Sept the Twenty-Fifth
Journal, I can walk again. It hurts to do so, but the cuts no longer split open when I put weight on my feet. Granted, I’m not about to start running around or going on hikes or anything, but I can walk. I can stand on my own two feet. I can piss like a man… you know what that means? I’m going to start The Face of Fear!!!… this weekend.
I know, I’m an asshole, I said I would do it just as soon as I could piss standing up, but I still don’t have the runes figured out, and starting tomorrow would be better anyway. Tori’s going to upstate New York with her family to visit her grandmother (good lord does she detest that woman, kind’a makes me wonder what the rest of her family is like) and Keaton and Carl and Harry are all busy. Well, Harry’s always busy now, he’s been off around me ever since I started seeing Tori, or should I say “ever since he saw us kissing in the parking lot outside the library that day,” but that’s whatever. He was always kind of, I don’t know… he’s got a complex about him for sure. Rich daddy who doesn’t care but still gives him everything he’ll ever need in life. Besides character, I guess. Oh well. Kind’a bummed about K and C, though, they’ve been awesome during this whole thing. Carl brought me some ankle weights and dumbbells so I could stay in shape and stuff while I’m off my feet, and Keaton’s been stopping by for a few minutes literally every day.
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Side note, just thought of this: a lot goes on in my life that I don’t write about, and if you are, in fact, alive, Journal, you probably feel left out. Well, don’t. Like I was saying with the Stephen King thing the other day, books shouldn’t have a direct bearing on reality. There’s more to life than just writing, writing is only a small part of it. Well, it’s a pretty big part of it for me, but at the end of the day it’s still just a part of the bigger picture. And that’s good, that’s all right, that’s how it should be. You can’t just sit at a desk and write all day every day – well, I’m sure some folks can, like Jason Wong at the library, and by the way, I’m reading his latest book (it’s called The Death of Amy Cheese, and no, Amy Cheese doesn’t die, there’s not even a character named Amy Cheese) and it’s fuckin’ BRILLIANT! Absolutely awesome, really really good. Decidedly not donating it to the library; in fact, I have it stored right along with my Dark Tower books. It’s sitting on top of them, but that’s not supposed be symbolic of Wong’s book being better than King’s. I don’t look at it like that, there is no “best story” or anything like that, y’know? The only bad book is the one that doesn’t get written, as far as I’m concerned.
But anyway, yeah, you miss out on a lot of my life, Journal, but that’s okay. Don’t fret, because it balances out. My friends and loved ones, they miss out on a lot of my life too. See, there’s an outer reality and an inner reality, and you get the inner reality. You get the weird thoughts and feelings that crawl through my mind all day, the kind of shit that if I spouted it all the time I’d probably be hanging out with Old Jack in the basement of the asylum (I mean, uh, group home, totally, that’s what it is with its padded gas chambers and shit). You don’t get all of my inner reality – there’s a big ol’ world called The Hillside Commons in there, a planet that keeps on getting bigger as its endless forest is explored further and further beyond its limits – but you get the special parts of it that are only meant for you, the parts about how everybody’s life revolves around either drugs or sex (except mine, because I’m sPeCiAl !!!), about how thoughts are living things that evolve into ideas and eventually get made into books. Hell, I’ll even give you a new one: Boobs and asses? Yeah, they’re sacred geometry. That’s why we like lookin’ at ‘em. Boom.
See what I mean? You get a part of me that not many folks – if any – get to see, Journal, and for that, I say thankya.
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So uh, where was… oh yeah, friends. Yeah, my friends have been stopping by and Tori’s been popping in and out and my family’s been really cool, it’s been nice. It’s been really nice. Tomorrow I’m going to start writing the novel, officially and for real, so now, there’s only one thing left to do. Journal, it’s time to figure out my last three runes.
Crazy thought: tomorrow is Saturday. Satur means Death. I might die tomorrow. I need to write this entire book tonight, oh my god, oh fucking god!! AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!
Just kidding, I’m not going to die tomorrow. I’m not going to die when I finish the book, either, although Albey probably is. I mean, it only makes sense: he’s going to war with the bigfoots in a chapter called Friday: Last Night. Like, yeah, he might survive, sure, whatever you need to tell yourself, but chances are he’s going to fucking die. Probably going to get his head bashed in with a rock, as bigfoots are [allegedly] known to do.
And that, Journal, gives me an idea. Fri shall be War, and what comes before War? Peace. Thurs shall be Peace, both cosmic truths of reality just like Life, Death, Chaos, and Order. That’s six, just one more. Wednes, what could Wednes be…
Hold the fuck on.
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Okay, I did the dots thing to break it up because I just flipped back to the other day. Wednesday, Sept the Twenty-Third to be exact, the middle of the week. Three days before it, three days after it; the day I acknowledged that my life came to balance. In a list of cosmic truths of reality, what lies in the middle? What lies between Life, Chaos, Order and Peace, War, Death?
Balance, of course. Balance is the central cosmic truth of reality, Journal. All things come to Balance eventually, and now, I shall write out the list for the last time, in weekday order, just because writing it in my storytelling order will only jumble it up:
Sun – Life
Mon – Chaos
Tues – Order
Wednes – Balance
Thurs – Peace
Fri – War
Satur – Death
When Life begins, Journal, there is Chaos. Nobody knows what’s going on, everybody is scrambling around trying to figure shit out, and that’s good. That’s important. That’s necessary, because out of that scrambling comes an understanding. Everybody is running around putting all their effort into understanding reality, and all that effort culminates in discovering a certain Order to things. From that Order comes Balance, and from that Balance comes Peace, because everybody knows what’s going on, everybody worked for something and got it, everyone is happy. But, like all things, the Peace must come to an end. There comes a division, a difference in opinion, a series of words or intentions misunderstood, whatever it is, and the time of Peace gives way to War. From War comes Death, because reality is energy, it’s just patterns repeating themselves out into infinity, and when violence is used to secure a goal, it can only beget more violence.
I’m ready to write The Face of Fear, Journal. I’m really, really ready. Tomorrow the sun shall rise, and Sidney Blake shall write anew.
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Say thankya, Journal. ‘Preciate ya. Good sleeps and good dreams~
Hello Commons, this has been the next journal entry from Untitled Bigfoot Project, a novel about a writer who writes a novel about bigfoot.
Untitled Bigfoot Project is part of the Third Spiral, an anthology of sorts called The Here and Now which is comprised of stories told from the various planes of Existence.
Untitled Bigfoot Project is available to read for free in its entirety on my website. Click here to check it out.
I’ve written a few other books, too. Click here to see the list.
If you like Untitled Bigfoot Project and would like to help support my work, click here and buy an autographed copy of the book (or anything else!) from my store. Alternatively, you can snag a cheaper (and unsigned) copy from Amazon by clicking here OR you can buy the ebook for even cheaper here.
If you’re there, hypothetical reader, thank you for being there. Be well Commons~