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TheGiantSlayer
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Name: Jay
Birthday: 11/12/1983
Gender: Male
Interests: I'm interested in what you have to say, in what you have to think. I'm interested in finding the truth. Who Is this Messiah, what did he do and say?
Expertise: I am an expert at the realization that I have mastered nothing.
Occupation: Observant
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  SIXSHOT21
Member Since:
9/22/2005
 True
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| Always, forever, Sometimes andI never knew a touch as soft as yours.
I never knew the power of such beauty.
I never imagined the ways you would change me, and here I am changed.
I never realized how much love you would fill me with.
I never saw how much of my life was being unlived.
I never believed that there was a woman like you.
I never had seen the things you see in me before now.
I never wanted to let you go.
I never wanted to say goodbye.
I never wanted to see the tears well up in your eyes
I never want to hurt you.
Remember I love you forever and that will never change...
Never.
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| Read this, comment then go about your buisness.I started writing a book, because I don't really have any money and I figured maybe some one would buy what i have to say. They say to write what you know so that is what I have begun to do. I started to write the events of my life. it's like drilling the ocean floor... there are chucks of debris that are starting to float back to the surface. i want to share it... i want the people to know what happened. At the same time I really don't. it helps to talk about things and events or memories that were tucked away... but there comes a risk with such action.
With the truth comes a price.
People see me in a different light. Nothing is just surface anymore. I realize how much i am still holding back... How much I hold people at a distance. i am becoming more aware how guarded i still am. Laughs keep people focused on things other than what is at the core. I've kept people entertained.
Laughter is also a side effect of pain. A coping mechanism. I've spent so much of my life, not living.
i have spent so much time drifting. Floating on as if my surroundings were cold dead space. Everything sterile. everything separate. I have lived as a dichotomy. I have lived without ever really being alive.
I have this story to tell because I believe that people need to know what happened. For both my good and the benefit of those out there who have seen the same.
I am still hurt by things that I have long left alone. All of this happened before I was 5 years old.
I want you to read what I have written thus far... I want you to be able to understand.
I'm going to be honest with you, I never really expected to be here. The fact that you are even reading this is somewhat of a surprise to me. This is my story. This is how I became the man that I am today. It really isn't that I set out to tell this story or that I felt the world should know or anything of the sort. Really, there are thousands of stories just like mine, wrought with more tragedy and more heartfelt raw emotions. They are layered with greater draw and sense of achievement. Yet, I don't want to discount the fact that I am still alive. That is saying something.
I was born with Cyanosis (or as it is more commonly known as Blue Baby syndrome) in a Phoenix hospital in the fall of 1983. It kinda makes me think that God had a sense of humor about me from the womb as my parents decided to name me Jay before even knowing that for the first two days of my life my skin would be sky blue. My father worked in a print shop and I am pretty sure that my Mom worked part time as a legal secretary back then. I can't be sure, on account that I had just been born and it was a little early to be asking for a detailed resume. I'm kinda sarcastic so I hope that won't bother you during my narration. I will try my best to get through this as fast as possible because I am sure that you have places to be or quality television to watch or something. You don't get that from most books - a plug for more television watching. Wait... you purchased this book already right? You're not just standing there in a bookstore reading it are you? Moving on.
When I was still just an infant it was discovered that I had a bi-lateral hernia. Instead of walking when I should have been, I would crawl army style across the floor. My mom told me about that, as again I don't recall doing any Vietnam survivor impersonations between six and twelve months. I guess I should get to the point where I actually do remember things.
My earliest memories go back to when I was around two or three years old. My mother and I were on a visit to my grandparents house. Out in front of grandmas house was this gnarly twisty ugly green tree. On this particular day when we had pulled up and gotten out of the car; there was a dead bird on the ground. It was here that I had my first encounter with death. She explained to me what had happened to the bird and how it isn't coming back anymore. That it was no longer alive.
I understood because back then, I was a smart kid. I know my opinion is biased, but if you knew me back then you would say to yourself, "What a smart kid" and then look at me now and wonder what happened. I'd like to remind you again about my sarcasm... and I guess I should also mention that I occasionally go on tangents. You should have noticed that by now.
You may be thinking "who cares about a dead bird?" The answer to that is PETA, but they aren't important or relevant to this story at all. The reason it is in this story is because that was the moment that I encountered death, and so much of my life would be shaped by such an event as that.
