I wrote this about 6 years ago while living in San Diego. It's based on my own life. I can't find the ending though. I found it in my old e-mail archives. I wanted to also put this amazing photo collage that I made too, but photobucket won't work for me. What else works good for posting photos in a blog? Anyway, here it is. It's called The Cure: "The Cure" By .tS Puree Tomatoes in the February of 01 in SD, CA Part One He sat alone in a dive bar very far from home in Southern California drinking beers. He was trying to read a book, but it was impossible; the book was no fun and expected the reader to be interested in tragedy, which the world was already so full of already. As he stared across the bar into space, he realized that he was unintentionally glaring at an attractive, young female sitting there, alone, just like him. While sipping from her mixed drink she looked right back at him with no fidgeting whatsoever. Her unwavering eye contact seemed to be sending him psychic messages, and he instantly began to feel as if multiple tornados were fighting each other in his head. He could feel his eyeballs pounding with the beat of his heart. Distressed, he reached into his pocket and took out 5 or six valiums and 2 xanbars. He swallowed them all down with one pull of his beer. He sat down the beer and accidentally glanced at the girl again. While his knees trembled, he guzzled the rest of his beer down, wiped the excess off of his lips with the back of his hand, and ordered another beer from the bartender. He tried reading his book more, but couldn't. All the turmoil in his head was making him feel like doing something drastic, . . . something so terrible that his grandmother and mother would for sure be devastated from shame and torture him psychically with feeling of disappointment. The girl continued casually looking in his direction. He stared straight down at the floor like a shy schoolboy, not being embarrassed, but sweltering. After 45 minutes or so of guzzling beer and waiting for the pills to take affect, he realized he was too far under for the pills and beer to be of any help. At this point, he was only concerned with the safety of this young lady. He knew that the moment called for more intensive measures. So, he reached into his mochila and pulled out the Kit containing everything he needed to perform The Cure. · * * * * Part 2 We need to take a brief look at this man's history. The feelings that he was experiencing during the first part first began appearing at an early age in his home state of Mississippi. He was only twelve when he started having trouble with eyes looking at him. It was especially the girls' eyes that pounded his mind. Sure, like all the other boys, he kissed with girls and so forth, but always in the back of his head spun anger and hatred like a whirlpool of putrid bile. It wasn't for the girls that this hatred was summoned, but for the futileness of procreating and a fear of being trapped into a typical, everyday living. You have to admit, it's detestable. At first, he felt like maybe he was a bad person, a person contaminated with evil. His sincere emotions collided violently with the feminist dogma that his mother had raised him with. But, then again, when he thought to himself, not all of the established norms of society are necessarily true, and even if he were to admit to himself that what he had was some sort of mental ailment, he thought of psychology to be too bourgeoisie for him and refused to partake in any of their squanderings of money. Working class people deal with their feelings themselves was the opinion that he had gathered living life. So, he dealt with this emotional function just as he did with any other of his personal attributes. He accepted it. But as he got older, he got hornier, and the symptoms were very often overwhelming. Obviously, the horniness and delirium were inter-connected. Whenever he needed to go out in public, he would always wear a cap that hung down far enough over his eyes that he could avoid eye contact with all others. The very next fall, after graduating high school, he moved to Louisiana in order to attend a program that they had at the State University there for junior morticians. This was when his situation came to a level that was unbearable. He avoided all forms of eye contact, had sex and masturbated as much as possible, but still, he was never able to bring himself down. There was a constant, high volume, mechanical screaming in his ears. It was impossible to study. The girls wore as little clothes as possible. He had a conspiracy theory that suggested that girls did this intentionally to distract the males so as to cause them to do poorly in their college classes, thus achieving a lower ring in the social ladder. He viewed college as the main institution that stratifies the ones who will hold the powerful positions in society from the ones who will have to do actual work to get by. There's lots of competition because of this, and the whole idea that the females would have the nerve to play such a dirty trick infuriated him. He hated and hated and hated. He went around with this all consuming anger, and lucky for him he was able to get by without anyone persecuting him for his mental clamor under the guise of getting him help. To try to help himself, he tried doing random acts of violence, always on white males (of course he preferred frat boys), but nothing soothed him. He consumed massive amounts of narcotics, and these still were not effective. Whenever he found a kind that helped a little, within a couple of months his rapid tolerance would develop and conquer the drug's ability to help him. He called his mother and told her that he was severely stressed out. She suggested meditation and a few various herbs. She sent him a few books on meditation which he quickly flipped through and then promptly threw to the side to never be read again. Deep breathing always hurt, and keeping still made him feel uncomfortable. "The New Age has come and gone", he would go around claiming. Also, in the package that his mother sent him, there were some bottles of natural herbal pills. . He took them for a while, but since he could feel absolutely nothing from them, he decided their effects only worked psychosomatically and set those aside too. He tried calling his grandmother, but the only she could say was, "Get through school . . . Get through school . . . Get through school . . . Get through school . . ." He thought about calling his dad for a second, but all dads are assholes, and the best suggestion he was likely to get from him would be to cut his hair. Finally, when he felt himself on the brink of cracking, he saved himself and dropped out of school. With the remaining funds that he had set aside for living gastos such as rent, electricity, and beer, he sent himself as far4 into oblivion as humanly possible without dying. The funds were plenty, so he had no problem s doing this besides waiting for asshole drug dealers who go into the business just to make themselves feel powerful by making people wait awkwardly for hours on end at gas stations, fast food places, and convenient stores. Good thing dealers don't actually read, . . . otherwise they'ld have me waiting for weeks after coming across this comment.