Archive for the ‘Billy Files’ Category
Seriously, remember me? I was really morbid as a kid in ways people didn’t understand or even realize. I remember drawing demons and ghosts in kindergarten, screw Yoda and C3P0 or the Muppets! My favorite dreams involved my brother turning into a vampire and having to stake him, it was terrible! In the dream I was so sad and it was so scary, but damn what a rush when I woke up sweating through my ET t-shirt holding my breath until I looked down off my top bunk to see him safe in his mini-bed, breathing a sigh of cool release. Or the lovely time I befriended Freddy Kruger and he made a glove for me and gave me a hat and we invaded peoples dreams together. Oh such memories.
By the time I was 11 or 12 I was really interested in psychological horror. I loved films like the Exorcist and Silence of the Lambs. I walked to the library and walked home with books loaded with such nuggets as True Crime serial killer studies, I had them all Dhamer, Gacey, Bundy, The Hillside Strangler, Jack the Ripper, Peter Sutcliffe etc. Also along with the bundle the Satanic bible, the anarchists cook book, and books on witchcraft and demonology. No one was gonna tell me what I can put into my head. That’s the one freedom I always kept for myself.
The frickin’ horror movies…
It had to have been it. The frickin’ horror movies. Dad and I went to Video Galaxy and rented a new horror movie every Tuesday. I was a sharp kid with a precocious intellect in many ways, so I assured him that I never had nightmares and that I really liked scary movies so we didn’t have to tell mom. In hindsight, I can see how they were the very essence of what I bonded to my father with. I am non-expressive, and so is he. I don’t think I kissed or hugged him since before I was a preteen. So things like horror movies which we both really enjoyed and spent a lot of time together doing, really meant a lot to me, but did it effect who I became? I struggle to think, it must have had a big effect. For one thing, I truly love the macabre, by the time I was in high school I was a “tortured goth poet” I took it about as seriously as I did the wardrobe, my favorite T-shirt at the time being jet black with a grungy white word splattered across the darkness saying “Poseur” . It was just fun, it was Halloween every day, you know why? I loved Halloween more then any other holiday including Christmas, screw the gifts, I want to dress up like Freddy!
I just like and enjoy dark and scary stuff, its so much cooler then rainbows and ponies and GI Joe and all that crap, I mean I liked all that stuff too, having more then enough attention to turn to many things as a boy, but nothing struck my fancy like Critters, Faces of Death, Evil Dead 2, or Texas Chainsaw massacre.
I always had a nickname for what I was “Darkling”, I was suprised they had many more “Darklings” on the planet, I didn’t really know until I was majoring in Creative writing in college, post goth and raver days, I think I was trying to be collegiate at the time. I wore a green turtle neck, what an asshole. I was in a class with a young professor and many other “darklings” the pride and delight we came to class with when we handed in our stories, it was a fiction writers course. Story after story of vampires, demons, death, serial killers. I had found a true home for my sinister delights.
So is it weird that I and many other people like waking up hot and sticky, throat dry and gummy from dehydration eyes teary, brain shrink wrapped in terror and mystery, from a wicked nightmare? Its like starring in your own horror movie, and you confront your fears and learn so much about your subconscious by what it chooses to show you.
What about others though? How many other darklings are out there?
Popularity: 3% [?]
January 6th, 2010 Remorse
I hurt a really good girl tonight. I benefited from her company and I let her start to love me and then I broke her heart and left threw her away because I am incapable of being human any longer. I don’t know what this means for me, but I will forever regret hurting such a good person and I can only pray that she will one day find the courage to forgive me and everything I have done for her. I thought that I would be driven to drinking heavily for this, but I have decided that I will bear the brunt of this current of guilt and pain, what little heart I had left she has taken with her, and even though it wasn’t enough to plant and grow a fertile love, it is enough for me to sit here in pain and take it and feel it and drown in it because what I did to her was not fair and I am garbage for doing what I did.
I don’t know what I have left inside, I don’t think anything.
K. Please forgive me. I never wanted to hurt you.
Popularity: 8% [?]
“Where are you going?” Ma asks.
“I want to go check my snake traps” I say.
I love nature, there is nothing better than nature. I like to capture snakes, frogs, toads, turtles, stray cats, wounded birds, moles, anything really. Animals are the only thing worth trusting. I take care of them for a few days then I let them go somewhere safe with food. I love them they are my friends.
“Well don’t go too far.” She says it so nonchalantly as though an after thought.
I don’t reply, I am already walking down the street to my “Snake traps.” My snake trap was just a piece of plywood I left in a grassy field, after a week snakes would take up residence under it and I would lift it and catch them.