I don't remember an overwhelming bit about my grandpa, but I can recall how much he loved us kids with a vivid clarity. We knew when we would visit that grandpa would be found sitting in his usual spot in his recliner chair. We would rush to him and he would hug us tight. He would lean down and stick his face out and tell us kids to give him some sugar in his southern accent. His face would beam as that of a proud grandfather as we kissed his face. We would beg him to take us to feed the ducks at the park and he most always would oblige us. My grandpa used to take me to feed the ducks at the park. Not just me mind you, but all of us kids. My brother Kane and my sister Jasmine would get just as excited to go to the park with loaves of bread to feed the animals as I did.
I was about three years old when I walked into my grandpas house, not long after the incident with the bird. I came in and grandpa wasn't sitting in his chair. I turned to my mom and I asked her where grandpa was. She told me that grandpa had died. "Like the bird?" I asked her. She replied with a simple yes and at that moment it hit me. I knew exactly what that meant. I began to cry and scream for my grandfather as my grandma came up and hugged me from behind. My mom tried to calm me to no avail. I can remember my grandpa.
From the young age I have still frames and pictures of certain houses and places that we used to live. I don't remember the houses layouts or anything, just a picture of a door or what the stairs looked like from when I would play on them. We moved around a bit, I remember that. We moved from place to place until we moved into “the house.” We've lived in various houses over the years but this was the only place that we refer to as the house. This was the only place that my family was all together. My father had another daughter from a prior marriage named Lorraine, whom we called her Lory. It was in this house that we were the closest thing to normal that we would ever be. I think it was the closest thing to a family that we would ever be. I think I was too young to have a grasp on what it meant to be happy with life; however, I recall the expressions of my brother and sisters as they would hang out together. They seemed happy.
Kane wanted to be a ninja back then. He was in love with all things pertaining to the martial arts. I think he actually had Chuck Norris bed sheets. He would watch every ninja movie that was made in the 80's and wish that he was Jean Claude Van Dam.
One summer back while we were living in the house Kane had worked a trade with one of the neighborhood kids who had gone to the Swap meet. I don't remember what Kane had given up, but he got a throwing star in return. He was impressed with it, and I admit that I was, too. I mean, here we were as kids with authentic ninja gear – one that was made in China none-the-less. Kane, in all the wisdom that a 12 year old can muster, had the brilliant idea of a demonstration of his ninja prowess. He would need a young impressionable assistant who would put stock in his confidence blindly. I was such an apprentice as this. All the days of his life my brother has carried with him an over abundance of confidence, and I saw it then. I still see it now.
"Alright Jay, I want to you to stand in the closet and hold very very still," he said unwaveringly. "I am going to throw this, and it is going to land right next to your head.”
This was one of the few times in my life where my brother would be wrong, and somewhere in my heart I knew he was wrong, but I ignored this instinct and follow him anyway. I watched as Kane reared back his arm and steadied his eye. The star released from his grip, whirling and spinning through the air with ferocity. Like a ship reaching harbor after setting sail across the large ocean, the shard of metal crossed the room and reached the port of my shoulder. The room was silent as my eyes followed the path that the star had taken until I found where it came to rest, where it dangled from my shoulder. The silence was broken by the frantic screams of a former ninja's apprentice.
That didn't stop me from aspiring to be a ninja though. We had narrow hallways in the house where I would extend my arms against one wall and my feet against the other and climb toward the ceiling. I would wait at the top of the hallway for my brother to walk through and then I would just fall on him. It helped that I weighed like 30 pounds back then or something. Now days if I were to try something like that I would either mule kick straight through a wall or fall on someone and kill them. It would be like getting hit by a meteorite.
I recall that one time I was supposed to be taking a nap in my room and I snuck into the back yard, climbed a tree to reach the top of the shed to get over the neighbor's wall so I could hang out with a friend of mine. I was really, really grounded when my dad couldn't find me. I don’t really ninja enough anymore.
In those days Lory's mom, Jenny, had joint custody of her so every other week she would disappear from the house. She would come back the next week and tell stories about whatever happened with her mom. On occasion Larry, Jasmine and Kane's Father, would come by and take them out and do things with them. I remember watching as the other kids got to have adventures and do things with other people. I always wanted in on that action. I didn't really understand why they got to go; I just knew that I wanted to be a part of that club. I felt left behind. My brother and sisters would often leave me behind to run around with the neighborhood kids and such. I mean, who wants to go hang out with their friends and have to bring along their younger brother whom is 5 to 7 years younger?
