooner they feel it the less harmful it might be less harmful. Who knows? All I know is that you ain't talking about boxing.

It Hurts To Look At The Clock

     I sit unwilling to look at any clock or check my phone for fear it will be four o' clock. Why do I fear such things as what I am about to undertake?
    Hell, I have no idea.

    Enough with my doubts, eh? How about a few things you people should know while I am gone?

• XKCD


• Motel De Moka


• Secrets


• Why do you live?


• Marvelous surprise!


• Deadly umbrellas

     And I leave you with the words a dear friend told me in order to help me.
      "It takes courage to take the hard road rather then the easy one."

Hell, This Coffee Tastes Awful

    So I sit here, as it seems it a usual thing, and drink coffee. Unfortunately for me this coffee tastes like rotten ass and, for all I know, it could be and I could die 'cause of it.
    Oh well, the risks we take, no?

    Something close to nine days until I leave and the weather here must be going to miss me because it has been in the low 50s and 60s.



    Still, no matter how nice the weather is outside the coffee still sucks when inside.