Halfway down the road, a tall blond man who looked to me like a circus clown because of the dark rings under his eyes and his flowing long blond hair calls me over to his home. I’ve never known anyone to be bad, so I go to him. He insists that he knows where there is a good spot to catch snakes and frogs. My eyes light up with amusement, Where?! He asks me to follow him and I obey.
“Come with me, you’re going to be so happy to see this place” He says smiling.
“OK but I have to go home soon.” I am starting to have a bad feeling.
“Oh its very close, right over there” He points to a grove of trees cropping out from the small forest behind the housing units we live in. I look back towards home, but how do I say no? I follow him into the grove of trees.
“Look over there” he instructs me in those bushes.
I begin to walk there and I feel him approach me from behind, I look inside the bushes and I feel his hand on my shoulder.
“keep looking” his breath is slow, I am suddenly becoming terrified.
My body begins to shake and quiver, I want to leave, I want to run now I want to RUN but his hand is on my shoulder squeezing. He asks me to turn around, I say nothing but I don’t turn. I feel him working his free hand through his pants undoing his belt. He is moaning, I begin to sob, tears roll down my small cheeks. Oh please someone help me… I’m crying, please someone help me. He pulls my shoulder back and I can feel his penis brush up against the nape of my neck, I feel him masturbating and rubbing his penis on the back of my head and neck.
I pull forward and say that I have to go, my mom wants me to come home for dinner. I feel guilty for some reason for lying, I know there is no dinner tonight. But I must go. He buttons his pants up and lets go of my shoulder I begin to walk away, wiping my burning eyes. He stands there watching me leave, he says nothing, then he says “I’m sorry”.
I get through the tree line and begin running as hard as I can home. When I get home mom is laying on the couch watching Soap operas sleeping, I go upstairs and climb into my bed, I decide I can never tell anyone about this, I feel so ashamed. I can never tell anyone about this.
I was nearly 6 years old.
Popularity: 8% [?]
Wrote this when I was 19 and very EMO!
What mommy never knew would hurt her,
so I never let her see.
To see what happened and how it
all twisted me.
Daddy would have been angry,
knowing of my insanity,
raising a little psycho,
can ruins ones vanity.
So locked in a closet
I have thrown away the key.
Skeletons pile higher
until they over power me.
And so what do I become,
If not a twisted fool?
Some mad fucker,
drowning in his drool.
Gloom wont keep me down,
it makes me mad yet,
if the past would die,
only to forget.
Popularity: 2% [?]
The further I go the less I believe in love as a form of abstraction… its really fucking tough to make things work out and usually someone has to swallow a lot of poison to make it work. It leads me to question life long monogamy, and I say this at 28 going into 29 a males prime years, and while I have no shortage of ladies who are interested, I cant help but to wonder, whats the point? I fear the die hard romantic in me is slowly being murdered by the side of me that wallows in insecure pessimism.
I have become something of the Simon Cowell of the dating world around here… I talk to a lady and all I can do is sniff out an agenda, what you are looking for Mr. Right? Someone who will love you and your faults and treat you with respect and take care of you when you need it and remain loyal and faithful while still being attractive and has pride and self dignity? Why yes that’s me, and what do you bring to the table? Nothing? oh… Sex? oh… woopdifuckingdoo.
I remember pining away in college drawing with charcoal late into the night or scribbling in my journal wondering when I was going to find the woman who completed me. Apparently she never showed up and I ended up having to complete myself. Now that I got that going for me people want in on it… except I don’t want them in on it because it took me long enough to get here.
The more things change…
At this point I see relationships more like a business transaction, I do want to have children and a family, but the steps I must take to get them seems kind of asinine to me.
Will Miss perfect show up? I am doubtful. Then again I stinted on nothing in a relationship I sacrificed for for 8 years and then she took off when I had nothing left in the emotional reserves to give. She sucked me dry and then left. Maybe I am just bitter and hurt still I dunno.
Popularity: 4% [?]
November 10th, 2009 Nipple
I wrote this little story years ago when I was in college. It was my experience when I got my nipple pierced. It is still on BMEzine.com under the email “Khardis@aol.com” which is the email I used at the time…obviously. Anyway it kind of crude and such but take it for what it is. 