It wasn't all that bad though. It isn't like they didn't love me or anything. I remember one time that they all got together and they were making me a surprise. I was told that I couldn't go into the back room of the house because that is where they were working, and that fueled my curiosity all the more. After what seemed like days to me (it was probably a matter of a few hours) I was lead into the room where they were working all that time. They had built me a city. My siblings had taken a bunch of old boxes of various sizes and cut them up and stuck them together in a card board metropolis. It was awesome. I played in those pretend buildings until I couldn't fit in it any longer, or a new residency of black widows took up occupation. I look back on those days and even though we all had our problems, we had love. I miss that.
For some time at that young age my mom was at home with me during the days while my siblings were in school. I remember one time I woke up before she did and got into the refrigerator. By the time she woke up it was too late. I had taken two dozen eggs that she picked up the day before, went into the back yard and started whipping them at stuff. I hit the patio, the side of the house, the grass and pretty much what ever was in the pitching range of a three year old kid. I hate eggs. I have always hated eggs, but I don't think that was my motivation for this. Eventually my mom went back to work, however... The by product of being the nuclear family, you know. We needed the bipartisan income to substantiate our way of life. I don't know why I said that like that.
Anyway, this means that we had to go to a babysitter's house. I learned more about the world from that place than I wish I ever had. I learned things there that I still fight to forget. The babysitter was a blond woman to my recollection. She had two kids, a son that was a bit older than I was and a daughter. I don't know if my parents knew the woman, or if they had picked her name out of the phone book or something. She wasn't well. That impression of her is still firmly embedded into my mind.
She would play tricks on us kids. I remember one time she asked us all if we wanted some pizza. I mean, really, what kid doesn't want pizza? She got us so excited and told us that it was on the way. For hours we waited and waited for a promise that was never delivered, only to be laughed at for believing her. She would often make things up to get our hopes up so that she could play with and crush them. Her kids were broken as well. They were abusive.
After a while my siblings didn't need a babysitter because they were in school. Up until that point I was still a regular kid, living in an irregular world with bizarre situations.
I remember her son. I remember the molestation. I remember the green camouflage shirt he wore. I remember his room and his desk lamp. It was an evening that I recall with some clarity to this day. I felt like I then was no longer a regular kid. I was now a part of the irregular world. I was now broken.
Her daughter was abusive in other ways. This family had a swing set in the yard, the cheap metal ones with a slide attached to one side of the swing set. We were often sent out to play in the yard by the sitter on account that we were distracting her from her television shows. All she ever did was watch TV, really... Watching television and breaking young kids' brains.
I remember once I climbed to the top of the tall slide and, before I could do anything else, I was pushed off sideways. I laid there in the dirt for a bit sore from the fall. Before you think that I am just some guy who is all bent out of shape because I was pushed off a slide, reserve your judgment until I am done, I mean I don't know if one would call that abuse for sure... Bullying definitely.
If it were one incident that is one thing. But it wasn't. I cannot tell you how many days that I spent locked inside a clothes hamper, for hours on end. If I tried to get away, that girl would punch me in the face. One instance, she was furious over something I cannot recall. She was looking for an instrument in which to alleviate her aggression, and I was there. She dug her nails deep into my arm until blood was oozing around her fingers. She tore out chunks of my skin in her anger and I was helpless. Still to this day I have the scars. I wear them as a reminder that it was real. It was not just a bad dream.
It was in that house that I learned the meaning of injustice. Every kid knows that when you are wronged you take your case to the authorities so they can distribute justice accordingly. In the eyes of a child, all adults are generally the same. They are the authority figures.
Every instance where I told the babysitter about the awful things that her daughter was doing to me, there was no justice served. Instead of her stopping the abuse, I was punished. Instead of an intervention, I was met with accusations. The babysitter said that I was making up lies about her daughter and made me stand in the corner as punishment. Evidence was irrelevant in that house, as she believed that her daughter could do no wrong. She refused to believe that she was the devil I knew her to be. I don't know if it was that, or if she simply hated me. I didn't tell my parents about all the dark events that were transpiring because the times when I did tell a grown up, I was punished. Parents need to listen to their kids; not just their words, but their actions. When things aren't right, they will send out signals to try and tell you that something is wrong. I never told my parents outright what was going on, but I did send out a flair (so to speak).
There was one day that my mom dropped me off at the babysitters and she was running late for work. I was screaming for her not to leave me there. I begged, cried, screamed, and pleaded for not to leave me there. My mom was under the impression that I was being extremely clingy. She didn't know that regression to infantile behavior and acting excessively clingy is a byproduct of molestation. Eventually she got me out of the car and started to drive away, figuring that with no other option, I would just go inside. I didn't. As she hit the accelerator on her mustang, I could have been seen running, had she looked in her rear view mirror. I chased after her car for roughly a block and half. In that moment, I felt abandoned. I was alone.
