Three Wasted Crosses At The Prison For The Criminally Insane

"Shiiit!"

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"

"Shit, oh, shit, oh, shit!"

Over and over, day after day, this was all that was heard from the three prisoners tied to the crosses at the St. Augustine prison for the criminally insane.

Judas cursed. Not a soul on the planet - including himself - had an ounce of trust left in him. His life could not be salvaged. To breathe was to die alive. The only silver lining of his existence was to serve as a warning to others. Without trust, what could he have? No love, no friends, no family. Just a vast aching emptiness from which he could never escape having been stripped of all his deceit. He was an alien to his own species, outcast to even himself, reliving the moment of betrayal over and over, his time in the sun done in the name of acceptance.

Margo the murderess also could not believe what she'd done. When her mother was run over by a drunk driver she swore vengeance - against life. She killed first the one then the other of the driver's two children. The driver had refused to show up in court so she served as her own angel of justice. The world and the universe had let her down and she just couldn't let that slide. She was owed. But after collecting her debt she found out the alleged driver was covering for someone else. She'd twice over committed the crime which she sought to revenge. Her injustices had been done in the name of justice.

Linnon was nothing without having tried. He did nothing, he said nothing, he loved nothing. He had nothing to offer, so why try? He was not sentenced to the prison, he came of his own accord, but came to belong by virtue of his nurtured insanity. As he stayed on the cross it gradually dawned on him he did have something to offer, that he'd come for no reason, that his tragedies were needless and self-induced. He sharply contradicted anyone who said he had something to offer, though, as that made his choice of the cross unbearable. He foolishness done in the name of not being a fool.

So the three wailed in perpetual torment, hoping against hope for redemption. Judas had himself nailed just as Jesus had been thinking that would help atone for his deed. But it made no difference whatsoever and could never make a difference.

Margo was tightly bound to keep her from committing more murders but surrounded with pictures of her victims whom she'd hope to deny ever existed in her vain pursuit of finding a sliver of rationale for their murders. The blood stains on her hands were for life.

Linnon dare not untie himself even though he could have anytime. What would he happen if he got off now and proved himself worthy to the world? He'd be mocked for his many, many years he'd spent uselessly and foolishly on the cross. If he stayed, he could complete his deterioration and none would be the wiser.

Like biting snakes, lies of each of the three kept them in constant agony, having given up on the truth as savior. By trying to keep their lives they had lost them.

Diary Of A Sad Man

[Note: Like my Quotes Snatched From The Wind post, anything of this ilk I'll just keep dumping in here as opposed to creating a new post.]

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Another Lonely Day:

"Hey, Harry, how's your new crap job going??"

"It's everything you'd want out of a soul-crushing nightmare of lifelessness trapped in an isolation chamber driving you to the edge of the universe sitting on a cliff-side of madness."

"Jesus! Is it really all that? You sound desperate."

"Don't worry. If I wanted to live I'd put a bullet in my head."

Another Lonely Day:

Forcing and Faking. That's how I get through every day. Only I'm not making it through. Just takes another piece out of me. Then there's nothing left and you die. Who thought up this shithole?

Another Lonely Day:

I'm bored. Bored beyond all description, bordering on madness. What is life on a meaningless moon? Our fate is already known, the news belongs to yesterday. A boy jumps into a pool, refusing to come to the surface. Either he does or drowns. "Debate" rages.

"I believe in the boy! He can make it!"

"That's insane. You're no friend of his signing his death warrant."

"You're just projecting your own inability to breathe underwater onto him. Loser!"

Why say anything? The outcome is known. The weight of waiting for the movie to begin has me slumping ever deeper into my seat.

Another Lonely Day (12th Version):

Ran across this girl in a nightmare - turns out I'd already let her down before I met her. Lost a bar fight that didn't happen. When out through the Out door even though the In door was cocked open. Goosebumped a miracle I dare not admit. Wished upon a Starpower. Punched a pillow fifty times. Did dishes as I left my art in San Francisco.

Another Lonely Day:

Nothing is fun. Nothing means anything. All these people "saving" the world don't have a clue. I wish I didn't have a clue so I could delude myself like that. Everything is used up, burned out; drained. Saw some idiot Democrap on TV barking how at some point they're going to have a hearing on some thing with some person. And that's when they'll get the bad guy! Jesus, everyone is playacting just like I am. At the end of they it gets you nowhere. That's when the nightmares begin.

Another Lonely Day:

Acting on the business phone:

"Yeah, yeah, I was thinking about that too. What did so-and-so say?...No comment on that. Foresight isn't a crime, ya know...OK, guess the piano has to fall on us before they'll do anything...We really need new leadership! There's a way to make things work, they just aren't doing it anymore. We should really discuss this...OK, great! Sounds like a plan!"

After hanging up: "Who gives a flying fuck."

Another Lonely Day:

So I found the perfect home for me. It has some acreage just aching to become a Japanese garden. I even looked at ones costing much more but this is the one. Price is 670k, about 660k more than I have. ("Hey, there, Mr. Homeless, I know a secret how you can get that house! And luckily my fee is exactly 10k!" Yup, predators know when and where to lay their traps.) Big, but not too big where I'd lose the cats I'd no doubt acquire. Yes, I'd have plans aplenty for it.

But they can never be. Were I handed all the money in the world, it could never be. I just wouldn't be free. Only on the streets am I free. At times like now, I do daydream about the impossible, holding it out as the solution to all my problems knowing it can never be proven false. Brilliant! I'm forever trapped in purgatory. Inside that house I'd feel it a prison, longing for the streets. In the street, I'd long to be in a house like that. I need to be wherever I'm not.

I'd take it if I could, of course. I'd be secretly terrified while acting deliriously happy, as expected. Then when alone I'd pull a blanket over my head and wish to die, a citizen marooned on foreign soil. All I have is the wheel in the sky.