Hi, my name is Bill and I have recently undergone the joy of male nipple piercing; and let me say one thing: it was great. Going in i thought that i was going to be in for some serious pain and that it was going to hurt and all that but, to be quite honest and to my surprise, it didn’t hurt at all. This was yesterday Sat. the 2nd of February. I went to Underworld Tattoo near Central Connecticut State University with two of my friends who basically wanted to come along and laugh at me when i “scream like a little girl” (little did they know). Underworld Tattoo is the same place where i had my tongue pierced and gotten my tattoos done as well. If there is anyone in the Central CT area who is interested in a place to get a body mod, i highly recommend them. Anyway, as soon as i arrived at the place my friends started laughing at me and trying to make me paranoid because they noticed that i was getting my pre-pierce jitters. I always get these jitters, despite the fact that i know that the piercing is never as painful as i think it will be. Besides messing with my head, they spent the spare time walking around the shop looking at tattoo flashes and photos of different piercings that the shop had recently done. They did this until Sal called me back to the back room. The moment of truth had come, i was at the point of no return.
When I got in the back room, my pre-piercing jitters were intense. i must admit that i was pretty nervous, since i had always heard about how painful a nipple piercing is, but Sal is a very cool guy very friendly. He saw that i was nervous and began to about idle things, some about this site , to get my mind off of everything. Anyway i get it done, I’m sure many of you know the routine. The piercing took less than 30 mins, most of which was just Sal prepping the materials and such. By the time i realized what was happening, it was all over. So there we were:
First, he cleaned my nipples and spoke to me about the necessary aftercare and all that good stuff.
Second, he marked the nipples, and told me to stand and check it in the mirror to make sure it looked right to me.
Third, he clamped my nipple.
Fourth, he told me to breathe in and then to exhale.
Fifth, by the time i had begun to exhale it was already in.
Sixth, he added the jewelry and i was basically done.
There it was, a great new nipple piercing for me to dote on. I was very happy, especially with the thought that “hey this doesn’t even hurt! What the hell?!” But seriously, for anyone who is wondering if it’ll hurt, don’t take my word on it since, as they all say, pain is a uniquely personal experience. You see, to me the pain was nothing but to others it can be hideous and excruciating. Everyone knows their own body’s tolerance for pain.
So, after i get my mod done i go back out to the waiting area and show off my new piercing. My friends Josh and Bry ask me all sorts of questions and, guess what, are really interested in it. They also confess that they want to get something done too. So Josh decided to get his tongue pierced and Bry wanted to get a tattoo. He would have gotten a tribal dragon tattoo that he had thought was cool if the tattoo artist wasn’t busy. The tattoo artist is named Marco, and he is also a really cool guy. He seems to have a real love for the art.
Ok, so let me get to the crux of this whole thing. Basically i want everyone to know that if you’re interested in getting something done like a nipple piercing: DO IT. Nipple piercing is an exciting and unforgettable experience, and a practically painless one as well.
You should never let a fear of pain get in your way. If you let your fears of pain, failure or the like, push you away from your goals you’ll be a little scared person living in corners the rest of your life. Take a chance and be crazy, you only live once! Enjoy it! I forget where this quote is from, but i think that i heard it on Strangeland, and my sister tells me it is from HellRaiser, but it goes “Short is the pain, Long is the ornament” So folks just do it and you’ll be glad you did, I am. Peace out. Bill.
I had that piercing for the better part of a few years until I ripped it out accidently one night while I was sleeping. And when I say rip I mean my nipple, the ring got caught on a blanket and in one of my tossy-turns in the night it ripped it out. I woke up in a pool of blood. Benefits of having a nipple piercing are pretty straight forward, aside from it being awesome in general it made my nipple hyper sensitive to touch, sexually this pleased me because when I was with a girl who was very good with foreplay she would work that and the ring. A girlfriend at the time once got me off to an orgasm without ever touching my penis. It was pretty intense, man how I miss that sweet nipple piercing.
Popularity: 18% [?]
My brow glistened, shrink wrapped in a veil of sweat, “its august 4th” today I thought my nieces are being born and I am terrified. Terrified that my family will reject me, that I will be turned away from the hospital, that I would be excluded from the things that truly mattered to me. And I feel the detachment, the floating sense of intuition, judging, judging, analyzing, all. The moat of my psyche is its draw bridge drawn? Will I let them in if they did accept me, and wasn’t it funny how that was even more terrifying? Then what would I do? I just want to see my nieces, I just want, no need desperately for them to matter to me, to know my heart can hook into them and anchor itself to the notion of true family. It boils down to me never getting excited, never getting attached to anything except the rocks of my life, can I bring them in, can I do it immediately or do I have to pretend? I am so tired of pretending, the wellspring of my patience has dried up and I am so very tired of caring for other idiots little worlds. But this matters, this is my flesh, I want to be there and I want to be an uncle, In fact I want to be a great uncle, whatever that means. I know Colby will handle the true fatherly stuff, but, and I love him he is not the most intelligent man alive… He doesnt understand things, will he let me share my gifts with them? Or will he draw a line? I know they are only mine through my brother and sister in law, but will they allow me to have a personal loved relationship with them? To teach them help them grow into strong beautiful young intelligent and most importantly confident and competant women. I just want to protect them from all the genuine horrors life can offer, from the pain and hurt I felt. I was able to take it, and I want them to be strong enough to take it too, but I dont want them to experience that. How can I give them that? How can I give them that piece of myself and teach them to use that. I want them to have every advantage we never had. Every strength from Colbys charm and extravertedness to mine and Rickys silent resolve, force of will, and deepness of person. Shit the phone rang.