Try as i might, I could never bring my self to hate them for what they did. I was furious at the situation, I was furious at what they did to me. I was angry and i was broken inside, but I could never bring myself to hate them. They were broken inside. I mean, those kids had to live with a mother who was torture. Hurt people hurt people you know. I don't justify their actions,. I do not condone their actions, yet at the same time I forgive them for what they did. I was there for a matter of months, they spent their lives there. They had to grow up in that place. They had to grow up with each other. I cannot even fathom what happened in that home in the years after. When the Girl had no one to beat, and the son had no one to abuse. Sometimes I wonder if they turned on each other or if they got to adolescence and ran away. If they grew to a point in their life where they said enough is enough and chose to remove themselves from life, if you can call that life. I wonder if they got older and then found God somewhere and repented for the damage that the perpetuated. The sins they passed, as were passed to them. I've prayed for them sometimes. I wish them the best.
Not too much longer after these events, the place we called home would no longer be as such. The house where we were a family would begin to dissolve. There was an increase in tensions around the house. An electricity that hung in the air waiting for the right words or the wrong actions to arc. My Parents was beginning to dissolve. There were arguments and fights that would turn to still silence before erupting in other fights and arguments. It was like watching a hurricane in the sense that you saw the storm, and even when all seemed calm , you could tell that it was not yet safe to venture out. My parents were never shy about their fights. They never hid that from us children. In the house we had lived in the kitchen and dining room were separated only by a long counter or a bar if you will. One night they were arguing as us kids were in the living room. Their complexions were red with anger as they yelled in each others faces. I can still see each speck of saliva that would fly off each others lips as they screamed at each other.On the bar during this particular fight, on this particular night were all the backed up dirty dishes. My father being authentic Italian and passionate in his expression was waving his hands like every other italian does during an argument. He knocked a plate off of the counter and it hit the ground with a large clash. In my eyes I play it back again and I still see it as an accident. The response from my mother was however, very deliberate. "Oh, yeah Mike, that's good. Throw dishes now" she yelled. In one swift move she extended her arm and cleared all the dishes from the bar. She launched them at the wall. The sound was like that of a car wreck ringing in my ears. I looked at my parents in that moment and it was if they wanted to destroy each other. I didn't know what else to do, so I ran. I ran from the living room and down the hall to my room. As I ran I could hear my mother yelling at my father "Oh, good one Mike! You've scared your son!". My pain was being used as a weapon against each other. They were too consumed with inflicting pain on one another to consider how this was effecting us. I was in instrument of destruction in a war I was not a part of. I ran and I hid underneath my bed. Every kid hides there, I don't know what it is about the under the bed that makes kids think that it is like a bomb shelter or something. An impregnable fortress. As I laid there in the darkness I heard footsteps coming down the hall. I thought, maybe it was over. Maybe the fighting had stopped.I heard the footsteps reach my door. Maybe the war was over. Maybe a truce had been struck. Through my tears I saw a foot, then a knee. My brother looked me in the eye, reached in and pulled me out of the hole and hugged me. He knew the pain was feeling. He saw it. He experienced it just the same. Even in the recognition of the harm that they were bestowing on their child, my parents didn't stop. We were collateral damage. We were casualties of battle.
It wasn't until many years later that I learned what they were fighting about. Even though they fought right in front of us, I didn't know why. I'll get to that later if you are still reading, which you should, because you should have bought this book by now shouldn't you. I see all those license plate frames around town that say it shouldn't hurt to be a child. I don't know how I feel about that you know. I mean, Isn't childhood supposed prepare you for adulthood? Isn't adulthood a great majority of pain? Maybe I am getting childhood mixed up with public education. I can't recall. Both of them sucked.
i haven't yet gotten to the part where I watched my father die...or the divorce or the several other points where I was abandoned... Or watching My aunt die...
Or the other rolladex of horrible stuff that went down...
I wonder If I was in shock... and now... Just now after all of these years... i am coming back.
I don't know.... | | |
| The War of the World.I can see the sea of faces of the community out before me.
I can see us in rows , in lines front faced and waiting.
For too long we have been waiting.
The last grain of sand has fallen from the hour glass of complacence.
The time for sleep has passed.
The time for children's bickering has passed.
The time for petty squabbles and minute complaints is over.
Dawn breaks and we have forsaken the night and wasted the days prior.
War is upon us.
Break the crust from your eyes and your long cold slumber.
