Bulletproof

Bulletproof means I can't die.
Bulletproof means it will still hurt.
Bulletproof means another chance.
Bulletproof means someone has a bullet with my name on it someplace.
Bulletproof means if not today, tomorrow.
Bulletproof means I'm going to need a gun too.
Bulletproof means defense.
Bulletproof means expecting problems.

I'm Bulletproof. Usually.
I'm Bulletproof. When you aren't shooting.

I'm Bulletproof. When you can't.
I'm Bulletproof. When I smile.
I'm Bulletproof. Right now.
I'm Bulletproof. When I'm Pure.
I'm Bulletproof. Because I'm a Joker.


I'm Bulletproof, when I know I'm not.

The Animus Locus

Slab. perfectly square. raised from the sand.
Blink.
Darkness. Pale, blue illumination. Twilight of the hypercerptive mind.
Thought. Question. Next?

Animus Locus Muto:

Slab, perfectly square, raised from the sand, in front of my feet, upon the slab, upon the sand. Three.
Blink.
Thought: Question: Path?
Blink.

Animus Locus Muto.

Slabs. Perfectly square, raised from the sand, in front of my feet, as far as the eye can see.
Plenty of paths.
Plenty of choices
Plenty of time.

Blink.

Crystal Ice Cloud Queen

I first spotted her as I rode by in a car. It's sunday; the long thing she was wearing looked like a dress, her shoes kind of strange, and her hair blonde and messy.
"Look a church goer."

Ensuing debate of "bathrobe" and "walk of shame" 2pm on a Sunday.

Exit: Car. Enter: 7-11.
Engage staff, and candy.
Exit: 7-11. Enter: Car.

Examine: The Junkie.

Detail: Orange "clog" style shoes. "High fashion" long knit sweater. Robe style? Shorts, blue t-shirt.

Detail: Marks on her face. Marks on arms.
Possible indication: meth use. Sores resulting from exposure to caustic chemicals, as well as "meth mites."

Detail: on phone: Conversation snippet: "just so you know..."
Behavior: turning away from prying eyes.
Behavior: arms wrapped across self. Defensive, closed, frightened.
Behavior: constant movement. Turns back and moves to have back against wall.
End: Phone call. Hunching down, staring at phone.
Emotional response: tired, hopeless, lost, frightened.

She used to be pretty. She sold her beauty for a hit or twelve, for that little extra euphoria, that little extra bit of self esteem, that little bit extra high.
Victim, and abuser, going to hell in her own style. Forsaking the life, for the high. A nihilist addict; nothing matters, not even the next high, but if I can get the next high, I won't care that nothing matters. Not even the next high...

I understand escaping into madness, to escape hopelessness. I pretend I'm crazy, and pretend I'm just dysfunctional and fucked up and just limping along through life. "I'm broken, and I'll still make it," is more comfort than feeling hopeless; "I'm not sure I can make it."

Frightening to look at an addict, and see something of them in you. To see their route of escape in a little crystal, in a needle, in a pill. Escape from hopelessness? Or into it?

Incredible compassion to look at an addict, and understand some of their pain.

Thank something I don't do meth...

Best wishes to you. Good luck, and may your pain abate.