Popularity: 15% [?]
September 16th, 2009 Introvert
For the duration of my life thus far I have known I was not the most outgoing person. I knew all the answers in school but didn’t want to raise my hand, I knew what people were thinking before they realized they were thinking it but I never put it in their faces. I found it easier to just remain silent and let everyone else unfold naturally without any sort of manipulation. Some people I knew were very outgoing they had friends, they were “popular” a word that still makes me cringe on gritted teeth. I learned in time that I was an Introvert. According to pathology it means I essentially internalize everything from the outside and in and I hold on to it.
This acts as a sort of double edged sword. While one side gives me razor sharp and precise intuition that allows me to peer briefly into the future given the facts at hand, the other acts like a ticking time bomb, a computer collecting dust in its main ports slowly eroding and corroding in time. It is a strange, advantageous yet unhealthy duality. The ability to see and know, but the lack of ability to act naturally, which I know now comes with learning and time. If I only had been exposed to the inner workings of my mind from an earlier age I might not have swallowed so much poison from my life, which I feel inside like an angry caged brute in the basement of my mind, rattling its cell doors, looking for an escape. When it does escape, I cower in futile terror as it rages, stamps, tears and rips its way through the waking world, a shadowy alter ego fueled by negative energy. So far I have found that this beast is mostly self destructive, it will not harm people I love and care for, but how much of that is played into by the fact that what set the beast free is usually guilty feelings as opposed to angry feelings? So when I am smashing holes into the walls with my fists, am I actually beating myself in an angry, guilty disgust for my lack of an ability to “Do”?
I was once told that my Grandfather Richard had a personality very similar to mine. I can only imagine how horrible it would have been to grow up in his conditions, beaten and broken day after day by an angry abusive drunken Irish father. To an introvert, all he could do was to swallow that anger and misery and internalize it as his core system. So he was flawed by his childhood and as a man when he had his own children he continued the cycle from drinking to angry violent abuse. From holding Grams head to the floor under his boot with a blade to her neck and making my Aunts and Uncles plead with him not to kill her, to the broken jaws, the extreme punishments and depression which eventually lead to his suicide via gassing himself in an oven the night before he was supposed to go to court for “raping” a girl. In an ironic and sadistic twist of fate he was actually innocent of the charges, but he was dead before anyone could know. The final straw in a long series of events which destroyed my Grandfather and shattered his family forever.
I am deeply terrified of this situation. I feel the beast clawing away ever growing inside, but could I do those things to the ones I love as Richard did? He wasn’t always so abusive as I have been told, it wasn’t until he lost himself in the bottle that the beast truly let loose and began to burn their lives like a fire in a summer wind. My foray into drugs and drinking have showed me that I have the capacity to act violently when emotion overtakes my rationality. Like a torrent of water ripping down sand-blocks and dams draining into my fists, hardened and white knuckled, ready to swing, to swing and destroy with all the fury of hell.
How permanent is the beast and is there a way to starve him his affections he feeds on that doesn’t involve becoming an utter zombie? I don’t want to be like my grandfather, I don’t want to hurt my loved ones, but how can I not? At twenty-eight and change I feel the weight of my life crushing down upon me and I feel the sting and allure of the bottle or drugs. They seem like convenient temporary escapes, to just take that edge off. When I go sober and clean and I refuse to pollute myself I find that great depression will amass like clouds and the longer I go the darker they get until I become utterly self absorbed to the point where I feel nothing but the lonely stinging in my heart. Every heartbeat is like an eternity in solitary confinement. Which will leads me to two courses of action, Fuck or Flee. I can go find some woman to seduce, sex, and emotionally destroy or I can flee into myself with a joint, or a 12 pack. I can still feel the anguish in that state but its diminished and its like a free wheeling sense of freedom from my inaction. If the beast looses I smash things, if my family is there I break down and tell them I love them, if a woman is with me, I will ravage her vagina. The things I want to do when I am sober and I am taken by mood, but I hold back. Only in the lamented bliss of intoxication they are exponentiated to the umpteenth degree.