The attack has befallen us.
Apathy has plagued us on the battlefield.
Our choice is to fight as one, or die, as one.
There is one body. There is one.
Together we stand and we unite against sin, unified in the movements of the Messiah, Mirroring the example of the Savior.
OR we die together, as one. United in our intent to destroy each other. Unified in our inward focus and sense of entitlement.
There is no dry run. There is no preflight simulation. The training is over, and now we live and fight together or we fail.
The fight is here. We have awakened in a battle field. There is a army on the move against us. We are each others cover fire. We are each others medic. We are each others chaplains. We are the warriors called to a purpose. We are surrounded by the enemy and we are out numbered.
However, It has been commanded, and it is my firmest intent that we will hold the line and rise to the call of our commander...
We will prevail.
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| One last thing before I go...About a year ago or so I began to compile a list of things I wanted to do before I die.The list was some what half heartedly put together. Lately I have been thinking about it again. So I decided to remake that list.
1. Grow a decent beard. (I have been unable to do this due to my employment) decent is relative, but i have a beard now. 6/23/09
2. Watch all the Dirty Harry Movies ( Just never got around to it) 6/15/08
3. Fire a shot gun (This I did a few months back when I went shooting with Titus)
4. Experience romance. (current)
5. See the Foo Fighters live in concert
6. Build a full size snow man
7. Go camping alone, away from the city and people
8. Make love.
9. Ride a motorcycle.
10. Get married
11. Go to College
12. Play a game of Baseball with a group of friends and family
13. Have sex on top of the stadium press box at M.C.C.
14. Steal a lawn gnome, take several pictures of it various places around town an mail he pictures back to the owner of the gnome.
15. Walk the streets of Israel.
16. Have sex on the grass on the baseball field at M.C.C.
17. See a Cubs game at Wrigley Field
18. Buy a Revolver (done 5/14/08)
19.Take a nap, in a hammock, in Mexico, next to the bluest water ( like the corona commercials)
20. Drive 150mph
21. Have sex on the roof of the gas station that I used to work at( I'm not sure why... but it's my list)
22.Quit a Job and tell everyone at the job exactly what I think.
23. Be a good husband
24. Run the table in a game of 9 ball.
25. Take a real, honest vacation. ( not just some days off, a vacation) Did this during Sukkot.
26. Take at least once fencing lesson.
27. Reach the rank of Captain in Halo 3 on X-box live. ( I know how lame and short term this one is...but it's bugging me) Got this one done yesterday, (5/18/08) after weeks and weeks of battle.
28. See the Colosseum in Rome
29. Smoke a pipe.
30. Stand on the Alaskan front
31.Build a really big, cool looking sand castle.
32. Write a book (even if I don't publish it)
33. Try to get a book published.
34. Teach a class on something
35. Make up a word, and try to get it to spread (even though I am sure I have done this before) redactacular
36. Buy a bath Robe. I was gifted a bathrobe. on 11/26/08
37. Smoke a Cigar ( at least once) 2/20/09
38. Have kids. ( It would probably happen as a result of one or two of the other things on the list anyway)
39. Dump insane amounts of detergent into the bank of America fountain, so that the suds fill an intersection ( I may never get to do this one on account of the vandalism charges that would ensue... not to mention the heinous amount of Cops on that street)
40. Buy a decent suit. 12/6/08
41. Take a cruse.
42. Have a beer with my Woodstock friends at the Courthouse grill ( formerly the Jailhouse)
43. Fire a barret 50 calibur sniper rifle. ( This I believe could be done with some ease, I happen to know a guy who has one of these. It's a matter of calling, begging, and bargaining)
That's all I could think of right now. I my update this list as I go. I may forget all about it like I did the last one.
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| Inside of me ...there would be screams... if I could find the strength to scream. However it proves pointless.
I have to get through this and I am so.... stuck.
I want so badly to break free. I want to become stable... To become financially secure.
I feel like Sisyphus. Forever pushing a boulder and getting nowhere. Achieving nothing... and I want so much more for myself. I want to be something so much greater than this that I can taste it. Its on my tongue like a thick mist.
I have caressed the face of beauty and have been forced to recoil my hand.
There is nothing that I would refrain from giving to get to that place where I could hold her again.
Where I could kiss her lips. Where she could bury her head against my chest.
I have searched my entire life for her. I never imagined that she would care for me.
I never realized that we would fit so well. that happiness could be obtained.
My heart was touched. i can't go back to the silence. i cannot go back to life like it was before...
and I can't figure out how to move forward.
this is killing me.
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