I must figure out how to get a grip before I allow this to destroy me. My brother tells me I am not my father or my grandfather, but he is mistaken. I am not them, but I AM them, I feel them inside me. Screaming raging spirits of good men destroyed by the pain and torture of reality. The reality that people know of in great novels, or the Jerry Springer show. I don’t think I can rise above my breeding, but I am at least cognitive of what I am doing on a semi conscious level. The other fear being, that they might have been as well.
Popularity: 4% [?]
The 1st time I smoked pot I was in college, I rolled a joint of schwag my cousin gave my at a gathering at my grandmothers house. I didn’t have EZ Widers or Zig Zags, so I remember ripping a page out of my roommates bible. Bibles are printed on that cheap thin paper and I thought it would work best in that case. I rolled it up, 2 joints 1 big one small, walked out of my dorm and took a stroll at night and smoked, and smoked and smoked. The paper burned dirty and left my teeth stained it also burned my throat. When I got back to my room I wasn’t feeling any different and I was disappointed. I never got high. For me the 4Th time was the charm.
When I moved to Memeres from the dorms, I had made a friend at work who was giving me slightly better weed. Still trash though. He sold me a quarter for 60 dollars and I remember rolling a joint and smoking it by the back of Memeres lot where the thicket began behind the satellite. The feeling was a surprise, I felt light, like I could float, and then that everything seemed so relaxed. I could hear the wind rustling by idly in the trees as sparrows and yellow finches made nest and sang their songs. I felt at peace, being high was incredible. “I can get into this” I say out loud to myself, I loved my voice, it was the first time I had. I would say I have been a “pothead” since that day forward. I didn’t want to drink, I didn’t want E or Coke, or Meth or anything, I just wanted to smoke pot. Of course I had to begin selling it, although I knew nothing about the price or amount to package or even who would buy. I was a novice pot head in an old stoners world and I didn’t know the rules or the boundaries. I also didn’t know that everyone and their mother smoked and that I wasn’t selling pot, that I was selling myself, my friendship, my connections. I didn’t sell very much, I didn’t hit up strangers and none of my friends were smokers which means I pretty much smoked it all to my own head.
Popularity: 5% [?]
So smooth, I rub my foot down her calf, I cant believe how smooth her legs are. She is so beautiful. This is so wrong, so immoral, so illegal.
“What are you thinking now?” Brenda asks softly into my ear. A smile curling up slightly in the corners of her full lips.
“I don’t know…” I say.
Her eyes strain to meet mine, I look away. I know she wants me, I know she loves me, I love her too I think… but I cant say it. I’m locked away.
“Are you ok? you are being sort of quiet…” the smile is gone now, she is being serious.
My mind scrambles to find the “correct” answer to disengage this thought process. I don’t know what I’m doing, this is too new for me. I don’t even know what I feel, mostly confusion.
“I’m just tired.” Such a stupid and unsatisfying answer.
“But, you have to be thinking something. Are you sure you are ok with this?” She says through pout-y lips I feel her heart tremble beneath her breasts, she is deeply worried I am going to hurt her. I am going to hurt her.
“I’m fine…”
She rubs her hand across my chest and tousles the soft dark hairs, her deep tawny complexion jags across my flesh, in contrast it looks beautiful. I am entranced by her beauty, her heart, her age…
Her head comes to rest on my stomach, it rises and falls rhythmically, she is staring into my face now, I accidentally catch her eyes and we lock on for a moment. My heart stops.
“What do you want out of all this Brenda?” I ask solemnly. She lifts her head and climbs up onto her arms and they straddle my chest. She comes in very close, I can feel her breath on my lips, it smells like tangerine lip gloss. She mouths the words without making a sound. I… Want… You. On “you” she points to my heart.
I feel so awkward, I am just learning to be my own man for the 1st time in my life. I know I want to be near her, I want to continue be with her, but I just cannot bring myself to give in, and I don’t know why. I don’t know myself well enough to give anything away. My beautiful Jamaican princess. I could go to prison for her age a 100 times over, my mind races with a million possibilities, I turn my head to look at the clock.
“I have to take you home now, its late”
She silently nods and gets up to dress. My chest feels heavy, it feels betrayed. I betrayed myself again.
Popularity: 7% [?]
